2021 Here We Cum - Part I

Great Tree Woman In Love

Adventures in Love & Writing



Tell me, who the hell meets their sensual soulmate and perfect sex partner in a barber shop on New Year’s Eve? Apparently me… Lucky, so fucking lucky, me!



“Yes, please, sir. May I please pay you to take that straight-edge razor and hold it dangerously close to my carotid while you fulfill a fantasy for me? Thank you so much!“

Ultimately, this shave and “suave” sensation would cost all of $7.50 US – which includes unlimited pool games, Fortnite on the big screen (if that is your thing), one gratis cerveza, maybe a passing of the blunt, and pitch perfect style rap riff-offs after the doors are closed.

And ladies, mi amigas…muy caliente!! So very H.O.T!! All of them. A group of barber shop stylists who share overhead expenses, singing together, and doing what they do with pride and exuberance…this hot house of lather and gel houses 4-5 hot Latin American men stationed equidistant from the other while offering gentlemen’s full-service barbering at a ridiculously low cost.

But this is South America. Everything seems cheaper here than in the U. S. No surprise there, really. What was a surprise was seeing the pool table through the storefront window – clear glass from floor to ceiling. I was actually heading to the sports bar next door for the second time in as many weeks. Coincidently, I just so happen to have my pool cue slung over my shoulder – and I was determined to find a table and smack the balls around some. It is how I manage my internal stress level and pent up frustrations – creatively, expressively, without beating the fuck out of morons and assholes.

I ordered a beer from the sports bar and found out rather abruptly that they would be closing early for the holiday.

“How early is that?



"7pm.”

“7pm.”

“Oh fuck, that is early. Ok, thanks.”

As I was somewhat disappointed that my plans for a New Year’s Eve celebration in the city was just extinguished, destroyed before it even became a plan, I did not know or even recognize the excitement buzzing along the city street sidewalks and bustling businesses, as they hurried themselves through the day in order to be home early to celebrate with friends and family.

Later I would feel that very vibe while walking home through the heart of the city – which I found what I would consider to be liken to faerie dust, gnome glitter, or unicorn farts – simply magical and joyfully pleasant.

Who knew something strange and fantastic was about to birth itself into the sphere of my reality? I’m not entirely certain that even if I had known, or could have predicted the outcome on New Year’s Eve, that I would have done anything differently in an effort to change it.

My New Year’s Eve was fucking fantastic! Herein lies the story of how I crossed my own boundaries, tap-danced and squirted a new line between reality and Peter Pan territory, hopscotched my ass back over the invisible line between normal healthy boundaries and ethical standards, then fully stepped cock deep into something that initially felt like dungeon darkness and exasperation among criminals. Ha ha, no drama queen here.

Would this decision to ride the wild ride result in being forever exiled from this dimension and catapulted into boneyards and shadow lands? Imagine my own surprise and delight to have landed passionately and playfully at the feet of morality martyrdom, while I followed a wayward ship into unknown territory and explored my own new frontiers. Eventually, I sank deeply and willfully into the arms of a Latin American Adonis – and felt him swim into the depths of my soul through the abyss of my eyes, and float there, enamoured, as if he were seeing the world in a whole new light for the very first time.

Over the course of a week thus far, we have explored the depths and fantasies of one another. So far, we did the 800 thread count tango, the twisted flamingo, the rabid dingo, and met for pillow fight bingo every 48 hours or so… You know, you gotta keep playing the odds with the progressive jackpot! It’ll hit any day now.

The focus and intensity of our shenanigans is truly magical, almost impossible to imagine really, definitely improbable, and certainly taboo. In all my 49 years, 9 lives, scores of underscoring one-night-stands, and years spent with three hard falls – I am utterly amazed to admit that my new barbershop beau is, without question, one of my top 10 lovers of all time. Trust me, nobody is more surprised than me. That shit just doesn’t happen. Not to me.

I am a mother of three grown children, a peri-menopausal creampuff of 5’6″ and 180 pounds. Each boob weighs more than a kilo of cocaine. Ha ha, you think I am kidding. No joke. But I wear my skin with pride, voluptuous confidence, and acceptance of “what is.” About two years ago, I shaved my head after watching the movie, “G. I. Jane” with Demi Moore. [First of all, nobody could look sexier than she did in that role]. Except me. I rock this shit – hardcore. No guilt. No shame in my game.

“I threw away the bathroom scale years ago – because you just can’t measure sexy”



December 20

When he first approached me, he carried his 6’3″ or 6’4″ frame with a soft head tilt – like a curious puppy getting to know his new owner. Ha ha. Seriously, it was that fucking adorable. With an amazing body, fierce good looks and Columbian bronze skin, coupled with a steady, focused gaze emanating pure youth and vitality from those chestnut browns – he literally took my center of gravity away from me. I recall stepping backward just so I didn’t fall on my ass and look like an ass too. He was truly captivating, wildly intriguing, and so very sweet (like sucar).

