To the reader
: what you are about to read is the ramblings of an "older" man who is currently spending a good bit of his time adjusting to the realization that the number of years in which he will continue to be sexually active is decreasing rapidly. As he reaches his 64th birthday this summer, he understands that not only will his physical capabilities begin to suffer, but the actual availability of willing partners will also begin to wane.
His marital situation β 40 years wed β has done nothing to satisfy his desires, as his wife is one who was brought up in her early years to believe that sexual relations were a bare necessity and nothing else. They are necessary for "wifely duties" during the first few years of a marriage and they are necessary for "reproduction purposes" during the period of time when it is convenient to produce a family. But, in her way of thinking, there is simply no other reason to engage in any sort of physical relationship after a family is produced. Nothing that this older man could do or say within the past 40 years has had any impact on her mind-set. He has, therefore, sought physical comfort and solace outside of the marriage.
He has enjoyed several long-term relationships over the 26 years since his youngest child was born; and has, on infrequent occasions, taken a chance on "one-night-stand" involvements. Just recently, he has come to the realization that he may face the next 20-30 years (his health is perfect) without any sort of physical involvement with the opposite sex. This has caused him much mental anguish because he realizes that even though his physical needs will diminish with time and age, his mental and emotional requirements will not. There have been moments of panic in the past few months, but he has now begun a campaign of getting "as much as he can, as often as he can, as long as he can" in the hopes that his recent memories will serve him well when he reaches the point that females will not consider a physical relationship with him.
Here follows the fifth and final in a series of events that have taken place within the bounds of that campaign. There will be future episodes as they develop and come to fruition.
The stories will be told in the first person, simply for ease of writing. It will be up to the reader to determine whether these chapters are autobiographical or not.
If you have not read the previous four chapters, it would be wise to do so.
* * * * *
What would any man be thinking if he were in my position? As I stand here, stiff cock in the palm of my hand, looking down at the most incredibly ravishing beauty any one man could ever hope to possess, she repeats her request: "Ed, I want to be fucked. I want to be fucked, but I want it to be a loving thing, like we were newlyweds. Can you do that? Can you love me, Ed? Can you make me feel young and new and fresh again?"
The only answer possible to that question is for me to move to stand at her side of the bed and bend to kiss her brow and then each and every feature of her lovely face to the point that her lips open and invite me to taste them as well. I do, and I find a warmth that belies the ice-queen image she has foisted on those around her for so many years. There is also a depth to this warmth that seems bottomless, as if I could release my soul and it would live deep inside her forever β safe in the knowledge that my life's dreams have been fulfilled. I stood up again and allowed my hands to trail through the auburn waves of silk that crowned her head. I caressed her and murmured things to her that were more like feelings than words. I had surprised her again, this time with my tenderness and my attention to her feelings. And now it was time for her to surprise me.
While my hands were still caressing her hair, she turned to her side and leaned up on one elbow, taking my cock in her other hand. She looked at it for a few seconds, and then raised her eyes to connect with mine as she leaned forward and placed a very soft kiss on the swollen purple head. A glistening drop of pre-cum lay there and was transferred to her lips. She flicked her tongue out as she withdrew from the kiss and tasted my own essence. Not for one moment had she taken her eyes from mine. And now she said, "I've never done that, either, Ed; perhaps there are a lot of things that I have not done that I should have done long before now. If things work out, maybe I'll learn about some of them tonight, here, with you." And she released my shaft from her fingers and lay back down on the bed, her hair fanning out on the pillow beneath her head, creating a gorgeous auburn-red halo in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.
"Now, Ed; now. Don't make me wait much longer. My resolve is wavering with each second you delay. I've asked you to fuck me; don't make me beg you. Do it."
I bent and placed one arm beneath her knees and the other beneath her shoulders and scooted her over to the center of the mattress and lay down beside her. My right hand quickly found willing targets in her swollen nipples and aureoles. I kissed her face, her neck, her lips as I murmured to her the entire time, "My sweet, sweet, Valerie, I'm so proud to be married to you. You are perfect. I am so happy you decided on me. Here we are on our honeymoon and I'm not sure I want to spoil your perfection by giving you what we both want. I need you, though; I want to possess you, make you mine. I want to give you feelings you've never felt before. I want our love to be special tonight. Are you happy you married me? Do you really want me to enter your holy of holies and make you and her mine forever?"
She immediately caught on to the game. She had asked me to love her "β¦likeβ¦newlywedsβ¦" and I was producing a bit of role-play here to do it. She accepted the role of the new wife and returned my comments with murmured agreements and urgings. We were now much younger. We were totally, irrevocably, in love. We were married. We were honeymooners. Perhaps, even, we might be virgins. I kissed her again as my hand wandered across the swells of her breasts and felt her aureoles and nipples stiffen, swell, crinkle and almost vibrate under the touches of my fingertips and palms. Rolling them between thumbs and forefingers, one after the other, only served to increase their rigidity and I could feel the intense beating of her heart right up into the very tips of their dark rose crowns.
And my hand moved slowly southward as the hunger in our mouths increased. Our tongues touched, played, fenced and devoured one another. My hand found its goal, that overgrown meadow of auburn silk that just recently my face had invaded. Now, it was time to reassess the entrance to her velvet grotto and make certain she was prepared to accept my intrusion.