The First Fling

The summer air in Aspen hung thick with the scent of pine and wildflowers, the kind of night that made the mountains look like they were whispering secrets to the stars. Diane pushed open the door to her East Aspen apartment, her scrubs rumpled from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. Her feet ached, her mind buzzed with the chaos of beeping monitors and frantic consultations, but the deck called to her like an old friend. She kicked off her shoes, poured a generous glass of red wine from the bottle she'd stashed in the fridge, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

The deck overlooked a tangle of aspen trees, their leaves rustling softly, and beyond that, the jagged peaks of the Rockies silhouetted against a sky fading from lavender to deep indigo. She settled into a weathered Adirondack chair, the wood still warm from the day's sun, and hit play on her portable speaker. Light classical music drifted out—something with violins that mimicked the wind—easing the tension from her shoulders. One sip of wine turned into two, then three, and as the alcohol warmed her veins, Diane's thoughts began to wander. The divorce had been final for over a year now, but tonight, with the mountains standing sentinel, she let herself drift back to the flings that had marked her fresh start.

It was the pool at her old apartment complex in Boulder, back when she'd returned to college at thirty to study French. Nursing paid the bills, but school was her escape, even if it meant living among a sea of early-twenty-somethings in a complex buzzing with keg parties and late-night study sessions. Diane had always felt a bit out of place—older, wiser maybe, but self-conscious about the fine lines around her eyes and the way her body had softened after years of marriage. Guys her age at the hospital were either married or too jaded, so she'd kept her head down. The young ones in the complex? They flirted shamelessly—winks over the fence, invitations to bonfires—but she waved them off. Bad idea, she told herself. Too messy, too temporary.

Until him. The First Fling Guy—though she'd never called him that out loud. His name was Alex, a lanky swimmer with sun-bleached hair and a grin that could disarm a room. They'd chatted a few times by the complex pool on sunny afternoons, both of them slicing through laps like it was therapy. He was funny, quick with a joke about the chlorine turning his skin to leather or how the water made everything else fade away. Diane found herself lingering after her swims, towel-draped on a lounge chair, stealing glances at his lean muscles cutting through the water. He was almost ten years younger, but there was something confident in his easy laugh, a spark that made her pulse quicken despite the gap.

It happened on a Friday night, the kind of party that erupted spontaneously at the pool after midterms. The air was thick with the smell of grilled burgers and cheap beer, laughter echoing off the brick buildings as students spilled out from their apartments. Diane had felt adventurous that week—exhausted from shifts and classes, but buzzing with the freedom of her post-divorce life. She'd slipped into a simple black bikini top and shorts, her hair loose for once, and joined the crowd. Alex was there, of course, manning the grill with a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other. Their eyes met across the flames, and he sauntered over, that grin widening.

"Couldn't resist the chaos, huh?" he said, handing her a cold bottle. His voice had that playful edge, like he was testing waters beyond the pool.

Diane took a swig, the bitterness cutting through her hesitation. "Long week. Figured I deserved a little fun."

They talked for hours, the party swirling around them—splashes from the pool, someone cranking up hip-hop on a Bluetooth speaker. Alex was easy to be around, sharing stories about his poli-sci major and disastrous group projects, while Diane let slip bits about her nursing gig and why French literature felt like a second chance. The flirting started subtle—a brush of his arm against hers, her laugh lingering a beat too long. By the time the crowd thinned, stars pricking the sky, he leaned in close. "Walk you home?"

Her apartment was just upstairs, but the invitation hung there, electric. Diane nodded, her skin tingling as they climbed the stairs, the party's noise fading behind them. Inside, the kitchen light was harsh and bright, but it didn't matter. Alex kicked the door shut, and they collided—lips crashing together in a kiss that tasted like beer and possibility. His mouth was eager, hungry, pressing against hers with a fervor that made her knees weak. Diane's hands found his shoulders, pulling him closer, her body responding to the heat of him after so long without.

"Fuck, I've wanted this," Alex murmured against her neck, his breath hot as he nipped at her skin. His hands roamed, sliding under her top to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until they hardened under his touch. Diane gasped, arching into him, the divorce's weight lifting like fog. This was her first real fling since the papers were signed—no strings, just raw want. She kissed him back harder, tongues tangling, her fingers threading through his damp hair from the pool.

They stumbled toward the living room, shedding clothes in a trail—her top hitting the floor, his shirt following. Alex's chest was smooth and toned from endless laps, and Diane traced the lines of his abs with her nails, drawing a groan from him. They collapsed onto the couch, a sagging thrift-store thing with cushions that smelled faintly of old coffee. He was all over her then, youth fueling his frenzy—hands fumbling at the button of her shorts, slipping inside to graze her thighs. It wasn't the polished touch she remembered from her ex, but there was something thrilling about his eagerness, the way he explored like it was his first time mapping uncharted territory.

Diane spread her legs, guiding his hand higher. "Like this," she whispered, her voice husky as his fingers found her pussy, already slick with arousal. He stroked clumsily at first, parting her folds, but she rocked against him, showing him the rhythm. Alex's eyes widened, dark with lust, as he dipped a finger inside her, then two, curling them experimentally. "Shit, you're so wet," he breathed, his free hand squeezing her breast, pinching the nipple until she moaned.

