Mature women love older men

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

This is an experience I'm reluctant to write about, and it might cause some controversy, but who cares? The title is—"It's Not That Easy," and only extraordinary experiences deserve to be recorded.

It started like this: a guy greeted me in a stranger's chat. Judging from his profile picture, he looked like an older man, definitely not my type, but he was friendly, so I politely replied.

Looking through his WeChat Moments, I saw many photos of him flying kites, which piqued my interest. He told me about a kite-flying competition he was participating in that weekend and invited me to come and watch.

That was the end of our brief conversation.

As the weekend approached, my daughter wanted to go on a picnic, and I mentioned the kite competition. Unexpectedly, she really wanted to go, so we went.

Kite flying in New Zealand is different from Beijing; it's more about creativity. My daughter was thrilled to see octopuses, starfish, airplanes, flying saucers, bicycles, parachutes… all sorts of strange kites flying in the sky.

Suddenly, I saw that guy, seriously flying his kite. The kite's unique feature was that the little figures moved on their own—very clever.

I was engrossed in watching the little figure move when my daughter suddenly ran over and patted me, startling me.

The old man smiled at us warmly, and I smiled back, saying, "Your kite is cool."

He asked my daughter, "Would you like to fly a kite?" My

daughter said, "Yes."

The old man then took out a Doraemon kite and let my daughter fly it. That morning was very happy. The old man's kite won a prize, and he happily said, "I'm giving the kite to my daughter."

He happily went to accept the prize, not saying hello because of the crowd. We also took our kites and went to find a place to eat.

"Grandpa is so kind!" my daughter said.

"Kiwi might look older than her age; she's probably only a few years older than Mom," I replied. And it turned out to be true—eight years older, almost like a generational gap.

That evening, I messaged Oppa on WeChat, congratulating him on his award and thanking him for the gift, saying

my daughter loved it. Oppa was surprised, saying my daughter was like an angel and I was like a goddess.

It was an exaggeration, but it still sounded nice, so I replied with a smiley face.

And so, Oppa became my suitor, checking in on me about once an hour—a real sweetheart.

Perhaps when I first started working, I could still appreciate mature men ten years older than me, but now, seeing my male friends of the same age all sporting bellies and balding, I've lost all interest in older men.

Under Oppa's persistent advances, I finally agreed to have a coffee with him.

At the seaside cafe, I ordered a small white coffee, enjoying the sea view and chatting idly with him – it was very pleasant. I

asked him why he made a Doraemon kite, and he said he had lived in Japan for many years and even taught Japanese in New Zealand.

Japanese is my second language, so I tried to speak with him in Japanese for a few moments. Oppa was very happy and patiently explained the relationship between Japanese and Maori. Although I've long forgotten my Japanese, I could still understand Oppa. His examples were ample and his explanations insightful, making me feel that this man was very knowledgeable – a truly knowledgeable Oppa.

Oppa mentioned he had a lifestyle workshop. He invited me to visit another day, and I readily agreed.

Because I had other things to do, I said goodbye early, ending a pleasant afternoon tea.

Then, he started inviting me to his workshop, and I felt a little guilty for agreeing so casually.

Going to his livery with someone I didn't know very well made me think of many possible serious consequences.

Fortunately, he wasn't too insistent, just maintaining his warm and friendly demeanor. During our conversation, I learned about his divorce, his children's situation, and his work situation, which made me feel like we were old friends.

When he invited me to his workshop again, I agreed.

He picked me up by car; his livery was about half an hour's drive from where I lived. The wooden house wasn't big... It was small, with a grove of trees nearby and a stream not far away. The house was surrounded by a charming garden, unlike the more luxurious Chinese-owned hotels I'd visited, but full of life and charm.

Upon entering, I first looked at his small factory. Actually, I wasn't particularly interested in kite craftsmanship, but as the man excitedly talked, I couldn't help but feel sleepy, which I felt a little embarrassed about.

He noticed my drowsiness and offered to get me a cup of coffee, which I gladly accepted.

At that moment, he took my hand and led me upstairs, which I didn't refuse.

His coffee was very tasteful, though I could only appreciate the differences between a few instant coffees, but I still admired men with good taste. While drinking the coffee, I felt a little nervous... Looking at the oppa in front of me, I hesitated, wondering whether to accept his further advances.

