Late Night Confessions: A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance Read online

  Naturally, like a high school girl with a crush, the first thing I did was to see if there was a message from TJ. And of course there wasn’t. He’d made it clear that we were supposed to forget that conversation. And I’d tried. But a rebellious part of my brain didn’t want to. I’d enjoyed talking to him so much. If only he weren’t my advisor. And my coworker. Why couldn’t he have been some random dude on the other side of the country?

  But eventually, I stopped dwelling on him as I got wrapped up in the drama of other people’s lives. One man made a confession about how he was thinking of having an affair, and it was interesting to hear people’s reactions, both pro and con—mostly con—but I didn’t add any comments of my own.

  A woman had posted that she thought she was falling for her adult stepbrother, and she’d invited people to ask her anything—and they certainly were.

  Another woman, one whose profile said she was my age, said that she was worried she was pregnant, but she was afraid to take a pregnancy test. Most responses were from people encouraging her to take the test so that she’d know for sure, but one jerky guy kept saying she needed to talk to her boyfriend first. That he had a right to know immediately. He had a point, but did he have to make it in such a harsh way to her?

  I just want to be sure first, the young woman wrote.

  Take the damn test, the man fired back.

  But what if it’s positive?

  Then you’ll know that you’re knocked up.

  This guy, who went by Rockhard81, was pissing me off, so I found myself responding. But she’s afraid to find out. She needs a little time to wrap her head around the possibility.

  Rockhard81 was quick: So? Waiting isn’t going to make her less afraid. You have sex, you have to face the consequences.

  MB: Yes, but it might give her some time to prepare herself. It’s good to be prepared before life throws a curveball at you.

  RH: Either she’s knocked up or she’s not. Being mentally ready doesn’t change the outcome.

  MB: But it might make it easier to deal with.

  RH: If she needs helping dealing with the situation she got herself into, she should talk to her boyfriend. As I said before. He has a right to know that she fucked up.

  Who says she fucked up?

  A new person had joined the chat, and I blinked at the screen stupidly for a moment before realizing it was TJ.

  Oh my God. He was online. He was in the chatroom. And he was currently kicking ass.

  TJ: Both parties are responsible for preventing pregnancy. Not just the woman.

  RH: She probably told him she was on the pill. Girls lie about that shit all the time.

  MB: Don’t listen to him, SoftKitty.

  SoftKitty27 hadn’t said anything in a while, but her username showed that she was still in the room.

  TJ: And you’re one of those guys who can’t be bothered to use a condom, of course.

  RH: Hate those fuckers. Skin on skin is the only way to go. Bitches should take the pill and let us have our fun.

  TJ: Why don’t you go spread your ill will and assorted STDs somewhere else and leave the original poster alone? She needs people to listen, not judge.

  Rockhard81’s response was to suggest that TJ engage in a very creative but anatomically impossible feat. I clicked on the little button to report abusive language next to Rockhard81’s name, and apparently a couple of other people did, too, because a moment later, his name disappeared from the chatroom.

  Thank you, TJbard, SoftKitty27 said.

  TJ: Sorry he was such an asshole.

  SK: I actually bought three pregnancy tests, but I haven’t been brave enough to use them. I will soon, but I just wanted a few more days of normalcy in case things are going to completely change.

  MB: Sounds like maybe a few days can help you get a better handle on the situation—before you know for sure.

  In some ways, it felt like I was talking about my own situation with TJ. Just as SoftKitty was hesitant to find out the truth, TJ and I were ignoring the connection we’d shared last weekend. But sometimes denying things only made them take up more space in your mind.

  SK: Thanks, everyone. I’ll take the test soon.

  I wished her luck, as did several other people, TJ included, and then SoftKitty left the room. So did other people until only TJ was left in there with me.

  I waited a minute, but he didn’t leave. Should I say something? Was he planning to? I hadn’t expected to see him online tonight, let alone encounter him in one of dozens of confession chatrooms. Had he seen my name in here and entered? I was sure he hadn’t been in there when I first came in.

