Mature Man & Maiden Maureen Ch. 01

'I love you, Mark,' I imagined her saying to me.

I imagined her wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me with the passion that I had imagined kissing her.

Yet, her falling in love with me, in the way that I fell in love with her the first instant that I saw her, would never happen.

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She made me recall the book by Milan Kundera, 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being.' Suddenly, I felt as if I was the main character, Tomas, in Fredrich Nietzsche's book. Rejecting his doctrine of eternal reoccurrence, and his argument that in a world of objective meaningless, one must fall into nihilism unless one's acts recurs eternally, giving us a lightness of weight throughout eternity and, in effect, living forever. Yet, who would want to live forever? I'd want to live forever if I could live with Maureen.

My life, before meeting Maureen, was nihilistic in a way. With the onset of age and the state of the world with war, poverty, inflation, greed, and despair, I began to believe that nothing is worthwhile, life is pointless, and human values are worthless. Now, suddenly, after meeting this beautiful woman and imagining the possibilities that there is someone out there for me, who looked like her, fantasizing about her being part of my life, I felt a sudden lightness of being. I found hope for a new beginning with her by my side in eternal happiness.

Even if my love wasn't returned by someone so young and so beautiful, I found love. Of course, for me, love was the lightness of being. Whenever I walked with her and talked to her, I felt a lightness of being. Of course, I was just dreaming and being the foolish, old man that I am. She'd never look at me in the way that I looked at her. She'd never sexually want me in the way that I sexually wanted her.

Certainly, I'm no literary scholar, but the beauty about reading a good book or any book is that I take away with me whatever meaning that fits my purpose and discard the rest. That's the beauty about being human; we're all so much alike, yet we're all so different in our thoughts and desires. Just as Tomas wanted a second chance at a new life with the woman that he loved by his side, I imagined Maureen was my second chance at reliving my life renewed.

Having made mistakes with my ex-wife gave me the experience not to make the same mistakes again with Maureen. Only, the thought of her with me was such a heavy burden of supposition and a premature, preposterous proposition, at best, that it weighed me down with sadness, whenever I wasn't with her. I knew that being together as a couple with her would never happen, yet it was so very uplifting to imagine that it would. And for a brief time, while walking with her and talking to her at the dog park made me feel that we were together.

I enjoyed imagining us together as a couple in love. Nonetheless, if the only time that I was to share with her was going for a walk with our dogs through the dog park, then so be it. At least for that hour, I was a happy man. Then, as if she were my woman, I'd take the memory of her home with me. I'd masturbate myself while imagining her without her clothes and having sex with me.

While stroking my erect, naked prick faster and harder, I imagined mounting her military style and making love to her. I imagined bending her over the couch, the chair, the kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, and/or the banister and fucking her. I imagined her blowing me and allowing me to cum in her beautiful mouth. I imagined fingering her pussy and masturbating her. I imagined licking her cunt and eating her pussy. I imagined giving her multiple, sexual orgasms. I imagined making her as happy as I always was when walking with her and talking to her.

# # #

Still, desire haunted me and my lust for her tortured me. Realistically, why would she love me? I'm an old man compared to her. She'd certainly have emotional issues, a father complex, to fall in love with a man twice her age. Yet, if only she did, if only she could, and if only she would, I'd be so happy and, hopefully, I'd make her so happy, too.

Today, she looked a bit down, almost sad. She only smiled when watching her dog interact with my dog. She wasn't as talkative as she usually is. I gave her more space without interrupting her thoughts with conversation. Perhaps, not wanting to know, I didn't dare ask her what was wrong. I didn't know her well enough to intrude upon her private life and her troubled thoughts.

Besides, I was happy just to be there with her. No doubt, I was a bit selfish in the fact that I didn't want to ruin our time together. Yet, my good time was weighed down by her limited conversation that were filled with bad thoughts. Yet, no matter, how she felt or the reason why she felt how she did, I wanted to offer her my shoulder. I wanted to offer her more than my friendship; I wanted to offer her my love. I wanted to reach down and take her hand in mine and walk away with her.

Alas, not to be, never to be, she was so very young. How old was she? I never asked her, but if I were to hazard a guess, maybe, she was 25-years-old, half my age. Definitely, I'm old enough to know better. I'm old enough to know that she'd never be interested in a man like me, a man past his prime, and a man embittered by life and no longer carrying the torch of idealism. Indeed, I was old enough to be her father.

Whenever she left me, after the brief time we were together, she made me feel old, vulnerable, sad, and ridiculous for me to think that she'd want me. Yet, when I was with her, when I was in her presence, I felt young, energetic, and alive. Her youth and zest for life was contagious. She rejuvenated me. She was my addictive elixir and my fountain of youth. Never has an hour been as pleasurable and gone by so quickly. Never has a walk through the woods of the dog park been so enjoyable, and dialogue between two people been so free, so easy, and so interesting.

# # #

'What's wrong?'

I said finally asked her. Suddenly, I seized upon the moment. I felt secure enough by the openness of our conversation, and in our quickly, growing friendship to ask what was troubling her. Instead of telling, she gave me a vague answer.

"Oh, nothing,' she said waving a disinterested hand after a long, thoughtful pause. "I'm having boyfriend troubles."

Her words stuck me as if a knife to my heart. As soon as she said the word boyfriend, I was jealous. Suddenly, I pictured her naked and orgasmic in the throes of lustful sex, while in the arms of her young, hot boyfriend. The thought of his cock in her mouth and her blowing him angered me.

I imagined him tall, handsome, and wealthy. Surely, a woman this desirable, this sexy, and this beautiful was most deserving of such a man as that. Suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, her boyfriend appeared before us.

To be continued...