John and I married in 1946. At first, we lived with his parents but then rented a small flat in town. John was caring and highly enlightened for the time. We were partners in every way. He allowed me to continue working after we married. This option may seem obvious nowadays, but back then it was anathema.

Although views were changing, the bar on the employment of married women was still in general practice. Legally, wives were the property of their husbands and expected to be homemakers and baby factories. Women who tried to break free of this norm were given a hard time, even by other women.

“You’re a disgrace. Not a proper wife. You should be at home, looking after your husband and raising a family.”

John was frequently told that he wasn’t a real man if he couldn’t support a wife or keep her under control and my boss Peter was regularly warned that I was taking other peoples' jobs. This aggravation was hard, and I often wavered in the early days, but John and Peter were my rocks.

“Too many women are housebound and end up being trapped and miserable. I don’t want that to happen to you. I want us to be a happy couple. Working with your colleagues in a job that you enjoy is important for your wellbeing, so I’m happy to support you. The critics can take a flying jump.”

“I would spend years training another bookkeeper; time that I don’t have. So, stick with it. If others object to you working with me, they are not welcome at my businesses. The complaint is that you’re taking someone else’s job, but I don’t remember any of those whingers competing for the post. That would’ve put them at risk of having to work hard, and that would never do.”

John and I agreed that we would live on his wages and that mine would be saved for the deposit on a house. Within two years, John was able to mortgage a flat, and my pay covered the payments. This purchase took most of the funds that we had, but we both felt that it was a case of now or never. Fortunately, our families gave us furniture, or it would’ve been quite a spartan dwelling.

One year later our sweet daughter Penny was born. Of course, it was generally assumed that I would now give up my job and become a full-time mother, but my boss Peter had other ideas.

“If you’re willing, I would like you to continue in the job. We can convert the room next to your office into a nursery so that Penny is close to you all the time. My Mom now lives with us and adores kids. She’ll be more than happy to be nanna when you’re busy.”

So, it was that I returned to work within a few weeks of Penny’s birth, much to the dismay of swathes of the great and good.

"A total disgrace. Mark my words, she's a bad 'un, and that kid will end up in care."

I didn’t feel like a rebel at the time, but in hindsight, I now understand why people were so discomforted. Adults are generally scared of uncertainty and change and react strongly against it. Although I went through some tough times, I’m glad that I stuck to my guns. Nowadays, many women in this region continue to work after they marry and have children. Like me, they have hectic but happy lives, and I'm glad that my stubbornness in some small way maybe opened the door for them to follow this path.

When our son Jack came along two years later, John and I knew that we needed more space so, with a struggle, we mortgaged a small house. Times were often difficult, but John and I were content. Penny and Jack grew up in a comfortable and supportive environment. They both went on to university and now have good careers and families of their own.

John was a considerate and passionate husband. I adored him. Even after twenty-five years together, we were still like youngsters in love. We were besotted, couldn’t keep our hands off each other and regularly shared our passion. John was fit and healthy and only had a few days of illness during our time together. So, it was devastating when he became seriously ill and quickly passed away. My soulmate, my lover, my rock was there one day and gone the next.

I was heart-broken and didn’t think that I could survive or carry on without him. But I had my children and grandchildren and good friends, and with their support, I soldiered on and slowly began to rebuild my life. I stayed in the house, which I now owned, continued working as a senior clerk and began to do some charity work.

The house was too big for me, so I started taking in lodgers; three or four at a time, all young career women, certainly no troublesome males. This arrangement worked well for several years but then began to go downhill as my lodgers switched from the polite and shy young ladies of the early days to increasingly boisterous, argumentative and belligerent ladettes. Now in my sixties, I couldn’t cope with this behavior, so reluctantly, I stopped taking in boarders.       

I retired from the company soon afterwards and settled into a solitary life, concentrating most of my time on charity work. After about two years on my own, I had a visit from a friend who still worked for the company.

“Hi Maude, you look well. I’m glad that you’re enjoying retirement. You’re sorely missed at work.”

“I miss the job but being full-time and surrounded by all those know-it-all youngsters just became too much for me. So, I’m settled and content with my new life. Now, I’m sure that this isn’t just a social call is it. What can I do for you?”

“Straight to the point as ever. Well, company headquarters is sending us a young apprentice from the South of England for specialist training, and he has nowhere to stay."

“You know that I don’t take in lodgers anymore.”

 “Yes, I do. I don’t wish to impose on you, but there are no vacancies locally. It would only be short-term until an alternative is available.” 

 “Okay, I’ll help out. Your apprentice can stay here in the short-term, but there will be strict rules; no drinking, partying or loutish behavior and punctuality at mealtimes.”

“I’ve heard of the problems that you had with lodgers. There’ll be no issues with Peter. I met him when I last visited our headquarters. He’s quiet, polite and diligent and above all, dedicated to his job. In fact, the company has very high hopes for him. That's why they’re sending him here to learn more complex aspects of the work. Thank you for your help. I will make the necessary arrangements."

Peter arrived two weeks later. He was handsome but looked quite scared as this old harridan set out her rules and regulations. However, Peter soon settled in and was as good as had been suggested. He was polite and courteous, always on time for meals and very enthusiastic about his job. Peter didn't socialize, except for work-related functions. He liked to keep fit and often went for a run at the weekend.

Peter was domesticated. He did his own washing and ironing and helped me with meals and chores around the house. I couldn’t help thinking that some lucky woman was going to capture the perfect husband. Peter was the ideal lodger, and I enjoyed his company. So, I soon told him that he could board with me long-term if he wanted. Now at ease with his surroundings, Peter readily agreed, and the company was more than happy.

