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Mrs. Bigelow

Category: Mature
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I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me.

After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

My most vivid memory; the one I most tried to suppress; the one that mortified me so, muscled its way into my consciousness. Eight years earlier, with a lengthy foreground (perhaps another time), I attempted to seduce the boy-man Kenneth, who was 18 at the time. I fell dismally short as a vamp. It was the last time we were to be together, I was certain then. I knew that I would have to be the initiator due to the difference of so many years in our ages. I was the one who had sexual experience. My dear Kenneth was, I was quite sure, still a virgin. I was 56 then. I was lonely after Jim’s death and I longed for intimacy. Against all reason I did so want Kenneth to hold me, caress me and make slow love with me. I wanted to make him into the lover I needed. I had increasingly, teased and titillated him brazenly; even ruthlessly. But when it came to the ultimate act, all pretenses abandoned, I hesitated and vacillated. The moment slipped away. Then he was gone. Kenneth’s family moved away across the country.

But I felt so foolish. My resolution had waxed and waned. Finally on the last day he visited at my home I got him into my arms by insisting that he embrace me for a goodbye hug and a kiss. I am 5’9″ (maybe less now as the years take their toll) and Kenny had grown so that at 18 he was nearly 6 feet. He was gorgeous as his adolescent body filled out into the flower of manhood. I had fanned the sexual tension between us deliberately; so that only a thin veil of frayed cultural disapproval and a lingering crumb of rejection anxiety remained between us; or so I thought. I was very wet and he was very hard; my panties were soaked and there was no hiding his vigorous erection.

I stepped in close and pressed my body against his. He tried to keep his cock away from contact. “Hold me tight for a bit, please Kenny,” I said. “I’m a silly old woman, but I can’t help it. I’ve grown to be so very fond of you. Don’t fret about your erection, I don’t mind.” With shuddering voice I added, “I like it.”

He grinned, a silly grin and flushed. Kenneth let his hips relax then and allowed his stiff member to press against my round tummy. My breasts flattened against his hard young chest. My pussy sighed open still further and oozed more anxious lubricant into my panties. I rose up on tiptoe and, taking the hint, he bent his knees a bit so that we brought our sexual organs into contact, only our garments intervening.

“Oh Kenny,” I sighed, “this is so nice. You feel so good.” I slid my cheek along the line of his jaw. When my lips found his I kissed him; a warm kiss lasting far longer than a maternal or friendship peck would go on and be yet considered proper.

“I’ll miss the wonderful relationship we’ve built,” I said. “I’ll miss the excitement and stimulation of you near me; of you touching me and, you naughty boy, of you wanting to do shameful things with an old lady.”

How I summoned the boldness to say that I don’t know. But I recall I was astonished to hear the words come out of my mouth. As I said this I brazenly humped myself against his so firm cock. It felt so good. I looked into his eyes as I spoke and shuddered at the pure lust boiling in them. I then leaned in for another warm kiss; a kiss eagerly received. So I invited a raise in the sexual stakes by urging his lips apart with my tongue. He responded with his own tongue and with hands on the move and a thrust of his hips in response to my own grinding. In that moment we left behind what had been a warm increasingly sensual friendship; this was now serious foreplay and a prelude to making love; oh well yes, a prelude to fucking and being fucked.

We stood like that for a while, my face nuzzled against his. His hands continued to roam and slid down to the cheeks of my prominent round ass. He fell into a rhythm hunching his groin against me, legs slightly bent to bring his hard cock against my mons and his large hands holding my cheeks, pushing me firmly against his enflamed penis.

“God, Mrs. B,” he gasped when I released his lips, “I’ve dreamed about doing this with you. You feel so good, so good. I can’t help this (a thrust told me which “this” he meant.) I’m sorry but I’m, ahhh, too excited. I want to… I, oh God I’m going to…. Let me feel your tits and your va… your pu….. your vu…..”

He was transported; the intensity manifest in the way he babbled almost incoherently and humped against me with increasing ardor. I was at once stunned by the intensity of his lust and by my own level of arousal. But a shiver of fright came suddenly to the surface; provoked by the frenzy I had unleashed. Then it struck me suddenly; a ruinous rational thought; I was going to fuck this sweet man-boy and send him home smelling of sex; redolent with the unmistakable odor of female rut and his semen. In my mind a shrill voice broke into my consciousness. “Shame,” it cried, “You old cow. He’s young enough to be your grandson.” The thought impacted me like a last desperate lifeline tossed by my conscience. Pure reaction caused me to grab the proffered line.

