A very memorable night. No doubt. While the best part of our relationship is the day in, day out love and companionship, this might be my favorite individual memory.
It was our first time for a couple of things. Our first night at a 5-star hotel and first experience at a 5-star restaurant.
Our first time making love. Our first time fucking.
I picked her up early in the afternoon. I was prepared to buy her a dress, but Angel said her mom would take care of that. We got to the hotel and pulled up and the valet, who was new, asked if we were married and Angel said “maybe” and tilted her head back, which made me laugh.
The hotel is older, almost 80 years, and the lobby is ornate with lots of wood paneling. Angel had been in the lobby before, but never to register as a guest and she spent no small amount of time looking around. The bellman showed us around the suite and unpacked a few things and after assuring him we didn’t need ice, I tipped him and he left.
There was nothing else to do. It was time to get at it. Angel wasn’t the youngest I’d been to bed with, but hands down, not even close, she was the most beautiful. Every part of her.
The first time with a woman is never Sex of the Year. Even if you’re in love. Maybe especially if you’re in love, because you want it to be perfect with a capital P. But this was good. I still remember it.
I walked up to her, told her I loved her, took her face in my hands and kissed her.
With some assertion, I pushed her against a wall and started feeling her up and kissing her neck and she took one hand and reached down and copped a feel.
She really liked me kissing her neck. A lot. She was nervous, too, and I could hear her teeth rattle.
I started undoing my belt and told her to get naked. I had dreamed about undressing her, and I was planning to right up until then, but it must be some primal instinct the first time to want to start getting busy right now because we were both naked in pretty short order
Both naked we looked each other over. Fuck, she was beautiful. Every part of her. Her face, her hair, her tits, her legs.
Every fucking part of her.
The rawest lust.
I had also fantasized about grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to the bed, but I didn’t do that either. Another time. The first time, in a luxury hotel suite, I took her hand.
She laid down and there I was, making love to the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Every guy likes to think he is reinventing sex here, but really, we didn’t break any new ground. I didn’t pull her hair or call her filthy names or try or make her call me Daddy. We kissed with a lot of tongue and said we loved each other and she arched her neck and moaned gently when I kissed her neck. I did this for a bit because I liked kissing her neck as much as she liked me doing it.
I began fingering her then, too. Crap, she was wet. I mean, this is hardly a bulletin. A horny girl is going to be wet. A horny girl in love is going to be really wet. Maybe it was the age difference that did it for her. Maybe it was love. I don’t know. I do know the first time I put a couple of fingers into her there wasn’t much difference between her pussy and a lake.
I worked her pussy for a bit, first just working them at random, then I took my index finger and stroked the top of her pussy with a “come here” motion.
This did it. Pretty quickly, too. She arched her back and screamed and shook. My first time making her come.
This felt good. Not only had I made my Angel come, but I had made a drop-dead gorgeous brunette young enough to be my daughter come and that felt really good because a lot of sex for us guys is conquering. It’s part of Mother Nature’s mandate to be fruitful and multiply.
More to do, though. I then took my fingers out and spread her juice on one of her tits. It dries pretty quickly, but there was still a good bit on there when I licked it off. I would like to report that it tasted like peach nectar and stuff but it didn’t; it tasted like pussy juice. My Angel’s pussy juice, though.
I ate her out for a little bit, but really, I just wanted to show my Angel what I stud I was. This was funny because I like eating pussy and if the FDA issued ratings for this I’d have the highest one. Next time.
I can’t go six times a day anymore, nor do I really want to, but I can go once like I did when I was her age, and I gave it to her pretty good. I’m pretty adept at controlling when I come, so I was inside her for a good 20-25 minutes or so. First between her legs, then she made it clear she wanted to be on top.
All right. I got on my back. Crap, she was beautiful. She came and then I rolled her on her back, extended her legs straight up, put my cock inside her again, then pressed her legs towards her body. I don’t think anyone had done this to her before. Good. My job as older man is to show her things like this. I like finishing like this because unless I lose my balance, it’s a great way to completely take command and finish strong.
———
There is not much I like more than 5-star dining and I am always looking for a woman to take there, just on general principles. It doesn’t even have to be someone I’m sleeping with, either, although that’s ideal, of course. It’s up to a thousand bucks for dinner for two now, but it’s worth it and I try to go twice a year, though some years I only make it once.
Angel was beautiful. When she walked out of the bathroom – after 90 minutes of preparation, about par for the course – I could not stop staring. Her hair was straight, her red dress elegant and simple and classy, though it did a marvelous job of displaying her ass. Her mother had done her work well.
I took both her hands and told her she was every man’s dream. She said I was damn right she was.
The big thing about fancy restaurants is to be yourself and act like you’ve been there before, even if you haven’t and even if you’re scared shitless, wondering what in theee hell is going on.
