Sarah, you changed my life and you probably never even knew it. I have searched for you everywhere but I know I will probably never see you again. I hope you get to read this and I hope you get in touch. I want to worship you again.
I still think of you all the time. At nights I lie in bed and, just as I did before I met you, I wank and pump the hot creamy liquid over my hands before rolling over and rubbing myself against the sheets, letting the come soak in, imagining that I am fucking you. I knew you so briefly, Sarah, too briefly but you changed my life.
I want to buy you a coffee, I want to fuck you again, I’m better now, my prick gets rock hard and I can keep an erection forever. I will pump you full of me, you will put in a plug, and when you get home, lie in bed, play with your clit and take out the plug to let me flow gently, warmly, down your thigh. I’m a man now, Sarah, a real man. For that I can never thank you enough.
You couldn’t have guessed how I felt when you first saw me, a barista in a coffee shop. But I’ll tell you now. Before I met you I felt a failure. I was a university drop out, a stammering idiot as far as most people were concerned and, as you quickly realised, a virgin. I was twenty five and I had never seen a naked woman let alone been to bed with one.
It was a painful experience too. I reckon that two thirds of the customers were women, and many of these were professional women, who I considered elegant and beautiful, way beyond my reach. I looked at them longingly aching to be like the confident, well-heeled men, men who didn’t drop out of university and didn’t stammer and who shared their beds, for whom beautiful successful women opened their legs begging to be penetrated. This, it seemed to me, was a most wonderful thing, the greatest gift that one human being could give another. It was a gift I was destined never to receive.
Of course, most of them were polite, even friendly. They smiled and thanked me as I handed them their drinks and showed them the place on the side where they could get sugar and chocolate powder and wooden stirrers. They never saw the pain of my throbbing groin and the erotic fantasies racing wildly through my head.
It was at the beginning of my third week in the job that I met you, Sarah. I have the picture of you in my mind, like a photograph. You were strikingly tall and a wonderful sight in tight jodhpurs tucked into beige leather boots. At first I could only see the boots and you must have noticed me staring as she walked to the counter. But those lovely boots, those heels, I was in a worse state than usual. I raised my eyes to see a leather jacket, the bag slung over your shoulders your lovely face, the blond hair into which you had thrust a pair of sunglasses, more for aesthetic than for practical purposes. I was captivated.
You were with a group of friends that Saturday morning. You ordered six coffees and paid with your debit card. I noticed the name “Sarah Wisniewski”. That sounded Polish I thought. I would make conversation with her. You might remember it. I thought out my opening gambit but, as so often, my mouth and lips betrayed me.
‘Are you p-p-p-p?’
‘Your drinks will be available for collection over there and sugar and stirrers on the side.’
I pointed with my finger.
‘Thank you’. You smiled and I was even more entranced.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A phrase much practiced never let me down. As you walked
off I gazed longingly at the perfectly formed backside that fitted perfectly the jeans and the
way the over the knee boots highlighted the length of your legs.
Twenty minutes later, as you left with your friends I gazed intently again at the heels the
immaculate boots, the perfect body I imagined beneath the clothes.
In bed that night I lay awake masturbating to you.
‘Oh Sarah, Sarah’ I gasped as my hand filed with the warm and creamy fluid I would give
anything to inject into you. ‘I adore you, I worship you.’
The second time I came I did not even use a tissue but allowed my semen to stain the sheets. I
turned over and rubbed myself vigorously against the wet patch and told myself I was doing
it for you..I imagined making love to you in an expensive hotel room
My heart leapt and I felt faint when you came into the shop on Monday morning. You were
in work clothes today, a neatly tailored grey skirt suit with a crisp white blouse and patent
black court shoes. You still loved lovely but not half as enticing as she had on Saturday in
jodhpurs and boots.
You clearly didn’t recognise me as the barista from Saturday as you ordered a tall skinny latte
and sat with it for twenty minutes or so, leafing through some very official looking papers
and checking e-mails on her Blackberry. I imagined you in a high-powered well-paid job. You were beautiful, clever and successful and I was so inadequate alongside her. I thought I could adore you in any clothes but it was in boots that I dreamt about you and in which I longed to worship you.
Before you left I hovered near her table, looking for an opportunity to clear up, to get close to
‘Have you finished?’ I asked, scarcely able to hide the tremor in my voice.
‘Yes, thank you,’ you replied with a brisk smile.