I pulled away from his embrace and fought for composure. My heart sank as I saw a mixture of emotions, stunned surprise, lust, anger, and longing cross his face as I summarily interrupted his climb to release. My pussy sent frissons of delight though my groin. My carnal persona struggled to break out of the fetters of social propriety that had been suddenly thrown up by my “proper lady” persona. It flashed foul curses through my brain. “Goddamn you, you stupid old woman,” it raged. “Get back over there and FUCK that boy! You need it; didn’t you feel that beautiful cock straining in his pants? You DID that! You! Not some teeny bopper twat. When the old brood mare is in heat do you think she cares how old the stallion is? He doesn’t care. He’ll put his cock in your pussy as quick as you let him know it’s ready and available.”

Still I could not make myself move back into his embrace. I did so need an orgasm. I needed to be embraced and loved, I needed him. I needed to cry.

“Quickly, darling,” I heard myself saying with quivering voice, “take it out of your pants before you mess in them. Take it out and relieve yourself. Do it, please Kenneth.” Even as I urged him I could feel a trickle of coital fluid that had begun to meander down my thigh. I too was near orgasm.

I flushed at the wretched look of dismay now on his face. He looked so frustrated and chagrined. But there was no hope for it. The frottage I had initiated brought him to a frenzy of lust that demanded an orgasm. He flushed with embarrassment but unzipped his pants and pulled his lovely cock out already stroking it as he did. I had not previously seen it although I had felt of it through his clothing. Now it fascinated and thrilled me. A small orgasm flitted through me and my breath caught. I clutched my groin. I did not think in my post-menopausal state that my pussy could or would produce the quantity of coital lubricants that now seeped out of my panties and wet my thighs.

He left off stroking long enough to spread his arms and thrust his hips forward so his penis became my complete focus. Then he grabbed himself and heatedly said, “You see that Mrs. B., you could have had that! I know you want me as bad as I want you. You’ve enticed me and now you stopped.”

His hand pumped more rapidly now as he watched me. Intimacy bred candor. Breathing heavily he said, “I’ve always loved your tits Mrs. B., I’ve always loved your ass; your smell. I’ve always loved the way you feel, your hands, your cheeks, your body when you mothered and smothered me. I love your laugh, your face, your lips, your belly, your legs; your pretty feet. I want so bad to see it, feel it, taste your pussy and put this in you,” said with a shake of his hard cock.

“I’m sorry Kenneth, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on. I let my feelings overcome my judgment. Here,” I said then, “Look at me and don’t hate me, please.” With that I lifted my dress and wiggled out of my panties. The odor of my sex rose and permeated the room. I stood and lifted the hem of my dress to my hips and displayed my sopping sex ready and anxious.

He groaned and increased the vigor of his masturbation.

“Yes, he gasped, “Oh, it’s beautiful, your pussy, your cunt; so wet, so open. Oh, and that’s your clit isn’t it? Ah, Mrs. B., we could have just done it. My cock doesn’t know how old you are. Your pussy doesn’t know how young I am. We could’ve given each other so much pleasure; so much joy.”

As he spoke tears welled in my eyes but still I was able to see that fluid had oozed out the glans of his cock and it now lubricated his furious jacking. I moaned, “I’m so sorry darling. I want you too, so much. You light a fire in me. It feels as though it is going to burn me up. I just don’t know what happened. I just had an overwhelming attack of conscience; stupid scruples; stupid, stupid, stupid.”

He moaned. His enflamed cock jerked and twitched and then he spurted, once, twice, three times in long parabola that diminished with each ejaculation. When he came so vigorously a spasm passed through my vagina and I too came; so fiercely that my knees nearly buckled. It had been a very long time since I felt an orgasm that intense.

Kenneth staggered under the intensity of his orgasm but his beautiful enflamed cock quickly became flaccid. He tucked it back into his pants. I had dropped my dress. We faced each other in chagrin. But he summoned some inner resource and spoke then with remarkable composure and maturity, “Thank you for what you’ve given me over the years Mrs. B. I’ve behaved badly just now and made this mess; I couldn’t stop myself. I’m only sorry that you couldn’t bring yourself to let me do sex with you. I will always regret not doing something I think we both wanted very much. Maybe you will too. I’d better go now.”

He turned to leave, but through my tears I sternly commanded him to stop. “You just wait young man. Kenneth you do not leave yet.” I made a quick trip to the kitchen and returned with my wet panties in a baggie. “Take these. Keep them somewhere that only the two of us will know you have them. He took the baggie and stuffed it in his pocket.

I kissed him lightly on the cheek and on his mouth. Our tears mingled. “Now go” I said, “and be a good man.”

* * *

That was eight years ago; then the phone call.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” a very manly, poised, confident sounding voice, “Mrs. Mona Lee Bigelow?”

“Yes,” curiously, “this is Mrs. Bigelow. Who is calling?”

