Nervous Exhaustion A Professional

Mrs. Stetler had been going on about her husband's stroke for about ten minutes: how it had left him so impaired, how their life together had been so devastated, the many hours she'd spent in performing home rehab, to the point that she was now awakening during the night with hands numb and tingly. Hence, the referral by her geriatrician to the neurologist to check her for carpal tunnel syndrome.

"We have no intimacy anymore, none whatsoever," she said.

"Sex, you mean?"

"Yes, of course."

This strange admission, coming seemingly from out of nowhere, caught the neurologist completely off guard. After all, Mrs. Mildred Stetler - "Millie" to her friends -- was nearly 70-years old -- scarcely the sort of complaint you'd expect from someone her age. The neurologist stopped setting up his equipment to take a good look at her as she lay there on the padded exam table beside him.

This retired businesswoman (she'd once been vice-president of a bank) was a medium-sized Caucasian female, a trifle overweight, but remarkably fit for someone her age. Kept herself up out of vanity, he supposed.

He estimated she had a mental image of herself as a perennial 50 year-old, although in truth she looked facially more her true age. Her hair was cut short and bristly and tinted a punky shade of red -- an elderly hip sort of "do". In her youth she must have been a real looker -- still not bad for an old dame. Her face was artfully made up, highlighting her best features. Although she had her fair share of lines and wrinkles, her facial bone structure was striking. And her perfume was sweetly musky and alluring.

She had no history of heart problems, diabetes, or other significant disease - just a little hypertension that was adequately controlled with medication. And then there were the seven pregnancies with as many successful deliveries. (Obviously, she and her husband had enjoyed a good bit of humping in their younger years.) Her only surgical history was a tonsillectomy in childhood and a hysterectomy.

They'd done a good job rearing their kids, all of whom had turned out to be great successes: two doctors, one corporate attorney, a judge, the dean of a law school, a bank president, and a state legislator. She had ten grandchildren on whom she doted, and she'd just been informed that she was the new great grandma of a set of twin girls.

She still enjoyed a cocktail once in a while. She had smoked a pack every other day or so until three years ago when she'd learned that cigarettes could give you "smoker's face". That she had quit smoking out of fear of getting more lines and wrinkles, he thought, was a signature of her vanity. Her hands, despite some mild evidence of arthritis, were pretty, velvety soft, and expensively manicured. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a sexy shade of soft plum.

She took moderate exercise on a regular basis to maintain her figure -- used a stationary bicycle and treadmill three times a week, some free weights, and even had a personal trainer. Her abdomen was slightly protuberant but reasonably firm. During the earlier physical exam, he noted she had a sensuous back, which tapered down to a remarkably good ass. Ben Franklin was right, he thought: a woman does age from the head down.

He slyly ogled her lying there. Her breasts jutted stupendously upward and spilled out through the armholes of the sleeveless blue paper gown. He found himself envying her husband who'd had these mammoth playthings to enjoy for so many years.

The doctor's prurient curiosity had been kindled by her previous remark, and so he couldn't resist following it up now with this question: "Do you miss having sex?"

"Well," she said, a bit hesitantly, "after so many years of an active love life, that is something one misses."

"And you and your husband had sexual relations up until when?"

"Well, before his illness, my husband and I would make love -- I don't know -- maybe once or twice a month. Not nearly as often as I would've liked. But all our married life, I was always the one more interested in sex. If I'd had my way, we'd have made love at least two or three times a week. More. Actually, a lot more."

This old broad's plenty horny, thought the doctor. To her he said, "Did he have problems with impotence - your husband?"

"Not until after his prostate surgery, no. They didn't do nerve sparing procedures back then. I encouraged him to talk to his urologist about getting a penile implant, but he didn't want another surgery. And they didn't have such a thing as Viagra back then. So, we experimented with other means to help him get an erection."

The doctor suspected he already knew the answer but asked anyway: "Such as -- if you don't mind my asking?" He looked out of the corner of his eye for her response.

She gave him a sideways glance, and then fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

"Well, sometimes I would use my hand." She made an amusing little masturbatory gesture. "Or, sometimes..." and here she hesitated, "sometimes I would perform ... well ... oral."

