Ageless Erotica Read online

  “Tony, when you play, it makes me so happy. It makes me feel like dancing,” she whispers against my shoulder.

  “Dancing tomorrow night,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try to come early again.”

  That next night I am ready and waiting for her by seven thirty. I even put on some Old Spice cologne from a bottle that must have been sitting in my bathroom cabinet for two years. Finally she knocks, and my heart races back and forth like a metronome.

  Get a grip, I tell myself, or you will welcome her with a heart attack. I take a couple of deep breaths.

  “Come in,” I call.

  “Hi,” Mary says, as she steps into the room. “How are you tonight, Tony?”

  I decide to go for broke. “Right as rain, now that you’re here, Mary,” I tell her.

  She giggles. “You make me feel so special,” she says.

  “You are special,” I answer. “Come sit down on the bed and we’ll chat awhile.”

  She sits down on the bed and puts the medicine tray beside her like she did the night before. She is pale, has dark circles under her eyes. “You look a little beat. You working too hard?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “It’s kind of you to be concerned. It’s my son. He’s fallen in with a bad crowd. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me giving you some advice?” I ask. “You need to sit down with him and talk to him straight. Tell him he only lives once, and if he starts to screw up, it’s hard to get back on track. How old is he?”

  “Twenty,” she says. I’m surprised. I thought her kid would still be in grade school.

  “When did you have him, when you were fifteen?” Her face perks up a little.

  “I’m fifty-two now, Tony,” she tells me. I had thought she was in her early forties.

  “Well then,” I say. “You’re just the right age for me.” She doesn’t say yes; she doesn’t say no. She suddenly leans over and kisses me right on the mouth, a lingering kiss full of promises. I kiss her back. I am glad I still remember how to do it. When her lips part, I slide my tongue in. The wood is growing up so high between my legs I’m afraid I’ll poke her in her generous bosom. Then she starts sucking on my tongue, and I stop being frightened of anything.

  “I’m feeling so much better,” Mary says when we pull apart.

  The way I am sitting, my knee pushes against the walker standing next to the bed. “I know I promised you dancing, Mary,” I tell her, trying to keep any hint of bitterness out of my voice, “but even with this contraption, I don’t know if I could manage a two-step.”

  “I don’t care. You’re still an attractive man, Tony.” She puts her hand on the inside of my thigh, and her fingers brush against my cohones. She strokes lightly. I want to leap on her and take her right then, but she pulls her hand away. “I better go,” she sighs. “I’m already late.” She gives me a quick kiss and is gone.

  I feel like I’m dancing in the clouds. Can this really be happening? Maybe Mary is some demented fantasy born out of my loneliness. Maybe I’ve finally gone over the bend. But I don’t care because she makes me feel like springtime. I pick up my trumpet and play “The red, red robin is bob, bob, bobbin’ along” until my next-door neighbor Reuben, a nonagenarian xylophone player, starts pounding on the wall.

  I put away the trumpet, switch off the lights, and go to bed. Soon I’m in the limbo land between sleeping and waking. Clara and Mary are lying on either side of me. Mary has her hand delicately over my dick. Clara’s head is curled on my shoulder. I hear a faint knocking at the door. I stumble up, nearly fall, before I grab my walker and make it to the door. It’s Mary. I move aside to let her in. She closes the door and puts a finger to her lips.

  She pushes me back till I am sitting on the bed. She unbuttons her uniform and lets it fall to the floor. Her skin is so white she gleams in the darkness like a giant pearl. She is wearing a simple black bra and a black pair of those newfangled thong panties. I can make out wisps of curly hair escaping the silky triangle at her vulva. This turns me on so much, my pecker rises up like a periscope. Mary must sense it, because quicker than I can say Hallelujah, she kneels between my legs, frees it from my pants. She takes it between her full lips into her juicy mouth. She sucks gently on my cockhead as she circles my pole with her hand and starts pumping. Her movements are syncopated so as her head moves up and down on me her hand does the same.

  I am impressed. Mary seems to have had considerable experience.

