Ageless Erotica Read online

  “Two?” I gasped.

  “Which colors do you like?” she asked.

  “Why are we getting two?”

  “Coming contests. We can have an orgasm race! Winner gets special favors.”

  I blushed beyond recognition after she freely shared our secrets in front of an infant store clerk.

  “Blue and purple, please,” Louise instructed him.

  After we had paid for our merchandise, I needed more than dry tuna on rye. “Let’s get some pizza and beer and go to hell with ourselves,” I suggested. “It’s a treat day after all, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, you will be rewarded for being such a good sport, but only if you go right back on your diet. You were really adorable in there.”

  “Gee, thanks. And you were bold.” Too bold, but whatever.

  After suffering low-fat pizza and salad with fresh lemon and pepper, I enjoyed real ale for a change and had another. It tasted like heaven. I had a nice buzz on the way home. The moment we entered the foyer, Louise attacked me. She chucked her blouse, skirt, and shoes and helped me out of my shirt, pants, and boots. We were naked before we even had washed the vibrators.

  Louise grabbed the purple one, impatient to get started. “You first.”

  “Oh no you don’t. This was all your idea.”

  “You promised.”

  I chuckled. “Your memory is too good.”

  “Lie down.”

  With my head resting in my hands, I watched and waited as she lubed up what she dubbed “the purple penetrator.” I tried not to laugh as she fiddled with the buttons, biting her bottom lip. It soon started. A low hum filled the room.

  The silicone was slick and cool against my heated core, which invigorated my clit like a live wire. I started to swell. In figure eights she danced the wand around my clit and teased my opening. If I could have spoken I would have urged her inside.

  “Wow, this is great,” she said. Each time she eased the vibrator away to change the setting, my butt shot up off the mattress.

  The hum grew louder still. “This is such fun,” she gushed. “How did we ever live without it?”

  “Please Louise, you’re killing me here,” I croaked, growing desperate.

  “Hold on a sec.” She poured lube onto the blue vibrator and fired it up against herself. Before I could protest again, she pumped the long end of the purple penetrator deep inside me while playing my bursting clit with the shorter tip. I whimpered. If this was heaven, Louise took me higher. With her other hand, she used the “blue bliss” on herself.

  “Love this!” How she wasn’t distracted doing us both simultaneously was mind-boggling. She even increased the speed a couple of times.

  I was totally lost in reaching my climax. We moaned, writhed, and sighed in unison. She moved frantically, then sporadically. I squeezed her hand as a guide, and she accidentally increased the speed higher still. But we couldn’t stop now. The need was too great.

  When we reached the pinnacle, even Louise was speechless for a second. I could tell she was as close as I was, and rather than rush it, I let her lead. The moment she started, I was sure to follow.

  The pressure mounted, my heightened arousal fueled by her love cries, a resurgence of desire, and one uncontrollable vibrator that extinguished negative thoughts. My mind zoomed in on one thing, and it had the most desirable effect.

  “Oh, Jean, your clit is huge, but . . . please wait . . . for . . . me,” she panted.

  I was close to exploding but insisted Louise come first. She held two vibrators and my rapt attention. I repositioned my hips to move the toy off my clit, which helped me focus on Louise, but not by much.

  Thankfully she didn’t make me wait much longer when she shouted, “I’m, oh God, com . . . ing, now, oh God!” Her body jerked with each spasm and her hands shook, knocking the vibrator off my clit. But I was already too far gone to stop the orgasm that hit me hard and fast.

  I surged, shuddered, and stilled; euphoria set in. My heart resumed a normal rhythm, and all fears of another infarction vanished. The vibrator didn’t give me much choice whether to come or not. I just did, and it was exactly what I needed. With all the love I had, I squeezed Louise tight. I was grateful to be alive and lucky to have her. I was reminded of how sweet and freeing it was to let go, and that while life is tenuous, it isn’t to be wasted. My recent reluctance proved unfounded; I was back in action and planned to take advantage.

  “That was one wicked orgasm!” Louise said.

  “Two wicked orgasms,” I corrected, and she beamed.

