Dad's Despised Friend

I am almost jumping with excitement! He is on the way!

Ever since he arrived in the City to leave his car at the overnight parking and get transport to our little town, he has been texting me about where is. I know he is now at the nearest town from here, and will be arriving in less than 40 minutes. I have looked forward to this all week. My pussy is twitching like anything. His tongue on my clit is absolutely wizard.

I have had a liking for Mr Mwaura ever since I was very little. When he came to visit my parents along with others of their friends I wanted to sit near him, although at the time I did not know what pulled me to him so powerfully: after all I was hardly 5 years old! Yet of all my father's friends he was the one they liked least. They would talk against him, saying how unlike ourselves he was, that they felt he was not really one of them, an invader into their circles.

When I was in High school, my teenage friend, Gertrude, who was daughter to Mr. Waithaka, another in that circle once gave me further insight. She had come to understand from bits and pieces of conversation between her father and mother that Mr. Mwaura had gone to school in the City, had not grown up among them, had not played childrens games with them. I longed for school holidays so that I can see him again, observe and copy his mannerisms.

But this mudslinging on the part of my parents did not diminish my admiration of him; to me he was so attractive. He spoke in such a refined way, I thought he was so high class. My sister and brother did not understand what was to admire in him or his family. His children also seemed to carry this aura of superiority. The fact that he worked in computers drew me to admire him greatly. He had been in the bank before that, making him rather different from others of my parents friends. They were electricians, salesmen, or carpenters.

Now, in adulthood I think I can understand my parents antipathy toward him, his family, his upbringing and background. Since his mother was a teacher in the old days when to be one meant being highly respected, they, my parents saw him as not of their class. I think all the backbiting was their way of trying to diminish that which they felt was threatening to them, to bring him down in their eyes.

I noticed his polite speech, always thanking people even for small things; it went straight into my bloodstream when it was to myself he spoke in that way. I saw how he responded to my dads verbal assaults, which was how Dad spoke to everyone, friend and foe alike.

Somehow my parents noticed my liking of Alfred, and would sometimes make fun of it, mocking that I wanted to be a softie, pretending to be better than everyone else. I only aspired to learn more of the ways of people in that class, who went to high-cost schools, where there were children of cabinet ministers, Europeans and Asians, in short all that the rich are. I could not speak of these ambitions to anyone in my family, and yet I could not say anything to my hero. I would not know where to begin! After all I was in school and dependent on my parents.

When I finished high school, I went to university, enrolling in Information Technology. At the time I did not examine my reasons for wanting this line of work. Now, many years later, as a woman, I suspect Alfred was an inspiration.

I met a tall dark fellow there and fell head over heels in love. All through our time there we were inseparable. After graduation we each went to work and he visited me quite often at my place. One night as we made sweet love, a memory of Alfred came into my mind. Although we had agreed to take our lovemaking at a leisurely pace, that vision became a fantasy, a video clip of Alfred holding me tight as he had said goodnight to my parents and I, after a visit home. He had held me close to his chest in an innocent embrace, but in my fantasy it became much more. I felt his hands touching me all over and this caused me to hit a wild climax. My whole body stiffened and I wailed like a banshee. My boyfriend immediately stopped what he was doing, stared at me.

Who the hell is Alfred?

I was shocked. Had I said his name aloud? I tried to cover up.

Alfred, from where?

You are calling out to him! At that moment Bob looked ready to hit me.

No, I must have said Mildred, my colleague. I promised to send her last months figures by email and I forgot. It must be that which I remembered suddenly. He looked at me doubtfully, but did not push it any further.

Our daughter was born 8 months later and Bob never seemed to like her very much. True, he never mentioned the Alfred incident again, though I caught myself running that fantasy through my mind during sex.

Things started to happen for me when I found him, of my fathers generation, on Facebook! By this time Bob had left me after one more Alfred scene. At first I could only gather enough courage to poke him. I followed his posts and photos and brought myself to Like some of them. He responded by writing on my wall for my birthday. My siblings gave me so much ribbing about it.

He seemed to have known it would be so, and switched to writing to my inbox, but only about my life, my work, my little girl and things happening in the neighbourhood. I never understood why he had not moved away from here, as he did not seem to be well-liked. Even the other friends of my parents had a poor attitude towards him and all he stood for.

Facebook is wonderful! We became friends in ways that Mark Zuckerburg probably never imagined. The day came when he expressed admiration for me. He wrote that he had always liked me best of my siblings, and that I have grown to be a lovely lady. I was so overcome that I had to leave my desk for the washrooms, to calm my nerves away from my colleagues' eyes. They would never have understood such a reaction to an old man.

When I came back to my desk I wrote back thanking him for such kind words (if only my father saw them! He would mock me mercilessly.) I said a few complimentary things about him. We began speaking more personally to each other from this point on. One day we met at the bus stop on the way home. I do not know how he spotted me, but he called me to sit with him. I asked him where his big silver Volvo was (but was I so thankful that I would ride with him, talking to him in the flesh). He looked at me like a man at a woman. I even thought he flicked his eyes over my tits, which I have always felt were too small. All too soon the bus came to our stop and we had to get off.

All that evening we chatted on Facebook, until I wondered about his wife noticing all this activity. The next day I asked him, but instead of answering me, he told me he liked my direct ways. This gave me the courage to admit, first to myself that he attracted me sexually, then in small doses to him.

You should see the WhatsApp message I wrote to him inviting him here in this small town I am working in this last month! When are you coming again (pun intended)? I do not have to be shy with him any more. Maybe it is to do with him being older, more comfortable with himself as I can clearly imagine my former boyfriends reaction to such a message. He would erupt, telling me that I am using commanding language as if I thought I was his boss. Alfred loves it. He tells me we have full rights to each other. He says he is in my life to better it with his myriad gifts (and not financial, either).

When we are together he "turns his body over" to me for my enjoyment and fulfillment. I can touch him wherever I like, in whatever way I like. Our favourite game is when I pretend to be his master, and he my sexual slave. I had no idea I enjoyed being in control so much. When I command him to get between my legs and suck my pussy I am in seventh heaven!

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I cannot believe how much stamina Alfred has! He has now made me come so many times licking and sucking me to delirium. Now I am riding him bronco and his cock is so hard and stiff inside me. He is rolling my nipples in his fingers driving me wild. He holds me by the hips, bouncing me on his body. Sweat is pouring off me in torrents. Its just wonderful how much he loves my body, from my slightly full figure to my lips; from my waistline to the shape of my boobs. I feel total woman in his hands; no young man will ever fulfill me so deeply.

He pulls me down to lie on his chest, while he pumps into me from below. I can feel him pushing against the foot of the bed with his long legs to get purchase. Because of our unusual angle I can feel his stem rubbing my clit every now and then, sending me higher and higher. Another orgasm crashes into me unexpectedly; I cannot help wailing from deep in my body.

He wraps his arms all around me holding me to him as I cool down. Then we relax while I am still on top of him. I think we even fall asleep. It is so peaceful.