FREE Story of November ♦ Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop

11/8/2018

Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop

By S.N.McKibben

STORY TIME!

I'm tots cheating this month on everything! But it's the time to give thanks for the opportunities I've had. In honor, I'm doing another free story, like I always do! So you could say I honor my readers every month!

November is Part 1 of COUGAR BAIT IN THE COFFEE SHOP and it is a story about an older lady and a younger man.

This story is a bit niche. People don't want to think of old people having sex. Even though wrinkles don't stop people from having sex. Would you stop having intercourse because of age? Maybe? *Nothing like body issues to force celibacy.*

The POV is from a guy and it's crude. I can't stress enough that this story is...

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Or prudes. Or people who get skirmish around sex.

I promise I do have stories that are not all about sex. Though, they are few and far between.

Anyway.

BE FOREWARNED!

Sex, sex, sex.

If you haven't been scared off by all the sex talk, proceed!

Of course if you would like to support me as an author and have the ability to spend $1 on the story, you can purchase it on Amazon and give me a coffee... to write more stories about Coffee Shop Cougars. :)

Here's the link:

Amazon U.S.

Amazon international

If not, no big. But you'll have to read it on this website. However, it will be available any time. I appreciate your support and am putting it out there for your enjoyment. Happy Reading!

Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

The content below is for people 18 years or older. If you are offended or uncomfortable by mature, sexual content, please STOP reading and find another one of my stories with less material with sexual content. Thank you.

Before we begin the story, I have visuals!

There are only two characters in this story. Satomi and Kal. I thought I'd give you my version of what these two look like before I started.

In Cougar Bait I was trying to show the contrast of the testosterone induced needs of a decent guy.

Not all men have a chip on their shoulder, are confident to walk up to a stranger and say hello and yet, a lot of pressure is put upon guys to make the first "physical" move. Of course, women signal a guy first by checking him out, making eye contact and smiling. Which if read incorrectly, by the guy who approaches a woman, can lead to embarrassment and further descent into insecurity.

Maybe it's insightful. Definitely entertaining.

Anyway...

Carry on!

Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop

Part 1

I just want to get my dick wet.

Fuck. Now I sound like an asshole. But damn if I’m tired of dating rosy palm. It’s been six months since my last good lay. Since my last lay actually, without the assistance of my hand. This fact is driving me nuts. It’s like I have this monster clawing from the inside to get out and fuck everything. Trees, pillows, couches, shoes—everything is fair game. Everything is a potential hole.

God, if I let that monster go, I’d be in jail. Humping legs walking by isn’t right. It isn’t right that some of those legs don’t necessarily belong to women either.

I think about driving up to Vegas. It’s about a five-hour drive from California, but five hours is a bit excessive for paid assistance. Prostitution isn’t legal here, and in all honesty, it’s not about getting laid. Not entirely. It’s about having a warm body to cuddle at night. It’s about smelling her hair, her skin, rubbing against her softness, pulling her close and…

I’m driving myself crazy. I can’t do this. Staying indoors is a prescription for madness. I’ll go get some coffee or something. And, then I’ll be up all night thinking about fucking a mermaid. Whoopee for me! It’s probably my fate for a while, unless those masturbation blisters on my hands have gone down. Which they haven’t.

The keys in my hand make my idea real. I just need to get out. So, smart phone with downloaded coffee app in hand, my hard-on and me drive the zero point five miles to the closest college hang-out.

Ordering my sissy drink while I try to cover up the bulge in my pants with hands in my pockets, I smile at the girls behind the counter -- managing not to think about how they’d feel naked in my arms. Okay, okay, I didn’t think it twice.

Getting out of my head helps. Being surrounded by people keeps my mind from wandering even if some of those legs look tempting. But getting out gives my control back. I don’t feel the clawing fuck monster trying to get out. Talking to the baristas brings me out of my head and back into the here and now.

I pay, grab my drink and sit in a corner where I can observe life. You know, other people who regularly get laid.

Coffee doesn’t give me release, but it does give me a taste of mocha, sugary-smooth goodness. And a good look at this odd girl. Just so I’m straight on things, I’ve nicknamed her, “Felony.” She looks way too young for me with her school girl braids, but for the color. Her hair is pure white, like old-lady-grey but beautiful. Not kinked out or rough. I wonder how those braids would feel splayed across my thighs. They’d make great “handle-bars.” Something to hold onto while those puffy lips sucked on my cock. Fuck. Back to being the asshole again.