  I can feel the heat of her breasts moving on my shins. I reach down, unhook her bra, and pull it off. I lift one tit in each hand and start tracing my fingers up to the nipple and back. She seems to like this because she starts blowing me even harder. She starts tickling the little hole on the top of my cock with her tongue, and miraculously I’m young again, I’m Rambo, I’m unstoppable. I start to come and come and come into her mouth like a mighty warrior. Right away, I feel embarrassed. I should have pulled out before the moment of truth. I don’t know if she likes to swallow like Clara did. But Mary downs my come like it is good, fresh milk.

  When I am drained, Mary raises herself and sits beside me, my visiting goddess. I put my arm around her. She nestles closer. “I enjoyed that,” she says. “It makes me very wet.” She puts her hand over me. I am still half hard, and with the touch of her palm my prick jumps up again all fine and frisky. She pulls off her panties. I pull off my pajama top; she pulls off the bottoms. She straddles me, and I put my hands on her hips and help her slide up and down until we make the bedsprings sing “Begin the Beguine.”

  After she leaves, I feel the sheet, still warm where she was lying beside me. I don’t know what will happen with this surprising new romance, but one thing I know for sure: Right now, I’m the happiest old horn dog in the world.

  A slightly different version of “Tony Tempo” was published in Tasting Him: Oral Sex Stories, edited by Rachael Kramer Bussel.

  BETTER THAN VIBRATORS

  Cheri Crystal

  “Jean . . . ahhh, wait . . . higher, no . . . lower, right, oh God, yes, oh sweetie, yeah, just like that, only softer. Not that soft, ahhhh, yes, better, just purrrrfect, don’t stop . . . don’t ever stop.”

  “Okay, but I’ll have to quit my day job,” I quipped.

  “Good, oh yeah, feels very good.” Louise was the vocal type from the moment I’d met her in the student union thirty-five years ago. She was the university ringleader of gay rights before it was cool to be out. With her charisma, she inspired confidence in her convictions. Crowds gathered to listen whether they agreed with her or not. I hung on her every word as much then as I did now; it didn’t matter if she was orating from a podium or orchestrating her next orgasm.

  She murmured in sync with her gyrating hips as if singing to her favorite tune. It brought me back to our youth when we had high hopes and boundless energy to accomplish whatever cause or desire we set our minds to. It’s funny how goals change with age. For instance, aiming to remember where you left your grocery list and wondering if you wrote one out in the first place. At fifty-three I could kick myself for taking good health for granted during my youth. All the abuse like smoking, drinking, overeating, and not sleeping enough came back to haunt me.

  An aging body took a lot fewer punches to be out for the count. What in the world would I be like at eighty-three? If I lived that long. I didn’t dare say that to Louise. She was six years my senior and fitter than me by a mile. I went through menopause before she’d even started. After my heart attack, the sheer terror of another one landed me on anti-anxiety drugs. Between a significant drop in estrogen, libido-altering drugs, and crappy genes, I was borderline diabetic, and my bones were thinning too. Calcium supplements weren’t as bad as the special diet and exercise routine. What would be next?

  If it weren’t for Louise’s chorus of love cries, I could really wallow in self-pity, but I love all her sounds, scents, nooks, and crannies. Her idiosyncrasies, the ones only I know, like how s
he often talks in her sleep and has no recollection of it in the morning, or my absolute favorite: her hum. The first time she went down on me, we were in my dorm room during a school day. She was a grad student with a free schedule until the afternoon. I was a naughty freshman and had skipped class. I was really getting into what her luscious lips and tongue were doing when I heard what sounded like the fridge on the fritz. The hum grew louder. You’d have thought I would have felt some extra vibrations on my nether regions, but I was a total dork when it came to Louise and longed to impress her no matter what. The hum totally distracted me because I worried we were about to have a short in the plug or something.