His face did look older than I was, and even in his youth, he wasn't considered handsome. However,

he seemed to be in great shape, probably working out regularly. Could I accept him wanting to have sex with me? My mind raced.

Just then, I finished my coffee, and feeling a little flustered, the oppa actually pulled me close. I didn't resist, but I was incredibly nervous.

He kissed my neck, and perhaps because of my nervousness, I felt a shiver run through my body. He continued kissing me until he tried to kiss my lips, at which point I realized, "No kiss, it's too much." I said.

He stopped there, not trying to use his tongue. He pried open my teeth; if he continued, I might really lose control.

Continuing from where we left off, Oppa stopped kissing my lips, but his passion remained undiminished. He continued kissing my neck, making me feel ticklish, but also very comfortable. My whole body felt tingly, and I felt like collapsing to the ground, so I stopped thinking about how to resist.

There was a French-style sofa in the living room. He embraced me, walked step by step to the sofa, and slowly laid me down on it. The sofa could rock; he was on top of me, and it swayed back and forth, as if it were about to tip over, rocking with every movement, like swaying on the sea.

Oppa wanted to kiss me again, but I just kept my lips tightly closed. In my mind, kissing is a very serious matter. I genuinely can't stand kissing someone I don't like enough. "Anything is fine, even oral sex, but kissing won't work. I don't want to push my limits. Okay, I'll shut up, sir, please don't try anymore."

The man knew his limits, moved his lips away from mine, and focused on my ear. I felt so ticklish. Just then, one of his hands lifted my skirt and stroked my inner thigh.

He licked my earlobe with his tongue while lightly stroking my vulva through my underwear with his fingers. I could feel that I was already soaking wet.

Suddenly, the man knelt in front of me and started kissing my legs, while one hand continued to gently caress my vulva through my underwear, making it so uncomfortable. Also, I was wearing a blue and white porcelain bra today... Even though I was dressed in a traditional Chinese style, he didn't say a single compliment. Does he even understand romance?

The older man kept saying I looked like a fairy, and I even wore a white dress today to try and look more ethereal. He teased me relentlessly, and finally, I took off my underwear. After a pause, he actually complimented me. I remember his words vividly: he said it was the most beautiful "pussy" he'd ever seen.

Someone said the Chinese version of that line years ago, but after so many years, after marriage and children, hearing it again feels different.

When I was a young woman, I thought that man had been with countless women, and I immediately became wary, only replying, "You scoundrel."

Now, facing a seasoned man, I feel incredibly flattered and happy.

I remember the first time a man said that, I ran home and took a picture of myself. Finally, I saw my private parts. Later, I watched many close-up shots in porn, and I was very confident in my pink vulva.

For years, no one has praised me anymore, and I don't know if my vulva truly shows no signs of aging.

Thinking about the increasing number of gray hairs while combing my hair makes me a little sad. That feeling lingered, and then I actually wanted to cry—a strange feeling for no apparent reason.

The older man's tongue was amazing; he knew where to lick and how to tease me, and I was completely absorbed.

He then licked my anus, giving me goosebumps all over, a tingling sensation sweeping through my body. I wanted to put my hands on my breasts, but the older man didn't seem interested in my C-cup. He didn't even take off my skirt. I kneaded my breasts through my clothes with both hands, feeling the sofa sway, and had to hold onto the armrests for balance.

The older man's fingers were the most impressive I've ever experienced. I don't know if I have the legendary G-spot, because when I masturbate, I never insert my fingers into my vagina; I only rub my clitoris, and I'm done in three minutes. I only experience vaginal orgasms during sex with a man.

Finger orgasms are rare. I had a boyfriend before who wasn't very sexually active, and he tried to satisfy me with his fingers, but whenever I was close to climaxing, his thrusting would slow down. When I asked him why, he said his hand was incredibly sore. It was so frustrating; he had already tried his best.

But the older man's hands were strong, skillful, and sustained. He started by using his index finger to penetrate my vagina, then suddenly switched to his thumb. After a few thrusts, he pulled it out and tried to insert his thumb into my anus. It hurt, so he kissed me and used his fingers to lubricate my vagina with my vaginal fluid. I gave in. His two fingers swelled inside both my holes. I realized he was interested in my anus, and I got nervous, thinking that if a foreigner inserted such a large penis into my anus, I would be in excruciating pain… With these mixed feelings, his constantly moving fingers made me want to cry.

I sometimes feel like crying during sex, maybe when I'm very nervous or very excited.