“Mrs. B this is Kenneth; Kenny Franklin. I used to live here in Norfolk and come over to your house because I was, um, fascinated with your husband’s model train setup.”

“You’re Kenneth,” puzzled, “that Kenneth? My goodness you sound like a man; is that really you Kenneth?”

A chuckle, again poised, self-assured, very masculine came down the line. “Mrs. B it is me, that same Kenneth. I’m a lieutenant in the Navy now. We’ve just brought my ship to drydock here. So I thought about you, of course. And I hoped I could see you while I’m on leave.”

I fought to keep my composure and keep my emotions out of my voice.

“Kenneth, I, I, I don’t know,” I heard myself saying. “It’s been what; eight years? What are you now 25 or 26? I haven’t heard a word from you in years and now you’re here and you want to see me?”

I immediately regretted the plaintive way my answer sounded. A smorgasbord of emotions tumbled through me. I was at once thrilled, irritated, intrigued, puzzled and yes, I must admit I was titillated. Astonished, I realized pleasant warmth was gathering in my groin.

He ignored my querulous response. “I should have called or written,” he said. But I was not sure you’d want to hear from me. It was wrong of me not to contact you. But when we were on our way here I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the last time we were together. I thought, we’re both adults now. Don’t we owe it to ourselves Mrs. B? Don’t we owe ourselves a chance to at least say hello, to see each other? We had a loving relationship and I think I was special to you. You were certainly a very special woman in my life; actually more than you may realize. I tell you what, if you’ll be more comfortable, let’s go somewhere public, I could take you to dinner this evening and just talk. I promise to be a gentleman.”

Cheeky boy, I thought indignantly. He thinks he can come back into my life just like that! I composed my response mentally (all this in a moment; less than it takes to tell). Oh, I’m sorry Kenneth, but I have plans for this evening already and tomorrow there’s church of course, then I have volunteer work at the hospital; maybe another time? When your ship comes in again; say in eight years?

Instead, “Well, Chez Omer is one of my favorites,” is what came out of my mouth. “Why don’t I meet you there at say, 6:30? You can call and make the reservation.”

He protested that he had a rental car and could pick me up. But I insisted that we meet at Chez Omer; at the time thinking that I certainly was not going to do anything to suggest I might want to move beyond where we had… alright, where I had stopped us long ago. Moreover, I felt as though he would be disappointed when he saw me at 64 than as he remembered me at 56. If I detected that dismay, I knew I would be desperate to get away from him and slam the door shut quickly on the past; just accept myself for the old dowager I had become.

After bathing and shaving my legs I spent some time going through my wardrobe. I did not trim my bush so as not to concede in my mind what I felt emotionally. So I settled on a maroon two piece suit with an “A” line skirt that extended below my knees and black low heeled pumps. Underneath I wore nude hose, a garter belt and my usual unremarkable panties and matronly bra. My maroon suit is an ensemble that is deadly for a mature woman as I think it makes one look old and bleak. It would challenge this brash young man’s notion of me as a sexual partner; a notion that he should no longer be fixated on, after the years that had passed. My fingernails were well manicured but in keeping with my deliberately dowdy look I wore no nail polish, minimal makeup, just a little blush and lipstick and a spritz of perfume. My hair I simply pulled back and clasped in a chignon. Small stud gold earrings, a string of pearls and a shoulder strap purse completed my ensemble. I was ready; a bit apprehensive but ready.

When my taxi stopped in front of Chez Omer one of the young men outside immediately stepped forward and opened the door. He greeted me and asked if I was meeting someone. I said yes and he said, “Would that be a Lieutenant Kenneth Franklin, United States Navy?”

I had paid little attention to the “valet,” but taken aback by the question I quickly turned to look into the face of the tall, handsome young man in khaki slacks, white shirt and blue blazer who flashed a dazzling broad smile at me.

“Oh my,” Kenneth! It is you. My goodness you’ve certainly grown up.”

I took in the sight of the man before me. He was Kenneth but in posture, bulk, mature features, authoritative voice and manner he had shed his boyhood completely. This was a man, a young man to be certain, but a man in full who stood looking at me with a warm, steady and frank gaze.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” he said, “It is so good to see you. Thank you ever so much for accepting my invitation. You are as lovely as I remember you.”

Blandishments, I thought, but I was pleased. I flashed a little smile and simply told him thank you.

We went in together, and the maître de hurried up to us, “Ah Lieutenant Franklin, madam, we have your table ready, right this way.”

The warmth of that greeting puzzled me since as far as I knew Kenneth was not known in Norfolk. As we took our seats I realized I was a bit excited and resolved to calm myself with light chit chat.

“Kenneth,” I said, “He seemed to know you. Isn’t that odd?”

“He knows my family, but I just met him. He knows my Uncle Benjamin.”

