I'm 72. I'm widowed. I lost my wife two years ago. For work reasons, our children live in different states. I'm very much alone. At least I used to be.
We had a good sex life until about six months before she passed away. Older people do not die below the waist, contrary to what young people believe. Even when I was cut off by her illness, I practiced self-abuse. A couple times, she suggested I find a lover. Even with her permission, I could not bring myself to cheat on her. It could be argued that it wouldn't be cheating if she knew about it and/or condoned it. After 48 years of marriage, there was no way I could consider an affair.
The children and grandchildren came to the funeral, of course. Bereavement leaves are limited. The grands had to return to school. Within ten days, it was me and a big empty house. The holidays brought the youngsters home for a few days. All the conversations were about mom and grandma. When spring break rolled around, they announced another visit. I told them to stay home and get on with their lives. I loved them dearly, and they meant well, but the memories they insisted on discussing were getting too painful. I, too, had to begin a new life.
They may sound odd, but one of my biggest adjustments was grocery shopping. My wife had had a couple food allergies. I had liked the items she could not have, but I didn't bring them into the house out of respect for her allergies, and to avoid rubbing it into her face that I could have them when she couldn't. On one of my first shopping trips, I started to pass by one of her no-nos, then stopped. I could have that now, so I bought it. It was one of my early guilty pleasures.
Spousal estates are supposed to be simple to settle. That's a big myth. I had to notify Social Security of her passing. Her name had to be removed from the bank accounts. Her cell phone had to be shut off. Her health and dental insurance had to be cancelled. Almost every office wanted an original death certificate. I went through ten at thirty dollars each.
My visits to Rosy Palm and her five daughters provided some relief. Those visits gradually became less frequent. Baby oil and petroleum jelly provided lubrication, but they were no substitutes for a tight, wet pussy.
Eventually I tried meeting some new women. I checked out the singles' groups, but their members were not in my age range. My attendance at meetings was not rejected out right, but definitely not encouraged. Most of the women were divorced. The few people I talked with said they mostly talked about how terrible their exes were. After 48 years of wedded bliss, I didn't need that.
One afternoon when I was checking my email, I received a message from a dating website. Horny women would contact me, it said. Signing up would be free. All I had to do was post a profile, and I would be propositioned by single women, divorcees, and cheating wives. What did I have to lose? Certainly not my virginity. That ship had sailed decades ago.
I signed on to fill out a profile. The first part was easy: a screen name, my age, a physical description. Then came the hard part. What kind of relationship was I looking for? Did I want to something long-term possibly leading to marriage? I hadn't given any thought to remarrying, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. A single woman would probably want a man with that inclination. Perhaps a friend with benefits. An affair with a married woman. It might be fun to cuckold some guy behind his back, especially if his wife preferred me to him in bed. Her marriage would keep her from wanting to tie me down. What about a one-night stand? A prostitute would fill that niche. Why sign up at all? I finally entered that I was looking for someone between the ages of thirty and sixty-five and with no preference for type of relationship. What might work with one woman might not work with another. I attached a recent portrait because the site said it would generate more replies.
An hour later I had received twenty emails. All had photos attached. Three of the women were fully dressed in party attire showing strong legs. Two were completely naked and spreading their pussies with their fingers. A few showed their breasts, and the others were fully nude but tastefully posed. The list included wives looking for affairs, single women looking for husbands, and some who wished to date and see where things went. One was outside my desire age range. She was only eighteen. I started to erase her message but stopped to look at her picture again. She was completely naked. Her breasts were firm B-cups. Her pose was relaxed. What I noticed most was her smile. She made no attempt to be sexy. She simply was happy. Her name was Nancy.
I drafted a reply complimenting her on her looks and gently pointing out that not only was she outside my desired age range, but that I was also old enough to be her grandfather. When I clicked the send button, I learned why signing up was free. Sending messages was expensive. The introductory package was ten messages for twenty-five dollars. Other packages brought the per message cost down to a dollar, but it was priced at three hundred dollars for three hundred messages. I opted for the introductory package not expecting to continue my membership for very long.