At first, Peter spent most evenings in his room doing work-related projects, but on occasion, we shared an evening together watching television or just chatting. I soon realized that Peter wasn't career-driven purely by choice. From an early age, his parents had forced him to concentrate exclusively on his studies. So, Peter didn’t have friends of his age or a social life while growing up. Also, he seemed to have had his fingers burned on some occasions that he did try to build friendships. Now, Peter found it difficult to relate or socialize with others

My maternal instincts kicked in. I knew that all work and no play would be bad for Peter. He needed a counterbalance, but the lack of social skills limited his options. Luckily, through friends, I got him a membership at the local gym. That helped considerably. Peter made a few athletic-minded friends, and they often went running together.

Over the next six months, Peter became more confident and outgoing.  He was still a workaholic but now also had a limited social life. Peter also developed an interest in history and society. He read avidly, and we often had wide-ranging discussions that lasted long into the night. I was pleased with the new Peter and happy to help broaden his knowledge.

During this period, my thoughts of Peter were purely motherly, but that was about to alter. To this day, I’m unsure whether it was fate or chance that took me down the new path.

One Thursday, after a stint at a charity shop, I arrived home in the middle of the afternoon to find that Peter was there. This was a surprise because he usually didn’t finish work until early evening. But then a memory cell kicked in. Peter had mentioned that he was going to take part in a cross-country race on Friday and would try to get home earlier than usual. Mystery solved, I thought no more of it and headed off to my room to get changed.

I was almost into my bedroom when I spotted Peter coming out of the shower room. Unaware that I was there, he sauntered leisurely along the corridor to his room. My eyes were popping out of my head as I gazed on this Adonis. Wow, Peter was fit. My heart was fluttering as some very un-ladylike thoughts came to mind, including the wish that the towel around his waist would fall away. I was entranced by this vision but also disgusted with myself for thinking of Peter in this way.

I settled down somewhat after Peter disappeared into his room. I got changed and was already preparing our meal when a fully clad Peter came through to the kitchen. Try as I might, I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of what those clothes were hiding. Peter noticed that I was distracted.

“You’re very quiet. Is everything okay?”

“Just a few things on my mind. No need to worry.”

But I was anxious. I couldn’t get the images of Peter out of my head. Things got worse when I went to bed. I started dreaming of being in the sack with him. How could a fossil like me be thinking this way? My grandson was older than Peter, for heaven’s sake. Any desires for that type of action disappeared long ago, or so I’d thought. Was this a post-menopause crisis? Did I still have a deep-down longing for intimacy? I was very restless but eventually fell asleep. By morning, the wanton thoughts appeared to have been confined to history.

Peter and I had a relaxed breakfast together, and he went off to his race. I busied myself about the house and didn’t think further about the events of the previous day. Then in the early afternoon, I found one of Peter’s tracksuits in a laundry basket. As I held it, the distinctive masculine aromas wafted over me and set me into a tailspin. All those debauched dreams resurfaced. Even worse, I sensed a desire to do these things for real, and these thoughts became all-consuming over the remainder of the afternoon.

Peter came home and was buzzing about in the kitchen. His tracksuit left little to the imagination, and his sweet scents drove me even further to the edge. I couldn’t contain myself. I walked over, took him in my arms and kissed him with a passion.

My actions both thrilled and horrified me and I expected that Peter would push me away in disgust, but he didn’t. He clasped me in a tight embrace, and we shared the most intense and enchanting snog. Peter then took me through to the lounge, sat me on the sofa, cuddled up and smooched with me. Let’s just say that Peter took my breath away.

“Wow, Maude, I’ve had so many dreams of being close and personal with you but couldn’t figure out how to make it happen. Now, you’ve broken the ice. Let’s get it on.”

Confusion set in. “But I’m old. Why on earth would a young man like you think about me in that way? You should be lusting after curvy girls of your own age, not an old hag like me. I can’t compete with them. What could I possibly have that they don’t?”

“You’re a beautiful woman with great experience and knowledge. Compared to you most teen girls are air-heads; sexy, tactile, and very accommodating, but incapable of holding a sensible conversation, let alone coping with a two-way relationship. They prefer to be glorified love dolls, which may be many a boy's dream, but not mine. I wasn’t the bad he-man that the teen girls wanted as their boyfriends. My few dates not only made that abundantly clear but then rubbed salt in the wounds by humiliating me in public; telling all and sundry that I wasn’t a real man, just a soppy sissy. That had a lasting effect on me, and I haven’t been with a girl since.”

These revelations added to my turmoil. It was acceptable, even a good thing, for a boy to lose their virginity with an experienced woman. But, given the hurt Peter had suffered rekindling his sexuality with me could be problematic; he might then find that he could only get it up with mature pussy, not with a girl of his own age. With so many moral and practical doubts now engulfing me, I tried to backtrack from the very situation that I’d created.

“Age is a bigger impediment than you think. I haven’t made love in more than twenty years. I don’t know if my lady bits work or if I can have sex at all.” 

This argument didn’t work because Peter had an immediate answer. “Don’t worry, many women older than you are still sexually active or have rediscovered erotic pleasures after a long dry spell. Your pussy will be hibernating, but with plenty of encouragement and rehabilitation, it’ll reawaken. The fact that you pounced on me, rather than the other way around, suggests that you’re keen to find out if there’s still a fire in the hole. Let’s take it slow and easy and get comfortable together. I’m sure that we’ll both know when we’re ready to hide the sausage.”

