Football season is my season. My daughters don’t understand why but they know. No one is allowed to visit me on the day my team is playing. They think it very funny but remind each other it’s good that I have an interest. I do have the football on, the television to see the match and the radio to listen- if there are no delays with either. An old girl like me needs all the help she can get. Narelle, my oldest daughter, thinks it’s very funny.
She wasn’t laughing so much a fortnight ago when she turned seventy. I accused her of catching up with me. Soon we’ll be the same age I told her. She was horrified. When I told her she can do something about it she refused to listen.
The others at the party listened though and thought it terribly funny when I told of my plan. I intend to go to the South Pole soon, I told them. When there, I will walk around it, round and round, three hundred and sixty five days in the year, round and round counting. Every time I cross the International Date Line I take a day from my age. It’s important to count because they don’t have neonatal facilities there. Buying three cornered pants in the Antarctic is difficult. Changing them there is terrible too. It would freeze my little bot bot.
The worst thing is when someone walks the wrong way around the pole and adds days to their age. The cemetery there is full to overflowing with those who made the mistake. I think it’s very funny. Only Narelle didn’t laugh. I’m used to the idea of one day going to sleep and forgetting to wake up. I guess that comes with age.
I do have my fountain of youth though. He’s no secret but what we do together certainly is. My three daughters wouldn’t understand. Nor would his two sons. His oldest, Roger, is even older than Narelle.
Bill and I are friends. Very good friends. He was ahead of me at school, until he was made to repeat a year and ended up in my class. One day he approached and asked why I was the only one who hadn’t teased him. I didn’t know what to say and we walked the playground together while everyone else watched.
I was eleven then, the first girl in my class to be wearing a bra, the other girls were adorned with little bumps but I had genuine rose buds. It gave me a great deal of prestige. To remove all doubt of my accomplishments I took care that everyone could see when I changed for sport lessons
As the year progressed, I exchanged my little rosebuds for passion fruits. The other girls watched with envy and tried to demonstrate their lack of concern.
After vigorous sports classes we were expected to shower. It was fascinating to wrap myself in a towel and parade to the showers. With the towel removed the polite voyeurism gathered intensity and the other girls surreptitiously positioned them selves for the best view.
Sally was my most persistent admirer. One day, after we had both finally left school and were of legal age she invited me to her home. With the door to her bedroom closed behind us we quickly fell to inspecting each other. Such was our naivety we didn’t realise what made us virgins.
We found plenty for our fingers and tongues to do. It was with her I had my first orgasm, a big surprise for both of us. Minutes later she had her first. It was a time of enormous joy for both of us. There was massive ignorance about every thing sexual then. Though we didn’t understand what had happened it was obviously good.
My early development gave me a lot of respect and I could talk to who I liked. I talked to Bill. After that they left him alone and we became friends. We spent many lunch hours together in the library and talked of so many things. In spite of our immaturity there was always an electricity between us and I now know that energy was sexual. We were both aware of things happening underneath each others clothes but never had the courage to investigate more than we could see.
Frequently, we touched each other but always with a respect that I later regretted. It made me feel warm to be touched. It was a strange kind of warmth that made me feel wanted and beautiful. It made me want more.
The next year we were in the same class again. We continued to be very close and spent every possible moment together. We often talked about things we would now call conservation. The passion we put into it would have been put into sex if we had been older and it had been acceptable. It inspired me to become involved in so many things that earned me the description of greenie.
At first I was offended to be called a greenie because it was so derogatory, but now I’m proud of my efforts and gladly tell people I’m one. It’s amazing I never thought of looking for Bill in areas of conservation. It was him, after all, who took the little joeys from their pouches and nursed them to health and maturity after their mothers had been left on road sides as road kill.
At the end of the school year Bill came to me in tears. He was leaving- his father had been promoted and with it they had to leave. bahis firmaları We both cried. For about a year we wrote to each other, but never about the things most prominent in our minds. My Mother was an avid reader, as was his. The letter writing lost its frequency and soon didn’t happen at all. Bill told me though that he never forgot me. I know I never forgot him. I missed him terribly. I regretted that we had never fully explored each other.