  I can still picture Louise with her rosy blush over pale skin. As her bright blue eyes darkened with desire, her lips parted in puzzlement at my sudden shift. Her full firm breasts and large pink nipples, slim waist, ample hips, and especially her neat golden-brown triangle at the apex of her long lean legs drew me in more than any other woman I’d ever seen. She sat statuesquely as I quickly scanned the room for the source of the hum. When I glanced back in her direction, Louise wore a bemused, yet seductive, smile as she lured me over. We laughed until we cried after I learned it was Louise humming down there and not some faulty wiring.

  I relived that memory often but was brought back to the earth when my hand had gone numb, courtesy of carpal tunnel syndrome, during my reverie. Louise nudged me with her knee.

  “Jean, faster, yes, good, ahhh, perfect.” It amazed me how she could concentrate on coming while carrying on a conversation, but Louise was an accomplished multitasker even in the throes of passion. While I couldn’t speak and even held my breath to the point of passing out before letting go, my girl could do both and still whistle “The Star Spangled Banner” in a pinch.

  Her body thrummed beneath me, our collective heat scorched the sheets. Louise was an inferno. I moved my legs out from under my butt to shake out the pins and needles. Choosing a supine position for the grand finale that was sure to happen any day now, I rested my head in the crook of my left arm while taking her to the pinnacle of orgasmic pleasure without interrupting my signature hand job to suit her needs. I added a few new ministrations for spice and was rewarded with melodious moans of carnality.

  After ten minutes or so, I asked, “Are you getting closer?” I hoped I sounded inquisitive, not impatient, just wanting to judge the pressure she needed to achieve and sustain her bliss.

  “Yes, no, well, soon . . . I think.” Her bodacious bottom pounded the mattress like a meat cleaver rendering tough meat tender. Somehow I found this image hot. Don’t ask why, I just did. Maybe I was missing red meat or maybe I was getting horny too, because just then my clit twitched. It had been a while since I’d had even a minute stirring down there, but Louise saved my libido from certain death.

  “Please, don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” she repeated. With several fingers luxuriating inside, I pumped her tightened depths and my thumb worked magic on her clitoris. I willed my hand not to cramp. Sometimes my body parts behaved older than my actual age. Still, I would rather go into rigor mortis than not satisfy the love of my life. I’d do anything for Louise.

  The clock struck twelve. Most nights we zonked out in front of the television before 10:00 pm. How did we ever manage to stay awake until the first rays of sun flitted across the horizon during some rally or mountain retreat back then? And now it was hard to find the stamina for a short sex session, let alone a marathon.

  “Oh God, I’m coming, yes, now—”

  I slowed my thumb over her folds, added more lube, and paid particular attention where she needed it most. Rubbing, gliding, and palpating, I didn’t stop until her breath caught, her hips slowed, and she clenched my fingers inside only to push me out and suck me back in the closer she got.

  “Ohhh, so good,” she moaned, writhing atop the sheets. I had her right where I wanted her. I was dripping with anticipation as sweet now as the first time I summoned up the courage to plant my first kiss on her porcelain cheek, cold and bright red against the steam of my hot breath during a white winter’s day my freshman year.

  “Slow down, babe, enjoy it.” My voice was raspy, my throat as tight as my pussy, matching the squeeze her pussy had on my fingers.

  “Yes, that’s it, Jean, Jean, Jean!”

  Pushing sixty, Louise took longer to come, but when she finally did, her orgasms soared above the charts.

  I milked it for all it was worth.

  “Oh, Jean! You’re my hero. That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

  I removed my fingers slowly, not wanting to, but knowing I couldn’t really stay there all night, and leaned in to kiss her lips.

  “I love watching you come,” I said. “But they can’t all be the best ever.”

  I basked in her radiant glow, threading my fingers in her silken, silver-white hair, clasping her head with my palm. I brought her closer so that my lips could merge with hers. One more succulent kiss and I’d let her sleep. She had other ideas.

  “Your turn. Move over and let me in,” she teased, squeezing my tits until my nipples responded.

  “You can pay me back tomorrow . . . with interest,” I said, no longer able to stifle a yawn.

  “At this rate I’ll have to take out a second mortgage to settle my debt,” she joked, but I detected her disappointment. I tried to convince her that her orgasm was good enough to satisfy us both, but she wouldn’t buy it.

