Up For Review:
Slow Cruise (MF, slow, rom)
Lots of stories revolve around a young man's introduction to sex at the hands of an older woman. But in this story, he's 45 and not a virgin. I guess this grew out a flirtation with an older woman, and is an attempt to imagine a romance.
Prologue
My tongue was as far inside my wife's pussy as I could reach, working the spot inside her that made her squirm. My right hand, the thumb and fingers coated in pussy juice, was working her nipple in time with my licking. My left hand teased her pussy lips, her asshole, her clit.
Reaching down, she pulled my left hand away from her sex and up to her right nipple, the more sensitive one, and I shifted my tongue to her clit. As I worked her breasts and slid my tongue around and over her clit, I stretched my lower lip down over her hole to catch the squirts of pussy juice shooting out as she came and came and came.
Finally she pushed my face away from her crotch, pulled me up, and guided my cock inside her. Insistently, she squeezed my ass, pushing me in deep and fast. Her hands moved up to my pecs, and she cruelly squeezed them and tweaked my nipples, knowing it would make me cum hard and fast. She never liked to fuck long; once she'd had her orgasms on my mouth, she wanted me inside and cumming quick.
It all felt amazingly good, except for one nagging doubt. Something seemed wrong. My left hand, just as she'd cum with my face in her crotch, my left hand had felt something wrong in her breast.
After I came, she pushed me off and reached for the towel to mop up, and then for her nightie, but I stopped her and reached for her breast. She slapped my hand away; she didn't like me groping at her. But I told her to wait a second, and reaching for her breast, I pushed below the nipple. Oh god, there was a lump. We rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her breast looked normal. Her own hand pushed and prodded. There was definitely a lump. I was filled with dread. She looked at me like it was all my fault.
The doctor visits followed, then the surgery, the chemo and radiation, the hope, the dashing of hope, the renewed hope again, the agony of trying to explain to the kids, the final realization, the loss. It took two years for the cancer to kill her, and through it all, she both clung to me and hated me. Why it was my fault I could never understand. She needed me, but she wouldn't let me near. We slept in the same bed, her holding me for her comfort, never comforting me. We never made love again. Oh god, it hurt.
Afterwards, I felt empty. My daughter was in college, unwilling to let me play a major role in her life. My son was in a private high school, but he had been his mother's boy, and there wasn't much I could do, and nothing I did was right.
I was paralyzed. Nothing gave me pleasure. I couldn't make decisions. Life was aimless and gray. Emptiness. Emptiness. Emptiness.
Awakening
My friend Katy came over one day as she often did. This was about six months after my wife had died. She'd actually been my wife's friend first, but once I'd met her, we'd become fast friends too. We'd always flirted incessantly, but both of us being married with children, it was safe flirting because we both knew neither would cheat. We were as close as siblings; closer even. She knew I was ashes and paste inside. She knew what to do.
Bustling into my kitchen, she made hot water for tea, and as I leaned up against the counter, my mind blank, she cleaned some dishes, made me a sandwich, handed me a big mug of tea, and said simply "Talk!" It was an order. I obeyed.
I told her about our marriage, about the troubles we'd had, about how much I'd loved my wife, about how little she loved me back, about how she'd blamed me, and hated me, and about the emptiness.
Then Katy told me about how much my wife loved me, and what a good pair we'd been, and how we'd talked and listened, and how we'd been so close that at times, Katy had thought of us as a single person.
And what I'd said had all been true, and what Katy said had all been true. And an emotional dam was breached, and I grieved and cried, and Katy held me, crying too.
Julie
I'd known Julie for years - she was one of my hiking buddies. There were a bunch of us, and once a week, whichever of us could get free would gather together for a hike. I'd started the group long before my wife died, and hiked almost every week. Julie had made it about half the time. There were usually at least 4 or 5 people for any given hike, sometimes more, occasionally less. Honestly, I think these weekly hikes had kept me from killing myself.
It was a rainy day, and everyone else had been a weather wimp. It was just Julie and me, and instead of the discussion revolving around routes, plants, birds, and the weather, as it usually did, Julie and I started talking about ourselves.