If he was smart, he would about-face and run the other direction. Now.

On the lighter side, this hardcore haircut and predominant exuberant nature, my boisterous outbursts of sarcasm and laughter are highly infectious and attract all sorts of people, and insects. Most often though, I am assumed to be a lesbian and have, on numerous occasions while out with female friends, suddenly accrued “a partner” or “girlfriend” in the course of casual “get-to-know-me” conversations. Not to say it bothers me, it really doesn’t. I think somehow, deep down, I stay overweight and under-haired to avoid potential love interests subconsciously.

Apparently 6’4″ Latin creatures are immune to my natural defense mechanisms. In addition to immunity, his innate skills and qualifications included magical master craftsmanship of the moisture control board on the vajayjay. Suddenly, my ship is going down in the waves… I was ever-so-lost and sinking more into his physique, his accent, his youth, his curly black hair (that I couldn’t stop daydreaming about wrapping every last finger around at the nape of his neck), and lost myself in his smile and was quite literally consumed by his gaze.



Even with the immediate attraction, I suspected he was going to be way too young for me. I mean, I am definitely cougar-ish, and unashamed to be so – however, I usually tend to pick men above the age of 30 or so to play with. I could see the soft-spot of this guy’s skull still forming … kidding. Kind of. I may be a cougar, but I am not a predator seeking prey. I do have some standards – not many, but a few.



Yeah – I am not sure I can say that anymore. I crossed a delicious finish line delicately laced with a 21 year old’s enthusiasm, whose stamina would be likened to a prize-winning stud, a smile that would cut through the world’s hardest stone, and the sweetest cum I have ever tasted. Seriously, I have NEVER had a sweet tooth… until now. Oh my Lord.

Get this. We can’t talk to each other. Serious break in communication. He speaks fluent Spanish, with a few English words. I speak English, with un poco espanol. We can’t understand a mother fucking thing the other is saying. Let’s just say that translation app on my phone was catching the hottest finger action of any of the three of us that first night. The nervous anticipation and anxiety one is beholden to as the other types out word-for-word – is beyond stalker-like. LOL.

I am genuinely socially adept – and can shift the energy of the room before walking through the door. I am grateful for this outgoingness of mine, as I make friends easily and often. I am rarely intimidated by anyone – except, apparently, sparkles of human genetics in its most perfect shape and form…. I do believe I was just a pile of mushy goo-goo-guy-pan.

The fact that he speaks Spanish (at a breakneck pace) didn’t help matters much. It was so bullet train fast that I couldn’t even pick up tidbits and pieces of words I know here and there. Nope. Fuck. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. I just kept nodding or shaking my head, shrugging my broad shoulders, batting my eyelashes and uttering “no comprende” while another red hot wave of endorphins flushed through my body and blushed my skin pink.

Many things are lost in translation, or given up on entirely when you can’t decide what fucking word to use to try to translate it so that it would be communicated well, perceived perfectly, and absolutely the correct word for the job at hand.

Well, I did offend him once, and another stylist one other time. And quite frankly, I am rather proud of myself for not accumulating a Ms. Pacman high-score in that regard. The culprit would most notably be lost in cultural acceptance in one country being defined as something taboo in the other. Not much I could do in that situation except acknowledge my own naivety and apologize with grace and sincerity.

Despite the inconveniences of the translator app, and the length of time required for adequate understanding and communication – my New Year’s Eve was fascinating, fun, funny, frivolous, flattering and free. I stayed on the pool table most of the night, and nobody cared. It was perfect, and I relegated myself in the spirit of the game, in order to enjoy their company and willingness to play with me, for the opportunity to practice my game.

As the evening progressed, my newfound admirer comes to stand before me and confess. He tells me how much it would please me to have him over for pleasure.

I’m thinking, well aren’t you a direct, cocky one…

And how he is certain that he will bring me ultimate pleasure, satisfaction and how it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to fulfill his fantasy of experiencing a mature, sensual woman.

I am sure I was still blushing, now flushing and seriously gushing downstairs. The situation was getting pretty humid in the south….and we could be approaching hurricane season any moment. I better go sandbag the shit out of my shutters.

While I am shutting down the water works, I’m confident and resolute in the fact that this is just not going to happen. I can’t let it happen. It will not happen. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But damn, I could have surfed the waves of Tish’s Cove that night. No joke. It was impressive actually – his power over my body.