Only later did it dawn on me that Kenneth had lavished a $100.00 tip on the man.

Kenneth’s largesse, unbeknownst to me, brought us exceptional service; in a restaurant were good service was the norm we received extra attention.

Kenneth had a very nice bottle of wine for the table and I realized after a while that I was on my third refill and just a bit tipsy. But I managed to maintain my dignity as I picked at my shrimp salad and let Kenneth do most of the talking. He was voluble, talking about his life since we were last together. He talked about his college years, graduate school and his experiences as a deck officer in Navy guided missile cruisers and destroyers. When I said I would like to see a picture of him in his lieutenant’s uniform he mentioned a cruise book from his ship’s latest deployment and that he would be glad to show me pictures of himself in it if we could meet again. At the moment I was noncommittal.

The wine made its way through me rather quickly and as I was somewhat tense in the circumstances the combination made me have to pee. I excused myself and made my way to the ladies room.

When I was washing my hands after I peed, an elegantly dressed little woman joined me at the sinks. She had to be in her eighties. A small smile played on her lips. She spoke to me.

“That young man you are with is very handsome. Your grandson?” she asked. Although I thought her a bit brash for asking, I politely explained no, that he was the son of a family that used to live in Norfolk; that when he was a youngster he visited my home because he was a model train enthusiast and my late husband was too and had an elaborate setup in our basement.

Her eyes twinkled as she put her hand on my arm and smiled sweetly, “I’m glad he’s not your grandson,” she said. “A man shouldn’t look at his grand-mother the way that young man looks at you.”

For the second time that evening I was taken aback. I felt myself flush.

She patted my arm. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a nosy old lady but let me tell you, if you have feelings for that young man you really are fortunate because he wants you very badly.”

I was astonished but also bemused. “You can see that from the way he’s been looking at me?”

“Oh yes my dear,” she chuckled, “I’ve had many men, including enthusiastic youngsters, in my bed over the years. I know the look of desire in a man’s eyes. I don’t know what you may have done with him in the past but I can tell what he wants to do with you now.”

I could not quite believe this sweet little octogenarian was really saying these things to me. A bit flustered, I inanely asked, “And what is that; you think he wants to do with me?”

“Why, he wants to fuck you, dearie. And I think that’s what you want too. Now don’t be upset with me. Seize the opportunity. Take the pleasure your body still has in it. Don’t let it wither away and leave you with only regret. You will make that young man very happy and pleased with himself and you will get more pleasure from him than you thought possible.”

With that she picked up her clutch purse’ reached behind and adjusted her dress; then patting her bottom she returned to the dining room. When I passed her table of six elderly women they all smiled at me and one of them winked. I was a bit chagrined but another part of me cheered at the realization this group of women would credit me with feminine appeal enough to draw this handsome young man into my bed.

We finished up with coffee and a delicious raspberry sorbet which we shared with two spoons.

When we left the restaurant he wanted to take me back to my home in his rental car. But I demurred, saying that I already had a taxi arranged. At almost that moment it arrived. Kenneth reluctantly opened the door for me. The evening had gone very well; more than that, it had been superb. I was a still a little tipsy and somewhat amazed to find that I had become more than a little horny.

Once again I heard myself speaking as if another controlled my voice. “If you’d like you can come by, say about 3 p.m., tomorrow we can visit some more.”

His face lit up. “I’d like that very much,” he said with a warm smile. He leaned down and I knew he wanted to kiss me and I met his lips with mine. It was a wet, winey kiss. He was delicious.

“I will bring my cruise book,” he said.

I’ll see you tomorrow then,” my voice trembled slightly as I spoke. Where he had them and how he got them in hand I don’t know. But after the kiss he produced a bouquet of fresh deep scarlet roses, not just a dozen but three dozen as I would discover. He laid them in my lap and held my astonished gaze with his own.

“They are really quite beautiful,” I said. “Oh Kenneth you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

“Oh yes I should have and I could have done no less,” he said, flashing his charming smile.

When the cab pulled away I collapsed back in the seat feeling suddenly emotionally drained but happy and excited about the way the evening had gone. Ever practical I had bought a box of panty liners earlier. At home, when I took off my panties the liner betrayed my façade of reserve; I had discharged coital fluids into it although not the sort of sloppy juicy way I leaked in my younger years; rather a ladylike discharge, if you please, one befitting my years. But my pussy was hot and damp; my pubic hair moist; my outer labia swollen and drawn apart; my inner labia flushed and protruding; my extraordinarily large clitoris glistening and tingling. I touched myself gently and massaged the turgid flesh. Waves of pleasure radiated through my groin. My distended clit stood erect now, like an expectant and anxious sentinel, ready to cry out, “Kenneth is at the portal, open up for Kenneth!” My body had made up its mind.