The hike started steep, but soon became fairly gradual. The trail was wide enough in most places for us to walk side-by-side. She asked about, and let me talk about, my wife's illness and death. She let me talk about my kids. I told her far more than I had ever told her before.
We got to another steep spot, and the conversation stopped as we puffed our way up. As we came to the top of the steep section, Julie looked at me and said I was lucky that my kids were older. It had been worse for her kids.
It slowly came back to me that she'd once casually mentioned that her husband had died young, but she'd never told me about it. She did now. Her daughter had been eleven, her son just seven. Her husband had been killed by a drunk driver in an auto accident. As she spoke, I could tell she still loved her husband dearly, though it had been twenty-three years since his death. She'd been just thirty-two. Adding in my head, I realized she that made her fifty-five, almost exactly ten years older than myself. I'd never realized she was that old, yet I should have known, since she often spoke about her grandchildren.
I asked if she'd ever remarried, and she scoffed. She'd been too busy getting her family through it all to even think about men for the first ten years. After that, she was so comfortable being alone that she never really cared to tackle another relationship. Oh, she'd had some "companions", as she called them, over the years - men who she could take to parties, or who would join her for a cruise, or would do "other things men are good for." As she spoke I began blushing as I realized she was talking about sex. But she'd never wanted to marry any of them, though two had asked. She was too happy being on her own most of the time. "Alas," she said, "my last companion moved to Arizona last November."
We'd reached the top, and were on our way back down, and the conversation faded out. I think each of us was lost in thought. By the time we reached the bottom, we were back to our usual banter, but I looked at Julie with a new level of admiration. She was so alive, and together, and beautiful, yet she'd been through so much. There was a tremendous strength in her.
Katy was in my kitchen, delivering a quiche she had made for me. She was always bringing over food to ease my pain. It was her way of helping and I really appreciated it, for I needed the help. It didn't hurt that her quiche was great, too. She was also trying to set me up with one of her friends again. "She's really great, very spiritual. You'll love her." Spiritual isn't my thing. Sometimes it annoyed me when Katy pressed, but she was right that I needed to get out more, and she was probably right that I was ready for an actual relationship with an actual person. For the thousandth time I wished Katy was available, or at least that she was better at selecting friends for me to date.
I can't remember why, but as our conversation moved on, I began telling Katy about Julie and the horrible story of her husband's death. Katy agreed that she couldn't even imagine suddenly losing a husband when the children had been small. Just unimaginable. But as I talked, Katy looked straight at me, and when I finished, Katy said simply "Julie sounds like a remarkable person." That phrase stuck in my mind.
A few weeks, and a couple of hikes, later Julie was talking about the possibility that she'd get a huge discount on a cruise. The price was too good to pass up. The only problem was she needed another person to share the room with, and none of her girlfriends could go, and her "stupid ex-companion" was playing in a golf tournament, and she didn't know what to do.
As she spoke I was watching her face. I'd come to love watching her. She was always cheerful-looking when she was happy, and she pouted in such a cute way when things didn't go her way. I'd never seen her look down or depressed, and she rarely seemed stressed. She always looked fine. But I guess the thing I liked best about her was her ability to laugh at herself. It was very endearing. I guess it was because of that train of thought that the words tumbled out of my mouth.
"I could go with you."
I really had no desire to go on a cruise, of all things, except that Julie had been featuring in some of my fantasies recently. And even having fantasies was a new thing for me.
Julie stopped short and looked at me. As she looked, I thought about what I'd said, and realized that I really would like to go on a cruise with her and I really would like to do "other things men are good for" with her. Julie looked like she was about to laugh, but as she saw my face, her expression changed. "Oh My God," she mouthed silently. "I'm way too old for you," she said frowning.
"No you're not," I replied quietly.
After a few crushing seconds of silence, I asked her out to dinner to discuss it. She protested again, and I was just about to give up and laugh it off, when she surprised me by accepting the dinner invite, though I was pretty sure the acceptance did not include the cruise.
