I was a coed again — after 20 years.

I couldn’t believe I’d managed to make the necessary twists and turns in life to find my way back to a college campus. But there I was, ready and willing to learn, to finally knock out the remaining credits and snag the degree.

After my first day of classes, I stopped at a nearby grocery store for candy in case I got any trick-or-treaters — and grabbed a bottle of bubbly for celebration. I deserved it!

I was feeling euphoric when the checker behind the counter carded me. He couldn’t have been talking to me, could he? Not 42-year-old me. I looked in front of me and behind me. He winked, then motioned to my university sweatshirt.

“I card all the coeds.” My heart melted. Coed. I really and truly was a coed again!

I flashed him my ID. He flashed me a bigger grin. “Danielle,” he said. “Pretty name for a pretty student.”

“Do you flirt with all the coeds, too?” I asked as he rang up the rest of my groceries. He shook his head. “Only the beautiful ones.” Then he slid me his number and told me to call him.

Could I? I was changing my life. Could I change it to the point where I went out with a man in his 20s? As I strutted out the door, I heard the bagger say, “That’s one hot cougar.” A cougar and a coed in the span of five minutes — two things I’d never thought I’d be — and I’d definitely never thought I’d be them simultaneously.

From the parking lot, I gave the checker a call. He promised to be at my place when he got off work.

All the way home, I talked myself into and out of knots. What would he think of my apartment? I’d transformed my life to be where I was. It had been years since I’d been on my own, decorating for myself. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the art on the walls, the comfortable sofa in seashell pink. Then I started to worry about what I should wear — or shouldn’t wear. Would a man his age know what a woman my age looked like under her clothes? Yes, I’m sleek. But I’m not a kitten anymore.

All of the worries dissipated when he arrived. I was still in my jeans and university sweatshirt, my inability to choose a sexy outfit having left me in the one I’d already been wearing. He had a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. We went at it before we’d even reached the living room.

“You didn’t have to card me, you know,” I said, as he pulled my shirt over my head.

He bent to kiss my breasts, and then looked up at me. “How would I’ve learned your name?”

“You just had to ask.”

“Is that all it takes?”

“Try me.”

“Will you take off your jeans?”

I peeled them down and stood with a hip cocked, posing and letting him look at me up close. He seemed momentarily speechless. Then he queried, “And your bra?” I flipped the clasp and let the red lace hit the floor. I knew that I looked good. Different, perhaps, from the coeds that he was undoubtedly accustomed to, but good enough to eat, I thought. Then “good enough to fuck” I mentally amended, because he was ripping himself out of his own clothes, then hurrying to take me in his arms.

Oh, the young men. I’d forgotten about the young men when I’d made plans for the rest of my new life. I planned to embrace learning in classroom settings. I promised myself I’d do my homework on time. But I’d forgotten what it was like to have unexpected sex with a hot, hunky man.

He bent me over the back of the sofa and stroked his fingertips along my split, from my pussy to my asscrack. “You’re so wet,” he said, and his voice was part whisper and part urgent groan. I reared back toward him. He slotted his dick between my pussy lips.

In one thrust, he was in me, and soon he was pounding me so hard I had to hold on to the edge of the sofa to keep myself steady. I relished every inch of his massive dick. He seemed to find equal bliss in the depths of my pussy.

“What do you like?” he asked me, and his voice was a throb of a whisper.

“What do you mean?” I panted back.

“Women like you…you know what you like.”

Women like me. So he was a cougar chaser. I thought for a moment, still riding on the pleasure of simply being fucked. Then I said, “Play with my asshole. Use your fingertip.”

He did exactly what I demanded, and I felt my orgasm building.

“What else?” he asked. He was practically begging.

“Tell me you’ll fuck my ass next. Tell me how you’ll do me.”

I was putting the controls in his hands once more. He ran with the instructions. “Oh, yes, Danielle,” he said. “Such a firm tight ass. I’m going to fuck it as hard and as fast as I’m fucking your pussy.”

Those words took me right to the edge. I said, “Now fuck my pussy as hard as you can until you come.”

I held my breath as I tried to stave off my orgasm. I wanted us to climax together. When he came, he came hard, filling me up with his cream and shouting as he shot off like a rocket. I came on the cusp of his climax, and I swore that I saw sparks of light flashing in the air around us.

We took a breather, the two of us leaning against one another as we panted from our exertion. His semi-soft dick slowly grew to full mast once more, and I knew I was in for a long, lovely night.

When I’d decided to return to school, I had told myself to embrace the new. But I’d never thought I’d be a coed cougar. Maybe you can teach an old cat new tricks!

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