Now, I can only wonder what would have happened if we’d found each other earlier. I’ve often thought of what would have happened if we’d met at different stages of our lives. The time I wonder about most was when our children were young. I know I wouldn’t have been able to control my self. Visions of Bill frequently flooded me and I imagined what he would look like. I often imagined his penis and how it would feel deep inside me.
There was a massive void in my life after Bill left. I never really filled it until I met him again, after so many years. When Sally and I eventually met it helped so much. I loved to explore deep inside her and I think she probably lost her virginity to my explorations as I lost mine to hers. We took comfort from each other with very thorough orgasms. It was reassuring and lovely being with her, but it was Bill I always wanted. I had many searches but never found him. I had no idea he was so close.
My memory of Sally still haunts me. We’d shared orgasms the day before. She was killed on the motor way when a truck lost its load and crushed her car, a week before my twenty second birthday. I still wear the ring she gave me for my twenty first birthday.
After her death I sought comfort from many others, mostly men but many women. I fucked them all but none replaced Bill or Sally. Some would say I was the town bike but it wasn’t true. I rode them all and took their orgasms, some times in groups but mostly one after the other with a feverish desperation that was frightening.
I eventually found my husband. He was working in conservation with an interest in bats. Together we made homes for them and caught them to identify which species they were. We were both fascinated that bats are identified by the shape of their penises and they are primates. His work necessitated that he be out at night frequently to study them. They were important because they pollinated many of our native trees. I knew the trees weren’t the only things being “pollinated” at night, that another primate was busy with his “pollination” and I wasn’t being “pollinated” as frequently as I liked.
At first I was a doting wife and we had three children, but the opportunity was too great and I began relationships with women. I picked them up at a lesbian bar and took them home to get their panties off. I loved the challenge and it wasn’t often I failed to dine on their sweet succulence. If I did I simply went back and found some one else. My pussy dripped with anticipation every time. My children loved staying with their Grandmother and she was very appreciative of every opportunity to have them.
Even that didn’t stop me from thinking about Bill. He married too and with his wife had two boys. He also discovered he wasn’t stupid, as he had thought. The term dyslexia became well known and with its diagnosis Bill lost a lot of his hesitancy.
Bill’s wife died of cancer when he was eighty seven. I lost my husband, John, when I was eighty six. It was almost on the same day. Bill decided to return to his roots and found a place on my road, just four doors down. It took a few years for us to find each other, years too valuable to have been lost.
I was weeding the front yard on a warm, sunny, autumnal day when a gentleman was walking past with his little dog. He stopped to say hello and asked where the nearest letter box was. We talked for hours until our bladders hunted us back into our homes. At least, mine did and I suspect his did too.
Next day he walked past again. He held the letter up to indicate he still had to post it. I said it must be important and he agreed. It’s to my school sweetheart he admitted with a giggle. He wasn’t sure it would get to her though. He hadn’t heard from her for more than seventy years he said. He didn’t even know her name any more. Then he looked at me carefully and asked if I might save him posting the letter. I had a thought that there was a lot more happening than I was prepared for. I some how knew this man but I wondered how.
“You wouldn’t be Mary Crucient, would you?” I stared at him for some time as my mind reeled back over the many years and suddenly it stopped.
“Bill?” I asked. “Bill Kinnlist?” I asked again. He was beaming. I put down the trowel and stood. I heard the clatter of his walking stick as I held my back and ran. We caught each other and hugged. He kissed me and we held each other tight as we sank to the lawn on our knees. It took some time to speak as we looked at the ravages of the years through the tears and hugged again.