  “Vibrators are nice, but do it the old-fashioned way next time.”

  AFTER TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS

  Dorothy Freed

  My husband, Dave, and I had a playroom date last night at seven o’clock. We arranged it beforehand, to be sure to have the entire evening reserved for pleasure. Dave told me what to wear, and I shyly said, “Yes, Sir,” which set the erotic tone for the evening.

  I was almost ready at five before seven, and I checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror before joining him. My hair was still damp from the shower. My lips were freshly painted, and I’d accented my large hazel eyes with a touch of green shadow. I wore a knee-length, low-cut black dress with tiny rhinestone buttons—and the black crotchless panty hose Dave bought for me when we were in Paris, years ago. What fun we had trying them out in our hotel room. We were up half the night.

  Not bad, I decided, for a girl of sixty-seven, and with an appreciative nod to my mirror image, I headed down the hall to the playroom. Dave had thoughtfully turned up the heat. The air in the house felt warm to my almost-naked skin. I entered the room and closed the door behind me, smiling in anticipation of our encounter.

  The playroom blinds were closed, the lights were low, the shadows were deep, and a candle flickered. Dave was there already; he sat, white bearded, bare to the waist—the lord of the land. The room was transformed into a dark, mysterious place, where secret desires could be spoken and shared.

  “Come here,” he commanded, and his stern tone excited me. I obeyed and stood before him in my provocative clothing, hands clasped behind my back, posing for him. In that moment I forgot that my hair was the color of silver, and that my body bore witness to the passage of time and forces of gravity.

  I felt ultra-female and completely desirable.

  My lover agreed. I saw how he looked at me, eating me up with his eyes. He’d laid out an array of sexual condiments: lubricants, dildos, an anal plug, a blindfold, my Hitachi Magic Wand, and my favorite small rubber whip. Hot little currents of excitement raced over my skin.

  “Kneel,” Dave ordered, and I eased myself, very carefully, to my creaky knees, onto the pillow Dave had set down for me. The act of my kneeling before him was our private moment of power exchange—not to mention being a highly convenient position for me to go down on him, for as long as my knees would allow.

  “Whose woman are you?” he demanded to know. Leaning forward, he toyed with the buttons of my dress, slowly un-fastening them, baring my breasts. Smiling, he stroked my face and neck with his fingertips and kissed me lightly on the mouth. Without warning he grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and pulled them—almost, but not quite, to the point of pain—while staring intently into my eyes. Releasing me, his white chest hairs brushed my nipples as his arms went around me and we hugged. I melted against him, breathing him in, loving the smell of him.

  “I’m yours, Dave,” I said honestly, gazing up into his eyes and thinking, The man’s seventy. He still makes my pulse quicken.

  My strongest sexual arousal has always been triggered by fantasies of male dominance and female submission—of being taken, swept away, made to give up control. When Dave and I met twenty-eight years ago through a relationship ad, I discovered not only that he was single, gainfully employed, and open to long-term commitment, as I’d requested, but also that there was sexual chemistry galore between us from the start. I liked the bold way he looked at me, with his dark, deep-set eyes, and t
he way he gave me his full attention when I spoke. We were so turned on to each other immediately that we took turns revealing our erotic turn-ons—they were compatible in both nature and intensity. Our first date was so passionate that it went on all night.

  I was a bit of a swinger in my thirties and was hooked on sexual variety, but once I discovered BDSM in my forties with Dave—a safe, sane man I loved—sexual fulfillment reached whole new levels of physical and emotional satisfaction. Together we went all out with our fantasy life, creating an erotic, red-lighted, toy-filled playroom in a back bedroom of our suburban home, where we felt safe and free to explore.

  We also became active members of the San Francisco BDSM community. We attended play parties and other social events, where we met people like ourselves, who were drawn to the intensity of erotic power exchange. We sometimes played with others in our early years together, mostly at parties. Now and then we’d have a couple over, or go to their place. Dave and I were primarily monogamous, and our play, although highly arousing, even to orgasm, most often didn’t include sex with our partners.