Despite the alcohol, I saw then with clarity that I could seize the moment or settle into my dotage filled with regret. Carpe diem, I thought, Carpe diem. Somehow my need for loving affirmation drove my prudish social conscience into silence.

This resolve demanded a small anticipatory celebration and I was so excited I trembled; I needed relief, a sex pick-me-upper to tide me over until the next afternoon. Still clothed I reached in my night stand for the small vibrating dildo I called, “Kenny” and the lubricant tube with it. I stripped out of my skirt, jacket and blouse, quickly shed my bra, and fell back on my bed, still in my stockings and garter belt. I lifted my legs and kicked my panties off. My nipples were fiercely erect; thick and enflamed and super sensitive. I caressed and anointed my vulva with lubricant. I put some on my nipples, massaged them, pulled them, squeezed them, pinched and twisted them wishing it was Kenneth’s hands and lips on me. I pulled my knees up and shamelessly spread my thighs wide. I masturbated my vulva and clitoris, whispering, “Oh, Kenny, Oh Kenny. That feels so good darling” I soon had a little cum, and another, and another and groaned as I came a big lovely cum, absently wondering who, but in the same moment realizing that it was I making those vulgar animal noises.

** *

The Day after Dinner—A Visit to My Home

In the morning I cleaned, I dusted; I vacuumed. I found surfaces where I could display the excessive but endearing plethora of roses my dear Kenneth had bestowed. I baked a cake. I got out my good silverware and washed it. I washed the windows, cleaned the bathrooms, upstairs and down and changed towels. I went to the drugstore and purchased vaginal lubricant (2 bottles), a douche kit, a package of absorbent post-coital wipes and a package of condoms. I put these contingency supplies and some hand towels in a nightstand drawer and in a drawer of the coffee table in the living room. On the way home I bought wine, cheeses, crackers, nuts, chips and beer as well as a package of salad greens, a package of croutons, an outrageously expensive chilled seafood salad dressing and paid a king’s ransom for a pound of lump crabmeat.

I tried to lie down and let my eyes close for a while but I was too unsettled about my expected visitor to doze. I nibbled some cracker and cheese then went up to take a nice soak in a bubble bath. But when I went I carried a glass of wine with me.

I debated with myself whether or not to do it but decided to go ahead, judging it symbolic of my newfound commitment to seizing the day; I shaved my pussy. I was used to having a bush and it looked vulnerable all naked and visible. I ran my hand slowly over the mons pubis and down over the outer labia. My skin was soft, smooth and pliant. I traced one finger up my cleft and was rewarded with a nice little pulse of pleasure that rippled through my groin.

Today I pulled my hair up and made a high ponytail that could twirl and curl around my head. My cheeks, already high color from excitement, I gave just bit brighter blush. I choose a top with a v neck showing a small amount of cleavage, worn out over a long full skirt of many colors that swirled nicely around my legs, with a silver linked blue belt around my waist to define my shape. I also applied a bright coral pink nail polish that matched my toes in flat barely there sandals. My jewelry consisted of silver bangle bracelets on my arm and silver hoops in my ears. I wore no stockings. My bra and matching panties were plain but colorful.

I’d not worn those under clothes for many years. I last wore that set on a southern cruise a few years before, where I had so much fun with my friends. But I put them away until that Sunday I’m telling you about.

I had made up mind, yes, but would not altogether admit it to myself.

I hoped that this man, true he was a young man, that he would initiate making love to me. I remembered him as a young timid boy, but now I wanted Kenneth the man to take control and take me; make me give in. He now seemed so self-assured, somewhat a man of the world.

I thought 3 o’clock would never come. I was excited and nervous. I poured myself another glass of wine and fussed with this and that. Finally a car pulled in the driveway and I opened the door to my dear young man.

There was that beautiful smile again and I knew I was grinning foolishly. I stepped aside and gestured him inside.

“Aren’t you going to give me a hug,” he asked?

I nervously gave him an arm clutch and cheek brush and had him sit in a wingback while I poured him a glass of wine.

He took a sip and then a good swallow, “That’s very good,” he said.

“Is it really eight years,” he mused. “You look just as I remember you.”

So we exchanged pleasantries and sipped our wine until our glasses were empty and I went to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle to pour another glass for each of us. When I returned he had shifted to the couch and had his satchel by his feet.

Oh you dear young man I thought as my pulse surged, are you making your move on Mrs. Bigelow? I smiled letting him know I did not take exception to or question his movement.

“You said you wanted to see pictures of me in uniform,” he said with his own smile. “And I mentioned my cruise book. I thought if I sat here beside you we could look at it together and I can answer any questions you might have.”