I could feel my face glowing with embarrassment because Peter was correct. Any doubts that I had were irrelevant. I wanted to couple with him, no matter the consequences.

“Oh my, you’ve wanted to have your wicked way with me all along, and I didn’t twig to it. How remiss of me. I failed in my duty of care but now let me make it up to you. Let’s make raunchy music together.”

I took Peter by the hand and led him to my room. We lay on the bed and began petting. My heart skipped a beat as Peter massaged my breasts and kissed my cleavage. His hands gently stroked my abdomen and then down over my thigh. I gulped as his hands reached my knees, slipped under my skirt and began to work their way up to their target. 

Peter’s fingers touched the leg elastic of my bloomers. Undeterred, his hands slipped up along the cloth, and soon I was sighing as they reached the gusset and began caressing my fud. As I enjoyed the moment, Peter’s hands moved up to the waistband of my drawers. He hooked his fingers around it and pulled my knickers down clear of my crotch. Peter’s fingers then pounced on my newly uncovered lady garden, explored and ruffled its bush and then burrowed their way down into my groin.

To my absolute joy, my lower lips tingled at Peter’s first touch. My nether regions were soon flooded with pleasant sensations as Peter’s fingers did their magic on my labia and clitoris. Soon, I was cooing and gurgling as light tremors passed through me and my twat lips became wet. Wow, any doubts were gone; the old girl was still alive.

While I lay on the bed recovering, I notice the pronounced tenting of Peter’s trousers. Without further ado, I undid Peter’s belt and fly, slipped my hand inside his tighty-whiteys, and released his cock from its prison. Peter moaned as his dick quivered and pulsed with excitement in my tight grasp. His willy engorged even more and went rock hard as I beat the meat. The glans was rapidly blinking in and out from under the foreskin as Peter took several deep gasps of breath. His tool then shuddered and spasmed and shot out a load of cum.

As usual for men after orgasm, Peter lay back on the bed in a complete daze. While he was oblivious, I did the most uncouth of things. I took Peter’s spunk and spread it over my still exposed muff. It’s probably just an old wives’ tale that jizz refreshes the pussy, but given the opportunity, I didn’t want to waste it. I'll never know if it worked, but sweet sensations flowed from my twat long after its encounter with Peter’s fingers and his spunk. If nothing else, the unique feel of my snatch nestled in a cum-soaked gusset brought back many erotic memories.

Peter and I cuddled together, kissed and rested. Later, we got up, had our evening meal and snuggled down and petted on the sofa. By late evening we were both sweltering and bothered. We could easily have been carried away in the passion of the moment, but both realized that it was best not to rush things. We’d come a long way during that surprising day and needed to take time to savor our affections. With great reluctance, we eventually released our embrace and headed off to our beds.

I’d undressed, got into my PJs and was about to slip between the sheets when a thought flooded into my brain. What am I doing? Peter and I’ve been almost as one for most of the evening. Why are we now going to sleep alone? I tip-toed through to Peter's room, knocked on the door and entered. Already in bed, Peter looked bemused to see me there.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s no need for us to be alone tonight.”

I moved over towards Peter’s bed but then thought Nah. As a love-struck teenager, I'd often shared a single bed, but now I needed my creature comforts. So, instead of getting into Peter’s bed, I flipped back the duvet and took him by the hand.

“Come with me.”

Hand in hand we went through to my bedroom. He got into bed, I followed, snuggled up with him and pulled the sheets tightly over us. Those first moments together were electric as we sensed each other through our thin PJs. My nipples were poking into Peter's chest, and his cock was nestled close to my beaver; oh, so near to its den. Peter kissed me on the lips and then on my bosom before falling asleep with his head nestled on it.

Surprised by how at ease I was with Peter I soon followed. I should’ve felt guilty to be in bed with this young man, but any pangs of shame were defeated by the new desires that Peter had awakened. After more than twenty years alone, I now craved a male companion, and Peter more than fitted the bill. Would it have been the same if he’d been sixty? Probably not.                 

I awoke the next morning to find that I was alone in bed. However, Peter soon reappeared carrying a well-stocked breakfast tray.

“I thought that we should fuel up before starting our day.”

“Oh my, what have you got in mind for us, naughty boy?”

 Peter smiled. “Let’s see what fun comes our way.”

Breakfast in bed was a new experience, so we lingered over it, enjoying not only the food but also cozy cuddles and tasty kisses. Peter finally gathered up all the debris and took the tray back to the kitchen. While he was away, I got up, preened and pampered myself, slipped out of my PJs and got back into bed. Peter’s eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped when he spotted my breasts peeking over the duvet. Never slow on the uptake, Peter virtually ripped off his PJs, slid into bed, clasped me in his strong arms and kissed me.

Long forgotten carnal desires blossomed as we held together in a tight au naturel embrace. My heart fluttered when Peter’s dick first touched my hairy mound. I felt like a virgin, waiting in anticipation for the rabbit to enter its burrow. After so many barren years, there are no words to describe my joy to be this close and personal with a well-hung hunk.

Our hands and lips began to roam, seeking out each other’s hot spots. Peter purred as I kissed his nipples and stroked his balls and perineum. I sighed when Peter latched on to my boobs and massaged and suckled them. The sensations were terrific but as nothing compared to the lightning bolt that went through me as the tip of Peter’s cock found the entrance to its lair and began twitching between my pussy lips in expectation.