  And then the screen showed that he was typing, and I held my breath. Dammit, why was it so important to me to know what he was going to say? Maybe because I missed the man I’d spent so long chatting with last weekend. Dr. Jenson at the university was a nice man—and a certainly fun to look at—but being in a meeting with him wasn't the same as chatting intimately with him all night.

  TJ: That’s not an easy thing to face.

  I exhaled, relieved that he was talking and grateful that it was something easy to respond to. No, it’s not. I’m glad I don’t have that issue.

  Then my face flushed as I realized what I said. I mean, not that I could be pregnant without ever having… I mean…

  TJ: Relax, Ms. MayBee. I knew what you meant.

  MB: Good.

  TJ: It’s nice to see you online again after our long chat last weekend. How’s everything been since then?

  What? Did he forget the part about how we’re colleagues and he’s my new boss? Or at least my new advisor. Oh… but maybe that was the point. Maybe this was part of his “it never happened” strategy. I suppose if it worked at the university, it could work in my personal life as well. Not bad. And you?

  TJ: Pretty good. Busy week at work. Met some new colleagues.

  I had to smile at that. How’s that working out?

  TJ: Pretty good, but they’re young’uns. They use all this slang and can’t write a sentence without using four or more abbreviations. You millennials and your texting!

  That was pretty rich considering we all taught college writing courses. But I knew he was kidding. FWIW I H8 text talk 2.

  TJ: Don’t do that, it gives me a headache.

  MB: Free country, AFAIK.

  TJ: Stop, please, I’m begging you.

  Ooo… those words immediately brought to mind an image of TJ in front of me, kneeling between my legs, and looking up at me with pleading eyes, begging me to let him—

  TJ: I’ll pay you a thousand bucks to type normally.

  MB: Deal.

  It was a damn good thing he couldn’t see how red my face was right now.

  TJ: I may have to pay you in installments.

  MB: No problem. They pay me the big bucks at work.

  TJ: I’m sure they do.

  I could picture one of his eyebrows raised sarcastically as he said that. Truthfully, the class I taught paid my tuition and an extremely small monthly stipend, as I’m sure he knew.

  There was a chime as another person entered the chatroom. For a moment, I was disappointed. I didn’t want my conversation with TJ to be interrupted. Then there was another alert. TJ had sent me a private message. I opened it up.

  TJ: So…

  MB: So what? Oops, I didn’t mean it like that.

  TJ: I know what you meant. Do you want to talk about it?

  MB: About work?

  He responded very quickly. No. About last Sunday night. About why you changed your mind.

  Oh. That. I kind of did. I’d texted with Andy Wednesday night, and he was as friendly as always, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about our canceled date. And it wasn’t something I could tell one of my fellow TAs, even one as friendly as Tracy. As for the friends I’d had during college, they’d all graduated and moved on to careers and/or marriage. I was the only one still in school.

  MB: I’d like to, but I don’t think it’s a
good idea. You’re kind of like my boss.

  TJ: No, I’m not. Not here. Here we’re just two people who met and had one hell of a good conversation.

  MB: Do you really think we can do that?

  TJ: Why not?

  I could think of a dozen reasons, but since I’d enjoyed talking to him so much before, I decided to give it a shot. I think maybe you were right. That I was doing it for the wrong reasons.

  TJ: I’m sorry.

  MB: Sorry for being right?

  TJ: Funny. Nope, sorry if it was a hard decision for you to make.

  MB: It was… but once I made it, I realized that I’d been secretly wanting to, anyway.

  TJ: That was the impression I got from our chat, but it was your decision to make.

  MB: And that kind of attitude is why you’re never going to be thrown out of a chatroom like Rockhard was before.

  TJ: That guy was a Grade A jerk.

  MB: No argument there.

  I’d really admired the way that TJ had stepped up to tell him off, though.

  TJ: So… Sunday night… did you go over there and then change your mind? Or earlier in the day? Or were you so tired from our all-night chat that you overslept and woke up Monday morning like I was afraid I was going to?

