Older woman syndrome has always been a problem with me, now that I am older I have not problem pulling them, but when I was younger it was harder to get my fantasies right. There was one in particular, an artist and it her I have to thank for making sure her friends knew all about my huge penis.
When Veronique and I met, I was rather naïve, I though it would be cool to have an artist girlfriend who was older than me, but she kept me at arms length, only allowing me to be one of the many sycophants in her entourage.
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One afternoon we all got drunk and stoned at her place after traipsing behind her to one of her arb art exhibits. We were all drinking red wine by the jug-full and smoking some great weed I had got my hands on.
As they got more drunk and stoned, people started trickling out and I soon had Veronique all to myself. We had lost all inhibitions and she was soon kissing me; I was only too happy to return the kisses of this forbidden fruit and before long we decided to get in the bath together.
She ran a bath, lit candles and we got into the deep warm water and started fucking. Just as I was getting going, she topped me, telling me she wanted “artistic” photos, of me with my big beautiful cock, I was unsure, but relented.
Posing me how she wanted, she got the shots she needed and it actually turned me on, she assured me they would be private. By the time she returned to our fucking session I was rock hard and I just fucked her hard and selfishly, cumming like a young boy.
The next day she refused to see and this continued for weeks while I moped around. She hid behind her cortege of sycophants, and I felt hurt, shunned and confused, I consoled myself with misery and drugs. But eventually I snapped out of it and decided to get out and about again, returning to my favorite bar. The fact that I had met my Veronique there may have been the reason why, it was her favorite place too.
I walked in and walked up to the bar, Shirley, the barmaid grinned at me, and said “I had no idea that you had such a big cock?”, “what the fuck are you talking about?” I responded. She tilted her head to the side and moved her eyes left to indicate I should look that way. I did, and there I was, a blown up, framed photo on the wall of the bar, as large as life in the bathtub.
That little bitch has sold me down the line and apparently the bar paid good money for a photo which had been hanging there for three weeks while I was in hiding. When I got over the initial shock and betrayal, I realized I had her to thank for all the attention I was getting from the local girls.
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