I need to pee, I said in English.

“That's an orgasm, darling, come on.”

I wanted him to stop, but he didn't want to stop at all, instead going faster and faster. I screamed. Luckily, there shouldn't be anyone within a kilometer radius.

Never mind, I ejaculated.

I closed my eyes, my whole body trembling. One wave passed, and I felt his fingers enter again, followed by another series of thrusts. I don't know where the fluid inside me was stored, but I ejaculated again, this time reaching a complete climax.

When I slowly opened my eyes, I noticed the man's hair and clothes were wet. Judging from my observation, some of it must have gotten into his mouth. I hadn't expected this; it was so embarrassing.

The man just smiled and talked to me, showing me his collection of vinyl records while he went to change.

The man had a refined taste, but unfortunately, I'm a complete novice when it comes to classical music. His detailed explanations were quite challenging for my English, but regardless, a man with an artistic sensibility is still appealing.

Next, we listened to music. I was actually prepared to give myself to the man, but alas, he only talked about music. Okay, no need.

The man took me to a nearby Western restaurant for lunch. I've forgotten what we talked about, but I remember being very happy. He took me home.

Soon after, I received a message from him: "You are the most beautiful fairy today."

This was my first official date with the man.

My second date with the older man was a few days later. Looking back, the first date felt a little awkward, but the desire I'd been aroused was undeniably stirring.

He sent me various greetings and flirtatious texts every day, and we chatted about interesting things and gossip in New Zealand. I only remember that before the date, he asked me what I wanted to do, and I boldly replied, "Agook fun."

This time, we went to his house in the city; I drove there myself using GPS.

His house was very tidy with a small garden; it was quite nice that a single man could maintain such a home.

He greeted me at the door and led me inside, then hugged me and kissed my cheek. I politely kissed him back, and he then kissed my lips. I gave him a quick peck, but I still felt a little uncomfortable. He didn't press the issue and didn't kiss me deeply. He only kissed my neck. As I started to moan, he took off my t-shirt, then kissed my shoulders, and simultaneously unhooked the straps of my bra, exposing my breasts to him. I was so nervous. In the previous

post, I mentioned my sexuality. If I'm confident, I'm not confident about my breasts, because I can see them myself. I like to wear a bra when I'm naked, even though I'm a C-cup, my nipples are large and dark in color, and I feel imperfect. I'm nervous

about men seeing my imperfections, so I feel incredibly nervous every time I expose my breasts to a man for the first time, even in front of an older man. When

he unhooked my bra, exposing my breasts to him, he effectively eased my nervousness. He said, "Like your little ones, can you tell them?"

I replied, "Use your breasts."

As a result, he circled my left areola with one hand and swirled his tongue around my right nipple, sending shivers of pleasure all the way to my genitals.

This older man was truly an experienced one; he stood right there at the entrance, playing with my breasts, licking, sucking, and gently biting them. Many men I'd encountered before didn't know how to be gentle; they would roughly rub my breasts, pinch them hard with their fingers, or scratch them with their nails, causing me pain and instantly making me lose all sensation.

But this older man proceeded gradually; I felt that pleasure and pain were separated by only a fine line, and he was always there. For the first time, I almost orgasmed from the stimulation of my breasts alone.

I couldn't take it anymore and placed one of his hands on my inner thigh.

He swept his hand across my inner thigh, under my skirt, stroking my genitals through my underwear. The slow, torturous teasing gave me goosebumps.

Finally, he inserted his finger into my vagina, not all the way in, but just circling it at the entrance. I orgasmed.

After a shiver, I gave him the highest praise: "You understand my body better than I do.

" ...

As I write this, that trembling feeling is still lingering throughout my body, and I'm unconsciously touching my breasts and kneading my nipples. My lower body is also reacting.

Last time someone said I was praising my vagina the whole time, and I said I'd just praise my breasts in this piece. Actually, they're just a bit sensitive, nothing much to brag about.

If there's one thing, it's probably a C-cup. I probably have to thank my two boyfriends from my teenage years. Under your constant caresses, my breasts went from a B to a C, even though it sometimes hurt me. Occasionally, thinking of you makes me smile. Those rosy memories of my youthful days, a smile that has carried away many years. I

'm not writing anymore today. I'm taking a shower and going to the beach with the kids. We need to make the most of this beautiful weekend weather.

[The End]

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