  That last part made me laugh. No, I headed over there… but the car had a mind of its own and wouldn’t stop in front of his building.

  TJ: Sounds like your car was smart enough to have second thoughts.

  MB: I think it was third or fourth thoughts by then.

  TJ: Probably.

  MB: The thing is, I still think I’m ready.

  TJ: I’m sure you are. But the right person doesn’t materialize just because you’re ready.

  MB: Unfortunately.

  TJ: Not my business, but are you looking for someone? Do you date much?

  MB: No. Guess that explains why I haven’t found anyone.

  TJ: I’m surprised those guys haven’t found you.

  MB: Why?

  TJ: Because you’re smart, funny, and gorgeous. I mean, I assume you’re gorgeous. I’m getting mixed up—are we currently acknowledging that we exchanged pics or is that part of the stuff we’re ignoring?

  Heat and pleasure coursed through me. Did he really think I was attractive? So far, Andy was the only guy who’d ever said anything like that to me. Could a man as good-looking as TJ really think that? For a moment, I was very glad he couldn’t see the flush on my face and what was likely a very goofy-looking grin on my face. If it’s online stuff, then yes, I think it’s fair game.

  TJ: Sounds like a good rule of thumb.

  MB: Do you remember what you said about feeling different afterwards? More mature?

  TJ: Yes.

  MB: On Monday morning, I kind of felt like that, anyway. Even though I didn’t go through with it.

  TJ: It was a big step.

  MB: But I didn’t take it.

  TJ: It was a big step toward maturity, I meant. You reassessed your current path and replotted the course. Sorry, I’ve been re-reading Moby Dick recently, so lots of seafaring metaphors keep coming to mind.

  MB: An occupational hazard, I’m sure. Well, I mean, if I knew what you did for a living. Which I don’t.

  TJ: LOL. I’m a part-time blacksmith.

  It was amazing how he kept making me grin. Lots of demand for that nowadays. I’m surprised you’re not full-time.

  TJ: I keep hoping to be—one day. But back to Sunday night… are you still okay with your decision? No regrets?

  MB: No regrets. But I kind of think I would be having some if I’d gone through with it.

  TJ: Do you think things would have gotten weird afterwards with your friendship?

  MB: No, not really. He’s a good guy. But, well, your talk about how it should be special kind of got to me. I mean, that’s what I always wanted was something special. But when it never seemed to happen, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

  There was a pause, and then TJ typed out a response. You almost made me spit my wine all over my keyboard.

  MB: Why?

  TJ: With that talk of “taking matters into your own hands.”

  Oh my God. That hadn’t been what I meant at all. My face turned red, I could feel the heat on my skin. That wasn’t what I meant.

  TJ: I know, but it was funny.

  MB: Funny for you, but now my face is as red as a firetruck.

  TJ: Wish I could see that.

  MB: A firetruck? If you call the station, they’ll give you a tour.

  It was fun to tease him even though I was still embarrassed.

  TJ: Smartass. But now you’ve got me really curious.

  MB: About what?

  I was pretty sure I knew, but I wasn’t going to be the first one to say it.

  TJ: About whether you ever take matters into your own hands.

  Sometimes the best defense was a good offense. Do you?

  TJ: I’m a guy.

  MB: That’s not an answer.

  TJ: Yes, it is.

  MB: I guess you’re right. Why is it expected of guys but shameful for women?

  TJ: I don’t think it’s shameful. I think it’s hot.

  MB: You do?

  TJ: Oh yes. A woman running her own hands up and down her body… teasing herself… getting herself worked up… I’d love to watch that, and then right when she’s about to come, I’d…

  Heat pooled between my legs as I read his words. How could text on a screen get me so turned on? But here was no doubt he had, and I was dying to hear more. What would you do?

  TJ: I believe you owe me an answer to my earlier question.

  MB: You can’t stop right there!

  TJ: Yes, I can.

  Then he sent a smug little winking smiley face that I wanted to smack off my screen.

  MB: Oh all right, yes, I do.