Watching other patrons I see a guy in a suit with a newspaper. Probably relaxing before he goes home to his wife and kids. Taking for granted that he has someone, probably bemoaning the fact that he does. Now I’ve made myself jealous of the suit executive and glide my sights over to a lady talking on her cell phone. Christ lady, we don’t need to know about your horrible date last night. In fact, you might meet more good guys if you stopped talking on the phone and smiled at the dude in the baseball cap over there that’s sneaking glances at you over his iPod.

That girl with the white braids is reading. Oh my God, she’s got that erotica book, something about the different colors of grey. I’ve heard that book is straight up mommy porn. The balls on that girl are way impressive. I mean, reading about bondage and sex here? Isn’t that a book girls curl up in bed and masturbate with? One can only hope.

I get the flash of hazel-brown eyes and a wildfire shoots down to my feet. Crap. She caught me looking. Heat rises up to my cheeks, and I take a sip of coffee. Fuck. Now I’m that creepy guy that’s staring at her. Yet, that’s not what her smile tells me. I peek. She’s still looking at me.

Just to be sure, I look behind me and come face-to-face with a wall. Nothing transparent there, so yeah, she’s looking at me. Or the freaky Dali-like painting. Crap. Do I go over to her? What do I say? Oh now she’s laughing. What is up with this girl? Great. Now I’ve done it. She’s getting up to leave, probably so she won’t be stared down by a creepy guy who can’t keep it together in his own home, alone. You fucking dick.

Oh shit. Is she walking over here? Is she going to talk to me? Oh crap, crap, crap. What do I say? Maybe she’s just going to the bathroom. Nope. I get a good look at her jeans and button down blouse as she stands before me. God I love buttons.

“Hi.” Ms. Felony sets her book in my lap. “You look like you need this more than me.”

I can’t get over the fact that the book in my hands, this very book, was in her lap. Now I’m touching it, which means I’m sort of touching her. Wow, I’m officially beyond desperate.

“Satomi.” She reaches out a hand and, mindlessly, I take it. Her grip is firm and warm. Now that she’s this close, I can see the crows-feet spanning across her eyes. Older than thirty then. Her Asian heritage is obvious from this distance, but she’s tall. About five-seven.

Half of me is screaming--name, give her your name. While the other half is dumbfounded and asking, what’s a name?

Ms. Felony giggles, and I shake out of my reverie. “—Kal. Kalyan.”

“Nice to meet you Kal.”

She’s touching me. Dearest God, thank you.

“Hope you enjoy the book.” Satomi smiles, turns, and I get a great view of her jean-clad ass.

Wait, she’s walking away. Shit. This girl takes the initiative, and I completely botch it. Fuck a duck. What do I do?

My next action could’ve been dick-inspired or heart-inspired, I really don’t know, but I get to my feet and follow her out the door.

“Satomi.”

She turns around and beams a smile at me. The kind of smile that stops hearts and feet.

“I can’t take your book from you.” I hand “fifty shades” over, but she doesn't reach for it. “Weren’t you in the middle of it?”

“I’ve read it three times already.”

“Uh—” Intelligent conversation, I know. But what do you say to women? “What was your favorite part?”

No hesitation on her side. “The ending.”

Okay I deserve the monosyllabic answers. She’d stuck herself out there, and I completely failed her. But she looks like she is laughing at my discomfort. Even so, I am talking to a girl! Not just my mom. Not just ordering coffee.

“The ending?”

“The part where the girl leaves the guy to stick to her principles, even though she loves him.”

This makes me look at the book in a whole different perspective. I thought she might tell me about one of the sex scenes. Christ, I’m a perv.

“Isn’t it about bondage?”

Satomi giggles. The sound wraps around my ears the way I wish her legs would.

“It’s about pleasure.”

And now I’m back to salivating, non-speech Kal.

“It’s also about limits and communicating what you want.” There was a very long pause before she spoke again. “You have a hard time communicating don’t you.”

Engaging my brain, I come up with the wittiest comment I could. “My internal monologue is not fit for public consumption.”

“What about private consumption?”

Satomi is completely out of my league. She is beautiful, witty, loves sex apparently and isn’t afraid to speak. Everything I’m not. Except for the love of sex part.

A softness appears in her eyes. Like the light of intuition is on and she’s looking into me. “I make you nervous.”

Automatic reaction has me shaking my head. Then I correct and nod my head. “A little.”

“Why?” She takes my hand. The contact is a gentle reminder that she is a human being that deserves proper respect.

I could have baulked. I could have shrugged. But she was holding my hand and it felt like a line to my heart. Taking a breath I collect my thoughts. “I don’t know what to say.”

