When Blonde Hair Turns Grey  

Cum0nY0urAss 46M
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6/28/2021 3:07 pm
When Blonde Hair Turns Grey

Blog date: 06.28.21

They say that when you see somebody with grey hair, that it’s not a sign of age, but a sign of wisdom. Science claims that grey hair is caused by stress. Maybe. But, if so, then you’d have qualify stress based on its true definition, which is, “ care.”

Therefore, by very definition, compassion and grey hair are inextricably linked by the act of caring. Because only a person who cares would stress themselves out over you. And, that my friends, is the honest God truth. If you’re a man, find a woman with grey hair and she’ll become your best friend. Same for women. Try it ladies. Go find a man with early-onset grey hair and you’ll likely fall head over heels because of his mannerisms.

Maybe the attraction is based on a psychological perception of wisdom, or compassion, or caring. But, for whatever reason, it fascinates me. Why? Because as a middle-aged man, one day, I found myself peculiarly and amorously infatuated with a woman, about ten older than , because of her beautifully symmetrical smile and her long, thin straight grey hair.

She had the spiritual essence of a , but she was a maturing milf that was bordering on hot wife status, close 50, but looked about 35. I couldn’t quite categorize her, other than she made realize that I was becoming older and more attracted mature women. And, her beautifully iridescent grey hair would shimmer in the Pacific sunlight, bathing her in a morning alpine glow. Her skin was soft and creamy, and she radiated with positive energy. Her spiritual vibrations were cosmically connected and soothing.

She never wore cosmetics and she was so naturally beautiful— sometimes I’d accidentally, or maybe purposefully, become locked into a trance, memorizing her expressions and facial and neck features. Sometimes I was hoping she’d catch me. Sometimes I wondered if she could feel my energy wanting to connect with hers, or possibly she was already aware that I was mesmerized…? Then again, in her mind, maybe she thought I was a creep and just tolerated it because it was her job to deal with me.

The more we interacted and became familiar with each other, the less I suspected she thought I was a creeper, but that, yes I was genuinely and emphatically enamored with her. She had an amazingly interesting backstory and life experiences. Like me, she survived a life-altering accident and endured grueling physical rehab to recover from a severe spine injury. She embodied everything good in a human being; the survivor, the caretaker, the empath, the advocate, the lover, and she was bright-eyed and so full of life. And, among all of that, she was kind and forgiving, loving, and mindful, truthful and honest. She had a sexy, coy look in her eyes and a magnetic smile. She was everything an overworked and exhausted could ever dream for in a woman. And, I could tell that beneath those layers of perfect empathy and emotional intelligence, there was also a wonderful and creative sensual being, a very wise and playful lover. Her sexual energy filled the entire room and the air was always ripe with her sweet body scent. As a heterosexual man, I often would have bubbles of amorous thoughts effervesce the surface of my imagination, wondering what her lips tasted like, or wondering what her breasts and inner thighs smelled like. Did they smell as sweet as the air around me? And, if by chance she were open up and let smell her, even closer her rose bud, would it be the same floral scent that was enveloping the room?

When I first met Sherry, we were meeting in her physical examination room so she could do my paperwork and whatnot. She was an administrator for a social networking and outreach team that I wanted to join, and I’d meet with her on a weekly basis to discuss organizational goals and progress.

She was awesome. High-spirited and perky, and I could tell she did yoga and exercised because her body was still tight and it radiated a naturally sexy glow. Her body language and posture was confident and fluid. I simply figured she had a great sex partner or two, but she never gave me any indication that she had a significant personal life. Plus, we’d often times accidentally flirt or make subtle hints that we were aware of our mutual affection and attraction for each other. But it wasn’t just a physical attraction— it was mostly mental affection and intellectual stimulation that was connecting our auras.

The connection was hidden in our jokes, quirky comments, mindfulness, mutual respect and care for each other’s general well-being. Then, there was the other part of me that I had to hide and keep secret. She could never know for sure, despite whether she suspected or not, that I wanted to engorge my cock in her sensual mouth, slide her panties just enough to the side to expose her swollen labia, and lick the underside of her pussy, exactly in the space between her hymen and anus. You see— that’s where a woman tastes the best. A woman is so rich with sexual flavor in that particular zone and I wanted to press my tongue against both of her holes, lap up her mixture of her pheromones and sweet vulva sweat, and then compare her sex to the smell of the air. I wanted proof that I was able to detect her still fertile pussy.

I envisioned being engaged in a 69 with her, topping her, and how I would then feed her my cock as I was burying my face into her love tunnels, suckling her clit and rimming her readymade lubricant off her ass. My<b> fantasy </font></b>was becoming more and more vivid as I’d sit in front of her, staring into her beautiful glistening blue eyes, watching her as she flipped her grey ponytail from side to side when she smiled and giggled at a joke, often glancing toward me coyly, and then, stroking her hair to comfort herself. She looked so innocent, but I could sense that she had incredible sexual prowess, or, at least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

I wanted to believe that this shimmering grey-haired vixen would give me permission to advance my carnal desires, because, after a few months are steadily meeting, my lust for her was growing stronger. And I could sense she was becoming more and more aware and fond of me. We’ve all been there; we all know when we’re treading into the uncanny valley of our mind and start trying to bring surreal sexual fantasies to life. But we had no way of forging a private, intimate encounter with each other, simply because our work arrangement would have been compromised. It was the first time my common sense overrode my overwhelming need for self-gratification. And, to this day, I wonder if she found me more attractive because I exhibited self-control, or whether she, like me, realizes that you only live once. And, we missed our only window of opportunity.