  TJ: I knew it. How often?

  MB: Once every hundred years.

  TJ: It’s an orgasm, not Brigadoon. Tell me, how often?

  MB: Once or twice a week.

  TJ: Amateur!

  That made me laugh. Why? How often do you do it?

  TJ: I’m a guy.

  MB: Again, that’s not an answer.

  TJ: Again, yes, it is. What do you think about when you do it? Or do you look at something online?

  MB: No to the latter question, because I’m not a guy.

  TJ: Touché. And the former question?

  It was time to turn the tables on him a bit. I shifted in my desk chair, squeezing my thighs together, looking forward to teasing him. Lately, I’ve been thinking… about this one guy… this one guy who…

  TJ: Yeah? What guy?

  MB: This guy who’s incredibly naive if he thinks I’m going to answer that before he finishes his earlier thought.

  TJ: Shit, I set myself up for that.

  MB: You did, indeed.

  TJ: Are you sure you want to hear it? Are you sure I won’t offend your virgin sensibilities?

  MB: Hey!

  TJ: All right, here goes. And by the way, it's a damn good thing we’re not coworkers, because if we were, this would be wildly inappropriate to share with you.

  MB: Right, got it, go ahead.

  TJ: You sound all worked up.

  MB: TELL ME!

  TJ: All hot and bothered.

  MB: I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you tell me right now.

  TJ: Good. Now I don’t have to pay you that thousand bucks from earlier. Now where was I?

  MB: Grrrr.

  I enjoyed joking with him, but his comment that I was hot and bothered wasn’t that far off the mark. Who knew a man could get me this worked up just through the computer screen? That thought made me wonder what he would do if he were actually here—which made me squirm even more in my desk chair.

  TJ: So, to answer your question—since you were so patient—I’d love to watch a woman stroke her hands up and down her body. Her hands dancing across her skin, rubbing, tweaking, teasing. Moving lower and
lower until she plunged her fingers inside herself, her thumb circling her clit

  MB: OMG.

  TJ: And I’d watch but I wouldn’t touch, denying both her and me the pleasure we wanted. And my eyes on her would get her so turned on… she’d pump her fingers in faster… and then just as her eyes start to roll back in her head, I’d…

  MB: Then what???

  TJ: Then it’s your turn to answer.

  The man was diabolical. I’d been hanging on his every word, practically licking the screen, and then he’d stopped. What do you want to know?

  TJ: What do you think about when you come?

  MB: How annoying men are.

  TJ: Answer me.

  Damn, he could be bossy. Which also turned me on. Pretty much everything he said tonight did. It probably didn’t help that unlike last time, I could picture exactly how hot he looked. It was hard to write about this stuff, to admit to this stuff, but I knew the only way to get him to continue was to share some details myself.

  MB: Just typical stuff. The man of my dreams kissing me. Picking me up. Throwing me on the bed.

  TJ: And then what?

  MB: You know…

  TJ: A nice, tame night of PG-13 lovemaking?

  I blushed… hesitated… and then answered. No.

  TJ: No what?

  MB: No, not tame. At least I don’t consider my fantasies tame. Maybe you would.

  TJ: Try me and see.

  MB: Okay… then he pounces on top of me and… and tears off my clothes.

  TJ: That’s hot. Then what?

  MB: Well, then, he sort of…

  TJ: Come on, as you said to me before, you can’t stop there. Be brave and tell me.

  MB: Then he sort of overpowers me.

  TJ: Mmm, very hot! I think you’re going to like this next part.

  MB: What next part?

  I was so busy blushing that I think the heat from my face was short-circuiting my brain.

  TJ: Just as you’re about to come from touching yourself, I grab your hand, making you stop. You’re desperate to come and look at me pleadingly, but slowly, very slowly, I draw your fingers to my mouth and suck on them, one at a time, tasting your sweet juices.

  My pulse had doubled—possible tripled—at his words. And something was different. It took me a minute to realize that he was writing in second person now. Saying “you” instead of “she.”