And he is so damn sexy, gentle, kind, respectful and fucking persistent in his pursuit! His romantic notions, gentlemanly charm and authentic chivalry are all qualities I look for in a partner. But I also look for the capability to rent a car in the event it would become necessary. 21 is so damn young, he is younger than my oldest son.

At least that is what I told myself in order to actually convince myself that I would be going back to my hotel room en solo, and accepting the fact that I will no doubt rub the hell out of this one tonight… I would absolutely run with my wildest imaginative scenarios and have fun playing with the smell he left on me while I was nodding and giggling and getting more of his delicious cologne on my body and clothing.

But to my surprise and delight, the barber shop boys (I’m guessing they range from early 20’s to early 30’s) gathered together around the cash register counter and started an impromptu acapella riff-off to generic drum beats on synthesizer or music equipment. Again, I couldn’t understand a mother fucking word. But that didn’t matter. Just watching them engage one another in a beautifully enriching and creative way – it was truly awe inspiring and a pleasure to witness. They even gave me permission to record short snippets of their performance – which was obvious to show routine or frequent sessions as they sang with confidence and experience. I have watched the videos many times since then, feeling just as impassioned as that first night.

I guess I just realized I never really explained how it is I came to find myself in a barber shop on NYE. I was actually walking past this establishment in order to reach the one farthest from the street when I noticed a pocketed pool table (free play) through the storefront window. I didn’t take notice or recognize that it was a barber shop right away – as the stylist stations are kind of hidden by a partial wall, unnoticed by passers by. That said, I also didn’t think to be embarrassed or shy about walking my ass into the joint and asking if I could join them on the table.

“Si. Si. Entrado!”

They say that and then I whip out my 25 year old pool cue (longest relationship of my whole entire life, and hardest wood too). Ha ha ha. Anyway, the mouths went agape and gasps of air were not only audible, but palpable.

I love that shit. Seriously.

They taught me the rules of whatever the 10-ball version of the game they were playing, the point system and how scoring works. NOT. I couldn’t make head nor tails, nor solids or stripes out of what they were telling me… I just kept putting balls down in the pockets, and winning free beers. It was fun.

Again, an overuse and complete understanding of the term “no comprende,” often accompanied by the shoulder shrug and droop, the eye roll, and the dismissive grin and bear it attitude ran prevalent throughout the course of the young evening. The shop would too close early tonight, so there wasn’t much daylight left when I arrived. I honestly cannot remember how long I was in the building before they made the announcement that they would be shutting the doors soon.

No bother for this middle-aged creampuff. I look forward to turning in earlier rather than later these days. Plus, I would soon be able to walk off the “fuzzy buzz” of alcohol, and mitigate the “buzzy flood” of hormonal endorphin rich vaginal fluids that were suddenly raging a river downstream.

As, one by one, barbershop stylists vacated the premises en route to parties and galas, my newfound friend and admirer routinely placed himself within earshot to continue flirting via google translate. You have to respect his persistent determination… I must say. Impressive doesn’t even cut it.

So, as I am gathering my cue and other personal effects, I casually ask him how old he is.

“I am 21. When was the last time you were with a boy?”

I’m pretty sure I was choking on my own dirty mind, as I was really entertaining myriad opportunities to experience another night of bad choices and fantastic ideas at this point. As a mother of two sons, one 22, and one 16 … the idea of taking “a boy” just didn’t sit well. I was determined to say, “no” – “not a chance” – or whatever. I just didn’t feel comfortable saying “yes.”

I responded with, “I’ve never been with a boy, only men.” This is when I believe I offended him, or used the wrong word. I only was being sarcastic and truthful.

The utter look of disappointment and sadness engulfed his livelihood and the evidence of being rejected was written all over that beautiful, radiant face. It was a let down for him, indeed. Me too, for that matter. Chemical attraction that pheromone rich and exquisite, it doesn’t come around often and quite frankly, I was disappointed also. But not enough to change my mind.

Well, not enough to change my mind … entirely.

After asking his age, and I’m sure exhibiting some form of partial paralysis, stroke symptoms or some other strange physiological response, he fired back with the same question.

I said, “How old would you guess me to be?”

He replied, “42”.

“Close guess, but I am quarente-nueve. 49.”

Genuinely and expressive with surprise, yet ever so turned-on now knowing I am even more mature sonora than what he thought me to be, once again, the gasps of air were noticeable, but he continued coming closer toward me, his charm and charisma led the way, strutting his stuff with confidence and handsome rich style that just resonated with the energy of his youth rising upward from the feet. I could see his glow, his life force, so very strong, ageless (and quite frankly, clueless) and absolutely captivating.

Next thing I know, he is towering directly overhead, whispers of his cologne and his pheromones were playing with my erogenous zones like a pinball game. DING DING clitoris scores 10 points. DING DING G-Spot Bonus. DING DING direct eye contact wins the mother fucking game – like instant golden buzzer bullshit.