It’s the best thing I can come up with, and it's the truth.

“You don’t know why I make you nervous or you’re nervous because you don’t know what to say?”

“That last one.”

“Then you don’t have to say anything. Even standing here we have this moment.”

Wow. Yeah, way out of my league. “But I want to talk.”

Biting her lip makes her look younger than my estimation. “How old are you?” Shit you fucking asshole, you’re not supposed to ask that. “I’m sorry, never mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’m forty-one.”

I whistle. “You’re way too young to have grey hair.”

A very sexy, very mischievous gleam shines in her eyes. “And some guys go bald at twenty-five. How old are you?”

I quirk an eyebrow and smile. “Young enough for you to claim cougar-ship.”

She laughs.

“I’m twenty-three.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Please tell me that’s not a problem.” I keep my hand locked with hers and held firm. “I mean it’s enough to be shot down for not having the right hair or clothes, but my age I can’t help.”

She hesitates. “It’s a problem that shouldn’t be a problem.” Satomi looks away from me for the first time.

Deflated, I squeeze her hand. “Let me see you safely to your car.”

“I live across the street.” She pulls me in the direction of black pavement, and I pull her back. At this time of night there is little traffic, but all I need is some crazy speeding down “booty” boulevard over the blind hill as we’re crossing the street.

“Jay-walking isn’t safe.”

She laughs. I don’t.

Satomi huffs out an adorable snort. “You’re serious.”

“There’s a cross walk right there.” I let go of her hand and point at a distance of maybe five-hundred feet.

“Oh my God, you’re going to make me walk all the way around when my house is right there?” She points to a row of condominiums. They are your typical wood and stucco luxury apartments.

“Yes.”

She cocks her head and takes my hand again. “Well, I guess that means I can spend more time with you.”

My breath catches and a wave of perverted and not-so-perverted thoughts came to mind. I might get laid. Does she want to see me again? Does her whole body feel as soft and warm as her hand? What other books does she read? Will she invite me up? I wonder if she’ll let me take down those braids and comb my fingers through her hair. Why do all the cool girls have some aversion to me? Because I’m a fucking asshole, that’s why.

Satomi pulls me in the direction of the cross-walk and I submit to her guide. God, if I get laid by this mare, I’d be her slave. Sated and happy, she could pull me around all day. And thinking these things makes me a chauvinistic asshole.

We reach the cross walk, and the button chirps its acknowledgment of pedestrians.

I had to talk, even if she seems content on silence and holding my hand. “So, do you go get coffee every night?”

That twinkle in her eye appears again. I recognize it in a way. A combination of knowing and confidence.

“Not every night.”

I stare at the buttons on her shirt wanting to fiddle with them. I could reach over and pop one off one-handed. Except, I have a book in one hand and my other clasps hers.

“See, you know what to say.”

My mouth goes completely dry. I am a failure at this. “Girls kind-of want to talk about things like clothes, and I don’t know anything about that.” Except how to operate buttons or zippers.

“Then maybe you should be talking to women.”

God she’s so smart. And I’m so dumb. “What do women want to talk about?”
The light turns green for us, and I happily walk her across the street and back up the way we came on the other side.

“You in college?”

“Yeah.” I blush. A reminder I am too young for her.

“What’s your minor?”

I baulk a little. “My minor? Aren’t you supposed to ask about my major?”

“If you’ve got a minor, it means you have a contingency plan. A good thing to have.”

“If I had my way, I’d like a minor in fucking with a major in relationships.” Oh God was that my outside voice?

She howls. Tears stream from her eyes. “I think that would be a popular duo.”
Her acceptance bolsters my confidence. “Hey, they are complimentary. Too bad Rockford School of hard knock-ups doesn’t run more courses.”

“What kind of requirements do you think you’d need to get in?” She wipes a tear from her eye.

“Personal audition after a video introduction.” I look down at the book. “Maybe a written dissertation.” Satomi is the kind of girl to fill in the blanks about what kind of video, audition and dissertation I was considering. All of it had sex before each required format.

She leans a bit into me, pushing me down a curvy pathway.

“Tell me something.” I look around at the condominiums. “They say older women like sex more. Is it true?”

She smirks at me.

I wonder if I’ve gone too far in asking.

“Honey,” she drawls. “How am I supposed to respect you in the morning if bedding you is too easy?”

My brain flips over, and my dick twitches alive. “What?”

The first thing I think is I’m going to get laid. Then the implications of what she said filter through.

“Are you…” I look back at the coffee shop. “Did you…” I turn back to her. “Did you go to the coffee shop to pick up a guy?”

