My name is Jean. Last year, I became a widow. My husband, Bob, died suddenly of a heart attack. He left me owning a nice, 3-bedroom ranch house, his higher than my Social Security, and his pension from work. Thus, at 64, I don't need to work for a living, although I might do some part-time job. We didn't have children.
My days are lonely, my nights are lonely, and I'm lonely in my queen-sized bed. We had an active sex life, with the help of Viagra and my husband's encouragement for me to look sexy and behave in a sexy manner. I suppose it is now time I joined a "hen party" of widows.
Bob convinced me that, in my early sixties, I still had a good figure: shapely legs, big breasts, and an ass that juts out to be grabbed. He encouraged me to wear short skirts, short dresses and low necklines. He reminded me that "good things come in small packages," I being only five feet tall. I didn't entirely take his word. Women friends complimented my on my figure, especially my legs. A friend his age, married, allowed himself to give me some lewd compliments on my legs and tits. Mine are large and still rather full. It seems that about half of women have denser tissue in their breasts, which keeps them fuller and firmer as we age. Supported by a bra, they look inviting. Bare, they still look good enough to excite an older man to want to get his hands on them.
I enjoyed feeling sexy and desirable. Being undressed, caressed and possessed thrilled me. In my grief, however, I couldn't think of romance with another man, and I had no prospective sex partner among my few single male friends.
I live in a small city, a college town. Near me, is a trail for walking and biking. One part leads into a large park near a lake. One mid-summer evening, with the sun still shining warm, I went for a walk. I always put on makeup and dress attractively to boost my morale. This evening, I wore a sleeveless sun dress with a floral print that showed several inches of my bare thighs and had a low neckline showing just a bit of cleavage. The skirt of the dress fit snuggly enough that, should I stop to rest on a park bench, it would bare about half of my thighs. By the way, women and men have told me I have beautiful skin. I certainly take good care of it by applying expensive lotions and mostly avoiding the sun.
I turned onto a branch of the path that led to hill with a view of the lake. There was a bench where I stopped to relax. Crossing my legs, I watched the hem of my skirt ride halfway up my thighs. I felt sexy. I remembered. I daydreamed. Then, I heard the steps of someone approaching. I did not look around, until at one end of the bench a young man, who looked like a teenager, probably a college student, appeared.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
"No, I don't mind. It's a nice view, isn't it?"
I could sense his eyes on my legs and cleavage as he replied,
"Yes, it's a beautiful view! I'm Tony."
"I'm Jean."
He confirmed that he was a freshman at the college. I said that our college is notorious for frat and other parties.
"So, you're spending a quiet evening to enjoy Nature."
"I guess I'm shy of groups and parties. It's not legal for me to drink, get drunk and get sick afterward."
"There are many other attractions here, cultural and natural."
"I'm finding that out. Do I smell flowers, or is it perfume?"
"I'm wearing Red Door. Do you like it?"
He moved close to me, and I leaned toward him so he could smell my neck. My breast bulged forth as well.
"Yeh, I like it! Where do you put it?"
"In the hollows on each side of my neck, my wrists, the insides of my elbows, and... between my breasts."
I didn't mention that sometimes I sprayed a bit between my upper thighs. I continued to hold his interest, so I held my arms so he could sniff my wrists and elbows. Leaning toward me, he seemed to lose his balance and put a hand on my bare thigh to keep from falling into me. His touch thrilled me all the way to my pussy! I noticed that now he had his left arm behind me on the back of the bench.
"I'm sorry!"
"My perfume seems to intoxicate you!"
"It's better than booze! By the way, what's an attractive woman like you, in such a pretty dress, doing here alone?"
"I was widowed last year. My husband encouraged me to dress like this. He went with me to pick out sexy clothes. Since I still have them and feel good wearing them, I still do."
"You husband had good taste! He certainly must have appreciated you!"
"Yes, he helped me enjoy being a woman. Now, I haven't even had a hug since the funeral."
"I haven't had a hug since I graduated from high school. Maybe we could give each other one?"
"Okay. I guess we need to stand up for a good hug."
He embraced me, caressing my bare arms while my shoulder-length brown hair brushed his cheek. My breasts pressed against his chest through his thin shirt.
"I read that a hug should last at least 20 seconds for maximum emotional benefits," I offered.
He cooperated, prolonging our embrace until I felt his cock harden against my belly. The boost I gave his cock was giving my ego quite a boost, too! He ran his hands up and down my bare arms, sending shivers of pleasure through me.
"I smell perfume behind your ears, too."
"Yes, I forgot that place."
He pressed his lips to my neck and where it met my left shoulder. He looked at me; I looked at his lips, as an actress does in the movies to signal that she wants to be kissed. He kissed me and thrust his tongue in, fucking my mouth with it. I needed no further evidence that this teenager wanted to fuck a woman old enough to be his grandmother!
"Whoa! Rein in those hormones and let me sit down!"
"I'm sorry!"
