Mrs. Bigelow

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."