  Whoever said our brains are our primary sex organs certainly got that one right. Dave and I have continued to enjoy each other and our playroom, and we have an active sex life all these years later—although we have had to dial back a number of our more athletic efforts to accommodate our physical challenges. Yes, I once swung from the rafters. No, I no longer do.

  Dave suffers from the narrowing of his spinal canal, which over time has restricted his range of motion and has impaired his sense of balance to the point where he uses a cane when he walks. Supporting himself on his hands and knees while on top of me in bed no longer works for him—and sitting astride him no longer works well for me—so we often have sex in the black leather sling that hangs from the playroom ceiling.

  “Lie back,” he ordered after lifting me into the sling. I was naked now, except for red, fleece-line cuffs on my wrists and ankles. “Raise your arms and legs. Spread them wide. Hold that pose.”

  “Yes, Dave,” I responded, as a flush of arousal spread over me. I felt deliciously vulnerable in the sling, so wantonly exposed.

  He positioned me carefully—using snap hooks to secure my wrist and ankle cuffs to the chains supporting the sling—so that my tender, exposed openings protruded slightly over its edge.

  “I never tire of seeing you this way,” Dave said, once I was arranged to his satisfaction. I blushed under his gaze. “You’re so accessible, my darling—and hot, beyond belief.”

  He ran his hands over me, slapping my inner thighs, first with his hand, then with the small rubber whip that stung so delightfully, heating my bottom and making me quiver with excitement.

  Placing a chair before the sling, he sat, feasting his eyes on me. Pulling me closer he began kissing my inner thighs and silvery Venus mound—lapping at my swollen labia, massaging carefully around my clit with the flat of his tongue.

  “My God, you know how to make me feel good,” I whispered. Closing my eyes I went with the feelings. My breathing quickened. I felt like I was floating. Dave took his time pleasuring me, using lips and tongue and teeth. Slipping his fingers beneath my ass cheeks, he teased my puckered rear opening. The exquisite sensations heightened my arousal. I moaned, muscles straining, feeling my blood pounding through my body as my orgasm built. I cried out with joy as it washed over me.

  “That’s my girl,” Dave murmured, stroking me, his hands warm on my flesh, until my breathing quieted. I opened my eyes. He sat up, looking pleased with himself. “Is your circulation okay?” he asked, standing to feel my hands and wrists.

  “Fine for now, Sir,” I said, smiling happily, shifting my weight in the sling.

  Nodding, Dave reached for the lubricant. I moaned as his hands, slick with lube, massaged my vaginal lips. One, two, three fingers slid slowly inside me. Delving deeper, he massaged my g-spot. My eyes closed again.

  Dave penetrated me from a standing position—holding the sling to keep his balance, and swinging me back and forth onto his penis. He filled me, taking my breath away. My vagina was relaxed and ready for him. I raised my hips to meet his thrusts. My second orgasm came more easily than the first.

  Dave held me, stoking me gently, kissing each wrist and ankle as he uncuffed them. Later, he took his turn in the sling—no cuffs involved this time—while I went down on him, bringing him to orgasm with my hands and mouth.

  I was highly sexual in my younger days, but not easily orgasmic—a huge source of frustration for me. My exciting erotic life with Dave that began in our forties was a dream-come-true for both of us. We spent our first ten years together in a state of high sexual excitement. I came easily and often. Life was a joy.

  Then in my fifties, I went through menopause. I gained weight, had trouble sleeping, cried easily, and worst of all, lost most of my sexual desire. I mourned the loss of it, as something I loved that had died.

  Thankfully, it returned, full tilt, in my sixties, along with my orgasms, and Dave and I are making the most of it.

  As older people, our sexual responses are slower. We take longer to warm up and get going, and we tire more quickly. Dave, who has circulatory problems, uses Viagra to help him achieve and maintain an erection.

  “I love being hard,” he murmurs, with such deep appreciation. I do my utmost to prolong this pleasure for him—sucking and licking my way from the head of his penis down to his balls, and stroking him with my hands. Still, even with Viagra (and me), he sometimes loses his erection and becomes frustrated with his aging body.