Penetration had always been a delight for me so I couldn’t hold back. I pushed myself on to Peter’s cock. There was an initial burst of pain as my fud tried to resist the intrusion, but then ecstasy swept through me as the glans burst its way in and began tremoring inside my love hole. These sweet sensations continued as the full length of Peter’s throbbing shaft drilled its way through the entrance.

All the while, the head of Peter’s willy drove deeper and deeper into my love tunnel. To my dismay, this probing didn’t trigger a reaction. My pussy didn’t clasp the intruder or respond in any way; to all intents, it was lifeless. Peter pulled back and thrust deep into me again but again there was little or no response.

My heart sank at this failure as a woman, but Peter must’ve anticipated the issue because he changed tack immediately. He pulled completely out of my twat but straightaway re-penetrated. The tip was only one inch inside, but its rampant glans triggered a new and exalting wave of pleasure which quickly ratcheted up as Peter re-entered me again and again and again. To add to the excitement, the diameter of Peter’s cock steadily increased. While it plundered my entrance for the umpteenth time every sweet spot went into a frenzy, wave upon wave of pleasure coursed through me, and my fanny lips became wet. This pushed Peter over the edge.

I groaned loudly as his spasming willy re-penetrated, drove into the depths of my fanny and filled them with cum. For the first time in decades, my love tunnel was now bathed in slick, hot spunk and to my delight, this triggered a slight sensual re-awakening; a cozy flush percolated from my honey tube. Immersed in the euphoria of the just after I fell asleep.

When I reawakened, I was alone but not for long. Peter came through to the room with two large glasses of juice. I gazed at Peter in wonder. He was positively glowing; perky, sparkling and full of life. What had happened to him? I soon realized that this was the feral afterglow. Peter had achieved the male imperative and sown his seed in a female’s nest. My age didn’t matter, pussy was pussy and there to be conquered. Peter had filled me up, he was the man.

Peter and I drank the juice and then snoozed together. It was now that the realization that my love tunnel was virtually lifeless hit home. Peter saw my sudden sadness.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so gloomy?”

“I’m not a whole woman. Sex with me must be like shagging a bucket.”

“Don’t put yourself down. You’re hot and horny and drove me to climax. That says everything. I’m surprised that it went as well as it did. Your pussy hasn't seen any action for so long that all but the outer extremities have gone to sleep.”

I began to cry. “Does this mean that I can no longer make love like a real woman?”

“Dry your tears. Your pussy isn't dead; it's in hibernation. Your love hole came to life as soon as it sensed my cock. Now, we need to get the rest to come out of its slumber.”

“But how?”

“When your arm is in plaster, the muscles waste and you need physiotherapy to restore them. That’s what your honey tunnel needs; regular and vigorous remedial exercise.”

“But that means we’ll have to do the deed frequently."

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Of course not. But, do you really want to ride an oldie repeatedly? If so, can I cope with regular sex after so many years without?”

“Don’t give me that. You’re hot, and we both want it. We don’t need to go berserk or exhaust ourselves. Let’s take it a little at a time and see how things develop.”

“You’re willing to do that for me.”

“Yes, but not just for you. I get to have regular poon-tang with a gorgeous hot woman. What more could I want? I just hope that I can keep up with you.”    

“So, my fud will get the full workout it needs if I try to satisfy and exhaust you. Bring it on. Come on, lets party.”

Peter and I went into a close clinch and started making out again. Peter had learned so much from our first session that I was soon ready and desperate for more. He went down on me, the first time a man has ever kissed my lower lips. I was sighing continuously as his lips and tongue teased my love hole and clitoris and warmed my fud for further action.

As before, Peter penetrated me a few times, triggering a crescendo of delightful responses in my love hole. Then, he slowly but surely filled my fud with the whole of his cock and began moving back and fore inside of me. Small gentle strokes at first but steadily increasing until each were almost the full length of the shaft. As before, there was no reaction.

Peter now went down on my boobs. He massaged them with enthusiasm and devoured my nipples like a hungry baby. Completely entranced by the pleasuring sensations these actions generated I lost track of everything else. Only when Peter eased off did I realize that this titty action had been a ruse to keep me occupied.

All the while, he’d continued to ride my fud. By now, my tunnel was hot and a little tender, so I gasped when he shafted me again. Realizing my discomfort, Peter stopped immediately and pulled out. Beguiling sensations now flooded from around my honey hole and these built to an impressive pinnacle as Peter’s cock then penetrated it, again and again, and again. Waves of exquisite pleasure swept through me, and my fanny lips became wet as Peter now buried his engorged cock in my love tunnel and coated it with spunk.

While still coupled together Peter's willy twitched and pulsed in its bath of cum, and a wave of warmth and delight spread throughout my twat. Within the depths of my pussy, I sensed that it was exploring and trying to clasp onto the head of Peter’s cock. Was my honey tunnel reawakening or was this wishful thinking?  Only time would tell, but it gave me hope.

Peter and I canoodled and dozed together for the remainder of the afternoon. We had a light meal in the evening and went back to bed. As I slept with Peter, I reflected on the events of the last few days. I’d always considered myself to be content as a widow, but now I knew otherwise. A singleton's life wasn’t enough for me, I needed male companionship and intimacy to be fulfilled.

Obviously, I realized that a woman of my age should be ashamed to have these desires. I also knew and that my family and friends would be disgusted and ostracise me if they found out about Peter and me. But I didn’t care. This red-blooded boy had unlocked my hidden longings, and I now needed to sate them no matter the consequences. Even then I had no illusions that this unexpected liaison would be long-term but as my Mum once said, “life’s too short to waste time worrying, just enjoy the ride while it lasts.” I’m sure that my present circumstances weren’t what she had in mind, but it was advice I intended to follow.