And then he barely lets these words escape his lips – not without enunciating every word in English, with absolute clarity and perfect intention…

“I wish to spend one night in your eyes.”

Ladies, I have been around many blocks, in bunches of neighborhoods – and this is, quite effectively, the biggest and best pick-me-up that I have ever heard. EVER!

At this point in the evening, everyone else had already left, and I had already made it perfectly clear that I would not be sleeping with him. But seriously, after speaking that kind of romanticism, I gave in (partially) to his seduction. I will lay partial blame on his Spanish accent and perfect appearance. I slowly and seductively grabbed his eyeballs, and his hand, and walked with him to lock the front doors, turn down the fluorescents, turn up the tunes, and still looked upon the other’s face as we gave ourselves access into the back restroom and shut and locked the door without any recollection of even doing so.

Once again, may I remind you, spoken words between us are virtually non-existent, meaning when we have the urge to speak to the other person, sometimes we wait for a bit and address all the things at once rather than trying to focus on one thing or another every two minutes. I found this method to be rather soothing and comforting for the anxious nervousness that often accompanies dates or dating with new people. Plus, there is no desire to communicate anything more than what might be required for the situation.

As for this particular situation, at this very present moment, it definitely calls for silence because as I position myself in a seated pose, my mouth is now full and there is literally no room for any more discussion. My hands reach around and take immediate control of the buttocks and the torque and thrust propulsion demands more from me. As I take more in, and manipulate my world to accommodate his, things are becoming ever-so-clear as we linger, locked eyes fixed on one another, and unspoken feelings for one another rise from the heated exchange between us.

As I am elated with joy – I gracefully and lovingly stroke, kiss, nibble, bite, and suck every possible centimeter of his beautiful, rock hard 21 year old cock. My eyes flutter, flirt, flaunt and fuck the essence of maturity and experience directly in to his eyes, filling his soul with what he knows now has been missing from his youth.

Passion for pleasing your partner is a huge part of the mastercraft of sexuality and sensuality. I give amazing head because I enjoy what it does for my partner. I get off when his eyes lose their fixed grip on reality and nothing in the world can keep them in that fixed state, and when I see both eyes swimming in pleasure and roll backward into the beautiful bliss of climax. It seriously gets my girl ready for action, promoting lubrication and nervous anticipation. His cum is – and I am not even kidding – the sweetest I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.

With a few more licks, laps and loops around the base of his now relaxed cock, I clean up the stage and get ready to close the show. I would name this one “Nectar of the Gods,” justifiably so.

With a fantastic sense of confidence and mature sensuality raging through my nether regions, I was even more eager to start my walk home (back to the hostel), and literally could barely wait to play with my clitoral jewelry and do some maintenance on my pussy.

Imagine my surprise as I walk out of the restroom (literally cleaning up the corners of my mouth and licking remnants from my chin and lips) to find 3 of his mates again at the cash register counter. I have no idea how long they were out there, or whether or not they heard any grunts or groans, but if the obvious look on my face didn’t scream from the rooftops, they would be clueless anyway.

I quickly double-timed my way back to the table to pick my things, and bolt out of the shop without once looking back. Thankfully, I had the forethought before the blow job to ask for facebook contact information.

As I walked down the hill, staggered my way home, and sauntered my horny ass the 45 minutes necessary to get there, I could not help but grapple and wrestle and fight my way through the age difference and what, if anything, could be done to keep my integrity in tact, and ensure nobody gets hurt. (We all know assurances like that are just fairy tales). I don’t think I ever came to a definitive conclusion.



Although by the time I walked through the door and into my hostel room, he had texted me, “I will come for you tomorrow between 9am and 10am.”

Instantaneously, my mood improved, my bowed head and slouched shoulders suddenly straightened and lifted upward. So initially my opinionated self spouted out a “HARD NO” but somehow through the course of the evening formed its own new breed of choice, the “SEMI-HARD BJ MAYBE.” But truthfully, after receiving the text, everything within me shouts “HARD YES“

My response to his text simply stated,

“Si, por favor, cum over manana por mas. Gracias.”

P.C. Shoffner – Mother, Author,

Empath & Anamchara

All rights reserved. 2020-2021

This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at GreatTreeWomanInLove.com

This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at GreatTreeWomanInLove.com

Creative Commons License

This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at GreatTreeWomanInLove.com

Posted byGreat Tree WomanJanuary 6, 2021Posted inSelf-Discovery, I am..., Erotic Inspiration, Sexuality & SensualityTags:age gap, courage, empowerment, encouragement, erotica, great sex, Greattreewomaninlove, happy new year, love, ROMANCE, SEX

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