My continuing lust for older women began many years ago, when I was just 18.
In those days the sexual revolution as we now know it had not yet happened. My story begins with me having a Sunday morning job collecting weekly draw money from around a hundred houses, and to distribute any prizes won the previous week by my regulars.
My area was very large, so I always started at the furthest point and worked my way back towards home, so that I was always finished in time for any sport scheduled for the afternoon.
The last house on my round was owned by a married couple in their early forties - he was very strange: about 6' 4", very thin, never smiled and always wore black suits - I nicknamed him "The Undertaker". His wife, Shirley, on the other hand was around 5ft 8", with an enormously well-filled blouse, a slightly large rear and evidence of an expanding waist line. As she always dressed smartly, and always had a huge grin on her face, the overall effect was a definite turn on for any male, let alone a rampant but virginal teenager.
During the first few months of calling at this house a routine evolved: if he answered the door he would simply hand me the correct money, take the weekly newsletter from me, then simply shut the door. If she answered, she would smile brightly, ask me how I was, conduct the transfer of money and newssheet, then say goodbye sweetly before closing the door.
However, this all changed one Sunday when she asked me in for a cup of something. On entering she said that she knew her husband and I did not like each other (news to me - I just thought he was strange) but not to worry as he was out for the day with their children - a family commitment that looked like being repeated often in the future.
After having a drink and answering a few questions about myself, where I lived, etc., I left.
This routine continued for a few weeks to the point where I began to look forward to her being on her own so we could spend some time chatting, and also allowing me the time to reinforce the fantasies I was developing about her.
Then for about 4 weeks, to my intense disappointment, every time I knocked on her door "The Undertaker" answered.
After what seemed an eternity I knocked on the door one Sunday, and there she was - bright, bouncy and looking every bit as lovely as my fantasies had conjured up. She invited me in for a drink, telling me that she had been in hospital for an operation.
After sitting me down and getting us both a cold drink we chatted about nothing in particular for a while. She then asked me if I was in a hurry as she had something she wanted to show me. After saying that I had at least 90 minutes she said, "Wait there, I'll go and get it".
A couple of minutes later she returned carrying a small jar containing some small gritty looking bits. "These are what were taken out when I was in hospital", she said. I tried to look interested,but obviously failed because she then said, "I know, they don't do a lot for me either. How about this, then?"
Standing in front of me, she pushed down her skirt waistband so that the tip of a livid, fresh scar showed. Realising that only the tip of the scar was visible she then said "Sod it", and promptly reached down to the hem, then hoisted the front part of the skirt up to her waist. I was speechless, because not only was all of this long nasty scar visible, but so was the whole of a completely naked, shaven plump pussy - as she had no underwear on.