She colored a bit. "I don't know how many women my age will admit that they're into that sort of thing. My blue haired old lady friends at the garden society don't discuss these matters," she smiled with a hint of embarrassment.

"Did you find it distasteful -- oral sex?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I must be honest: it excited me." She paused. "I'm sure you must think that sounds disgraceful coming from an old lady."

"No, not at all," he assured her. Actually, he thought it sounded pretty damn good.

"Do you think I'm perverted because I enjoy that?"

"Oh, not in the least," the doctor said with as much of a professional tone as he could muster. Truthfully, he was getting more than a little aroused by this buxom old lady's talk of fucking and sucking.

He focused now on her lip-sticked mouth, with the little fine lines and cracks radiating away from her lips, and tried envisioning them wrapped around her husband's limp dick, trying to tease it into wakefulness, leaving lipstick imprints on the head and shaft. As she briefly moistened her lips with her tongue, he thought of it flicking over the end of his own cock. The mental image made the doctor's dick start to swell.

"I'm sure your other patients my age," she continued, "wouldn't dream of such a thing."

"Oh, I think you might be surprised. I have a number of patients who've remained sexually active well into their eighties."

She seemed relieved. "Really? Then maybe there's still hope for an old dame like me," she giggled, lightly touching his forearm. Then she paused as if struggling whether or not to make the following admission: "Sometimes ... sometimes I would take things a bit too far - you know, in performing oral on him-- and he would ejaculate. Pop goes the weasel!" She made a comical sliding whistle sound, "Flop right down and off to sleep he'd go -- out like a light -- and there I'd be, you know -- stuck. Oh, I'd be so frustrated, I could've killed him!"

He knew what she meant by "stuck"; he'd been "stuck" more than a few times himself. He wondered if she'd ever masturbated. The thought of her fingering herself into a lather was exciting him.

"I know this is a very personal question, Mrs. Stetler, but, uh ... when you were feeling so pent up, would you ... oh..." He just couldn't bring himself to say it.

She colored slightly, and then shrugged. "Doesn't everyone? You know, I certainly didn't invent masturbation."

The neurologist's mind started to reel. "Were you and your husband intimate these last few years?"

"Oh, yes, right up until the night he had his stroke. In fact -- Well, I'll just come right out and say it: I was sucking him off at the time he got sick. He just suddenly slumped over. His whole right side was paralyzed and he couldn't talk. It was terribly upsetting. I still feel guilty about it. If I'd only known, I might've been able to head it off."

Head it off. An apt choice of words, thought the doctor.

"You shouldn't feel guilty," he assured her. "No one could've predicted it. It was a fluke."

The old woman seemed comforted. She went on: "But I really miss having sex. I wasn't one of those women who are happy if their men just roll on and off to make babies. I thoroughly enjoyed our sex life, I really did. And I still would be enjoying it, if only..." Her voice trailed off and she looked very sad. He even thought he saw her lip quiver.

"It's awful," she continued, "when you realize such an important part of your life is over while you're still capable of enjoying it. It's not as though I don't ever have the desire anymore." She looked him straight in the eye: "In fact, I still have a very strong desire."

The manner in which she said it emboldened him to say what he said next: "I don't suppose you ever thought of having a -- well ... a relationship with someone else who could satisfy your needs?"

"Oh," she said looking somewhat shocked, even a little scandalized, "you mean have an affair? At my age? Oh, my goodness!" She laughed musically. "Who'd want to have a fling with a wrinkled old lady like me?"

"I don't know. You might be surprised," he said before he'd even realized it.

And then it dawned on him: This old broad was turning him on! His pulse had quickened and he was getting a certified stiffy. He couldn't believe the effect she was having on him.

And just then an unbelievably wicked, perverse thought sprang into his mind: There was no one else in the clinic; everyone had already left at four o'clock to beat the rainstorm, leaving him alone to finish up with the old lady. He could hear the rain heavily pelting the metal roof of his building, and occasional distant peals of thunder. It lent an air of cozy intimacy.

