Disclaimers: First and foremost, the story is pure fiction. If any of my fictional characters remind you of anybody you know, you're sadly mistaken. If anyone of my fictional characters is lucky enough to partake in anything of a sexual nature, they are over eighteen years of age. Some might be way over eighteen years of age.
In case you're wondering, my wife had a large hand in making this story click.
Also, for all you folks who say, "that can't happen" please remember, THIS IS MY STORY!!
I just returned home from my third and final physical therapy appointment, that my primary care doctor recommended to help with the swelling in both ankles. Edema, it was called. It's also the first time in several years I had a giant smile on my face.
Maybe I should give a little background information. I'm Robin Martin, a seventy-four year old retired Psychologist. I've been a widow for nearly two years, ever since my husband of forty-seven years up and died of pancreatic cancer, that I thought was going to kill me, too.
A little more background, if I may. I met Aaron Martin my junior year in college, studying Psychology, while he was a year behind me, hoping to get into med school. I was on track to graduate a little early, and had been accepted into grad school, to get my master's degree.
I had dated a little, but could hardly be called worldly. I had a total of two sexual experiences, which were nothing to write home about. Neither of these underwhelming experiences left me satisfied. Not even close.
This being the late 1970's, I was left to my own devices to 'get me off' And I did do just that on several occasions.
I kept thinking about my mother lecturing me, growing up, that 'good girls' didn't touch themselves in 'that' way. If your husband didn't totally satisfy you, then you were resigned to being frustrated.
Fuck that, I thought. Why should the guy get his jollies, leaving me wanting?
It didn't take too long in college to figure out the fine art of self pleasure.
What little I knew more than satisfied my urges, after my frustrations with my social life. I was lucky enough to live in a single dorm room, leaving me time and the solitude to finish what my dates started, and failed at.
And then I met Aaron. No, we didn't jump into bed on our first date. Nor the second, or third. By the fourth date, we had progressed to the point of my blouse coming off, and me allowing him inside my 36-C bra. Now that got me more than excited, enough so that I didn't need any extra stimulation upon my return to my dorm.
We also knew what our next date just might find us doing. We both knew what we wanted, having talked at length, knowing neither of us were virgins, but not that experienced.
The first time we made love, in the dark, it was like the brightest Fourth of July fireworks display.
I couldn't even fathom what this experience would be like. Yes, I'd given myself more than a few satisfying orgasms, but, as the 1985 song by Sinead O'Connor said, 'Nothing Compares To You', a tune actually written by Prince.
Laying in my bed, cuddling with Aaron, we just held each other, and quietly talked about our future. Asking each other if we did have a future.
We both decided that we did in fact have a future. Since this story isn't so much about Aaron and me, I'll just give my loyal readers a shorter version of our forty-seven year marriage.
All during my grad school, we were exclusive. I did the necessary steps to eliminate those dreaded condoms, and we did move in together, scraping by, with the help we received from our parents.
Our love for each other knew no bounds. If we weren't studying, we were fucking. And after almost a year, I actually started to see what all the excitement was concerning having a stiff, hard cock in my mouth.
We had long since thrilled ourselves with his amazing oral skills, giving me even more outstanding climaxes, but it took many times just thinking about me reciprocating, to actually take his thick six inches in my mouth.
I did put my foot down, and refused to swallow. I became fairly adept at taking his offering in my mouth, and letting it dribble back down his shaft. I just couldn't stand the consistency of his stuff.
With me opening my private practice, and him flying through med school, we did 'accidentally' get pregnant. Not that either of us minded, especially when our daughter, Ellen was born.
With Aaron starting his residency, our second daughter, Allison joined our family, with both of us agreeing that these two beauties were more than enough.
As I said, this story will only focus on the present, so I will tell you fans of mine, that Aaron and I had a very fulfilling, nearly perfect forty-seven years of marriage.
Our two daughters have given us four wonderful grandchildren, two boys and two girls, all of whom are now teenagers, plus so many memories that have kept me going following his untimely passing.
It took all the courage I could muster to even get out of bed, each morning, after his funeral. I just couldn't see life without my partner. My lover. My true soul mate.
I did figure out that I needed a change of scenery. Our house that we built our family in for nearly forty-five years was like a giant tomb.
My kids convinced me to downsize, and I agreed.
I found a very nice condo in a different part of town that more than filled my needs. It had plenty of room for my grandkids to stay over, whenever my kids wanted some alone time.
Getting settled in, I did meet some of my new neighbors. Some of which were my kid's age, and younger.
There were some older folks, but nearly all of them had spouses. Or long term significant others. I guessed that at my age another relationship just wasn't in the cards.
When the weather warmed up, I did start walking around my complex, and met a few more neighbors.
I'd lived in my new place nearly a month, when I started walking, just to get out of my house. Just as I was getting to the end of my block, it sounded like the Hell's Angels were coming into this area.
I stood, with my mouth wide open, seeing this huge Harley Davidson pulling into a parking spot near my own place. Let me try to describe the person riding this motorcycle.
At first, I couldn't tell if it was a he or a she, as the rider had on a helmet, plus a full set of riding leathers.
With me standing just over five feet four, this rider was a good six or seven inches taller than me.
Even when he/she took off their helmet, I still couldn't tell, with their hair cut quite short. I finally could tell when she took off her leather jacket, I could see boobs unencumbered by a bra, pushing the front of her AC/DC shirt out quite a ways.
I must have stared a bit too long, when she grinned, and asked me if I liked was I saw.
I must have turned about a dozen shades of red, and stammered out a sincere apology.
What I did see is a very masculine looking woman, close to six feet tall, with the aforementioned short haircut, dressed like a man, but with a fairly large pair of boobs.
"Robin Martin, and I'm truly sorry for staring."
"Lou Parker, and I'm very used to it."
"Lou?"
"Louise, but that doesn't fit my personna, does it?"
Laughing, we just stood there, when she asked if I was related to a Dr. Aaron Martin.
"He was my husband for forty-seven years, why do you ask?"
"He treated my wife for her last six months, before her cancer finally....."
I just held her hands, while her tears started falling. There was nothing I could think of to say.
I decided not to go any further, so I wouldn't give her any wrong ideas.
