I picked her up in a bar. I don't know why I was there-- I must've been damn near 20 years older than the next oldest person inside, and felt more than a little bit out of place-- but for some reason, I was there at the bar, and so was she. She was the most beautiful woman there; and I mean really beautiful, like a sort of classic beauty, none of this butch or tomboy shit. Just straight up gorgeous, with short hair in curls. She looked like she could've had any woman in the place that she wanted. But I offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted, and we kicked it off immediately.
Over the overwhelming noise all around us, she told me she used to be a student, but now she was in a confusing period of her life and she didn't know what to do anymore. The pressure of university finally got to her in the middle of working on her Bachelor's degree, some sort of feminist studies or the other, she'd lost focus so much at the end that she could've even tell me what she was supposed to be studying anymore. I told her I understood completely, and I told her about how I'd spent nearly half my life working on my doctorate. She asked, was I a doctor, and I laughed and said "no, not at all." I told her I was a professor of literature, and she just nodded, asking where. "York," I said, and as it turned out, that was where she had been in university, too.
There was a pause in the conversation, and stared at her, into the younger girl's eyes. They were gorgeous, but nothing nearly as beautiful as the rest of her face. And I'll admit, my eyes wandered further down. I felt a little dirty, knowing that I was lusting after someone half my age. But she just smiled, and leaned in close, showing her cleavage even more, and coyly asked what I was looking at. And I played along and told her that I was looking at her, and she said she couldn't hear me over the music, and suggested that we find some place more quiet.
Then the next thing I knew, I was half-undressed and pinning her against my bed, pulling her underwear down-- black, with little pink frills-- and aggressively kissing her sex. She cried out as I held her down tightly, and I kept going even after she had climaxed, moaning and shuddering underneath me.
And at last when we were both exhausted, we curled up together, and I was content to just hold her, stroking her soft cheek gently as she sighed with pleasure. And I admired her, young and oh-so-beautiful, one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen; and here she was, lying in my bed, in my arms. I thought that I'd like to hold her in my arms forever, and I was sad as I realized this was just a one night fling, and in the morning, she would be gone forever. She was young and I was not, and to her I was just an interesting experiment, I was sure. I'd never be able to keep her interest.
But then she told me to talk to her, and as the thought came to my mind I asked immediately, instead, "how about I tell you a story?" And she turned her head and kissed me on the lips, and said she'd love nothing more than to hear a story before she went to sleep, and I asked her if she was sure, and she said that she hadn't heard a good storyteller in ages and she'd be upset if I was just teasing her. And as she told me this, in the back of my head I formed a plan. I would tell her a story with a cliffhanger; a story that was so interesting, so curious, so sexy, that she would have to stay if she wanted to hear how it ended.
I would take on the role of Scheherazade, telling a story to my lover so that she would be so curious as to spare me. I would hold onto her after all, and as I stroked her soft cheek, I whispered into her ear, telling her about a beautiful princess on a far away planet.