Debbie was a slut that I met on an online dating site. Her photo looked appealing, light gray hair, thin with small breasts. Her profile mentioned she suffered from MS and did not drive. I knew of a few ladies with this dreadful disease, yet I sent her a message, a simple hello, and that she looked pretty in her picture. I added a few comments on her profile to make my message personal.

My profile was honest, I was living with someone (Wendy) and was seeking an open-minded lady for a discreet relationship. Ninety-five percent of the time I received no response, three percent tell me to grow up and fix my relationship, and the balance replied with some interest, or they didn’t read my profile carefully.

Debbie replied with a friendly note and thanked me for writing to her. We corresponded for a week, and yes, she noticed that I was seeking a discreet relationship. All the cards were on the table, I asked her out for dinner, to which she replied that she would like to meet me.

Debbie lives with her thirty-year-old son and does not drive, which normally would be two strikes against her, but I was living with someone too. I decided to take a chance on meeting her.

I drove to her townhouse and helped her into my car, she used a cane to help her walk. I was shocked that the MS had ravaged her body, even her face. This was not the same person in the profile photo, I felt bad for her, however, I am a gentleman, and we left for the restaurant.

She told me that a man had abandoned the date ten minutes after meeting her, she touched my hand and said she really was worth dating. Her hand felt soft, and something told me she might be right, what the heck, let’s have a good time.

Debbie fit my other attributes, thin, short, long gray hair, and the outline of her small breasts looked nice under her silky blouse. She had unbuttoned the top three buttons on her blouse before she got in my car. This may be an interesting date, after all, I thought.

We selected an upscale Chinese restaurant that she suggested, she loved their cocktails. The waiter directed us to the large oversized circular booth. I wondered if he directed us to this booth, large enough for six people, due to obvious disability. It was an awkward table.

Our conversation flowed nicely, and we talked about her MS, she asked me why I wanted to date while being in a live-in relationship. My response was not a showstopper, she does not get to date much, I thought. Two desperate people, I wondered.

Her cocktail of choice was the restaurant’s featured drink made of coconut rum and a few other liquors, tasty and strong. Through dinner, we had two of these concoctions, each with fruit on a toothpick and a silly umbrella.

I paid the check and helped her into my car, and as I got in, she was unbuttoning another button on her blouse, giving me a clear view of her breasts. She smiled, touched my hand again and we drove back to her place.

On the drive to her home, I ran exit scenarios in my mind. A polite kiss and a promise to call, I could not get past her physical appearance, damn MS. My intention was not to hurt her, clearly, other men did, some abandoning the date before it even started. Not cool, not my style, yet I was not intending on dating her after tonight, or so I thought.

We arrive at her home, and she needed assistance walking to her door. I was ready to give her a polite kiss when I noticed her blouse was fully unbuttoned. She touched my thigh close to my cock, which, to my surprise was getting hard. It had to be the coconut rum drinks, yet I saw Debbie in a new light, and when she asked if I wanted to come in, I said I would love to, I wanted her.

I told my live-in GF that I might be late, hanging out with some friends. There was plenty of time left, so I went inside with her. I closed the door and she turned, her blouse open, we kissed. Her MS did not affect her kissing, we kissed deep and passionately. I slid my hand on her breast through the open blouse, my cock was hard. Ten minutes ago, I was planning a graceful exit, now my thoughts were getting into her bed.

She gently took my hand away from her breasts, and quietly explained that her son was upstairs in his room. I felt my cock begin to go limp. Thoughts of sitting and politely talking cross my mind, now how do I leave?

Then she said, “We can go in the man-cave downstairs, Jonathan won’t come down while you are here.”

She asked if I wanted some wine, and she poured two glasses. The thought of her son upstairs dampened the mood, as we headed downstairs.

Yet, what she called a man cave was a large comfortable couch, a small table with two large, scented candles, and a decent sound system and tv.  She found a soft jazz channel, lit the candles, and dimmed the lights. She removed her blouse, when did she remove it, I was impressed.

Once again, she assured me that her son wouldn’t come down, and I was beyond drunk and horny, we began to kiss again. I forgot about her MS, we touched and kissed each other all over in a sexual frenzy.

My shirt came off, her jeans too, we were hot for each other. My jeans came off and she was stroking my cock through my underpants. My cock was straining for release. Forget her bed, her couch would be fine. She slipped my underpants off and my cock was hard and ready for a lover’s attention.

My fingers were deep in her tight wet pussy; we were both quietly moaning. Thought of her son upstairs faded, but we didn’t want to be loud.

She stroked my cock, fondling my balls while kissing deep and passionately.

I moaned and asked her, “Love me slut, love my cock now!”

Wait, did I just call her a slut? I’ve never called a date a slut, never. I said it again, “Slut, suck my cock now!”

I was ready to dress and run out before she called for her son, I just called her a slut.  Yet, she didn’t stop stroking my cock, she leaned forward and began to give me a long passionate blowjob. She was enjoying my cock, and she was good at giving head too.

Instead, I grabbed her head and controlled her motion. I urged her on, “Press your tongue hard against my cockhead.” I thought “slut” but didn’t say it, I didn’t tempt calling her a slut with my cock in her mouth. I wanted to fuck her, but her mouth and tongue felt too good. Moaning, breathing hard, I said, “I want to cum in your slutty mouth, take it all. Damn. Cum slut!”. 

It just came out of my mouth, I called her a slut again, yet she sucked and licked my cock harder, and I came extremely hard. I felt my seed moving inside my aching balls, upward to my cockhead, and into Debbie’s mouth. Spurt after spurt, she took it all and stayed on my cock licking it clean. 

She came off my cock, pleased with her work, and said, “I can be your slut Stephen, I want to be your slut.”

Over the next months, I came to her home, usually in the morning. It was difficult to arrange a time with Debbie, between medical appointments or her son working from home. I would tell her to wait naked in her bed for my arrival or to open the door for me in lingerie. She allowed me to photograph her nude body and take videos of her sucking my cock. She truly was a slut. It was easy to overlook her ravaged MS body, she was my slut. There was a photo of her on the refrigerator, she was attractive when the MS first struck. I try to visualize her picture when we are in her bed.

I never had a relationship like this, I called her a slut in our texts or phone calls. This was not my style, but with Debbie, it felt right. To this day, I struggle with her schedule, but she was never going to be in a real relationship, she was my slut.