Then I did it. As surreptitiously as I could I took out of my pocket the Post it Note I had
written just after her arrival and stuck it to her handbag. It read:
‘I worship and adore you. Please please please wear boots next time you come. Michael.’
I was shaking as I carried the empty mugs back to the kitchen. If you complained I would
surely be sacked. I looked round furtively to see how you reacted. To my astonishment I saw
you read the note, smile, fold it up and put it in your bag before leaving the shop without a further glance in my direction.
Then you came in again. It was at eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning and I was both I was working on Saturday and both astonished and deeply anxious when you walked in wearing a leather jacket, cream jodhpurs and black riding boots that positively gleamed. My mouth went dry as she came to the counter: thoughts raced through my head. Had you put the boots on for me?
You ordered a tall skinny latte, your voice detached and betraying no sign of recognition. I avoided eye contact, I was melting with shame. I was going to be humiliated and emasculated, at least in my head. As you walked away from the counter with your coffee I gazed longingly at the boots, watched them sparkle in the spring sun that was shining in through the window.
I watched you intently as you sat, sipping at your coffee and playing with your Blackberry. I thought that a woman who checked her work e-mails on a Saturday morning must be very important. I looked on trying not to make it too obvious that I was looking at you. I could not get out of my head the thought that the boots were for me.
I went to collect used cups and mugs and was busying myself at a table near to hers when I
heard your voice behind me. You surely remember saying
‘I think there’s a problem in the toilets. Can I show you?’
I thought this was odd because you hadn’t been to the toilets since coming in to the shop. Still the customer is always right, I said, at least usually. A woman as beautiful and clever as you, Sarah, is always right.
‘Yes, of course’ I said.
That was about as much as I was able to say. My stammer was surely lying in wait.
I followed you to the toilets.
‘It’s in the ladies’ you said, holding the door open for me. I went inside and she followed,
shutting the door and locking it. You lowered the lid on the toilet bowl and sat down. All I
could see were the sparkling boots. I could feel myself sweating.
‘Worship me’ you said simply.
Unsure what was expected of me, I knelt.
‘You should kiss my boots, Michael. I wore them specially for you.’
‘Yes S-S-Sarah’ I muttered.
I leaned forward and held that glorious patent leather in my hand. I gazed at it longingly and
placed a gentle loving kiss on the toe. I was kissing you, adoring you, as I still adore you in spirit. .
‘You can lick them as well.’
I lifted the boot as gently as I could and held it close to my nose, inhaled the nectar of new,
expensive leather. It had been raining outside and there were tiny flecks of mud on the shiny
black leather. It would be my privilege to lick them clean. You were perfect, Sarah, and every about her must be immaculate. I leaned forward and began to lick in long and slow motions.
You sat and laughed, not demeaning me but encouraging.
‘Make them nice and clean’ you said, ‘and if you’re a very good boy I might even have a little treat for you.’
‘W-w-what w-w-will you give me?’ I asked, scarcely daring to hope. I bowed my head to
hide any shame I might feel on hearing the answer.
‘Are you a virgin?’ you asked with an expression of wry amusement. I was ashamed that my virginity was so obvious. But I adored you even more for asking me with such delicacy.
I went red, felt my cheeks glowing and my mouth, as ever, began to fight against the words I
was formulating in my head.
‘N-n-n-n-n’ I spat out then with a rush of relief ‘Yes. I’ve n-n-n-n-never been with a w-w-w-
‘Poor boy.’ You smiled. ‘Would you like to? I think you’re very nice. I think it would do you
the world of good.’
Before I could answer you had unzipped the cream jodhpurs and slid them down to the tops of your boots. Now I saw a sight I had, in all my twenty five years, never seen before, a pair of lacy panties and, sprouting round the edges, your luxuriant pubic hair. You reached down and gently pulled my head close to your crotch. I suddenly began to worry. How long had I been out of the shop? They were surely missing me. I could make my excuses and go, spare myself the humiliation I feared most.
‘I have to go back to work’, I blurted out, panting for breath with the stress.
‘No you don’t’, you said softly ‘Besides, I’m your customer, you have to do what I say.’
There was clearly to be no escape. You had planned this perfectly. My head moved in close and I smelt something I had never before experienced, which I now know to be the perfume of a sexually aroused woman. I felt myself go hard. Oh please God please, don’t let me down. Don’t let me ejaculate in my trousers.
