So, some of my loyal readers have expressed an interest in my sexual escapes from the past, and who am I to disappoint them, especially since I have no new confessions to post. So, this one goes out to all the guys and gals who check my suburbia regularly in hopes of finding a new confession…
Back in my college days, I was working as a bank teller while I finished my post-graduate courses. I had sadly moved back into my parents’ house, and didn’t have much of a social life as a result. Not only had many of my friends gone on to their first real jobs, but I was practically broke, and DH (then DBF: darling boyfriend) and I had broken up. Not a winning combination to say the least.
As a new bank teller, I was always concerned about two things: 1-getting fired for screwing up someone’s account and 2- bank robbers. Thankfully, the branch I worked at was never the target of a robbery while I was employed there! Fear number one, however, was forefront in my mind the first few weeks on the job. I had passed teller school with flying colors, but I can still clearly remember the first time I did a real transaction with real money as my manager watched over my shoulder. As I finished the transaction, she closed my window and said, “Relax, you did fine, but you did forget to greet or thank the customer by name.” Using the customer’s name was the latest customer service gimmick at the time, and oh how I dreaded it! Last names can be tricky to pronounce, especially working in an ethnically diverse neighborhood! I was always grateful for the Mrs. Blacks and Mr. Smiths that came to my window!
Enter Mr. Garcia:
Mr. Garcia came to my window with an unusual and slightly complicated and time-consuming business transaction one winter day. I summoned my manager over for assistance, and was so glad to be able to pronounce his name as he gathered his paperwork and I thanked him.
“Thanks for your patience, Mr. Garcia”, I said, making sure my manager heard.
“Please don’t call me Mr. Garcia, call me Joe.”
“See you next week, Mr. Garcia,” my manager said as she walked away.
“I’ll see you next week, and you had better call me Joe,” he said to me with a wink.
From then on, I always called him Joe, and he always tried to come to my window. For a while I assumed it was because I now knew how to process his business transactions, but I was wrong. He came to my window because he was interested in me!
Mr. Garcia was 18 years my senior, compared to my tender age of 22. He was tall with a full head of dark, thick hair, quite handsome and charismatic. I was taken by surprise when he asked me out to lunch one day. I blushed and accepted his invitation. (My manager half joking-half seriously checked his account records for vital information in the event I did not come back after lunch.) He came back an hour later just in time for my lunch break. Mr. Garcia took me to a nearby Chinese place where we ate and chatted. I was uncomfortable and self conscious most of the time. I had never been out with an older man before! My dating history was rather short and innocent as a late bloomer. Here was this older, and presumably more experienced man, and he was interested in me! When we finished lunch, he drove me back to the bank, and said “We should do this again sometime.”
So we did. We met for lunch a few more times, and each time, I found myself growing attracted to him. At some point he began kissing me goodbye in the car when he dropped me off, and the kisses got more intimate as time worn on. I was thrilled when he asked me out for a drink one day. I was taking evening classes, so he agreed to meet me at a cantina not to far from campus.
He had mostly seen me in slacks and sweaters on our lunch dates, so I enjoyed dressing more casually, yet slightly sexy for him this time. Even my friends in class noticed! The clock ticked so slowly that evening in class, but finally, the professor dismissed us, and I dashed to my car.
I arrived at the Mexican cantina first, and waited anxiously for him; and waited; and waited. Just when I was sure I had misunderstood him and that I must have the wrong time or place, he arrived. Mr. Garcia apologized for being late, gave me an approving up and down look, and ordered our drinks. We talked over margaritas. He told me how great I looked, and I drank in his sophistication and confidence. When it was time to go, we walked to my car and flirted. He leaned me against my little hatchback and kissed me like I had never been kissed before. His lips parted mine, and our tongues mingled. I held onto his hips while his hand firmly held my neck and his fingers got tangled in my long hair. I felt his pelvis press into mine. It all just seemed so surreal to be with this older man, but it was wonderful.
I was very surprised when he called me at home the following rainy Sunday afternoon. We had never exchanged phone numbers because I saw him at the bank so often, and I was afraid my parents would wonder why a man was calling me. He invited me to go out for drinks again. I lied to my parents, telling them I was going to the library at the university to study, and I met him at the cantina again. We watched a football game and enjoyed appetizers and sangria. This time, when it was time to go, we sat in his car to say our goodbyes, due to the pouring rain. Kissing in his car lead to touching, and touching lead to new naughtiness for me.
As I have said, I was a late bloomer. I was 20 when I lost my virginity in a motel with a boy I truly cared about. After him, there were a few guys I dated (no sex), and then there was DBF. I had not been adventurous or risqué in any way with anyone before; lights out, plain and simple sex was pretty much all I knew. So, when Mr. Garcia guided my hand to his lap, I was unsure of what to do - after all, we were in a public parking lot and it was not yet dark outside. His hands were all over me, my shirt was untucked and his lips were exploring my neck and chest. I felt myself getting aroused, and tried to relax a little. Slowly, I began to rub my hand over and around his lap, albeit timidly. He moaned and kissed me harder, signaling that he liked what I was doing. Before long, he was leaning over and I was almost lying across the front seat of his company provided Buick. He unzipped my jeans and slid his hand between my legs. He found my wet pussy and massaged my clit as he writhed against me, bringing me to a quick and intense orgasm. When we stopped, the rain had eased up and the windows were steamy. We said our final goodbyes and agreed to meet again next week after my Thursday evening class again.
When Thursday evening arrived, the scene was much the same; same time, same place, same make out session in his car, only this time, it was dark, and he wanted a little more. While we were kissing and groping, he whispered, "I want to feel your hand around my dick." He unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Once again, he guided my hand to his lap, and I began touching him. As we kissed, he showed me what felt good. I am sure he would have preferred a blowjob, but he seemed to like teaching me how to give a hand job. His was the first cum I ever felt as he exploded onto my hand and his lap. After a quick clean up, we resumed kissing and he fingered me until I shook with pleasure.
Our meetings, both in and out of the bank, tapered off for a while due to his business travel. One day, while learning how to use a new computer database at the bank, I innocently looked him up. Boy was I surprised to see a woman’s name on his mortgage! Her name was not Mrs. Garcia, but it made me wonder who she was. The next time Mr. Garcia came to my teller window, I was little quiet and suspicious, and he noticed. I eventually learned that he had been living with his girlfriend the whole time. My innocent little heart was crushed, but not entirely surprised when I began to think back on things. In retrospect I can say that our clandestine dates were exciting for an innocent girl like me, and I don’t regret what I did. I have always wondered if Mr. Garcia ever married the other woman or not. (He stopped coming to my window once his secret was out.)
So there you have it, a confession from my college days, one that DH used to enjoy listening to in our pre-hotwifing years.
1 day ago