Dinner was fun. There's no better word to use. She picked me up (her car is much nicer than mine) and we drove to a nice restaurant that she picked out (her tastes are more refined than mine). She looked absolutely beautiful, elegant as always (she even manages to look elegant while hiking, mind you), and except for some wrinkles on her face, she could have been thirty-five. I looked like me in a suit, which is to say that even dressing me up doesn't make me elegant. I'm sure I wasn't her "type," but maybe she was flattered by being asked out by a guy ten years her junior. In any case, we got along fabulously. The wine and conversation flowed, and I felt alive again for the first time in years. We told each other stories, and enjoyed the food.
After dinner, a band started playing and a few couples started dancing. "Care to dance," she asked me, as the band started playing a waltz. The other couples dancing were all older and danced with the effortless grace of people who had had dance lessons and had danced all their lives. I was a bit intimidated, barely knowing my dance steps at all.
"If you can't even dance a waltz, you can't go on a cruise," she said with a teasing smirk.
It was the night's first mention of the cruise. There was something implied that made me realize she was actually considering my previous offer. And I realized that she was serious - if I couldn't dance with her, I couldn't "dance" with her either. So, I stood up and took her hand and we made our way to the dance floor. I took a couple of seconds to watch another couple, and it helped me remember where to put my hands and where to move my feet. Lessons from a quick dance class in college came back to me as I took Julie in my arms. She smiled up at me as we began to dance. "Oh good," she said, amused, "you DO know how to dance." I was, perhaps, not very good, but I managed to finish the dance without stepping on her toes nor bumping into any of the couples around us.
I begged off the tango that started next, but she smiled at me as I led her back to the table. "Well, at least you can waltz," she said.
We then talked a bit about the practicalities of going on the cruise together, but at no time did she say, or even imply, that it was actually going to happen. It was all still very hypothetical.
Suddenly, she glanced at her watch. "Oh shoot," she said, "I have to get up early tomorrow." And with that, she paid our bill and we left. She drove me back to my place and stopped in the driveway for me to get out.
"Before you go, there's another thing I need to know before I decide on this cruise," she said. "Are you a good kisser?" I was momentarily stunned, but then, looking into her eyes, I leaned forward to meet her, and we kissed. The first one was brief. The second one was sensual. On the third one, I felt her tongue work its way between my lips to meet my own. A fourth followed, and then she sat back with a satisfied look on her face. She gave me a sly smile, and said, "Well, you've got potential. Now, OUT, I've got to run." So I got out and watched her drive off.
She didn't leave my thoughts or my dreams that night.
The next afternoon, she called me up. "Can I come over?" was all she said, and when I said yes, she was on her way and I was tidying up hurriedly. When she arrived, she knocked, but let herself in when she saw me through the window. I met her halfway down the hall to the door, and she put her arms around my neck and pulled me down for a quick kiss, then all but pulled me into the living room.
"So, are you entirely sure you want to spend a whole week with me on a cruise, with a tiny little stateroom, and waiting on an old lady who spends hours in the bathroom in order to look halfway decent?"
I leaned over and kissed her again, then said, "Yes, only you're not old."
"Well, in that case, we've got to get you some suitable clothes. I assume you don't have any, do you?"
I admitted that I probably didn't, so off we went to the mall to buy me an appropriate suit, a few pairs of slacks and shirts, and a bathing suit that she'd be willing to see me in. We stopped in the middle for a light dinner and a glass of wine, then she found me some luggage for it all. My credit card was hurting before we were all done. Finally she announced that we were finished, and we headed back to my place, where I stashed everything in the spare bedroom to be dealt with later.
As I came out of the room, she met me in the hall, and wrapped her arms around my neck. "I think there's one more test we should try before finally deciding that this cruise is the right idea." And with that, she pulled me to the bedroom.
Suddenly I found myself sitting on the bed with Julie. We started slowly kissing and caressing each other. I was rather startled by how new and different everything felt, and I was wondering how to proceed when she stopped and looked up into my eyes. "Are you sure you really want this? You seem hesitant."
I thought for a minute. It had been three years since I'd made love to a woman. Prior to that, sex with my wife had not always gone well, and certainly had not been frequent. It had always felt like something she had reluctantly agreed to do with me, and that once she'd agreed, the goal was to make her feel good, and not us. It was occasionally ecstatic, often pleasant, sometimes a disaster, and never "fun". It usually brought my wife and me closer together, but sometimes drove us apart. It was often stressful, and it hadn't done my self-esteem any good, ever.