Fifteen minutes after clicking on send, I received a reply. "Hi, Matt, I'm Nancy. Thank you for responding to my email. I realize I am much younger than your specified age range. I was very afraid you would consider me too young and not bother to reply. Your profile struck a chord with me that I really can't describe. Unlike other men who have emailed me, you were the politest. Younger men want to get me into bed on a first date. Even though you were trying to discourage me because of our age difference, you weren't condescending or mean.
"I'm not looking for a long-term relationship or a husband. I'm eighteen. After I graduate from high school, my family is taking a vacation to Europe before I go to college. I will major in music and minor in education. That way if I don't become rich and famous by singing, I can teach music.
"I don't have a boyfriend. Guys my age seem to only be interested in sex. What I really want is a friend I can talk to, who will listen to me without judging, who will hold me and make me feel safe, who will care for me without stifling me. If I read your profile correctly, I think I'm describing you. Please be my friend.
"Nancy."
Her words of desire for a romantic, yet platonic, relationship conflicted with the photo of her nude body. Was she as confused about what she wanted as I was? She acknowledged the gap in our ages but gave no sign as to whether it mattered to her. I was tempted to end the conversation, yet curiosity compelled me to write back: "You write well, and you are open your goals. Somehow, I wonder if you really understand what is at stake. You don't want a committed relationship, yet you speak of the desirable attributes of commitment. On top of that you sent me a picture of your lovely body that awakens lust in me. Perhaps you should pursue a male peer whose needs are in tune with your own.
"Matt."
"I guess it's time for me to fess up. That picture was meant to make you horny. I want you to lust after me. This will probably make me look like a silly teenage girl. It's call peer pressure. I'm still a virgin. Many of my friends are sexually active. They brag about having a man inside them, about sucking cocks, about having orgasms. I want to do those things. I want the same pleasure they are having.
"The ones that gave their cherries to their boyfriends complained about the guys' ineptitude. They only wanted to stick their dicks into pussies. They didn't care whether the girls were in pain. Others opted for older men who knew what they were doing. They were considerate of the girls and deflowered them gently. Sure, there was some pain; it's part of being a girl.
"Matt, I want you to be my first. You're sweet and caring and loving and kind and all the good things a man should be. I don't care how old you are. Think about the girls you pleasured when you were young. You can do it again. I want you to teach me how to fuck a man. I want to give you the same pleasure that you will give me. I'm on the pill so you can cum inside me. I want to feel your man juices. After you've torn my hymen, you won't have to see me again. Just fuck me! Please!
"Nancy."
Nancy was right. I had no idea what to do the first time I bedded down with a girl. Fortunately, she was experienced and guided me through my first fuck. In my teenage excitement, I came very quickly. Even a half century later, I still remember her patience with me. Girls deserved the same patient treatment. Yet the fifty-four-year age gap did bother me. Chronologically she was a woman, but in my eyes, she was still a child. She was as desperate to be an adult as I had been at her age. The nude photo of her firm breasts and shaved pussy did excite me. I would have to shave too. "There is a lot more to ending your virginity than having your hymen torn. There is a learning curve to sex like any other skill, and sex is a skill. A proper setting is important. Your feelings and your lover's must be considered. You will probably hold back initially because you expect it to be painful. Nature is unkind to human females in that respect. The pain will be brief, just a few minutes; however, it can't be avoided. I would probably find the physical act enjoyable, but there is also an emotional factor. I have a granddaughter your age. I love her dearly, but I could never consider going to bed with her.
"Matt."
"I understand where you are coming from. I wouldn't sleep with my grandfathers, but you and I are not related. We could have a sex date. Lots of my friends do that. We could make it a business transaction. I'll pay you fifty dollars to provide a service.
"Nancy."
"I don't think the fifty dollars would be appropriate.
"Matt."
"Okay, I'll make it a hundred.
"Nancy."
I took a deep breath. She was not going to be denied. I supposed deflowering a virgin could be considered a service. Maybe I should start a business. There would be the matter of marketing. I couldn't run ads in the newspapers. "Okay. For legal reasons, I must see a photo ID confirming you are at least eighteen. I don't want your parents to charge me with statutory rape. Let's decide on where and when. I live alone so my house would work. Being retired, I'm basically available twenty-four/seven.