I kaçak iddaa picked up his walking stick, his sons were insistent that he use it, and together we went inside. At my kitchen table we talked and drank coffee. He held his little dog in his lap and she, eventually content that her vigilance was unnecessary, fell asleep. The little dog twitched and yelped in a dream. We laughed. He told me he’d be lost without her and ran his fingers around her body with such familiarity that she didn’t wake up.
I shivered as I watched, the shiver raced up my spine and I suddenly thought of the school library. When he had to go, because his son was due to ring, to check that he was ok, it was dark. I stayed by the front door and listened until I heard his screen door slam shut. He wasn’t as steady on his feet as he wished but while safety was important, so was self esteem.
Bill had been a botanist for the Department of Woods and Forests. I had been a consultant to Local Government in the remediation of land post erosion and industrial insult. We were surprised as to how similar our careers had been and were surprised that we hadn’t found each other before. He continued to rescue native animals and I had rescued the habitats they needed. Perhaps it was the way it was meant to be.
Next day I went to his home. It was spartan in its furnishings but sufficiently comfortable. He talked about how his sons insisted that he not have a lot of “stuff”. The guiding principle was that one day they would have to clean it up. We laughed about our shared experience. We talked about death. Neither of us were worried by it and we thought working with plants and nature had given us the insight that death was a natural part of life.
As Bill had come “home” it was little surprise that we were now so close. What had once been single working mens cottages were now residences for the elderly and, unlike their inhabitants, they were heritage listed. It made me feel very old when Narelle prevailed and I left the family home to move in. It was ironic that I should be moving in to a working man’s cottage when all I really wanted was a working man. I wished the man came with it.
Our conversation went to the school library. I made sure it did. He had a twinkle in his eye as he remembered. I told him that his departure from my life had left a huge hole in my life. He wanted to know why and I told him I loved him and I always wanted to make love with him. He sat and listened as I went on. His head nodded in agreement as I told him I’d always wanted to show him my pussy but in the library it was never safe enough to do so and I was so shy.
He chuckled and said that after leaving he’d hungered for my touch. We changed subject but had established our willingness to share again. Being old, I guess we knew we had no time for niceties. I’d lost any need for them a long time ago any way.
We met again at my place and before he sat down I asked him to stand in front of me. He held the back of a chair as I undid his pants and let them drop. I ran my fingers over his underpants and felt what lay beneath before I pulled them down. He watched as I touched his dick and held his balls. It was no longer the smooth, super responsive machinery I had for so long imagined. I used to enjoy thinking of it grow and throb. Now it was limp and wrinkled and his balls hung lazily in their sack. He was handsome.
I helped him step out of his pants and stood before him. His hands went to my breasts and held them. I kissed him and slowly led him to my bedroom. As he sat on my bed and removed his shirt, I undressed.
For the first time I was offering him my pussy and mixed with the anticipatory thrill of being explored was the fear of being rejected. I am chronologically aged but it doesn’t mean I’m not alive. I have visited so many nursing homes and know the stench of pussies. Such is the disregard for the sexuality of aged women that they aren’t adequately washed. It is a distinct indication for the circumcision of women, the same as for men, for reasons of cleanliness.
I have thought this for a long time but never expressed it. I know I would be ridiculed. I make sure I am adequately washed and love the feel of a flannel loaded with shampoo. That’s my special treat as I work it around my treasured parts. My shampoo has the smell of apples and I love it.
It was wonderful to be able to lie along side Bill. Being naked, age spots, wrinkles and all, was beautiful. In trees I had always thought wrinkles were special. It took time for Bill to convince me the same applied to my wrinkles. The adaption of my skin due to age to look rather like bark was also difficult for me to accept as being beautiful.
Bill looked at me and kissed my forehead, as though to confirm my consent, and proceded to my breasts. He held them, weighed them in his hands, studied them, ran his finger along the scar where I’d had a lump removed and another where I once fell on a tomato stake. His touch was wonderful, kaçak bahis his tremor seemed to add to the specialness of it.