She hid her laugh through a beautiful, well-preserved hand. “I went to the coffee shop to get coffee. But you’re way too easy.”

“Okay,” I held the book up in defense. “Go back to that respect part. You’re saying I can have a one-night stand with you tonight but there’s a chance of seeing you again if I resist?”

“See, you understand women.”

I do a double take. She has me pinned and figured out. Or she thinks she does. A smile slips across my face.

“Then I choose to leave you at your door tonight and see you again.”

She squeezes my hand and leans into me. “Oh, I’m not letting you go that easy.”

That sulky voice. The promise in her eyes. Her words get me thinking about how she’d taste with my nose at the apex of her thighs. How she’d feel if I bent her over and took her from behind, then face-to-face with her legs wrapped around my hips. How many positions could we do in one night? My knees suddenly have no hinges. They turn solid as pudding. “But, I’d rather have more than less.”

Asian eyes drill into mine. “The only problem with talking to women is they know what you’re thinking.”

She is so close I can smell the mocha on her breath. “Satomi, that’s not fair.”

Her lips cover mine.

Heaven lies between our tongues. The heavy book in my hand falls away making a thunk and a rustle. One hand roams her body. The other pulls her closer to me. In all my haze, I tell myself to be a good kisser. I need to be. Girls judge you by first kiss. So I am slow yet demanding. I have to show her I have some confidence in my minimal skill. Oh, yes. Choose me. Fuck me.

I pull away. “What if I said I couldn’t resist. That there is something about you. Would you see me later?”

She opens her eyes, slowly.

Yes! My academically inclined noodle did a proverbial fist pump. I fucking impressed her. I might get laid AND see her later. This felt good. I felt alive. My erection might not be in vain.

Then her eyes turn down and my heart sinks.

“Hey, if this is about the age thing…” How could I convince her it didn’t matter?

“What am I doing?” She shook her head. “I’m old enough—”

I put a finger across her lips. Girls can get away with looking adorable when they do it to guys. Me? I look like a brute smashing her lips together.

A tongue strokes my index digit. My spine shivers all the way down. That just makes me want to fuck her all the more. She kisses the pad of that restraining finger, and I knew I only have one chance.

“What if I put make-up on to look older?”

She pulls back with a disturbing amount of scrutiny, but I can tell she is thinking about it. She seems amicable to the idea.

“You’d put make-up on to look older?” Her eyebrows scrunch together in disbelief.

“Yeah, I can do it in about fifteen minutes. Give me another ten and I can dye my temples grey.”

That look of incredulity makes me think about how gay that sounds. “I’m studying to be a special effects guy. I totally pull off old. You want wrinkles? I’m really good at those.”

She laughs in a nervous kind of way that means no, but she says, “Oddly enough that’s actually comforting.”

“So what do you say? Tomorrow? Same place? About six? I’ll buy you a coffee and a pastry.”

“Big spender!” She laughs for real this time. But she pulls back in a way that tells me I haven’t won her over on the idea.

“Hey, you took a chance on me.” I raised my arms in offering. “I came a-running, so give me a chance.” I smile as big as the corners of my mouth can go. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She purses her lips, not in a scowl, but in a trying-not-to-laugh way. “All right.”
Even though I just fucked myself out of a lay tonight, I have a date with a woman tomorrow. “You want me older than you? Ten years older? The same age?”

“Not too old.” She drawls looking at me with different eyes. I like it. She is evaluating me or rather peering inside me. “Maybe a little younger than me.”

That smile of hers is really something. Light, carefree, promising playful teasing and, oh damn, I’d do anything to see that mouth wrapped around my cock. The thought makes my dick act like some marsupial’s prehensile monster. Somewhere along the line my wanting became less desperate and more yearning. I ache in a different way. Not only for release. I wanted her to know me. Satomi isn’t some chick to pick up at a bar or a coffee shop. She is a goddess to be worshipped. The kind of goddess that receives and reciprocates.

“You boost my ego.” She sighs. “I’d better let you go.”

Not after that comment. “I’ll see you to your door.”

“We’re here.”

And so we are -- at a door. Number one twenty three. A question drags up my balls and through my mouth. “May I kiss you goodnight?”

She looks so venerable. Her eyes grew big. A stammering Satomi is irresistible.
I shouldn’t have pushed. She’d kissed me just a moment ago. But that came from a lust she controlled. I hope she didn’t think I expected anything. Okay, yes, she led me down this road, but it’s not ON until the clothes are OFF. I shouldn’t have said anything but the last word—“Goodnight.” Torn in that moment of indecision, whether to take the lead or allow her the choice, I freeze. She is a lady that can make up her mind. She has every right to refuse me. It is the wisest thing for her to do actually. She doesn’t know me. I am acting a little predatory. Shouldn’t I back off and let her take the lead?