I slept like a baby that night but was still tired and a little stiff and sore the next morning; no surprise after the enthusiastic workouts of the day before. Peter and I had breakfast and spent the morning reading the Sunday newspapers. He was the perfect gentleman, other than a quick peck on the lips he didn't force himself on me, dammit.

By mid-day, I was hungry for him and soon had him coaxed back to bed. Peter made love to me as he'd done the night before, and he did it again that evening with the variation that he screwed my pussy doggy style for around ten minutes before driving me over the edge with repeated penetration of my ultrasensitive honey hole. I was ecstatic but totally exhausted by nightfall. This wasn’t a surprise. No sex for twenty years and then taken four times in two days by a randy young man.

I slept well that night and for most of the next day. After a quick canoodle in the morning, a still tired Peter left me in bed while he went off to work. I rose late in the afternoon to prepare the evening meal and had just finished when Peter arrived home. I don't know if he had been overdoing the high energy drinks that day because he was very playful with me.

“It’s been a long, long day. I could hardly concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking of making love with you.”

“Steady on, I’m ready too but let’s eat before we go and burn the calories.”

“Okay, we can’t have you flagging out in the middle.”

“In your dreams.”

Peter and I went to bed soon after supper, and sure enough, he was on a high; he drove me wild and exhausted me that evening. This was the pattern every night of the week, and each day I would then sleep through to early afternoon to recover. I was over the moon with my lusty young lover but still disappointed that my love tunnel was virtually dormant.

The only change so far was that the whole the tunnel became wet at a climax, so I squirted much more juice. Peter's contributions were no longer the only cause of the damp spot on the bed but having to change the sheets more often was a small price to pay for the pleasure that Peter and I now shared.

A couple of friends came to visit on Friday afternoon, worried that they hadn’t seen me out and about during the week.

“I overdid things around the house, so I’m taking it easy for a few days.” 

A good explanation I thought and my friends accepted it.

"You must look after yourself. We can’t be to be careful at our age.”

I chuckled quietly to myself but knew that I mustn’t even hint at the truth. As young women, both ladies had been more than generous with their favors, but now they were the moral guardians of the community and openly condemned such wanton behavior. I’ve no doubt that they’d have led the clarion call against us if they found out about Peter and me. Sadly, they’d long forgotten the joys of overexerting yourself with a hunk.  

We planned for Saturday to be an at home day, so we lazed around in our PJs; the first time they’d been out of the cupboard all week. I was tidying and vacuuming in the living room when Peter came up to me, slipped his hands inside my top and cupped my breasts.

“You’re gorgeous. There are much better things for us to be doing than cleaning.”

With that, Peter whipped off my top, pulled down my bottoms and then removed his own PJs. Now both starkers, Peter picked me up, carried me across the room and lay me down on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace. We heavy petted until Peter moved down on me. He latched onto my pussy lips, sucked and separated them and then pushed his tongue into my twat. Soon, the hot spots around my hole lit up as a result of the tongue’s intense attention. Peter also began to finger my clitoris. This combined assault on my fud soon led to orgasm and a flood of love juices. I sighed with delight as Peter licked out every drop from my now wet snatch.

I was laying there still trying to recover when Peter got on top of me and slowly edged his cock towards my already excited fud. As usual, I gasped when its tip burst through my love hole but stopped breathing as his rod delved deeper and deeper into me. I was shocked to find that my love tunnel was gently clamping and even trying to squeeze Peter’s cock. 

“You can breathe you know. I don’t want you to go blue.”

I gasped in air and settled to this new experience. Peter began with short strokes and slowly built up their length. I had only a loose grip on Peter’s dick, but it was enough for my love tunnel to be tugged and ruffled by every move of his mighty shaft. Previously dormant hot spots lit up, and waves of ecstasy flowed through my twat. Peter speeded up, his cock went rock hard, and after three solid thrusts into the depths of my fud, he filled it with soothing cum. This blew me away. My pussy had come out of its slumbers and driven Peter’s dick to orgasm.

“Oh wow, did you know that was going to happen?”

“I noticed last night that your honey tunnel was coming out of dormancy; I felt it trying scope out and wrap my dick. I didn’t say anything to you just in case it was a false dawn. I was planning to wait until this evening to give it further therapy, but the sight of the lovely mound in your PJs was too much, and lust took over. I’m glad that it did. That was amazing. You're hot stuff."

“No, you’re the man, you’ve relit my fire and made me complete.”

“Maude, you’re the woman of my dreams; sexy, physical and passionate. I’ve got as good as I’ve given. If anything, I need to thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

“Enough talk, come closer, my stallion.”

Peter and I canoodled for a while, before falling asleep on the carpet. Later as we awakened, we started making out again. Soon, we were both in rapture and in need of some intense action. Peter went down on me as before and munched my muff to a squirting climax. Then, he rode my honey tunnel to heaven and filled it up with his spunk.

I was in a sexual euphoria and couldn’t let go of Peter. He, in turn, was very attentive. Interspersed between short spells of rest he drilled my twat twice more that day. By evening, I was tired but also floating blissfully on cloud nine. This outcome was astounding. As a youngster, sex four times in one day had reduced me to an incoherent wreck. Now as an oldie, it left me feeling great. Of course, the difference was that now the sex was by choice and with a sweet and caring lover, not under duress with a randy brute.