You see— I abruptly had to leave Sherry behind because of an unexpected transition in my wor We were both disappointed with the sudden change because we’d been discussing some kind of plan, a workaround, almost like a formal date that would be hidden in plain sight. Here’s how it was supposed go.

She always saw come into the office right after a climb or a hike, so I’d usually just be wearing athletic gear or whatever. I’d sometimes have photos of my weekend adventures to share with her over a cup of tea. Typically, she would come into the office wearing a semi casual outfit, like some slacks and a loose fitting top. Often times I’d get a nice glimpse of her panty line when she was walking away from me. I could tell she wore nice bras, because I could see how perky and well shaped her cups were. We both enjoyed chocolate cheesecake and white grape juice, citrus tea with honey, and wine.

The plot—So we planned to meet at the office one morning, dressed in our finest clothes. She was going to wear her favorite evening dress and heels, and I was going to dress formal with cuff links and a satin tie. We’d each be worth a couple thousand just by our middle-class formalwear. But I knew she was going to look priceless, and I would often fantasize about what her dress would look like and how she’d style her beautiful grey hair. All I knew—I was going to wear my best underwear and hope she did so, as well.

We planned to order a chocolate cheesecake; but in my<b> fantasy </font></b>we would be sitting across from each other, feeding each other morsels of desert. We had planned to engage each other in a dance, and that was when I hoped to unveil an intimate kiss upon Sherry’s voluptuous, candy apple lips.

I hoped she wouldn’t reject me. And I didn’t want her to become too aroused, as to not alert the other people around the office, but I hoped to turn her on well enough that she’d trust that our mutually taboo secret would never be revealed. Coworkers should never fuck in the office; but I was going to give her some type of happy ending before we parted ways, regardless.

I fantasized about the examination table and taking her into that particular office. I thought about how we wouldn’t get totally naked, but just remove and unbutton some revealing layers so we could access each other’s skin, nipples, stomach, neck, and thighs. I thought about how I’d slide her panties over to the side, hike up her dress, and then, lift her by her asscheeks onto the exam table. I thought about how I’d examine her vaginal opening and lube it with my tongue, slowly working my way up underneath toward her ass, forcing her to lift her ass cheek to give me full access. I thought about her hands running furiously through my hair as I suckled her inner labia. I thought about how I’d stand up, face to face, and kiss her mouth with my lips covered in her wild scent. I thought about her hands undoing my belt and unbuttoning my dress pants, reaching in and pulling my cock out into open air, and how wonderful her supple hands would feel wrapped around my growing cock, tugging it to full-length. I thought about how I’d grab the back of her neck and passionately kiss her lips and neck, whispering into her ear to rub my cock against her pussy, “Get it wet. Please let me inside of you, Sherry, I want to capture your essence and fuck you to orgasm. Let’s cum together.”

Knowing that our time together would be running out, and with dried cheesecake staining our faces, we would have to bring the best out of each other and do it quickly. As she scoots herself forward toward the head of my cock, I envisioned slowly pushing it into her to maximize penetrative stimulation. As the head of my cock breached her slick opening, I’d start half-pumping her pussy a dozen or so times and then give her a full stroke. Keep repeating that cycle of short and long strokes, decreasing the quantity of half strokes and increasing toward full-thrusting power strokes, until both of us approached the edge to cum. I’d embrace her by her ass and pull her in tightly, and release my cum into her pussy while she leaks a mixture of our fluids onto the table. I fantasized about the satisfaction of feeling her pussy pulsing, and the friction of her vaginal walls milking my cock entirely of its reservoir of cum. I’m smiling as I write this….

I thought about how we’d take a moment to stare into each other’s eyes, like feral bonobos who just met in the forest, and how we’d help each other reassemble our wardrobes, envelope each other in a parting embrace and share a last kiss filled with love and gratitude, and finally, I’d walk out of her office for the final time knowing— that I just made the greatest sacrifice ever— knowing that I could have kept her in my life by not making love her, but also knowing I would have traded it all, again, for a once-in-a-lifetime encounter that I’d carry with me forever; not a<b> fantasy </font></b>ponder, but a real memory of someone ultra special . Knowing that our time spent together was worth every second, and somehow, despite corporate policy, we would find some way to hack the system and ultimately find ourselves entangled in each other’s arms. And forever knowing that I could never look bac Bittersweet heartache, or love’s prickly thorn? Or just regretted inaction?

My heart and love goes out Sherry, because we are and always will be a missed connection. I fear that life will not bring us back together. I fear our time together flowed underneath the bridge, like rapids carving through smooth stone. I fear the currents of life have swept away that bridge, along with us, far far away. Because, as for now, our connection remains broken due to unforeseen events. I never give up hope, not for her, but I also know that finding Sherry again is against all odds.

When I see silver, I see the light of her soul. When grey clouds roll overhead, I feel her warm and loving spirit. She lives in the willow trees as they sway in the summer breeze, she lives in the eyes of every animal and person that I see. When I shut my eyes at night, her reflection is all I see until the sandman carries me home. She was my rock, my superstar, my inspiration, my center, my goddess, and my higher spiritual connection. I will forever miss her and her beautiful grey hair. Now, as my hair begins to grey, I see that she’s passed a piece of her soul on to me; I’m inheriting her wisdom, her glory, her spirit, and her sanctity.

I love her always. Sherry will live in my heart forever, as the wise young-hearted girl who’s blonde hair turned grey.

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