I can't remember the last time I woke up with such a raging hardon. Amanda would have been so pleased, especially after I had told her that it was from dreaming about her. Unfortunately I couldn't tell her because of that idiot who thought STOP meant 'squeal tires on pavement.' Seven witnesses saw him roar through the stop sign, and he had the nerve to claim that she didn't know how to drive. My only consolation was that he got ten years without possibility of parole.
Amanda and I were married for thirty years, and together for two more before we were wed. Those thirty-two years were filled with bliss, children, grandchildren, passion, and, yes, sex. We were no different from today's crop of twenty-somethings; we, too, thought that people died below the waist at thirty. Hell, that's when we shifted into high gear. While the kids were in school, we fucked ourselves silly almost every day. We got involved in swinging. Once we swapped with five couples in one afternoon. Two or three times a month, we split up. She would go pick up guys in a bar while I went to a massage parlor or a whore house. Every madam in town knew me.
All this probably makes you wonder how we had time for all that fucking. We invested heavily in rental housing -- single family homes, townhouses, condos, duplexes. A property manager ran them for us. I quit my engineering job on my thirtieth birthday. People who wanted to sell us a property often bought me a prostitute to influence the deal. Once a realtor bought Amanda a gigolo; it was the only time sex actually was a factor in getting us to buy. When that punk ran her down, we had a hundred thirty-two rental units. Yes, life was good to us.
Initially I was in so much shock that I wanted nothing to do with sex. The couples we had been involved with in swinging with visited me constantly, always offering me the wife so I could get off. They meant well, and I genuinely appreciated the offers, but I couldn't do it. Half the pleasure we had gotten from swapping came from watching each other with different partners. Swinging was something we did as a couple. After a few weeks, our old friends got the message and backed off.
About a year and a half after Amanda's death, I was driving down 14th Street on my way home after closing on yet another property. I was stopped for a red light when someone tapped on my window. It was a very attractive young woman, probably in her mid-twenties. Her breasts were barely covered by her thin blouse which did not hide the fact that she was braless. Her skirt looked more like a wide belt. I opened the window expecting her to ask for directions to someplace. "Hi, Honey," she said in a high rasping voice while chewing on a hunk of gum. "Looking for a date?"
It took a moment for me to realize that she was a streetwalker. "I really hadn't thought about it," I said.
"We could have a good time together," she said chomping on her gum. "This is a pretty fancy car. I don't think I've ever ridden in one before, or been ridden in one, if you catch my drift."
I had never been with a street whore before; I had never even considered it. This girl reminded me of all the others I had driven past over the years. She had a great body. Her breasts were probably D-cup size and firm. They didn't sag or rest on her ribs like many large ones did. A waspish waist and gently flaring hips complemented her boobs. Her makeup was unnecessarily heavy. She smiled as she spoke, but there was sadness in her eyes. I was about to turn her away, but her weary eyes tugged at my heart and reminded me of my own sorrow. "Hop in," I said. "I'll give you a spin around the block." She ran around to the passenger side while I pressed the button to unlock the door.
"You aren't a cop, are you?" she asked as she buckled the seat belt.
"No, no, just a lonely widower."
"A widower?"
"My wife was killed in a car accident."
"Oh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry about your loss. You must miss her a lot."
"Yes, I do. I suppose we should discuss business."
"How does a hundred sound? And, no, I don't take credit cards. I'm sick of that fuckin' joke."
"What do I get for my money?"
"You get to fuck me. Anything else is extra."
"Okay. Do you have a place to go to?"
"There's a crib a couple blocks up the street for twenty bucks, or we can use the back seat in an alley."
"I can't remember the last time I did it in a car. I think a room would be better."
"Okay, let's park somewhere so I can check you. I don't want to get any diseases from you."
I pulled into an alley and stopped a hundred feet in beside a building. My cock was semi-erect from admiring her bosom as I opened my fly and pulled it out. With a practiced hand, she milked my dick for signs of any unwelcome fluids. Her touch was anything but romantic; I shrank from her rough handling. After pronouncing me clean enough to screw, she directed me to a seedy, rundown hotel. I was still tempted to back out, but somehow I was drawn to this sad young woman. After I paid the clerk, she led me up the stairs to our room.
The room was just that, a room. There was a bed with a single fitted sheet and one pillow. The only other furniture was a single chair. I handed her the money which she quickly counted and stuffed into her purse. "Come on, Honey, let's get undressed," she said as she stripped off her blouse. I approached her and ran my fingertips around her nipples. "Okay, you can have a quick feel, but if you want to suck them it'll be another twenty." I backed off and removed my tie. She had turned so her left side was toward me. She had a huge ugly bruise on her left side just under her arm. I put my clothes on the chair and laid down on the bed. She stacked her blouse and skirt on top.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to be on top." She kissed my chest and nipples while stroking my cock to attention. Her hand was calloused and rough against my shaft. Only when she took me into her mouth was I able to achieve a respectable erection. As soon as she was convinced I could keep it up, she straddled my hips and held my dick up so she could take it into her pussy. Something felt strange as she settled down on me, but I guessed it must have been the result of a year and a half of celibacy. It felt good to be embedded inside a woman after so long a period of abstinence. Her breathing slowed when I began pumping in and out of her. She rocked back and forth on my boner in time with my thrusting. My lust mounted quickly, and soon my nuts contracted. She leaned forward with her breasts on my chest as I shot my load into her.
"You haven't had sex for a long time," she observed. I put my arms around her. Immediately she yelped with pain. "My ribs really hurt."
She lifted herself off me and I saw that she had slipped a condom on me. No wonder she didn't feel quite normal. I looked at her left side. "How did that happen?"
"You don't want to know."
Her ribs were black and blue. "Have you seen a doctor? I'd say you have at least two broken ribs."
