Day #28 on my Search for a Soul Mate

So, there’s this young man I work with.  I will not identify him – he's a temp, I'm a perm, and the last thing he needs is to get canned because a cougar is drooling over his tail, and who knows how identifyable people are in these blogs …

… nonetheless, he is NOT my soul mate and I have never deluded myself into thinking he was.  He is, however, one of those young, gorgeous quintessentially studly Latino hunks who has the inherant flirtational capability of making all women feel beautiful and desirable … and thus has North and Central American women drooling all over him at the moment.  The only reason South American or European women haven’t joined the drooling parade is because I don’t think he has ever been to either locale.  Were he to board a plane for, say, Rio de Janeiro or Copenhagen, trust me, he’d have women drooling all over him the minute he de-planed and his conquest would be global.

He is, in reality, a good friend.  I’m the one who provoked the friendship by accosting him right after the U.S. men’s national soccer team kicked the crap out of somebody, and no one at the office knew about it except all the Latino men who are passionate about the sport.  He was the first Latino man I saw the next morning, and so I hailed him.  “You DO know the U.S. men’s national soccer team kicked ass last night, right?”

Of course he did.  From that moment he was my best friend at work, and it still took a few months before I suddenly woke up and noticed he was breathtakingly gorgeous.  He was a good decade younger than I was, if not more, so I hadn’t really thought of him that way.  Then all of a sudden – being a mammal – I unfortunately went into heat and that was the end of me not thinking of him that way.  Suddenly “that way” was all I thought about when I thought of him. 

Not that I told HIM that, and I don’t plan to.  I just lusted after him in secret.  Hell, he’s assuredly more sexually perfect in my fantasies than he ever was or will be in real life; men that gorgeous are usually narcissistic and lazy in bed and can usually just lay back, flex their muscles and let the world of women beat a path to their door doing whatever women do to snag a gorgeous man they can impress their girlfriends with. 

I’m convinced that if, by some miracle, he suddenly appeared on my doorstep and announced he had a “thing” for older women – what?  You don’t honestly think I’d say “Forget it, kid!” do you? – I’d end up disappointed in him for not being the mind-reader he is in my fantasies:  the guy who knows by instinct every single little thing that is guaranteed to drive me crazy with desire, leading me up, up, up and … over the “Mountain of O” and back down the other side into weak-kneed bliss.

It did occur to me, however, that the sexual fantasy version of Señor “O” may be another thing I might want to work on lessening as part of the “Search for a Soul Mate”.  I can’t think of any man I’ve ever known who could compete with the perfect fantasy version of this young man.  Well, maybe one.  But how to go about making the lust dissipate I have no idea.

I do know that sometimes these things are difficult to walk away from, whether created in reality or not.  The best example I can think of:  my first love.  You’d think it was someone in highschool or college, but actually, that wasn’t the case.  In fact, I thought of highschool and college boys – when I was surrounded by them – as not all that exciting, and was beginning to wonder if I had an underactive libido or something.

And then I fell in love.  I was 19.  Went to work in an office.  Again will not identify him.  One of the attorneys (married of course) was a paraplegic – childhood polio.  Absolutely charming man – adorable smile.  I liked him very much as a person and hadn’t really thought of him “that way” until one day he asked me to come in to the office on a Saturday and help him with some backlogged work.  We were the only two people in the office that Saturday.

Looking back on the situation, I still can’t believe how young and gullible I was, even then, but I said, “Sure!”, not even imagining that he had anything else on his mind except work.  And in fact, we did catch up on work all morning, but by noon time I was getting extremely horny.  Why?  He was wearing the most erotic musky cologne I’d ever smelled on a man, and every time he came near me I just wanted to inhale him.  We had lunch together in the break room, and then started chatting about this and that.  I definitely noticed he had moved behind me, because the scent of his cologne was driving me crazy.  He told me later that he was fairly sure I wouldn’t reject him because every time he came near me, he said, he watched my nipples harden. 

I had no idea they were doing that (what woman watches her own nipples, just for the entertainment value of it?  That’s a man’s job.)  As for me, I remember being amazed that I had started out the day not thinking of him in any way other than a boss, and by lunch time I so desperately needed him to bang me like a pile driver I thought I would die of longing.  Go figure.

So finally, he just balanced himself on his crutches, leaned over, kissed my neck and stroked the sides of my breasts with his thumbs and watched me have an intense orgasm right there in the break room.  He must have loved it; I couldn’t believe it had just happened.  My face was bright red from the rush and I was gasping for air; he locked the door, removed all my clothing (and very few of his, which was even more erotic for some reason), kissed me all over, paying special attention to various and sundry naughty bits, and then took me on the break room table.  I couldn’t get enough of him, and he was so talented at what he was doing, I had at least two if not more orgasms that afternoon, and that afternoon launched an intense affair that lasted for quite some time until we both had to move to different areas of the country and had to break it off.  I wasn’t sure I’d survive the separation I had become so addicted to him and his ability to send me over the moon on a daily basis.

I always assumed his skill – which was considerable – came from being a paraplegic, in that he had to develop various other talents to compensate for the loss of his legs.  And was he ever skillful:  one of the things he learned early on was how to listen when a woman shyly told him the things that pleasured her.  He figured out early on that by pleasing her, he ultimately succeeded in considerably pleasing himself, and you’d be surprised how few men actually learn that. 

Although I have to say, some of the things which pleased me came out of some of his suggestions.  One of the advantages of an older man bedding an inexperienced young girl is the ability to mold her in many respects to his own pleasures as well.  Sometimes looking back on it, I do wonder how much of my desires now originated with him.   Some definitely originated with me.  But others?  Not so sure.

The advantage that he had in being a benchmark for me that very few men could live up to, was that – as I later learned - most men care only about their miniscule “wham-bam-squirt- and thank you ma’am’s, and most women are so retarded they’ll play along instead of dumping the fool and demanding he come back when he learns something useful.  I recently read a statistic (forget who did the study, though) that only 1/3 of women have experienced orgasms.  Trust me when I tell you:  that’s not ALL the woman’s fault, although women are certainly partially to blame for it.  It is, however, a result of womens’ low standards in settling placidly for idiotic men who only care about their miniscule squirts and nothing else.  It’s really sad.

But I digress.  Point being:  that affair happened decades ago, and very recently I unexpectedly caught a whiff of that same cologne he used to wear.  The moment I smelled it, I had an intense rush of arousal … that was his power, that I could still get that aroused from the scent of his cologne, even after all these years.  Would it be equally as impossible to rid myself of the fantasy of Señor “O”?

I hope not, or the Search for a Soulmate is going to take a dejected turn to the south ...