And now I was with a woman I admired very much, who was very self-assured, who I thought very beautiful, and who was looking for some loving, if not some love.
I sighed, lay down on my back with my eyes closed for a second, then pulled her so she was lying down on top of my chest. I kissed her tenderly, then began sharing with her some of these thoughts and doubts. I ended up by saying, "But, yes, I do want to do this with you. I'm just a bit unsure of myself."
She didn't say a word, but she began unbuttoning my shirt, kissing my chest as it came into view. She looked up at me, with a goofy but touching grin on her face, and said, "I know what's wrong. You're like a child who doesn't know how to play. So I'm going to teach you."
She sucked on my nipples, making little popping noises when she pulled her mouth off them. She tickled me. She poked me. I poked her back. And soon we were giggling and pulling clothing off ourselves and the other as fast as we could.
Stopping a moment, she sat back and looked at my body. "My god, you look young. I haven't been with a man who looked this young since my Paul died." With that, she reached into my boxers and pulled out my cock, and gave it a long lick like it was a lollypop, then gave it a kiss. I was hard as a rock. I sat up on my elbows and watched her. She had a few wrinkles here and there, but no flab (except for a little tummy which I find quite attractive anyway). Her pubic hair was gray, and her skin was pale, but her breasts hardly sagged, and she looked as cute as could be. She saw me looking at her, and she sat up and posed while I wolf-whistled. Then she was back at my dick.
It felt amazing. My wife never sucked. I hadn't had a blowjob in more than twenty years, and it didn't take long before I had to tell Julie I was about to blow. She took her mouth off my cock only long enough to say that she loved to swallow if that wasn't going to gross me out. So I pushed her mouth back onto my pole and seconds later, I groaned and shot a lot of cum into her mouth. She just kept licking and sucking and swallowing, then scooted up so that she was lying on top of me again. I could feel the heat from her pussy on my cock as she pressed against me, and her nipples were like pebbles pressing into my chest.
Not minding the taste, I kissed her hard, shoving my tongue into her mouth, and we frenched frantically for a minute. I told her to roll over so I could eat her, but instead she scooted forward, raising herself up, and moving her pussy closer to my mouth. "How about we do it this way," she said, and she sat on my chest within tongue-reach. Grabbing her ass in my hands, I pulled her forward and started licking her, teasing her labia, and nosing her clit. She'd put a tiny dab of perfume in her pubes, and a very tropical smell of flowers and coconuts filled my head.
I reached up to play with her breasts. Everything felt good. Everything felt right. She looked behind me, and seeing that my cock was hard again, she suddenly rose up and turned around, settling her pussy back onto my mouth, while her mouth moved to my cock and balls in a classic 69. She ground her pussy onto my mouth and groaned while she teased my rejuvenating cock. She rubbed her breasts side-to-side across my belly, and I could feel her nipples. I reached up, cupping her butt, which wasn't that tight, but was instead an amazing softness. It felt like a cloud. It felt like heaven.
She became insistent, groaning and clutching, as I tongued her twat. I locked on to her clit, sucking and licking, while I shoved a thumb right up her pussy. She came and came, her pussy milking my thumb, squeezing it tight. I eased off her clit, but continued to nuzzle near it as she came down. Finally she lay still, breathing hard, and I let my head drop back against the bed, and I watched as her pussy clutched once or twice more in little aftershocks. She rolled off me and "Come here - I'm too limp to move." I scooted around so we were face to face again, and she grabbed me and kissed my pussy-soaked face. "Oh god, you've spoiled me forever," she said with a smile, and laid back down again.
As she lay back resting, I propped myself up on an elbow, and I looked at her chest heaving as she regained her breath. She looked sidelong over at me, her eyes twinkling, and I blew her a kiss. As she relaxed, I reached out with my free hand and started slowly rubbing her belly and her chest and her shoulders, skipping her breasts for now. As her breathing slowed, I leaned over and sucked a breast into my mouth and nursed the nipple gently, then leaned forward and sucked the other one. I went back to the first while my hand played with the second. Occasionally, I'd move my mouth up to her mouth and we'd kiss. My hand wandered down to her sex and rubbed around gently. My fingers played with the lips of her pussy.
