Replaced

REPLACED BY A NEWER MODEL

When Jacob ran off with a twenty-five year old I was pretty sure I was finished with men, at least marriage. Our sex had pretty much dwindled to below zero, so I knew he was at least getting laid somewhere. I didn't hate him for that. I probably hated him for other stuff, but not for wanting to be fucked more often than never. She was young and pretty and sexy, and wanted to please him. I am a long way from pretty. I haven't been called pretty since Carter was president.

The closest we came to sex were hand jobs I acquiesced to over the last few years. Blow jobs were out, but a hand job on a Sunday morning was acceptable, at least for a while. Last summer I gave up the hand jobs and he didn't beg much, at least not after a year or two. I guess by that time she was taking care of his sexual needs. I knew all that would abstinence would eventually lead to a younger woman. He still beat off, so he still had the urge. He didn't think I knew why the trips to the bathroom took so long, but I wasn't born yesterday. He still had his harem of men's magazines "hidden" in the drawer in his bathroom cabinet.

Her name was Brandy, of course. She is young and pretty and fertile, so I am guessing he will be changing diapers before long. If he is not shooting blanks, that is. She laughs at almost everything he says, so what man could resist? Certainly not a man passed his midlife crisis with an ego the size of Detroit. He fell under her spell as soon as she batted those twenty-plus blue eyes and giggled at his male silliness.

By that time I had sworn off the XY chromosomes, until--that is--I was teamed with Barry at the book convention and he laughed at my jokes, and I effortlessly pretended his were funny too. We hit it off, as they say, in most ways, and I found myself imagining being under him for at least a night. He was not handsome, but in a strange way he was "interesting." He looked like a librarian or an accountant, but he looked like he would be fun to spend time with, and I found myself wanting to do just that, and he seemed to like me. That is crucial.

I began to wonder if Barry and I would end up horizontal and hoping for it more than I wanted to admit. For someone who hadn't had an orgasm since our old dog was a pup, I was unbelievably horny in an amazingly short amount of time. I hadn't been that turned on since my then fiancé first put his hands in my panties. It was in January and it was freezing. I would have gotten naked for him, but the car was like a freezer and I was so cold I was shaking. I wanted it, but I wanted not to freeze to death even more. His hands were cold, but his stiff cock was warm, especially when it began sliding into me in the backseat.

As I sat hoping Barry would get to it, I began to forget about my ex running off with Miss Congeniality. I also even found myself not resenting Brandy for stealing my husband. She can have him. I was thankful for what the evening with Barry promised and for my accepting an invitation for a meal and dessert and maybe more from a man I hadn't known the day before. I hadn't even thought about "more" for at least a few summers and there was even stirring in my loins. There had been no such stirring in that region for years, maybe a decade, especially with my husband.

Barry did ask me to accompany him, and after dinner and dessert, we even danced and the closeness made me wet where I hadn't been even damp since bell bottoms were the style. I found myself smiling at the hardness pressing against my tummy as we swayed to music and I actually pictured myself doing womanly things to his anatomy in a horizontal position even in a cold car.

My panties were wet all through dinner and I excused myself to the ladies room to remove them after the crème brûlée. I felt blatantly naughty as we danced with my panties in my purse under the table and I had unladylike thoughts about what I would let him do to me later that night. I did, and I even did some of them to him before he even got the chance to do those things to me.

I was as horny as a sailor by ten, by eleven he was a half a foot deep in my lady parts, and by midnight I was drinking his sauce and loving the taste. I hadn't felt as much like a lady as that since the night of my senior prom or my honeymoon. I had my first orgasm of the night during Bolero on the dance floor and my last just before I fucked myself to sleep at the stoke of midnight with him between my legs with his tongue buried deep in my crevice.

I woke up the next morning in the Marriott, naked, sprawled across him, my clothes thrown around the room

as if Dorothy's tornado had hit inside the bedroom. I lifted my head, which was heavy as a watermelon, and I glanced around the suite.

"Good, morning, Sunshine," said a voice too cheerful for that early in the morning. "Feel like breakfast?" he asked. I wanted to be at least an hour from food, or consciousness, but my stomach was leading a revolt and I realized I may have to give in to food sooner than I wanted to be awake.

"Good morning," I said through the cotton in my mouth. "You are certainly cheerful this morning," I said.

