First, a little about me. As i write this I am a sixty-three year old, still sexually active, bi, submissive woman. My stories are memories of a kinky life. I am still in the lifestyle. When this adventure started I was a 35 year old straight business consultant living with a loving partner. When 35, I was at about 125 pounds, today 140. I am still 5 foot 7 inches tall, what were 36 Cs are now 38 Ds. I was, I thought, a perfect 36-24-39 now I'm a perfect??-??-??. I am gifted with green eyes.
In June I met a new man, Francis, while volunteering for a local charity. Fran is a mid 60s man who recently retired to my Costal Florida community.
Fran is nice man and we talked a lot about where we were from and all that usual stuff but frankly I felt no chemistry and though we shared a love for cooking I really didn't even flirt with him. Just another new person in my life, perhaps eventually a friend.
Over a couple of months I caught him a few times looking at me as men sometimes get caught doing but never thought twice about it. Still no chemistry.
He was telling me one day as we worked about a new shrimp dish he had seen in a cookbook. I told him it sounded wonderful...yumm. He then asked if I would like to make it with him. Suddenly, I was flirting when I replied: "Why Fran are you asking me out on a date?"
He stumbled over his answer with: "Well, no, I mean yes, no I mean I thought you could come over and we could cook together and have a nice meal. Maybe get to know each other better." It has always amazed me how adult men turn into teenage boys sometimes. I of course said yes.
Saturday came. I remember thinking about him as I showered. To shave or not to shave? Will he get lucky? Will I get lucky? Do I want him to get lucky? Does he want to get lucky? I amazes me how, at 63, I turn into a teenage girl at the prospect of a new sex partner. Still no real chemistry.
I thought it would be fun to bring him flowers and a bottle of wine so I bought both. When I arrived he greeted me at the door dressed in jeans a tee shirt and an Emeral Lagatsi (sp) apron. Sorry about the spelling. I remember he was barefoot. I found that curious but he explained later how he was always barefoot or in stocking feet in the house.
I had on a pair of black tights I sometimes wear just because frankly, they complement and show off my butt. I was also wearing an oversize starched white mens dress shirt I sometimes wear because frankly it hangs low enough to minimize my big ass. I kicked my shoes off and joined him barefoot.
He thanked me for the flowers and the wine. He told me I was the second person ever to give him flowers. He kissed me lightly on the cheek. I would later learn the first person to give him flowers was his wife on his 50th birthday. When he kissed me I put my hand on his upper arm and noticed for the first time how muscular he was. With that one touch something changed. Was it just touching him? His obvious masculinity? Was it chemistry, that hidden feeling of want and need, I felt when I met someone I was sexually attracted to?
As he kissed me on the cheek I touched his face and kissed him ever so gently on the lips.
Fran gave me a New Orleans apron to wear. We cooked, we laughed, we talked, I had a great time. In an hour he had become a man I seemingly had known forever. As I looked at him across the table I saw the laugh lines of a man who had laughed often and hard. I saw the worry lines in his brow of a man who had suffered. I saw in his gray hair and beard a person who had aged into a very handsome man any woman would want. I found my mind wondering if he had gray hair everywhere? Chemistry!
After dinner over wine we sat on his couch and talked. It had been a wonderful evening and I felt suddenly ... Happy I was with him.
As we talked about our past lives I learned about his wife and how she died five years ago and I mentioned Beth and how she went to soon.