My Friend Irma, You just can’t find a better friend than Irma

My Friend Irma, You just can’t find a better friend than Irma, One of the perks one gets as a result of writing erotic stories is the feedback, some of which is quite interesting. One such feedback message to one of my stories led to a fantastic adventure, one that I’m itching to tell while it’s still fresh in my mind. At this very moment, I’m returning from a business trip to Denver, which turned out to be very professionally and sexually satisfying (a business trip?), and am busily typing the story into my trusty laptop.

The feedback message in question was simple and innocent enough, but WOW, did it lead to something special! The message merely stated that the reader really liked one of my stories, especially the descriptive sex. The reader said that it really turned her on and asked for more of the same, and it was signed ‘frustrated_wife.’

While the message itself was innocent, and typical of many others, the signature caught my attention. She included her email address, so I fired back a thank you message and casually asked if she was truly frustrated or if she had just used the name to attract attention.


She quickly responded with a lengthy message telling me that she really was frustrated, mainly because her husband of 38 years had been impotent and not at all interested in her sexually for the past several years. She went on to explain that the only sexual gratification that she had been getting had been with her fingers and toys. She further explained that she had never had sex with any man other than her husband, but was seriously considering having an affair at the ripe old age (as she put it) of 58.

I liked the idea of exchanging sexually explicit thoughts with a woman, even a wrinkled, flabby (as I pictured her in my mind) 58 year old. I should have such nerve to picture her as wrinkly, as I’m 62, and have no noticeable wrinkles. The major indicators of my advanced age are the almost totally gray hair and beard, and the slightly receding hairline (at least I still have most of my hair).

I wrote back, giving her some inane advice and revealing to her that I, too, was sexually frustrated. Thus, having a common problem, we began an almost daily email exchange, and occasionally, when our schedules permitted, we would chat. During these exchanges we revealed many personal things about one another, especially our sex lives. She also revealed her given name, but for the purposes of this story, I’ll call her Irma. She and her husband lived in Denver, which meant that the chances of meeting face-to-face were very slim, indeed.

During our exchanges, one of the things that she disclosed was that her husband has consistently refused to get a medical check-up to find out if his problem was correctable. She went on to tell me that he was as stubborn as a mule and insisted that his problem was due to old age, and there wasn’t a thing that anybody could do about it, but he wouldn’t go to see a doctor to find out for sure. Therefore, she rationalized that she shouldn’t feel guilty about seeking an affair.

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Even though I’m somewhat of a moralist, I felt that she was justified, and I agreed with her position. We continued to enjoy each other’s explicit emails for several months. During this time she hadn’t yet acted on her threat of having an affair, one of the reasons being that she didn’t have any hot candidates, another was that she wasn’t a bar person, and the thoughts of picking up strange men frightened her. Besides that, she repeatedly told me that she was getting ‘a lot of kicks’ out of our explicit exchanges. She seemed to really enjoy my messages where I’d tell her just what I’d do to her if I were her chosen lover. She, of course, would tell me just how she’d respond, which served to arouse me, as well. However, my arousal was tempered by the fact that I pictured her as a wrinkly, flabby elderly lady, not at all attractive.

Things were going merrily along with Irma and I until something highly unlikely and coincidental occurred. My manager at work handed me a new assignment, which both excited and frightened me at the same time.

As part of my job as an engineer, I’m required to travel on occasion (very rare occasions in recent years) in order to resolve technical problems with vendors whose parts we use in our product. My manager informed me that my expertise was required in Denver (of all places) for 2 or 3 days to help resolve a problem with one such vendor. This request came about a little less than a month after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and I tried to talk my way out of the trip, as I’m a white-knuckle flyer under normal circumstances. After two days of fighting a losing battle with management, I reluctantly agreed to go. If the truth be known, I didn’t fight especially hard, the prospect of meeting Irma was in the back of my mind. Even though I had pictured her as unattractive, we had become friends and confidants and I was anxious to meet her.

Before I left work that day, which was a Friday, our secretary finalized my itinerary, which included rental car and hotel reservations, and purchased a seat for me on a plane to Denver early the following Monday morning.

Several thoughts were reeling through my feeble brain, instead of thinking about the potential danger of flying, I was excitedly thinking of Irma, ‘should I tell her that I’m going to be in Denver? If I do, I’ll probably get myself into trouble and fuck her silly (not all bad!). Yeah, but the guilt of cheating on my wife, would it be worth it? Damn! What should I do? I haven’t had any new pussy in over 18 years, I need some variety in my life, right?’ Try as I might, I couldn’t justify cheating on my wife.