She reached for him in return, palming the hard bulge in his swim trunks. He was rock-solid, his dick straining against the fabric, and Diane tugged them down, wrapping her hand around his shaft. It was thick, veined, throbbing under her grip as she stroked him—slow at first, then faster, matching the thrust of his fingers in her pussy. Alex's hips bucked, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Diane... fuck, that feels good." His movements grew erratic, fingers plunging deeper, thumb circling her clit in messy circles that sent sparks up her spine.

It didn't take long. His body tensed, a low groan escaping as he came in her hand—hot spurts of cum coating her fingers, dripping onto the couch. Diane watched his face contort in pleasure, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. He was young, inexperienced with someone like her—a mature woman who knew what she wanted—but that raw energy was intoxicating. "Already?" she teased, wiping her hand on his discarded shirt.

Alex flushed, but his grin was sheepish, not defeated. "Give me a minute. I can go again." True to his youth, he was hard once more in seconds, his dick twitching back to life. Diane shifted, pushing him back against the cushions, and leaned down. She took him in her mouth, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salty remnants of his release. He gasped, hands fisting in her hair as she bobbed, sucking him deep, her lips stretching around his girth. "Oh god, Diane," he panted, thrusting shallowly into her mouth.

She worked him with purpose—hollowing her cheeks, grazing him with her teeth just enough to make him shudder. It built fast again, his balls tightening, and soon he was spilling into her mouth, cum flooding her tongue. Diane swallowed, the act feeling bold, empowering, like reclaiming a part of herself she'd forgotten. She pulled back, licking her lips, and met his wide-eyed stare. "Not bad for round two."

But she wasn't done teaching. The night was sticky with sweat and need, the air heavy with their mingled scents. Diane lay back, pulling Alex down with her. "Your turn to learn," she said, guiding his head between her thighs. His breath ghosted over her pussy, still sensitive from his earlier fingering, and she spread herself wider, exposing the slick folds. "Start slow. Use your tongue on my clit—right there."

He hesitated for a second, then dove in, tentative licks turning bolder as she instructed him. "Circles, yeah... now fingers inside, curl them up." Alex followed her lead, his tongue lapping at her clit while two fingers pumped into her, hitting that spot that made her toes curl. Diane's hands gripped the couch, her hips grinding against his face as pleasure coiled tight in her core. He was a quick study, humming against her, the vibration sending her closer. "Fuck, yes—just like that," she gasped, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy clenching around his fingers as she came, juices coating his chin.

They didn't stop there. Energized, Alex flipped her onto her stomach, hands kneading her ass as he positioned himself behind her. Diane pushed back, eager, and he slid into her pussy in one thrust—bare, hot, filling her completely. "Condom?" she murmured, but the words dissolved into a moan as he started moving, the risk adding to the thrill. Doggy style on the couch, his hips slapped against her, dick plunging deep, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Diane reached back, rubbing her clit, the angle hitting her g-spot until she shattered again, crying out his name.

He pulled out, breathless, and she turned, straddling him for cowgirl. Sinking down onto his cock, she rode him slow at first, grinding her hips, feeling every inch stretch her. Alex's hands roamed her body—squeezing her tits, thumbs on her nipples—as she picked up speed, bouncing hard, her ass slapping his thighs. "You feel so good," he groaned, thrusting up to meet her. They switched again, her on her back with legs over his shoulders, him pounding into her missionary-style, deep and relentless. Sweat slicked their skin, the couch creaking under them.

Finally, as the night wore on, Alex buried himself one last time, coming inside her with a guttural moan—warm cum filling her pussy, a creamy mess that leaked out as he collapsed beside her. Diane followed seconds later, her third orgasm rippling through her, leaving her boneless and sated. They lay tangled, sticky and spent, the room quiet except for their slowing breaths. Sleep came easy, his head on her chest, her fingers idly tracing his back.

Morning light filtered through the blinds, pulling Diane awake first. Alex stirred, blinking up at her with a grin from ear to ear, like he'd won the lottery. "That was... incredible," he said, voice rough with sleep. She smiled back, feeling light, unburdened—the perfect no-strings fling to kick off her new chapter. "Glad you enjoyed the lesson," she replied, kissing him softly before he dressed and slipped out, promising to catch her at the pool.

They saw each other often after that—quick chats by the water, stolen make-out sessions in the laundry room or behind the complex dumpster on lazy afternoons. Over the next year, as Diane dove deeper into her self-discovery, exploring French cafes and late-night runs, she realized she couldn't tie herself to one young guy, no matter how fun. Alex understood, their encounters fading into friendly waves, but that first night stayed with her—a spark that reignited her fire.

Back on the Aspen deck, Diane drained her glass, the wine's warmth mirroring the heat of that memory. The mountains loomed eternal, and she felt a familiar frisky pull low in her belly. Who knew what the next summer night might bring? She poured another glass, the classical music swelling, and let herself imagine.