She looked at him with a coquettish smile, mistaking his remark for a compliment, not seeming to imagine it might have been an actual offer. But then her expression turned serious.

"With all the terrible diseases out there nowadays, I'd be afraid to even think of such a thing - have an affair, I mean."

His response was immediate. "Well, I'm certain you could find someone safe and clean."

"Oh ... but I couldn't do that to my husband. We've been married for forty-nine years. Next March will be our golden wedding anniversary." She was becoming a bit teary-eyed.

The doctor gently took her hand. After a moment, he said: "You might find someone you could trust, someone who would be ... discreet."

She looked at him searchingly, started tenderly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. At last, she smiled shyly and, he thought, a bit slyly, before going on: "Now, if I could only find a nice, handsome, younger professional man..." Her voice trailed off.

The doctor released her hand, but she delayed in releasing his.

Unless he was totally misreading her signals, this lady wasn't just receptive to the idea of an affair; she was actually propositioning him!

The thought that within the next few minutes he could be having sex with this sweet, sexy, very stacked old woman made his mind positively reel.

The potential ramifications suddenly came rushing in on him.

For starters, it would be an outrageous violation of the code of professional conduct. If discovered, he'd be branded a sexual predator and at a minimum the State Medical Board would impose a long suspension and require months of psych counseling. It might even cost him his medical license -- to say nothing of what it would do to his family. If it ever got out that he'd had sex with a patient -- a geriatric patient, at that - he'd be shunned! He'd make Bill Clinton look like a choirboy!

"You degenerate!" everyone would say, shocked and scandalized. "How could you do something like that? She was a great grandmother, for Christ sake!"

Even considering fucking her made him feel utterly degenerate, depraved. His head was swimming, his cock swelling, as his blood rushed in two directions at once.

He suddenly found himself dry-mouthed and trembling. And then, as if in a dream, as though his hand had a will all its own, it began moving unstoppably to her right breast so voluptuously overflowing the armhole of her gown. And, with the backs of his fingers -- he could scarcely believe he was actually doing it - he began stroking her bulging flesh.

His wits returned to him in a sick rush. He was horrified by what he had just done. He held his breath awaiting the inevitable reaction - violent indignation, outrage, something. But she just laid there, still as death, not a peep from her.

She had to have felt it. He'd lingered too long for her to mistake his touch for accidental contact. Then, at last, she began turning toward him and his heart sank. Her eyes -- for God's sake, her eyes were brimming with tears! Was she crying because he'd violated her trust -- because she was afraid?

And then he realized that she was smiling at him through those tears. Smiling. These were tears of gratitude!

She picked up his hand, pressed it tenderly to her lips, and then looked away. Such a simple yet eloquent gesture. It left him stunned. She was giving her consent. She wanted to have sex with him -- was probably even eager for it!

His temples were hotly throbbing, his heart pounding. Ever so gently, he slid his hand inside her gown, crept beneath her frilly bra and over the smooth, soft skin of her enormous bosom. Her breath caught for an instant and her whole body seemed to stiffen under his touch. And then, she relaxed. She continued looking off into space, her facial expression blissfully expectant.

Her breast, he judged, was not quite as firm as it must have been in her younger years, but it still sent an enormous thrill through him as he groped her under the gown. He heard the paper tear, and she turned on her side toward him to facilitate his exploration. She now turned back toward him, making full eye contact.

"Oh ... your hands are so soft," she crooned, as the doctor gently caressed her. His thumb and fingers encircled a large nipple, which quickly hardened under his gentle squeezing. "Oh yes. It feels so good. I've always been very sensitive there," she admitted.

He leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. The old woman turned her face upward. He took the cue and lowered his lips toward hers. Her kiss was soft, tentative, as though uncertain of the attractiveness she held for him.

He returned the kiss with unequivocal passion. Her lips parted. Her breath was sweet. He penetrated her warm mouth with his tongue, caressing, seeking her, and she answered in kind. He was amazed by her tongue's silky softness.

They separated briefly to catch their breaths while his hand continued exploring her. He stopped and said, "Here, sit up a moment."

She sat up and he untied the gown. "We'll both be more comfortable with you out of this."