Before I go any further, I need to supply a little background information on my marriage. My wife and I met at a hotel lounge almost 19 years ago (both of us were divorced at the time). I was so smitten with her at that first meeting that I pursued her with a vigor that was very untypical of me, and I haven’t touched another woman since. We’ve had a volatile marriage, but I love her dearly, and in recent years our sex life has soured (not an uncommon problem), and she has resisted many of my suggestions to spice it up, which serves to explain my sexual frustration.


I finally decided that I’d let Irma know that I was coming, but wouldn’t commit to anything beyond a meeting, assuming that she’d be interested. I sent her an email, telling her that I had some potentially exciting news and that we needed to chat. I excitedly checked for the chat request periodically until it finally arrived. I informed her of my upcoming business trip, and told her that if she wanted, we could meet for a drink and conversation.

I didn’t know how she would react, after all, it’s one thing to talk big when the prospects of meeting are nil, but how would she feel when the opportunity arises to actually meet? I guess that I put her in the classic situation where she had to ‘put up or shut up.’

It turned out that she was very excited at the prospect of our meeting, and we chatted for a short while.

Irma> “I’m so excited and so wet, just thinking about you. You are going to help me relieve my frustrations by doing all the things you’ve been saying, aren’t you?”

She was ready to ‘put up,’ but was I? I decided to respond positively, even though I was still reasonably sure that I wouldn’t cheat on my wife.

Charley> “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

Irma> “Good, I’ll be wet until you get here, just thinking about it. I’m so, so excited that I think I’ll Jill-off right now, what do you think?”

Charley> “You Jill and I’ll Jack…lol.”

After receiving an ‘LMAO’ response and a little more bantering, we signed off, but before we did, we made arrangements to meet at my hotel lounge at 7:00 Monday evening. She told me that she’d wear a short, black skirt and a bright red sweater (she had previously told me that she was medium height, thin and had below-the-shoulder length reddish-brown, curly hair). I had given her a general description of myself, also. We had previously agreed not to exchange pictures, besides, I had no decent pictures of myself to send.

After agreeing to meet, I was both excited and nervous. I was excited because I looked at it as a chance to meet (and probably fuck) a woman that I had gotten to know and like, and nervous because I was afraid of what it might do to my conscious, and my relationship with my wife. I’ve ogled and fantasized about other women over the years, but have never even thought seriously about taking any action. In fact, I’ve deliberately avoided situations where I’d get into lengthy conversations with attractive women, mainly to avoid the temptation to do more than just talk.

My sex life with my wife was an on-again, off-again affair, and currently it was off-again. The more I thought about it, the more I began to rationalize fucking Irma. ‘After all, she’s 58, probably not very attractive and I’d be doing her a favor, relieving some of her frustrations. Sure, it would be a humanitarian act on my part, right? Then again, I’d probably get turned off upon seeing her in her wrinkled, flabby state. I’ll put off making a decision until I see her, yeah, that’s what I’ll do.’ Procrastination may be my middle name.

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I arrived in Denver on schedule, picked up my rental car, got myself checked into the hotel and caught a bite to eat before venturing to the vendor’s facility for a short kick-off meeting that afternoon.

The short kick-off meeting lasted the better part of four hours, after which I made it back to the hotel, showered and changed into some casual clothes in preparation for my first meeting with Irma. At 7:00 sharp, I made my way down to the lounge.

I entered the dimly lit bistro and began to search for my friend Irma. I was looking for an elderly brunette in a black skirt and red blouse. I scanned the room and found no one matching that description. There were only two women in the lounge, a very young business traveler (judging from her navy blue business suit) who was surrounded by three men at a nearby table, and an attractive brunette at the far end of the bar. The brunette was being entertained by an obviously drunk man in a gray business suit, who it appeared was trying his best to put a move on her, as he was draped all over her. I couldn’t see her skirt, and she did have a red sweater, but her pretty, youthful face (no wrinkles that I could see) convinced me that she couldn’t be Irma.

I concluded that Irma hadn’t arrived as yet, took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer, and continued to watch the show the brunette and her obviously drunken suitor were putting on at the other end of the bar. As I watched, she appeared to be fighting him off, and the more she fought him off, the more aggressive and belligerent he became. Just as I was prepared to go to her rescue, she looked up at me and we made eye contact. She looked me over for a few seconds, and I watched as her eyes lit up. She broke out into a broad smile and loudly shouted, “CHARLEY!”

With a surge, she jumped out of her seat, almost knocking her suitor off his stool, and headed towards me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and my good fortune. She had a beautiful head of curly, reddish-brown hair, which framed a very pretty, but mature, face, accented by luscious red lips and big brown eyes. I caught just a glimpse of her slim, shapely legs protruding from her black mini skirt, as she rushed over to me.

She had a smile a mile wide on her face, I rose off my seat and she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me affectionately on the lips. As she pulled back from the kiss, she said, “You are Charley, aren’t you?” Then she whispered, “Even if you’re not, save me from this drunken lecher, please,” she pleaded.

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