She pulled my face up to hers, kissed me, and demanded, "I want you inside me now." I rolled onto my back, pulling her on top of me, and she guided me in. I fucked up into her pussy, and she fucked back, and we steadily worked towards a dual release. Oh god, it all felt so good, but then she stopped me. "One second," she said apologetically, as she climbed off my cock and got some hand cream from her purse. "The joys of sex with post-menopausal women - we need lube," she explained, as she rubbed cream on my dick, then slid back down on it. With the lube, the friction wasn't quite so great, and I was able to hold off from cumming until after she had reached a couple of peaks. Her second one made me pop too.
Afterwards we lay together in a happy glow and started talking about the cruise, for clearly that test had been passed and we now needed to do some serious planning. We were naked and sweaty and disheveled as we lay on my bed. She was completely done, but even as we talked about air fares and baggage, every thought of our coupling made my dick pulse. She held it in her hand and stroked it gently as we talked. "Oh, to be with a young man again," she said finally. "Let me suck you off."
I moved above her, scooting forward until I was in position to fuck her face, and she sucked me in. I was hard as steel again, and her tongue and mouth felt so good. It was a real kick to see this elegant lady sucking my dick. "I want to cum on your face," I whispered. I wasn't even sure I wanted her to hear my request, but she did, and she nodded yes, while sucking even harder on my cock. I reached down and took her breasts in my hands. Feeling the softness of her breasts and the little points of her nipples in my palms pushed me over the edge. I leaned back, pulling my cock from her mouth. Her hands grabbed it and stroked, and my cum raced up the shaft and poured onto her nose and cheeks and lips and a bit into her frosted hair. Being my third orgasm of the evening, I didn't exactly spurt, but there was a lot of cum nonetheless.
Julie's fingers squeezed the last drops out of my cock, then she started wiping the cum off her face and licking it off her fingers. I scooted down and helped her out with my fingers, pushing cum into her mouth and around her lips. When her face was cleaned of cum, we lay there nose to nose, grinning at each other.
"Let's take a shower," she said, and I couldn't think of a better plan in the world.
The cruise was a complete success. We were crammed into a terrible little cabin, but the tiny bed made for creative lovemaking. I apologized at one point for having only a 5 inch dick, but Julie assured me that 5 inches three times a night was much better than seven inches once every two days, as with her ex-companion. "Plus," she added, "I swear your tongue is seven inches long." Well, not quite, but it did get quite a workout.
I'd have to say that I'm not in love with cruises, per se. It was special to be there with Julie, but I didn't care for most of the programmed fun the cruise directors had planned. Meals were pretty good, and there was one decent band (we even danced a bit), but the nightclub acts were not my style, and the shore tours were really lame. I don't think I'm really built for the cruising life. Except for being with Julie.
We made a scandalous couple for a while after that. All of our friends were aware of the age difference, and Julie was teased mercilessly about having robbed the cradle. Nobody really said much to me about it, but I could tell people thought it weird that I was with such an older woman. We didn't care - we had plenty of playful sex for months, and it made us both feel like children again.
But of course we knew going in that ours was not a long-term relationship. In the end, Julie was the one to suggest we should see other people. In fact, she insisted upon hooking me up with a friend of hers who was a year younger than myself.
I was reluctant to break it off with Julie, but she finally insisted. I wasn't really the kind of companion that Julie looked for. I wasn't able to match her elegance. I wasn't as strong as she, and she resented that. I also wasn't the kind of guy she wanted to bring home to her kids. After all, I was only about 10 years older than her daughter, and in a way, that embarrassed Julie.
For my part, the age difference also mattered to me in the end, not so much because she was old, as because there were things we could not share, there were things I hadn't lived through. It somehow kept us separate. I also began to want a committed relationship, maybe even a new marriage, and that was never going to happen with Julie.
But Julie had given me back my soul, and for that I will love her always. That, and the fact that her matchmaking was much better than Katy's.
- Gray Beard, 2003