Why would I want to sit in an armchair with my knitting when I could have this? I have more than enough knee rugs. I watched Bill’s face as he explored. It was alight with surprise and happiness. The small oranges had become melons, now they were reverting to small oranges again, in skin that was stretched a long way from pert. He had a lot of catching up to do. I was impatient for him to find my pussy. Eventually, with soft kisses he ventured down my belly, past the caesarian scar, to my pussy. It had been so long since anyone had shown any interest in it.
He found my pussy and gave it his special attention. My knees were as far apart as I could get them. I had my bum on a pillow. I wanted my presentation to be complete. He wasn’t shy to look or touch. I didn’t have to guide him or ask for anything. He was special. I was touched every where and it made my pussy glow. When his fingers stretched deep inside me and danced it was beautiful. So much better than a doctor hunting for a prolapse.
When he pulled back the hood and touched my clitoris it was electric and I moaned. I could feel my juices trickling down between my thighs. It was so special. He could have explored all day, I wanted him to, but he took another look and lay beside me. His fingers touched my aching clitoris and his tremor provided a gentle but rapid stimulation.
It wasn’t long and I surprised myself with an orgasm that had me yelling as I jumped around the bed. It was beautiful, the first I’d had in many years. He laughed and said at last he’d found a use for his tremors. We lay together, his hand on my pussy while his fingers ventured inside or teased my clitoris. My hand alternated between stroking his dick and fondling his balls. I dearly wanted him to orgasm. I’d been deprived of that for so long. We kissed, hugged and held each other as with cracking voices we whispered to each other.
It didn’t go further than that. Narelle rang to say that she was five minutes away and that gave us just enough time to get dressed and coffee ready. She looked at Bill as though he was an unnecessary complication, not exactly rude but certainly perfunctory. Bill excused himself to go home and my daughter was free to harass me again.
I never mentioned her weight. She was embarrassingly obese and for all her concern that she would have to tidy up my estate, I had a sneaky feeling I’d have to deal with hers. Unfortunately, she had learned that with her tongue she could do a lot more than with her body. She was comfortable as she sat and ordered people around.
It irritated me that I always had visitors when the football was on. I loved my team, or, at least, the boys on my team. Their tight little shorts and superb physiques were to die for. When they won it was beautiful as they jumped around with the joy of it. I decided to introduce a new rule that would offend my daughters but at the same time give them some relief from what they considered their obligation. That was me.
I announced that I didn’t just want to watch the game but also the pre and post match reports. I wanted to watch the football all day. That would give me one day every week when I could entertain Bill, or be entertained by him, without being disturbed. Other days were fun too but we didn’t like the feeling we were sneaking our sex.
Bill did the same and his sons approved of him having an interest. Fortunately he chose to follow the same team I followed when we had walked together in the play ground so long ago. Every weekend we would go to bed together. With food and drinks at hand we explored and played with each other. Being in bed was easier for us. It gave us some control over our tremors and the exhaustive process of exercise.
Some times we mourned the years that were lost, the years when orgasms were easy and our bodies were beautiful. We loved each other’s touch and the joy of mutual exploration. As much as I hungered for his touch he hungered for mine. At my age I would never have thought I’d have orgasms. How utterly satisfying it was when I did and later, when changing the bed, to see the wet spots. Bill’s dick didn’t always behave. He had trouble maintaining erections. As the months passed though, its behaviour improved and eventually we were able to fuck.
How wonderful that word is. So much better than the toys we had been using. We sometimes wondered whether we should have fucked in the library. Bill told me that his first orgasm was about a month after he had gone and he had desperately wanted to show me what he could do. It was a bygone and we settled on that.
In spite of the past, the present was enjoyable. I often wished we weren’t suffocated by the attentions of our children, none of whom would have approved of our relationship. I knew Narelle’s life was sexless and I suspected that Sharon’s and Esther’s were too. I wanted to gather them in my arms and talk to them. They, however, would have attributed my opinions and behaviour to dementia or senility. My being known as a greenie had entitled me to some eccentricity but that would have been too much.