1. A Question of Gender


    Date: 10/30/2017, Categories: Bisexual, Author: marlowe, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    “A Question of Gender” (circa-1980) If someone had told him that one day he would fuck a middle-aged woman with a broken leg, who would then persuade him to join a swingers club and participate in group sex in a room full of faceless strangers, he would have said they were on drugs or completely mad. But there he was leaving the Cavendish Club with a fifty-year old woman with a leg in a plaster cast, clutching his arm as if her life depended on it, her crutches echoing in the narrow alleyway as they headed to his car. From the moment he walked into the club Sarah Davison made her intentions very clear. A flirtatious acquaintance at the bar was all it took. Without shame or decorum Sarah asked him if he had ever fucked a drunken woman with a broken leg. Bold, brazen and cheap, too much makeup, too much mascara, false eyelashes, a skirt too short and explosive tits spilling out of a blouse featuring too many unfastened buttons, nipples that were hard to ignore and big teeth peering through bright red lipstick, for a woman who looked like she made a living from porn, Sarah Davison was still sexy enough to make his cock stir inside his pants. The directions to her home were a little slurred and vague, her finger pointing west less convincing, nevertheless he started the car and headed east towards Ellington Village. After a week of blistering temperatures souring into the high-seventies, the humidity of the early morning promised to be no different. It was a journey of uneasy ...
    gestures and silent mutterings, Sarah staring into the darkness as if deep in thought, casually blowing cigarette smoke through a small gap in the window, shuffling uncomfortably in the seat, the occasional small talk giving her time to regain her composure, a summary of her life story gathering behind big teeth. She told him that her husband was a successful businessman and they had been married for thirty years until he died from a massive heart attack two-years ago, at the age of fifty. She said they met when they were both in their early-teens and during their time together he had been her only lover and she had never cheated on him. In the ensuing silence she searched inside a handbag and pulled out a paper tissue, the sobering moment giving her time to pull on her cigarette and gather her thoughts, the venomous voice of a hurt and angry woman breaking the silence. “He was a two-faced bastard,” she barked, dropping her cigarette through the gap in the window and pulling another one from the packet. “He never hid the fact that he had other women in his life. In fact, he made it obvious to everyone, including me, that he was leading a double life with a woman half his fucking age,” she growled, lighting the cigarette. Listening to Sarah vent her anger made him a little uncomfortable and there were times when he found it difficult to concentrate on driving the car. He didn’t really care about her husband’s infidelity or her failed marriage, but with a guaranteed fuck on offer ...
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