“Good idea,” I said, and sat down beside him, almost but not quite close enough to be in contact at our hips.

The book contained many pictures of young and virile men in various uniforms aboard ship and ashore, in civilian clothes, on liberty as they say in the Navy and so on; like a high school yearbook except his was the young adult crew of a powerful warship that had been to the Indian Ocean and back on this deployment.

Kenneth turned a page and there he was in a dress white uniform resplendent with cap, and white gloves and medals and even a sword.

“Oh my Kenneth,” I blurted out before I could catch myself, “you are so handsome in that uniform. I’ll bet the young ladies just fall all over you.”

My hand, seemingly of its own accord went to the picture and stroked it fondly. As I did so my hip came into contact with his and I did nothing to separate us. It excited me. I hoped it did him too.

He was demure about his picture, saying coyly he guessed he did clean up pretty good. When he spoke next his voice had thickened a bit and he cleared his throat vigorously.

“Mrs. B, there really haven’t been but a few women I’ve been intimate with.” He spoke without looking at me and a small smile played across his face.

He turned a page in the book and there he was in another picture, this time in a swim suit. His well-developed muscles showed no flab. The suit was wet when photographed and clung to his manhood so that it was obvious even though quiescent. In my mind’s eye I flashed on the image of eight years earlier when he had stroked his frustrated, hot, hard penis to ejaculation just a few steps from where we no sat. Sexual tension arose from us. It seemed as though in hot waves. My clit twitched and a small “o” flickered through me making me blink and tremble slightly. My mouth grew dry. Impulsively I reached out and made a strongly suggestive gesture by lightly resting my fingers on the picture and then caressed the image of his hidden cock. Just at that moment I felt his hard muscled thigh press firmly against my own. We both continued to focus on the page before us.

Once more he turned a page, now to reveal a loose sheet torn from a pad of sketching paper. On it was a well done pencil drawing of a nude woman; a mature nude whose face and figure bore fair resemblance to me, perhaps a decade earlier.

I think my heart stopped for a moment and I sucked in an audible breath, a gasp of surprise really.

“Ooohh,” I said. “Oh Kenneth this is really quite well done.”

“Thank you Mrs. B,” Kenneth said. Then, as if to seal the unspoken accord towards which we cautiously were making our way and responding to my own provocative gesture moments before, he caressed the drawing from breasts to groin. It made my pussy throb.

“You do recognize the woman don’t you?” He spoke quietly and took a long drink of wine.

“Yes, of course,” I answered in a low murmur.

“I’ll tell you something, if you want,” he said, turning to face me.

“Tell me whatever you want.”

When he did I looked at him and could not conceal the astonishment in my face. Kenneth had just told me that each of the few times he had sex with a woman he inevitably fantasized that it was I that he was having; that he could not be sexually aroused without thinking about and longing for me instead of the girl or woman with him; allowing there had been only a few. He revealed no guile; his face was open and frank. I knew he told the truth. It excited me immensely. My nipples surged; my outer labia puffed and drew apart in anticipation. My groin felt warm. I could see a bulge in his trousers.

He reached into his satchel and when he withdrew his hand it held my old panties that I gave him years earlier when they were still wet I with my pussy fluids. I exclaimed, “Oh, Kenneth… all these years.”

He smiled. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve masturbated with your panties,” he said. “For a long time I could still smell your sex in them. I just wish we had made love together as often as I’ve fantasized about it.”

I put my hand on his cheek. “Oh, Kenneth darling I was so foolish to pull away. My God! I wanted you so and I know you would have had yourself up in me if I’d only given you a few more moments. But now I demurred (with complete hypocrisy) I’m just a dumpy old lady, 64 years old,” I said, “You can’t want to make love to me anymore… can you?”

He said nothing but leaned forward and kissed me first on one cheek, then the other, then my chin and by now I was trembling. My eyes were closed and I felt the light touch of his lips on each lid. Then my lips; his lips brushed mine, a series of soft brief kisses that awakened some dormant axis of nerves that felt like they wired my lips to my pussy. Then a lingering kiss and his arms went around me. I sank against him. When our kiss ended he snuggled his cheek to mine.

“I want you,” he said. When he spoke his warm breath puffed in my ear. It tickled but it also thrilled me. “We’re both consenting adults. I don’t care that you’re 64 or 74 or 84. I’ve needed you so for these past eight years. Now we are going to finish what you started; what we should have done then. I’m going to make such love with you that you will never forget being with me. I know that is what you want, it’s why you invited me to your home; but I want to hear you say it.”

As he spoke I was clutching him, sliding my hands about his shoulders and chest. I felt much hard muscle in this man that Kenneth had become. His toughness excited me; and his manly smell, soap and aftershave and his own warm fresh body odor made me almost breathless.