Many girls will relate to my early experiences. In my late teens, I met a boy and fell deeply in love with him. Things went well at first, but then he began nagging me to prove that I really loved him. This demand meant only one thing and scared that he’d leave me if I didn’t comply, I eventually let him have his way.

The experience was scary and unpleasant. My beau had only one thing in mind, and it wasn't loving. He used my pussy to masturbate, and he did so with brutal enthusiasm. I had the bruises and a ravaged fanny full of cum to show for it. He said not a word as he left my bed and surprise, surprise, he never looked my way again. He’d got what he wanted; another notch on his bedpost. I should have got the message but being naïve I assumed that I’d just been unlucky. So, my fud was trashed many times by so-called boyfriends as I confirmed to them that they were my one and only true love.

It was so unfair that boys could have sex without care, but girls faced so many risks. I never knew until it was too late if my horny nemesis only wanted a vigorous ride or was intent on trashing me. I was caught out on several occasions by quiet lads who became animals once inside my pussy. With many, my fud took two pounding sessions in one day to prove my love, a couple of boys took me three times and one was insatiable.

He’d heard boys boasting of shagging a girl time and time again until she could take no more and was screaming for mercy. He wanted to join this sexual elite. Mercifully, he couldn’t get a rise after four prolonged assaults on my twat. This was just as well because by then he’d achieved his aim; I was gaga and desperate for him to stop. Seeing that he couldn't get it up again, I said not a word. He went away thinking that he’d failed. Not a win for me, but deflating his ego was at least something.  

My older sister taught me about the birds and bees and didn’t beat about the bush when it came to boys and sex; you’ll surrender at some point, but to avoid complications just make sure that it's during to the week before or after your period. I did my best but often had to play sexual Russian Roulette when a boyfriend, like the insatiable-one, was particularly insistent. While struggling to cope with his fourth ride of the day, I realized that I was at the mid-point of my cycle and almost certainly carrying a sperm-hungry egg. Given my luck and four loads of spunk, it was virtually guaranteed that a swimmer would find its fertile target. My heart sank, talk about adding insult to injury.

The next three weeks dragged out, and I’ve never been so glad to have a painful period in my life. I’ll never know why I didn’t get pregnant, but it was a wake-up call. From then, I resolved never to take that risk again. I went from being an easy girl to frigid as far as the local boys were concerned. Sadly, several friends continued to take their chances and ended up with buns in the oven. Just to add to the injustice, the moral guardians put all the blame on these girls; they must have led those poor boys astray.

I met my husband-to-be John soon after these traumatic times. He was the perfect gentleman and treated me as an equal, not just a plaything. Even when I offered myself to him once we were engaged, he held back. That changed once we married, he was a stud. My bad memories were soon wiped away as we regularly shared our love. Well, not all the memories disappeared. I’d learned a lot about boys and their toys, and John reaped the benefits. I could drive him wild, and he would then take me to seventh heaven.

John and I made love regularly, but after a few months, I noticed that there was a week in every month when we were particularly frisky and usually coupling joyously every day. This period of intense passion coincided with the middle of my cycle. Naturally, I’d be more receptive but why did John have such a strong response? 

The answer was that he could instinctively sense changes in my natural scents when I was near to- or in-heat, and this increased his primal desires for sex. I had no complaints about John’s increased playfulness, he knew how to press my buttons and take me paradise every time. I only had to be sure that for that part of the month our diet was rich in high energy foods.

It was then that it dawned on me that if John knew when I was in heat, other males would get the same message if they got close and personal enough. This would explain why the demands of boyfriends to prove my love for them were most intense during mid-cycle. My fragrant signals told them that I’d be highly susceptible to their advances during that period. Talk about loading the dice in favor of boys. I played sexual Russian Roulette so often it’s amazing that I didn’t fall pregnant. Maybe the stress of the situation was my protector.       

All these memories, good and bad, played on my mind as I slept alongside Peter that night. He was the same age as many of my early boyfriends but so unlike them. I wasn’t a plaything. We were equal sensual partners. In fact, Peter wanted to satisfy me, even at the cost to himself; very much like my late lamented husband. Peter had re-awakened desires that I'd long suppressed, and now I could enjoy them without fear.

The only risk was that Peter would tire of me and seek a partner of his own age. My challenge was to ensure he didn’t have the desire or time to wander and that meant keeping him fully occupied and satisfied. My pussy trembled at the thought, but hey this old lady was now up for it and ready to have some fun.

Peter and I slept through to mid-day and then ate a hearty meal. We were both ravenous; passion had sustained us throughout the previous day, but now we desperately needed to refuel. We lazed together into the late afternoon, but as the new energy kicked in, we felt a need to deal with other pangs of hunger. We went back to bed and burnt off many calories in a rampant evening session.

We made love every night of the following week, and to my delight, I could feel my honey tunnel becoming stronger day by day. On Saturday, we were making out on our favorite rug when Peter went down on me, but on this occasion, he stopped as I closed in on a climax. He got into missionary position and slowly pushed his rippling cock into my now ripe pussy. An overwhelming array of incredible new sensations flooded through me as my twat clasped, squeezed and struggled with Peter's dick. Sweet spot after sweet spot lit up as cock and pussy continued to tussle with each other and feelings, the like of which I hadn't experienced since my youthful days with John, coursed through me until I began to tremor and gasp uncontrollably.

