Martha and I met in the church choir. I sang bass, she sang alto. We were both in our 60s. I was single, she was married. Her husband was overweight, diabetic and had high blood pressure. That's a deadly combination, at least it gave him a dead cock and his medical problems made Viagra, Cialis, etc. out of the question. So she was needy and I was available.
It wasn't long before we became lovers. We would meet at my apartment for playful, pleasurable sex and companionship. She quickly learned that I appreciated making love to women my own age.
"You're such a great lover," I said one day, "and so very responsive."
"No, it's you who's a great lover and a woman would have to be a stone not to respond to you."
"Which part do you like the best?"
"I like it all but I guess my favorite is the way you eat my pussy. Hell, you don't just eat it, you devour it."
In fact I had just finished devouring it and my face was wet with her pungent juices.
"Lick it off."
"Gladly," she said and commenced to give me a tongue bath.
"Leave my mustache alone," I said, and using my hand to brush my mustache closer to my nose I said, "I like to leave your smell there for as long as I can."
"Do you like how I smell?"
"Absolutely. And how you taste and feel. I love your pussy."
"You're too much," she said. Then she paused, and with a questioning look on her face she said, "Would you do me a favor?"
"Probably. Depends on what it is?"
"Well, I think you'd like it. Actually it's a favor for someone else."
"Who?"
"Harriet."
"Harriet?," I said with an astonished look on my face. Harriet was also in our choir. She and Martha were good friends and sometimes traveled together. Harriet was also about 60, skinny to a fault and rather homely looking. She was single and, to my knowledge, had never been married.
"What does Harriet want?"
"She wants to make love to a man. She's never done it and, as she says, she's not getting any younger."
"That's what she told you?"
"In so many words. I, uh, have told her a lot about you and me. She likes you and she thinks you're sexy. I've told her how gentle you are and quite a bit about our love making and she wants to make love with you."
"And she's never made love to a man, ever?"
"That's what she says and I have no reason to doubt her."
I thought for a minute and said, "Okay. I'll give her a call."
"Well, there are some strings attached."
"Explain strings."
"She doesn't want to be alone. She's really nervous about this and she wants me to be there."
"A threesome?"
"I don't think so. I think she just wants moral support and somebody there in case things get out of hand."
"You know better than that. I'd be a perfect gentleman."
"I know that but she's still a bit apprehensive. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Not at all," I said, "in fact it might make it all the more interesting."
"Good," she said. "I'll talk to her and set something up."
On Sunday morning, on the way to the choir loft, Martha handed me a note. It said, "Wednesday evening, after choir practice, your apartment. Harriet and me." I folded the note and gave her a thumbs up and a big smile.
I spent several hours on Wednesday afternoon tidying up my place. I put fresh sheets on the bed, selected some soft music for my CD player and brought out some scented candles.
Before choir practice I spoke to Harriet briefly. "Hello, Harriet. How are you?"
"I'm, uh, fine. I think."
"Listen," I said, "Don't be nervous and don't come to my place unless you really want to."
"Thank you," she said. 'I appreciate that."
After choir practice I hurried home and gave my place a last-minute inspection. I took off all of my clothes, put them carefully away and put on a tee shirt and sweat pants. Soon I heard a knock on the door. I opened it and saw Martha and Harriet standing there. Martha had a big smile, Harriet not as big.
"Come in ladies and make yourselves at home. Mi casa es su casa."
Martha laughed. 'I didn't know you spoke Spanish."
"Not much," I replied. "My vocabulary is limited. Siesta, taco, manana, adios, amigo, frijole, muchacha, things like that."
They both laughed and Harriet seemed to relax a bit.
"Pardon my casual attire," I said, "But I like to get comfortable as soon as I get home."
"Good thinking," Martha said.
"Would you ladies like something to drink? A soft drink or maybe a glass of wine."
"Wine would be fine," Martha said and Harriet nodded in agreement. She had still not said a word.
"White or red?"
"White, I think," Martha said.
"Harriet?"
"Whatever you're having is fine with me. I'm not much of a drinker," Harriet said and then giggled.
"White it is."
I went to the refrigerator and returned with a bottle of chilled wine and three wine glasses which was 75 percent of my wine receptacles inventory.
I opened the wine bottle and poured three glasses. "A fine domestic Chardonnay," I said. "One of California's finest."
I raised my glass and said, 'Let's toast to good times and good friends."
We each took a sip and Harriet said, "This tastes pretty good. It's sweet."
"Sweets for the sweet," I said.
"Oh, you," Harriet said, and giggled again.
"It's sweet," Harriet said, "but not overpowering."
"Just like me," I replied.
"Oh darn," she said and giggled louder.
We drank and talked about things we had in common, the choir, the church, some of the people there. We drained our glasses and I said, "Care for a refill?"
They both nodded affirmatively and Harriet said, "Are you trying to get me drunk."
"Just relaxed," I said, "just mellow."
"Mellow sounds good," Harriet said.
We finished our second glasses of wine and I said, "Let me give you the ten cent tour."
I showed them the rest of my apartment which took about a minute and we ended the tour in my bedroom.
Harriet looked around expectantly at the burning scented candles and at my bed. I turned on my CD and seductive new age sounds filled the room.
"Let's get comfortable," I said and began to remove my tee shirt.