No voice of conscience arose to intervene this time. My carnal self roused, lust-besotted from her restless repose; uncurled within and suffused me completely, crowding out any faint croak of propriety, of genteel poise and dignity. I could hear only the inner voice that urged me to have him.

“I want you to do anything you want with me,” I heard that voice say, barely recognizing it as my own, ever so clotted with lust. “Oh God, do it all. Suck me, lick me, caress me, kiss me, eat me, and fuck me.” I gasped out my wish list in his ear, pulling one of his big hands between us and onto my breast. Without conscious thought I found my other hand in his crotch, pawing and groping through intervening fabric at his vigorous erection.

Then we were kissing again; mouths open with tongues entwining, drooling down each other’s chin.

“Mrs. B,” Kenneth stopped kissing. I looked at his face.. It made me wonder if my own looked so flushed and totally consumed with gross lust as Kenneth’s did. “Mrs. B., I’m too aroused to make proper love to you. But I’m not going to jerk myself off. I am going to fuck you now, at last. Then I’m going to make long slow love to you. This will be quick but I’ve got to get into you now. I’ve got to.”

My heart skipped a beat. I fumbled behind me and took out a bottle of coital lubricant from the end table drawer. I had put it there that afternoon. “Use this on you and me,” I said. “I’m damp but I don’t want to get sore if I don’t make enough fluid myself.”

He stood and pretty much ordered me off the couch and onto the floor. I was excited and fearful at once. He took a seat cushion and tossed it onto the floor.

“Take your panties off,” he said. “Belay that. I’ll take them off myself. You kneel on the cushion and put your head all the way down to the floor so your gorgeous woman’s ass is up high. I’m going to take you in your cunt from the rear. It won’t take me long to cum.” He handed me a throw pillow for my head.

I did as he told me as though spellbound. It was a peculiar position to be in; actually not all that comfortable. At the same time it aroused me further. I could hear sounds of buckle and zipper. I reached between my legs and touched my clit sending a warm tingle through me. Then I felt Kenneth behind me. I had deliberately chosen a full skirt so that it would not restrict movement. He lifted my skirt so that it was up over my back and could see my wet panties.

He promptly set about pulling them down so that I displayed my engorged and hot vulva; outer labia swollen and slack; inner labia protruding; my clit erect and throbbing; all glistening with my juices.

He groaned, “Ah what a beautiful sight; your pussy,” he said in a voice hoarse with lust.

Then he squirted lubricant in the crack of my ass. I twitched. The fluid ran down over my anus; another squirt and another so that my bum cheeks were wet and slick, my vulva dripping with the stuff. Now his hand full of the lubricant cupped my vulva and smeared it into me. I gasped and rocked my hips.

“Oh, darling your hand feels so good,” I sighed.

“Mrs. B your ass is magnificent and I love the way your pussy looks in this position. I knew your cunt would be beautiful.” In the past I had been offended by the “c___” word. But now, when Kenneth spoke to me in such crude words it turned me on.

Now his other hand was sliding up flesh on flesh, on my ass, rubbing and squeezing the slick texture of my smooth skin. It felt heavenly.

The hand broke off rubbing although the one at my pussy continued its intimate squishy fondling, rubbing and insertion of fingers into my vagina. I shivered as I felt his lips kissing my cheeks.

I felt another thick finger touch my pussy lightly. It moved up and down and I realized it was not a finger but the head of his cock; the cock I had yearned for over the years, the cock that I named my favorite dildo, Kenneth’s cock; that cock was about to and did just then enter me. My sex convulsed as the head and shaft slipped deliciously into my sheath, caressed and clutched by every cell of my vagina. I groaned with the sheer hot intimate pulsing fullness of it. Kenneth’s hips pressed tightly against my ass.

He withdrew slowly until just the head penetrated my chamber then sighed, “Ahhhh” as he slid it slowly back into me up to the hilt; then again; then slowly once more, producing warm ripples of pleasure.

“Oh, Kenneth,” I managed to croak breathlessly, “you were right years ago. My pussy doesn’t care about age or anything except how fucking good your fabulous cock feels.”

I knew my carnal “Mrs. Hyde” was fully ascendant when I heard myself uttering that crude language.

“Does your cock like Mrs. B’s hot pussy?” My question brought a lusty groan from him.

“My cock, unnnhhh, is home at last and I wish it could stay in you always.”

Out once more slowly and slowly back in all the way.

“You like it doggy style, Kenneth?” I was panting and spoke in gasps.

“Oh yes,” he said, “I want you to be my nasty bitch.”

“Am I your hot old bitch in heat? Do you like to watch and fondle my big ass while you have your pleasure in me? Now that you got your cock into me, is my old pussy as good as you dreamed it would be?”