Then, there was a sudden wave of ecstasy as my honey tunnel squirmed and spasmed and flooded with love juice. Peter’s rampant cock continued to drill my fud, and the influx of lubricant seemed to excite it even more. The girth increased so that my honey tunnel was stretched and tugged in every way. My excitement was on the rise again, but all too soon, Peter’s dick shot its load and filled my fud with cum.

I was euphoric but exhausted after this session. To my surprise, I found that my stallion was even more worn-out than me. Peter was soon asleep. I smiled to myself; not too bad, I could more than hold my own with a virile young stud.

I gently roused Peter and led him through to the bed. There we cozied up together and fell into a deep blissful sleep. I awakened around mid-day to find that Peter was already in the kitchen preparing a high energy meal.

I stroked Peter’s chest and kissed him. “My, my, it looks like you’ve got more mischief in mind.”  

“You're so sexy, I can’t get enough of you.”

It was a good thing that the kitchen was hidden by hedges because Peter and I would’ve given passers-by a real eyeful while we were there. He was in his undies, and I was wearing only a pair of bloomers; after all, why waste time getting dressed when it’s not going to stay on for long.

After our meal, we wandered through to the lounge and began making out on the sofa. Given the previous days' exertions, I was surprised how quickly we got hot and bothered. For me, Peter's most erotic move was when he slid his hand inside my bloomers and let his fingers do their scintillating magic on my lady garden, just as he did on our first time together. I reciprocated by slipping my hand inside his undies and clasping his dick. It twitched and pulsed with joy while I gently worked the shaft. I'm ashamed to say that by then my fud was begging to be taken.

So, it was a relief when Peter withdrew his hand and pulled off my moistened knickers. Peter’s beast sprung out as I pulled down his undies. I couldn't resist the chance to kiss its tip as I worked Peter's drawers down to his ankles and off. At that, Peter's cock trembled eagerly. My twat was ready to receive, and Peter's willy was ready to deliver. We coupled and rode each other like crazy. So, hungry for Peter’s dick, I even topped him for a while, a first for me.

As waves of pleasure coursed through me, I realized that I was closing on a climax. Peter must have sensed this as well because his strokes got faster, harder and deeper. My whole body shuddered and shook when Peter’s cock suddenly began to convulse deep in my fanny. It now flooded with my love honey as Peter’s tool got to the vinegar strokes and filled me with cum. Instinctively, I pushed my pussy upwards so that Peter’s last plunge into me was a doozy. We both shuddered and screamed as his cock trashed home base and we became a single quivering ecstatic body engulfed in sensual joy.        

I must admit that this enthralling session completely exhausted me. Peter had to carry me to bed, and I slept well into the following day, long after he’d gone off to work. Nonetheless, by evening I’d preened and pampered myself and had dinner ready before Peter came home. We ate together, lounged around for a while and then went to bed where we made slow and tender but satisfying love. Next day, I got up at the same time as Peter and spent the day doing household chores. After a nap, I even visited my two favorite friends.

“My, you’re looking well. You’ve got a skip in your step.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I’m just taking exercise to pep me up. You should try it.”

“Nah, our joints get sore if we overdo it.”

“Ah well, each to their own.” I chuckled to myself that they had no idea what I meant and would have been horrified at the suggestion.  

Peter was home before me that evening and had prepared our dinner. Again, we went to bed soon afterwards and spent the evening sharing our love. This was our daily routine until Friday when I spent the evening alone in bed. Peter had to attend a social function run by his work and wasn't home until the early hours. I snuggled up to him as we lay together the next morning, but he was distant and withdrawn. 

I knew something had happened and had to get Peter to loosen up and tell me about it. I began to work his body, but he remained tense until I kissed the tip of his cock and took it between my lips. Peter lay back and sighed quietly as his cock expanded quickly in my mouth. He was no longer in control. His dick sensed possible action and took charge of the situation. I took Peter’s shaft in my hand and gently tugged on it.

“Right, tell what’s wrong, if you want me to finish you off.”

The poor boy couldn't countermand his cock's priorities and soon blurted out the story. At the function, two work colleagues had tried to hit on him. Peter gently fobbed them off. Later, when both were tipsy, the girls started telling everyone that Peter was a fruit and a sissy, not a real man. To make it worse his colleagues thought that this was hilarious. Peter was thoroughly humiliated.

“Oh, you poor dear. Let’s give you something better to think about.” Summoning up all my experience, I worked my lips and tongue around his glans and shaft until his dick almost filled my mouth. I bobbed up and down on his cock, and it went rock hard. I almost gagged when the glans touched the back of my mouth and began releasing spunk.

I swallowed as quickly as I could but struggled to cope with the spasming shaft in my mouth. Happily, with gentle licking and sucking Peter's weapon settled and drew back to its quiescent, albeit still large, self. The look of joy and satisfaction on Peter’s face was out of this world.

“So, what’re you going to do about those girls.”

“Nothing, I’ll just ignore them and act as though nothing happened. Most people will think their criticisms were drunken ramblings.”

“That seems to be a good plan.”

Peter and I dozed together until mid-day before getting up and moving through to the lounge. We heavy petted, and I was soon aroused and gasping for action. Peter lay on top of me and whispered in my ear.

“Relax and enjoy. Let me do the work, this is your reward.”

The rabbit gently entered its burrow and with stroke after stroke lit up every sweet spot. I was already highly excited when Peter began to massage my clitoris. My pussy went into a frenzy as it raced to climax. I was trembling and bucking as my love honey rushed past Peter’s dick, soaked my lips and squirted out onto the mat. I was disappointed that Peter hadn’t cum as well, but that didn’t seem to faze him. He continued to ride me all the way through my orgasm.