That was me before my first 5-star experience, in Las Vegas with a wealthy older woman I was banging at the time. We had gone shopping and she bought me slacks and a blazer because I didn’t have them and some hilarity ensued because the dumbass clerk at the store didn’t remove that white tag that spilled ink on the garment if you tried to remove it yourself.
Crap. The store was down The Strip from where we were and dinner was in three hours and we had no clue what to do. Eventually, we took the blazer down to the shops of the hotel and went to every one that sold any sort of garment at all before we found one that could take it off.
I didn’t know what was going on, either. I had some zero clue what Prix fix menus or wine pairings were. I really enjoyed it, though, and made a point to pay attention to how things were done and the nuances of what was going on because I would probably be back and somewhere I still have the menu from that night.
More than anything, I was myself – quiet and scared mainly – which is what I told Angel to be. Herself. Not quiet and scared.
You never really forget your first time entering a fancy restaurant and I let Angel walk in front of me, so everyone would notice only her because that’s what you do when you’re with the most beautiful girl anyone had ever seen: you let everyone notice her.
The Chancellors Room is pretty big for a restaurant of this stature. There are booths along the walls and tables farther in and there is also a dance floor in the middle and a bandstand on the far wall.
Angel put her hands to her mouth, smiled, made a noise and, I think, started to weep a bit. She cocked her head back and looked at me and the look in her eyes will never be forgotten. They said a lot: thank you, I love you, I finally made it and if you don’t think that puts another tally mark in the older man credit ledger, you got another thing coming. Boys taking their dates to Denny’s don’t get that look.
Our table was one of the booths against the wall, which I had requested because the room is so beautiful and the experience so consuming you do not want to have your back to any part of it.
As he has been since I started coming here, Mr. Barrett was our waiter. Or, more accurately, he was the CEO of the team that would be serving us. This can’t be a coincidence. I never request him specifically, mainly because I haven’t had to. He is among the very best on the planet at what he does and always gives the impression he has spent his entire professional life waiting for your visit.
He greeted me by name, of course, and welcomed me back and he recognized Angel as being here with me for the first time because he’s seen all the women I’ve been here with and it was plain he would not dismiss an introduction out of hand. So I introduced Angel, noting this was her first fine dining experience. Mr. Barrett took her hand and brought his mouth close to it without actually kissing it, stepped back, and took Angel in.
“The stars have danced for us with your presence here tonight,” he said, which made Angel blush.
I smiled warmly.
“Barrett, how in the hell am I ever going to top that?”
“Sir, you have surpassed even your high standards. She shines amidst the brightness.”
Angel cried after that one.
“Yeah,” she said between sobs. “How are you ever going to top that?”
———
In honor of this being Angel’s first time here the first bottle of champagne was with Mr. Barrett’s compliments. While someone I’d never seen before poured it under Mr. Barrett’s supervision, Angel announced she had always wanted to try caviar. This brought a smile to Mr. Barrett because he knows from long experience I think caviar tastes like grout.
Then as soon as Mr. Barrett left Angel got worried that she shouldn’t have ordered caviar almost as soon as she sat down. Nonsense I told her. Mr. Barrett’s sole purpose tonight is to ensure we have the greatest dining experience of our lives. If we want caviar right now, he will bring it. I also told her the caviar was probably in the Caspian Sea this morning and would be the best the planet had to offer. She felt kind of bad when she found out caviar wasn’t particularly to my taste, but I told her not to bother to fret over that and to her credit once she tasted caviar and fell in love with it, she didn’t let it bother her.
I also introduced Angel to foie gras, which I like. A lot. She winced when I told her it was goose liver so I kept the part about how they were usually force-fed to fatten up their livers for our consumption to myself. I have plenty of issues with this the 363 or so nights each year when I am not dining on foie gras, but, honestly, those issues are dismissed the couple of nights a year I am enjoying foie gras.
We decided on the seven-course tasting menu and of course, I ordered for my Angel.
“The wine pairing, of course, Sir…” Barrett said after I finished ordering. It wasn’t a question because I always get the wine pairing with the tasting menu because I don’t know squat about wine. I had neglected to order it though, and Mr. Barrett was reminding me of this. I told Angel that if she remembered nothing else from tonight the great lesson was always – and always means every single time – get the wine pairing when one is offered.
The band started playing during the third or fourth course and of course, we danced. Angel fretted that the next course would come while we were on the floor.
Of course, it wouldn’t, I said. They’ll serve it, at the appropriate temperature, when we were through with our dance. Remember, they’re here to make this the night of our life.
Angel tilted her head and beamed a smile that could light a town for a year.
“Well, they’re certainly doing a good job of that,” Angel said.
She shined amid the brightness all night long, the stars just starting their dance for us.
The tenderest love.
The Angel: Chapter 4
The Angel: Chapter 5
The Angel and The Captain Homepage