Out all the way now and pressed against my clit reducing me to obscene grunts of pleasure; then his scrotum humped against my slack vulva. Then, just as I was beside myself his cock returned to my vagina sliding ever so nicely against the anxious lining of my sheath.

“Your sloppy old cunt,” he growled, “is better than I could have imagined. It’s fucking heaven. You are my hot old bitch now. I’m going to leave a big load of cum up inside you.”

“Do it you perverted bastard,” I growled back at him, “fucking an old lady. Making her take your big hot co…ahhhh, big hot, ungggh, cock in her, oooohhh, poor old pussy.”

His tempo had slowly increased as we verbally abused each other. The pretense we took up with our coarse exchange excited me further. I was hot and sweaty.

“Keep talking bitch woman.” He said. “You’re getting me hot. I’m going to pound your pussy.”

He withdrew only to throw his hips forward slugging his enflamed penis full stroke into my vagina until he bottomed out against the bolster of my turned up ass. The thrust brought an exclamation from me, “Oh.”

“Did that hurt you?”

“No, only startled me. Are you getting ready to cu…, unnnh, to cum?”

“Yessss,” he hissed, “In a minute I will for sure. Damn you feel so good, so good. Oh, I needed to fuck you so much.”

He had hold of my hips now his hands grasping my soft flesh for purchase and his thrusts became vigorous, pulling me back to meet his hips. He told me later that a ring of coital froth had formed in my cunt around the opening of my vagina, like a lei around his dick. And he allowed that he loved to watch his shaft, slick and shiny, slide in and out of me.

Now we fell silent as he threw himself in and out. He would shortly spend himself into me I knew. I became aware of our grunts, our sighs and groans. Our coitus began to produce sound effects; wet flesh thuds, squishy slurps, soggy slaps, vaginal entrained pseudo-flatulent noises and panting breath. I squeezed my vaginal walls tightly around my sweet assailant.

Kenneth went suddenly to quick short thrusts then strained hard against me and cried out as his orgasm hit him; he jerked as each ejaculation spurted into my vagina. “Oh shiiiiit. Oh, aaaah. Unnnghh! So good, so fucking GOOD!,” he cried out.

He ejaculated into me; with each spurt his cock twitching, hips straining against the generous bolster of my ass and thighs; “ungggh ,” strain, spurt; “arrggh,” strain, spurt; “aaaahhh,” strain, spurt.

I had moved a hand to my pussy; massaging my clit so that as Kenneth’s orgasm subsided my groin filled with warm little pulses of pleasure. He collapsed forward propping himself up so he wouldn’t crush me to the floor with his weight. I ground my ass against his thighs and small spasms contracted my vagina around his deflating cock. I came somewhat and I felt wonderful. My vagina contracted once more and expelled his flaccid tube of flesh; now all that remained of the proud prong that spent itself into surrender so quickly in the grip of my hot wet pussy.

I was now totally gripped by the carnal she devil who had torn the mask of propriety off of me and shown my true face.. I needed much more and I would have it with my equally sex hungry lover or run him into the ground if he could not stay the course. But for the moment I had to move out of that position. I could feel a cramp coming on in my thigh.

“Get off me now, Kenneth,” I said. “I have to move or I won’t be able to get up.”

He pulled back and stood. He helped me but I was not very dignified as I struggled to my feet, made my way to the powder room on rocky legs and grabbed a hand towel that I shoved up my crotch. Cum and vaginal fluids and lubricant coated the inside of my thighs.

“Are you okay, Mrs. B?” He looked anxious as I returned to the living room. I giggled when I saw him. He stood naked from the waist down save for his socks. His diminished manhood hung slack and puffy, tissue still distended from the blood that had packed into his probing erection. It was coated with the juices of our fuck. The sofa cushion bore a stain where our comingled fluids had leaked out of my pussy.

“Yes, I’ll be fine; a little out of breath and my pussy is still feeling used almost like you were still in me. My goodness but you did lose control didn’t you? You almost raped me.”

“I know,” he said with a rueful grin. “I just couldn’t wait any longer; after waiting and dreaming of this for years I was going to cum into the air if I didn’t get my cock into you right then. I’m going to make it up to you if you want more. I know I do.”

“Come on sailor man,” I said, “let’s go upstairs and clean ourselves off. Then we’ll get in my nice big bed and you can show me your best moves.”

I reached back and pulled the hem of my dress up to my waist showing him my ass and sex.

“Just follow your nose,” I said. My pussy reeked. We moved to the stairs. Ascending I hoped that the view filling his vision would help stimulate my long lost stallion’s penis to another delicious erection.

“Bitch woman, indeed,” I said with sarcastic voice over my shoulder. “Did you learn to talk dirty in the Navy?”

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