I think a great story starts with a real experience, adds fantasy and imagination and a smidgen of the absurd. My stories are memoirs spiced with some kinky imagination. Enjoy!
OVER FIFTY HOUSING
A story of two older, well ok mature women, Doris and Valerie, who found each other and discovered something in each other and in themselves they did not expect.
You will hear from two women, Doris and Valerie, each telling portions of the story from their perspective.
Doris...
"Over Fifty Housing" the ad read. What the fuck does that even mean?
I'm sorry. I've noticed that I am using the word "fuck" a lot more these days. My grandchildren seem to use it in every sentence but I didn't until recently. I never use it out loud but it is always in never my thoughts. I'm just getting old and grumpy I guess.
Now what the fuck was I saying? Concentrate Doris, concentrate. Oh yeah, about this Over Fifty Housing, how am I supposed to know what they are selling if they can't even use correct English? Are the houses over fifty years old? Are all the people living in the houses over fifty years old? People even call the place 'OFH' like everyone knows that stands for Over Fifty Housing.
On my first drive thru it appears that it is really neither of my guesses. I'm told by friends that it is a neighborhood exclusively for people over fifty but that would mean those children on bicycles are really very young looking old people. The houses are all new with many still under construction. I later learned that those were grandchildren visiting. Oh well.
I took the walking tour and it turns out they are lovely, moderately priced new homes on small lots designed to have little or no landscape maintenance. Did I mention how much I fucking hate gardening?
I have lived in my home in a neighboring town for over thirty five years now. John and I raised our four children in that house and now it's just too big, too empty, and too fucking expensive. It's time to move on. The children will go ballistic but with the right planning it can be done before they know and can object.
I learn that I can buy a new two bedroom two bath home in OFH for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I can sell the big house, a realtor tells me, for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She mumbles something about location, location location. Who would have thought when we bought it that one day it would be worth three quarters of a million dollars?
With the money from the sale of the old house, my pension from teaching, Johns residual pension, social security and Johns life insurance I can easily live comfortably for the rest of my life and travel, something John never wanted to do.
51 Oliver Street. I bought it on Thursday and the old house went on the market on Friday. The first going ballistic child, my only son, called Friday afternoon. The other three go ballistic on Saturday.
I moved in a month later and within days I had had joined a few of the available clubs and signed up for a gym membership. I am sixty but because of the gym and never ending diets I could easily pass for fifty-nine! No no, I'll bet I could pass for fifty! Well ok, maybe fifty-five.
On my first trip to the new gym I met Valerie. I think I had known her for perhaps three minutes when she announced that I should call her Val. Not to be outdone I told her she could call me Doris. She smiled but had a puzzled look on her face. I think she expected me to offer a nickname but I have never had a nickname. Now I must say that is not exactly true. My hubby had a private nickname for me he used when we were alone and he wanted sex but we won't go into that.
The old goat was always looking for sex but he was very talented orally and had a penis that could only be described as magnificent so I seldom refused. Over the years, John used every hole I have and used them often but, I fear, no man will want to again. Aw fuck, here we go again. That part of my life is over. Why am I thinking about this? More importantly, why am I telling you about it?
Back to Over Fifty Housing and Val. Not quite my age Val is younger at 58 but she also looks fifty-five so we're even. We actually, it turns out, live near each other, one block apart.
Val is a relatively new arrival at OFH like me, with perhaps four months more experience, so we had that in common. She suggests that we agree to force each other to the gym three times a week. I tell her, "Well ok, if you insist, but I already don't like you." Of course I'm joking. She laughs but I'm not sure she gets it.
Val, at barely five feet, is the smallest women I know. I always felt that that I had an eye for attractive women and Val I think is singularly attractive. Every part of her is perfectly proportional to her height, almost every part that is. A perfect butt that almost matches her little tummy in size as it extends from her body gives her lower body almost a sexy S shape. Her breasts are the exception to her proportionality. Val has surprisingly large breasts for a small woman. On her body, I would later learn C cups would look surprisingly large. She was gifted with white/grey hair, perfect teeth and beautiful green eyes.
Valerie...
My story is simple. I was married for thirty-eight years when my husband, Philip, was killed in an airplane crash. His death was completely unnecessary because it was his plane he crashed. We had a number of very heated discussions about his plans to buy a plane and learn to fly it. Truth is he worked hard to, 'solo' he called it, and although it caused me to wet my pants and not in a nice way, it was a pretty plane and fun to ride in.
It was a year into his adventure when he encountered heavy fog and flew his toy into a mountain side. Game over.
The plane and flying, notwithstanding, Philip was a very responsible man. He had extensive life insurance with a rider to cover the plane, the house was paid for and we had significant retirement savings. So, on my own, with the children grown and living far away, I sold the house and moved on to Over Fifty Housing.
Now a confession. Philip was a good provider and I suppose in that way, a good husband, but he was never a legend in bed. We had three children and I actually told my youngest once that she only came to be born because her father took me to bed a third time.