In fact, Peter’s stroke rate increased as soon as I had settled, and I was quickly on edge again as he pounded my pussy into submission. I shuddered non-stop and let out a string of un-ladylike oaths as my fanny spasmed and filled with both my love honey and Peter’s spunk. The sensations from my fud as Peter’s dick rippled, spasmed, and throbbed in its new erotic sea were out of this world.

“Wow, you’re a real stag. I’ve never ever been rutted like that before. The earth moved for me."

“My pleasure, I owe you so much. You earned every ounce of the ecstasy. You rocked my boat.”

The next few days were erotic, albeit less earth-shattering, as Peter, and I transitioned from lovers to a loving twosome. Over the following weeks and months, we were a normal husband and wife, except that the sex was probably more frequent and raunchier. We worked together around the house and garden. We went shopping in nearby towns and even went on day trips. Obviously, we had to be discreet when out-with the house, but Peter didn’t mind being referred to as my grand-nephew on these occasions. He also changed his dress style and appearance, so that even when we had a close call, he wasn't recognizable.    

Despite the domesticity, Peter and I were still infatuated with each other. In my young day, missionary and occasionally doggy-style were it. These positions were always my favorites, but now with Peter and I experimented with many exciting new ways to make love; even some entrancing sexual positions with which randy teens would’ve struggled. I’d been worried that he’d become bored with me and stray but far from it.

Peter’s mission seemed to keep happy me and satisfied in every way. He liked to surprise me, whether it be with a new position or location. Peter introduced me to the thrill of sex outdoors, usually within the confines of my well-hidden garden but occasionally further afield. The most memorable occasion was when we made love amongst the dunes of a nearby beach, while people played by the sea. We were both as horny as hell, and the added buzz of possible discovery made for an enchanting experience.

The funniest occasion occurred when Peter and I were in enjoying each other in my back garden. Luckily, we were well hidden when we heard footsteps and knocking at the back door. My two oldest friends had come to visit.

“Ach, she’s out gallivanting again. Mark my words, she’ll overdo it.”

As we heard them leave, I laughed and said to Peter, “if you want to overexert me, I’m more than happy.”

“I don’t need to be told twice.”

Several of Peter’s female colleagues set about trying to save him from his solitary and monastic life. Judging by the photographs I saw they were all curvy and hot, a boy’s dream. Despite their attention, Peter didn’t succumb.    

“Why would I go after cheap bubbly when I’ve already got champagne?”  

I was relieved that my plan to keep Peter busy had worked. This challenge hadn’t been difficult. Although Peter liked plenty of sex, he wasn’t insatiable or over-demanding. I was able to meet his needs and more. Our best times together were when I'd coaxed him into intimate action. Peter's colleagues could’ve been equally sexually active but could never have achieved the intense emotional bond that Peter and I shared; a critical part of the relationship for Peter.

While I was happy with my situation, there was always a little niggle in the background. In keeping Peter to myself instead of encouraging him to be with his peers was I doing him harm? There was no easy answer. Yes, I was selfish, but Peter was his own man. He chose to be with me and was free to leave at any time.

Peter had been staying with me for close to one year when he got called back to his home base in the South of England for a series of meetings and discussions. This recall was inevitable but also what I’d been dreading. If, as seemed likely, the company wanted him to be at home base it would be the end for Peter and me. The week before Peter's departure was quite strained. Although we both tried to act normally, we knew the possible outcomes.

Every day of Peter’s first week away felt like a week on its own. The second and third weeks dragged out even more. A letter from Peter was delivered in the middle of the third week. The gist was that he and I needed to talk and that he’d be with me on Friday morning. This didn't sound good, but at least Peter wanted to tell me in person.

I paced around the house early Friday morning unsure if I wanted to hear what Peter had to say. My spirits lifted a little when I saw him get out of the taxi. We exchanged a sweet kiss as soon as he was inside, but I could sense that Peter was tired and on edge. We had coffee together, and then Peter put his arm around me.

"There is no easy way to say this, but the company has offered me an assistant manager's post at headquarters. My pay would double, and I'd be on the fast track to senior management. My parents are of course delighted and insist that I take the post straight away.”

“I know you too well. I sense that you have doubts about this.”

"I'm flattered to get the offer, but I think it's short-sighted for the company and for me. The whole business is changing fast. In a few years, most jobs will be done by computer-driven machines. The company will need graduates to manage those systems, not bread and butter machinists like me. The company was astounded when I said this but to give them their due they went away and thought it over.”

“What did they suggest? They didn’t sack you did they.”

“No, they told me that they’d talked with business specialists, who’d agreed with my summation of the future and the need for graduate managers.”

“So, what do they suggest.”

I could hardly contain myself when Peter said, “they propose that I continue working here but also attend the local University which does a good degree in the computing and engineering sciences. If I get the degree, they’ll then appoint me to a management role at an appropriate site.”

“You’re going to take the offer aren’t you?”

"I stalled them. I said I needed to consult with my family, but really, I wanted to talk to you."

“Why? The decision for you is obvious.”

“I can’t do this alone. I need you. Can you cope with me for another four years?”

I trembled as I kissed him on the lips. "Of course, I can. You didn't have to ask, but I'm glad that you did because now I get to show you how much I want us to be together."

An exhausted young man caught the sleeper train south on Sunday night. On his return the following Friday, he gave me a ring identical to one that he now wore on his ring finger. We were now one. There were no guarantees for the future, but for so long as Peter and I were together, it was going to be fun.