Then you slipped your panties down and I saw, silent and menacing, your cunt. Oh please God please keep me hard to the moment of culmination and fulfilment. Let me not ejaculate too soon, let me satisfy this beautiful experienced woman who is making me this gift, who iscleansing me of the dark stain of virginity. Please, please.
Then, with your fingers, you gently pulled the labia apart.
‘Lick my flower, my beautiful little flower.’
I licked and licked buried my face in your crotch, breathed deeply the animal odours and tasting the juices of woman. I looked again at the beauty of your cunt, warm and throbbing.
‘Kiss me again.’
I kissed you and licked and inhaled and left my wretched life for a few moments to live in the
world of woman, adorable woman. I tried consciously to remember everything. On my
deathbed I would replay this moment, frame by frame. Then you took my right hand index
finger and guided it to what I know to be your clit. I had heard the word so often but had no idea what it was and was always too ashamed to ask..
‘Put it here and rub gently,’ you said guiding me in, showing me how she wanted me to rub her. I moved backwards and forwards along the bone, as if I was removing creases from a piece of paper.
‘Just like that, that’s how I like it.’
You moaned with pleasure and I could feel the juices rising. You were becoming wetter and wetter.
“Can you feel how wet I am? That means I’m ready for you.”
Then you unbuttoned my trousers and pulled them down, together with my pants. You began to massage my penis. Oh God please please help me and as I grew big, you turned and learnt over the toilet.
‘You will have to have me from behind. It’s the best way, trust me.’
You said “Fuck me Michael fuck me” and in a blur you grabbed my throbbing member, you reached into your bra and took out a condom which you rolled onto my engorged cock. You had planned this with clinical precision. Then you turned round, bent over and before I knew what was happening your left hand appeared between your legs to grab my prick, pull me gently forwards and massage it again to make it rock hard before you guided me gently in. and guided it in. I knew what to do. I pumped hard and breathlessly moving in and out in quick rhythm. I came quickly with an explosive ejaculation.
“You shouldn’t have come so quickly,” you reproached me. “You have to take my pleasure into account.”
You kissed me on top of the head.
“Don’t worry.” You said, “That wasn’t bad for a first timer. I’ll make a stud out of you yet.”
You smiled and massaged me again. You made me hard and guided me in for a repeat performance. Your words of encouragement sounded soft and kind.
“Move in and out, nice and slowly” and I followed the rhythm you dictated. Like a soloist to the conductor’s baton.
“Tell me when you’re going to come and we’ll come together.”
After about thirty seconds I could feel my dam about to burst.
“I’m coming” I said through gritted teeth and you slipped a finger inside and began to massage your clit. And so we came together, me with a low moan and you with a scream.
“Thank you” you said and kissed me again on top of the head. Then you stood up, pulled up the panties and jodhpurs and said in a matter of fact way,
“You need to get back to work.”
You kissed your index finger and pressed it to my lips.
“No need to say anything. You’ve given me a lovely time. Anyway the reason we came here was the toilet. The flush isn’t working. Perhaps you could have a look and report it.”
Then you were gone and I heard the sparkling boots clacking down the corridor and back into the shop. And I hadn’t got your number!
I pulled the handle. The toilet flushed without a problem.
I went back into the shop, trying to make it look as if I had only been away five minutes. In truth I had lost all track of the time. I looked around frantically but you had gone. I went to clean up the table with the half finished coffee, traces of lipstick around the rim of the mug. I looked in the jar where customers can leave their business cards to win raffle prizes, emptied it out and sorted through sixty cards. Yours wasn’t there.
You never came into our shop again. You had walked out of my life as quickly and effortlessly as you had walked into it. You had taken my virginity like a trophy. Some might call that exploitation; some might say you behaved badly. But I didn’t care. I was no longer a failure. I was a real man at last, able to look real men in the face. For that, Sarah, I will always be grateful.
A few weeks later I left the coffee shop and found a new job in a neighbouring town. I still stammer and am still too shy to get a proper girlfriend. I would love to see you again, please get in touch if you read this, just to talk maybe, just……or I could show you what I have learnt, I at least have the confidence to pay for it now and the girls I see have taught me a thing or two and I know I could satisfy you…….Sarah, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I want to worship you properly show you how big I get, how I can now fill your cunt with my hard throbbing prick, how my come will explode into you and overflow and run down your legs in warm creamy rivers. Maybe we could go for a coffee afterwards, cake and a tall skinny latte.