He removed the gown and admired her huge bosom overflowing the top of her frilly tan brassiere, which was not at all the sort of undergarment one would have expected an elderly matron to wear. This one was designed as much for titillation as for support. She had magnificent cleavage, which the bra showed off to spectacular advantage. So what if the skin above her breasts was a bit crepe-like and wrinkled? The patina of age only added to her erotic charm.

He moved behind her to run his hands over her shoulders and down into the great valley inside the bra to cup and squeeze her voluminous breasts. She reached behind her to unfasten the constraining garment.

"My arthritis makes this a bit difficult," she explained, struggling. He unhooked the bra for her. She shrugged her shoulders, letting the bra fall away. Her mammoth breasts swung free, descending more than halfway to her navel. He kissed the depressions in her shoulder caused by straps having to bear such heavy burdens for so many years.

He moved back in front of her as he now gave her magnificent melons his full and undivided attention. They were pendulous, heavy, and nearly as wide as they were long, perhaps a bit flattened with time, but still quite round and full, and glorious to behold. Her nipples, large and stiff from his teasing, promised a sumptuous feast. A pre-coital flush was spreading over her upper chest, signifying her growing sexual excitement and receptivity.

She reached out for him and they embraced once more in a smoldering kiss. Coming up for air, both of his hands again busily exploring her bountiful bosom, he nuzzled his face in her cleavage as he lifted up her heavy jugs, pushing them against his face, and began wetly kissing his way toward a large, hardened nipple, now the size of the tip of his thumb. He took it in his mouth and began sucking it, tonguing it, as she made soft cooing sounds, her fingers slowly running through his hair.

He took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked. As he did, he imagined her in her younger years, breast-feeding her children: the lawyer, the doctor, the judge and all the others who had taken nourishment from her ... just as he was now taking his pleasure from her. It seemed a shame these magnificent milk producers weren't being used any longer. In olden times, she might still have been employed as a wet nurse, suckling the babes of the nobility.

He ran his hands up under the great breasts, exploring their warm, moist recesses. The full weight of her melons lay heavily on the backs of his hands as his hands spanned her ribs. Then he reversed hand positions to fondle her breasts from beneath, hefting them like big bags of moist dough. She again sought his lips as his hands wandered over her, fondling, kneading.

He lay her back down on the exam table while sucking on a nipple, teasing her flesh up to a point. She helped him draw down her elasticized nylon panties. He pulled them down her thighs, her legs, then drew them over her ankles and feet, and dropped them to the floor.

He stood back and looked at her, admiringly.

Her legs and thighs were remarkably youthful, even allowing for a small varicose vein here or there. Her muscles very well toned. Her mound of Venus was forested with brownish-grayish hair that glistened with moisture around the labia, which were large and full. She'd been on female replacement hormones for many years and had no hint of atrophy of the genitalia.

"She'll be juicy cunted, " he thought, with a quick twitch of his cock.

He stood up and exposed himself, quickly shedding his pants and underwear. He took off his shirt and stood before her entirely naked. His penis had never been stiffer or more eager for a fuck.

She twisted her upper body, seeking him. He accommodated her by stepping closer. She took his cock in a wrinkled hand whose fingers were studded with expensive gold and diamond rings while with the other hand she gently cupped his balls, and, with her exquisitely manicured and bejeweled fingers, guided him into her waiting mouth. She made a "humpf" sound as her lips closed around him, and began to gently suck. The slurping and "mmmm"s that emanated from them both only added to their mutual excitement. She looked up into his eyes to see if she was giving him pleasure, then, quite reassured, she went back to work with renewed vigor.

She began licking the tender undershaft of his penis, making several trips all the way to the head and back again to its juncture with his balls. She ran the tip of her tongue into the split and then around the knob that was turning a deep reddish purple as it became increasing engorged with blood. At times, she guided him into the sweet, moist pockets of her mouth, distending her cheeks with his fullness. Each time, as she withdrew him, her tongue followed to wetly caress the underside of his member. At one point, she gently squeezed the shaft of his dick with her fingers and a pre-cum droplet formed. "Oh, you're leaking," she said, and licked it up like a delicacy.