"I am just admiring the view," he said as I realized I was naked over the top of him in a position that was not too flattering for a woman over forty. Funny, but as I woke from a night of wild sex I didn't even hate Brandy or resent her curly-headed youth. I actually hoped she'd had as good of a night as I had had. I never hated Jacob, I just stopped getting aroused by him, but I liked him and I hoped he'd been fucked as well as I had.

Strange, but when your ex has a Brandy fulfilling his sexual needs you are supposed to hate them both, but that morning I just hoped they'd both been fucked as well as me. I even smiled at the thought.

"You were great," he said with a grin.

"I was, wasn't I," I said.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked.

"I was just thinking of my husband," I said.

"Your husband?" he said, afraid I was saying that I was married.

"My ex," I corrected. "He has a twenty-five year old bride. I have shoes older than her," I said. "She is cute, perky, and lives to please him. I was just thinking that I hope he had a night as good as I did," I said. "I don't hate him. I just don't get wet for him anymore."

"You seemed to get wet last night," he said.

"I did, yes," I said. "Really wet. I took my panties off in the restaurant bathroom," I said.

"I noticed," he said. "I thought you just didn't wear any."

"I was afraid they were making a squishing noise when I walked," I said.

There was a knock at the door. I wrapped the sheet around me and went into the bathroom until the room service attendant was gone, then I ate breakfast naked sitting on the edge of the bed. I hadn't felt so lecherous, so naughty for years. We both stayed nude during breakfast, then through a quick fuck, and as we dosed through the lazy afternoon.

"Where would you like dinner?" he asked when we woke.

"Across the table from you," I said. "I didn't think this would ever happen again," I said.

"I am glad it did," he said.

"Me too," I said. "Best book convention I have ever been to," I said.

"Most are pretty boring," he said. "This one was certainly not boring."

"Not at all," I agreed.

We left the hotel with me following his car and went to lunch, then after lunch we sat in his car and talked. He wanted to know about my marriage, told me about his, and wanted to know all about my life and he told me about his.

Jacob had been married for twenty-five years, then his wife ran off with a younger man. "Hey," I said, "join the club. My husband ran off with a young lady who could be his daughter."

"We should start a club," he said. "Old people whose spouses ran off with younger people." I must have made a face, because he apologized and shook his head, as if he had made a social blunder and insulted me.

"No need to apologize," I said. "We'd probably get a lot of members. Especially old and unexciting ones like us."

He laughed and nodded. "Dull people like us," he said with a grin. "My wife said I was bland. She actually said bland. I thought bland was a taste," he said.

"You didn't taste bland to me," I said.

"You didn't either," he said.

"Young is unsophisticated and immature and dumb, right?" I said. He nodded. Being with him is not an affair, I thought, because my husband has a twenty-five year old. We have been released for sex by the runaway appetites of our randy spouses. The fact that I want him in me so bad it nearly hurts only shows I am human, right? The fact that when he touches my pussy I become a girl again is a good thing, don't you agree?

He put his hand on my chin and raised it, then he held it there. "Any man who would trade you for a younger model is a lunatic," he said.

"A younger model doesn't need as much servicing," I said.

"A twenty-five year old is still trying to find who she is," he said.

"I think he likes who she is right this moment," I said. "I think that is the point."

"Foolish man," he said cuddling against me.

"You sure you would not want to trade me in for one with less miles?" I said.

"You have the right amount of miles," he said kissing my ear. "If you come to my place, I will show you how much I think you are worth."

I did and he did and for the second time in less than a day he showed me how much he cared, or at least how far he could go into me. I sighed, he groaned, and in ten minutes I came with a gasp and a shutter. He scooted down and for twenty minutes he paid homage to my clitoris with his tongue. He turned out to be a very good pussy eater, and I sighed and groaned appropriately.

My legs were spread wide, my knees were far apart, my thighs were wet, and my eyes were closed. For the second time in two days I had an orgasm after a tongue lashed my labia and clit by a man I'd known less than a week, and I smiled to my over-forty self because of it. My ex may have a twenty-five year old beneath him, but at least I am not alone, I have no longer lost interest in sex, and I am rather proud of myself.

Jacob and I see each other on a regular basis, although he lives in his house and I live in mine. It may be that we're each afraid of having the other run off with a younger version of us. Our own house may be a defense mechanism, making us feel just a bit safer, more independent, and not totally committed or vulnerable.

The sex is good and we get along like good old friends, which we are, and most of our meals are spent together. He usually comes over at about noon every day, or I spend the night with him in his king-sized bed and we have breakfast there, which he fixes. Usually eggs Benedict and toast. I never liked them as much as I do now.