Fuck it.

I kiss her.

My tongue seeks to find what promises that mouth offers. She gives back. Two souls yearning to find each other in this slight dance of dominance. Sliding in and out, darting my way to the smooth underside of her tongue she chases me with her own intoxicating skill. My probing turns desperate while she takes in everything I give. I lean in close. My hips pump embarrassingly against her. My cue to pull away.

“Sorry.” I pant.

Satomi, wild eyed and panting, presses against the door wildcat style.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman tomorrow, please forgive me.”

“I don’t want a gentleman.”

“Fuck Satomi, don’t say that. I’m a beast.”

“Gentlemen don’t get laid.”

I am perilously close to losing it. The rise in my heartbeat hasn’t slowed. I am not going to make it to my car or her bed. “Goodnight Satomi. I will see you tomorrow.” I turn knowing there isn’t much time. The front of my too small pants rub against my hard cock. I just have to make it around the corner.

Out of sight I slam face first against a bumpy stucco wall. I pump, one, two and then shameful bliss. My dick throbs in excruciating pleasure, annihilating any pride I might have left. God, I really have to take care of this celibacy thing. Two minutes of catching my breath later, I notice a chill in the air and my cold gooey front-side. Scraping myself off my concrete lover, I find the way back to my car.

Dick placated I go home. It feels so good to get under the covers and be able to fall asleep instead of fighting my hungry cock’s daily supplication.

*** * ***

Applying weird make-up or creating creatures from latex, molding and a paint kit isn’t as difficult as applying subtle natural-looking wrinkles. First, you have to get twenty-year-old skin looking less elastic. The aging process takes a bit of handy work and subtle strokes. So it’s very annoying when my attachment, located between my legs, acts like a fifth limb and starts asking for attention in the middle of applying the final touches. Don’t get me wrong. I love my dick. My dick brings me a lot of pleasure. I would not part with that portion of my anatomy. However, I can see the benefits of a detachable penis.

I put on jeans, a clean shirt and kept my mind off Satomi while I brush stroke my face with natural color dye. One of my friends said to me once that in the Victorian era guys use to wear make-up and preen for women. Originally, it was guys strutting around like peacocks for attention. All to get laid. God, my Satomi didn’t need to get dressed up for me. Her beauty was in how she made me want to try. Christ, I haven’t even had one date with her, and I’m already calling her “my” Satomi.

I pull back for a final look in the mirror. Not bad. I’ve got that Richard Gere thing going on. A little grey in the mane, a few crow’s feet. I really like how I aged the pallor in my cheeks. Even through my nervousness my dick waggles around. Fuck, did it think—oh wait, no, it doesn’t. I have to be the one to tell the fucker to calm down. As if that’s possible. My dick is a horny erratic mastiff chasing cats, pulling me around by the waist, while my brain gets left behind. It’s annoying.

The guy staring back at me though, he has control. Where youth and inexperience have agility, age has experience and wisdom. Yeah, that guy in the mirror has been through school, owns a house, and a dog. And he’s fucked lots of women. That guy frowns at me and amends that last sentence. No, he’s had women who adore him for what he brings to the table. Stability, feral masculinity and control. That guy is the guy I want to be. Fake it till you make it, baby.

Click below for Part 2 and the conclusion of Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop.

Cougar Bait... Part 2

If you feel inclined to support me as an author, the complete version can be read in one sitting and is available at the retailers below:

amazon U.S.

amazon international

If you liked my story, please use the share buttons on the right hand side!!

Dear Reader,

When I started, I noticed a theme occurring in my writing. It was about things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how. Spreading my short stories out as a whole I realized I was a not "normal" girl trying to work in the confines of a "normal" world. I have now realized the un-normal is me and I'm just fine! I might push the limits of acceptable concepts in my writing, but that's why I write. Taboo Fiction are stories that explore relationships and human behavior. I love reader input so don't be shy about leaving me a message. Contact me here on my blog or my Facebook at:

https://www.facebook.com/snmckibben
If you want to know when more of my stories are released, join my exclusive readers group at:

Join the V.I.R. Group

Thank you! I hope you enjoyed Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop.
Sincerely,

S.N. McKibben

Excerpt for “But For You, Yes”

“Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question.

She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look. Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness.

“What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head.

She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering what she had implied.

Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower.

She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation. Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.”

Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”