Our relationship wasn’t like a mother/son; it was simply a pleasant, easy affinity. She was seventy-five and a widow for ten years, but the sense of tangible sensuality lurked around the corners of her presence. A vitality and openness made our time together not only enjoyable but something I always looked forward to.
She would invite herself to dinner or lunch from time to time by simply saying, “Do you have plans? I need company.”
Starting with her first visit, I discovered she was a tactile person; she enjoyed touching. At first, a kiss on the cheek with her breast pressed against my chest, then as time passed, her lips briefly lingered on mine. We would sit shoulder-to-shoulder in the kitchen, combing through recipes. She would often rest her hand on my upper thigh, stroking it as she spoke. I attempted to reconcile it to simply an affectionate gesture, but the effect and the location suggested, I thought, more.
Our age difference was about twenty-five years, an issue with me because I assumed she would have little interest in a man that much younger. As my sexual attraction grew, I was concerned that any advance on my part would not only be rejected but would ruin our friendship. While I was cooking, she would come behind me, wrapping her arms around me, her entire body pressed hard against my back, then kissing the back of my neck. I instantly firmed, trying to concentrate on what I was cooking.
Last night, she arrived around five-thirty dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt, obviously not wearing a bra as her nipples poked at the fabric of the shirt. Our kiss lingered longer than usual, and I felt the tip of her tongue caress my lips. Without thinking, my tongue met hers, two tips flicking. I felt her hard nipples press against my chest, and her pubic bone found my erect cock. Reaching behind my head, she pulled my face into hers. Her mouth opened, accommodating the fullness of my kiss. She moaned quietly as her hands moved up and down my back.
She pulled away from me, and my heart stopped, thinking we had gone too far. She looked into my eyes and said, “Why don’t we have pizza delivered later after we finish this?”
At fifty, it had been years since I trembled with excitement at the thought of sex. I felt as if I was experiencing a chill from a viral infection. She pushed her tongue deep into my mouth, taking an aggressive approach to our growing arousal. Pulling back again, she said, “Let’s not try this in the kitchen.”
She took my hand and led me to my bedroom. Standing before me, her t-shirt slipped quickly over her head, revealing full breasts with large erect nipples…a few stretch marks from time and gravity. She lifted them up, a seductive offering, as I bent, taking one nipple into my mouth and one between my forefinger and thumb. Not only did the taste and feel excite me, but my arousal grew listening to the sounds she made as I nursed her.
Unbuttoning her jeans, then, with her thumbs on either side, she moved them down, exposing a nicely trimmed patch of pubic hair. I stopped attending to her breasts and pushed her back onto the bed, removing her jeans, completely. Looking down at her, my heart was pounding as her legs opened wide, revealing her wet crease.
I stood there fully clothed as she lay before me, entirely open. The long-held fantasy was unfolding like a dream come true. My shirt was tossed aside as my pants dropped to the floor, as my cock slapped against me when released. There was an elegance about her nudity, not something that lends itself to description but overpowering in its essence.
As we exposed ourselves, there was a curiosity. She let her middle finger slowly move between her wet petals as they found the source of her nectar. I, in turn, stroked the length of my phallus, squeezing arousal in Pearl-like drops from its source. Completely unexpected, she arched her back, thrusting upwards, then shaking violently as her lust drove her to an orgasmic crescendo. She looked up at me, smiling, and said, “Mmm, thanks, that was nice; let’s do more of that. Come lay beside me.”
Any sense of control I was attempting to maintain dissolved. I fell into her arms, attacking in what, in retrospect, was about the least romantic thing I have ever done. It was pure, unadulterated sexuality! She responded in kind, howling obscenities as we came together…two animals in heat. Foreplay was a distant memory as I threw her legs up over my shoulders and then plunged deep into her core. Her walls clamped around my cock like a vise, and the heat of her pussy was such that it was impossible to think of prolonging our coupling.
She exploded a second time, the results of her orgasm soaking my thighs as the sounds of our union became more liquid. I did not miss a thrust as I drove hard and deep into her, our coupling reminiscent of a seal slapping its tail against wet rocks. As my balls tightened with seed, she arched once more into me, exploding as I peaked, combining our juices. We growled at one another in some primitive mating language. She grabbed my neck, pulling my face to her; we kissed, first hard and passionate, and then, as our mental temperature diminished, the kisses became pecks as we lay in a warm, wet embrace.
She looked at me and said, ”Not bad for a middle-aged man.”
We took a shower, ordered a pizza, and enjoyed the musings of two over-the-hill “adults.” If you are wondering, we spent the weekend fucking. I usually don’t care for that word, but I could not find one that described it better.