  Our BDSM play works in our favor here, by triggering our arousal. To us, erotic spanking, the use of restraints, and the use of nipple and labia clamps are delightfully intense forms of foreplay that, thankfully, still excite us both.

  I have my own share of physical issues to work around: lack of lubrication, creaky knees, and a touchy right shoulder—not to mention the cushiony sandals with the metatarsal arch supports I wear for comfort these days, no matter how sexy I want to look. But physical challenges aside, I’m having every bit as much fun with my aging partner as I had years ago—more really, because we know each other’s turn-ons so well now, and our level of trust is so high.

  Once we became more accepting of our aging bodies and physical limitations, we relaxed into this new phase of our sexual life together, and we began exploring our current needs and desires.

  Today, I am overjoyed and grateful. Not only have Dave and I made it through twenty-eight years together—we are still interested and actively engaged in giving and receiving pleasure. It’s been years since we attended a play party or played with others. But our fiery beginning served us well. We keep ourselves aroused by drawing on a huge storehouse of hot memories. I think that for us, the erotic thrill we get from Dave’s taking charge and my giving up control never grows old—even though we continue to do so.

  MY NEW VAGINA

  Audrienne Roberts Womack

  I use to pride myself on how much Mother Nature hadn’t let me down like so many of my aging sister friends. At fifty-eight, I still had that mind-set, even though at first it was just something to say to make my old ass feel as though I was as youthful as I thought I was. I needed convincing that I still saw myself as an ageless beauty, even though I knew good and damn well that my stretch marks were getting deeper and my jam had turned to jelly.

  After my divorce, I thought I would never have sex again. After twenty-eight years of marriage and eight children, I thought my husband would be my partner for life—until he announced six years ago that he had found a younger, slimmer, and sexier version of me who he would like to settle down with to replace me. There had been no warning signs prior to his announcement.

  My heart was broken for a long time, but after the smoke cleared and I realized that my ex-husband liked having sex with me more after we were divorced, I figured I could have the best of both worlds. I never had to worry about lonely nights and an empty bed, because I saw my ex more after the divorc
e than when we were married, now ain’t that some shit!

  When I eventually began to date again, my ex had the nerve to get jealous and forbid me to have sex with anyone but him, until I reminded him that we were no longer married. It took a while, a long while, before it registered that I was no longer his and that I could do what I damn well pleased.

  I was getting too dependent on my ex-husband’s lovemaking and our casual booty calls, and I needed a sexual diversion of my own. So in celebration of my new life as a single woman, I created a sexual bucket list and started to enjoy my sex life, right along with everything else in my life I needed to celebrate.

  I loved to masturbate anytime and anyplace, so the first thing on my list was to join a masturbation club where I could get off in peace with other open, adventurous, and like-minded women and men. My club met every Wednesday night, and I always positioned myself next to the large, picture-frame window where club members could watch and enjoy.

  I brought my favorite lube and a vast assortment of vibrators, and even though cameras were not allowed in the masturbation room, I still saw a camera or two slip in from time to time. I didn’t mind—the diffuse lighting and the way we were positioned made it difficult to see who anybody was anyway. I enjoyed being watched, because I knew that everyone in the club was all about masturbation just as much as I was. We weren’t there to judge or point fingers at otheres for trying to get their freak on.

  It was a big sexual release, and after my divorce I needed something that would take my mind off of being kicked to the curb and then blindsided with divorce papers. One of my oldest and dearest friends went with me, and we also masturbated at my house or her house when her husband wasn’t home. We stopped going to her house after we almost got caught when her husband came home earlier than expected. I was right in the middle of a killer orgasm when we heard her husband announce, “Honey, I’m home!”

  I always wanted to go to a lesbian bar. I had never kissed a girl, and I wanted to try just one time, especially with the girly girl type I find to be so compelling. So that was next on my bucket list. Cautiously I ventured out in search of my one-night stand. It was easy finding a lesbian club, because they were all around, but it was harder trying to find one with women who didn’t look young enough to be one of my daughters, but yet not so old they couldn’t teach me something new.