  “I’m exhausted. Tomorrow, I promise. Night, babe. Love you.”

  She turned away. “Love you too.” With her back to me, we fell asleep in each other’s arms with me spooning her smooth, bare behind.

  While I put on a pot of coffee, toasted whole wheat bread, and set the table, Louise whipped up egg white omelets and sliced fresh orange wedges. Soon we had a nutritious, hot breakfast on the table, a huge difference compared to grabbing donuts or Danishes and washing them down with Cokes on our way out, unconcerned about clogged arteries, empty calories, and the battle of the bulge. These days we made a conscious effort to allow ample time for a decent breakfast, and I really looked forward to it.

  I peered into her vibrant blue eyes, running the tip of my index finger along the high arch of her eyebrow and down along her nose, and finally tracing her full lips before planting a pre-breakfast kiss.

  “Every time I think I love you the most, I fall in love with you all over again,” I said. “You’re more beautiful every day.”

  “And you are as wonderful for my ego as ever.” She lifted her mug in a toast. We clinked and sipped the brew. “Oh, yum. Nothing like the first cup. It’s sensational.”

  “It’s decaf. Nothing like making you come. Now that’s sensational.”

  “You always say that, but no fair, you didn’t let me play. What’s up?”

  “It was late.” I took a huge mouthful to avoid speaking.

  “That never stopped you before.”

  “I’ve never been this old and on heart drugs before.”

  “While that’s true, isn’t it possible you’re just scared to get back on the horse, so to speak?”

  “Maybe. I know I used to be an insatiable, howling horn dog. To tell you the truth, I’m scared shitless of another heart attack.”

  “Your doctor said sex would be okay. You just need to let go and see that it will be all right.”

  “I don’t know if I can. My heart sounds so loud—it’s scary.

  “I know. I have an idea how to get past that. This weekend we’re going shopping.”

  I groaned, loudly. She knew how much I hated shopping. Shopping was her idea of fun.

  “Not the kind you’re thinking of. I’m talking about toy shopping.”

  “What for? I have a vibrator . . . somewhere.”

  “You mean the one we almost left the store without paying for over twenty years ago because we were too embarrassed to buy it from that cute baby dyke?”

  “Yeah, what’s the problem?”

  “Even if it still worked, it w
as made of hard plastic and was the most unimaginative contraption ever. I think we should at least explore a few new options. Come on, play.”

  I smirked. “Yes, dear,” I said, and she gave me her most award-winning, pearly-white smile, the kind of smile that surpassed her prominent cheekbones and crinkled the tiny lines on the outsides of her big blue eyes. She had me at the smile, but her captivating eyes turned me to mush.

  Louise and I took the Long Island Rail Road into Penn Station early enough to walk to Babeland when it opened.

  “Ohhh, Jean, will you look at this! Surely we’ll find something to get you out of your slump.”

  “Shhh, not so loud.” I cringed. “Too late.” A guy who looked barely old enough to shave and skinny enough to fit inside one leg of my Levi’s with room to spare sauntered over with plenty of time to hear Louise’s every word. “Great,” I mumbled.

  “May I assist you ladies today?” My faint blush turned scarlet, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Yes, young man, my partner and I have no idea where to start.” Louise gazed at all the gadgets with a flourish.

  If I could have blinked myself away from there, I would have even gladly gone to Hades wearing a snowsuit. That’s about how hot I felt anyway. Louise walked right over to the vibrators and snatched the brightest one off the shelf. “This looks interesting,” she said. The assistant honed in and began his sales pitch.

  “Good choice. This rabbit model is very popular. It has a well-placed clit-teaser that’s activated by the smooth vibrating penetrator.” He turned it on full speed to demonstrate.

  “Kill me now,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Its ultra-soft silicone is durable and waterproof and delivers discreet pleasure to all the right places. It has ten speeds, two are pulsating, and it’s fully rechargeable.”

  “No batteries to run out. That sounds perfect,” Louise enthused. “We’ll take two.”