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I never thought I could be really aroused by an older woman until I met Penelope. She was the mother of an old university friend who was taking care of her apartment while she went off to England. She came in to Montreal from out of town to visit before my friend went away, and Barbara invited me to dinner, as her mother and I had always enjoyed the few times we had chatted. Barbara and I had once been fairly serious but it never went anywhere. But when she moved to Montreal, we would occasionally go out or have dinner together. At that point, I was in my late thirties and fairly footloose and free, and enjoying being a bachelor in one of Canada's great cities.
As we talked, I thought about those university days, and one time when her mother asked me to put their garden furniture in the basement. She was dressed in a tight black turtleneck that showed off her very firm breasts very nicely, and she asked if she could "lend a hand" in that lovely lilting English accent. When I assured her I was fine, she brushed by me every so slightly and put her hand on my shoulder and smiled, and said "Of course, you are so strong." I was ready to kiss her right there. And I could see her eyes widening. But nothing happened.
So, there we were, 15 years later, having a great old time at dinner. And chatting away as if everything had been yesterday. It was very pleasant. When I prepared to leave, I gave both of them a hug and a kiss when I left. And the next day, Barbara asked if I would look in on her mom while she was away, as she was afraid Penelope might get lonely. I assured her I would, as I was between jobs and had some time to escort her around the city.
The day arrived, and we went from one place to another, as he told me of her bohemian lifestyle back in the early days in Montreal, when she had been a model for many of the up and coming artists at the time. She had some wonderful stories. I was entranced. We stopped for lunch in sweet little restaurant on la rue Ste Catherine and she told me how she had married "very young" to a Saskatchewan boy who, she said somewhat ruefully, was "a minister's son" who had little interest in sex after their children were born.
We spent the rest of day exploring the city, and came back to the apartment.late that afternoon. I sat by the window and as the spring sun set on her almost wrinkle-free face, marveled to her that "I felt as if I had spent the day with a 25-year-old." I had made a calculation that if my friend was 35, and Penelope had been 18 when her daughter was born, she must have been 53. Such a young 53. Then she made a comment I was never to forget.
"It is not the person inside who ages. For me, I will always be 25 years old -- as that was the best time of my life. Sometime when I look in the mirror, I see a person I do not recognize, but I still know that the person inside me is the same."
I got up to say good-bye and thank her for such a wonderful day, and I naturally reached out and embraced her. She held me close as well. It felt so comfortable. And then I kissed her softly on the cheek. And she kissed me back. Soon she had her tongue on mine, exploring my mouth. And we began to kiss so intensely that I felt my head exploding.
I began to caress her breasts and she was immediately swooning and feeling my very hard cock. I got harder and harder and I kissed and caressed and then unbuttoned her blouse to reveal absolutely perfect and soft breasts. Lovely hard nipples and a firm body.
"Oh, I want you now. Penelope."
" So do I, and I have wanted you for years."
I paused for a second.
"Are you talking about the time in your basement?"
"Of course. I was not having sex with my husband and I wanted you so much."
We laughed a bit and then I slowly undressed her and took her to the bedroom. She was so beautiful, black her, firm breasts, and that soft English skin. Her pussy had been shaved, so that I could feel the wetness in her pussy lips when I put my hand down there. She watched me undress, and then stroked my body, and went down on me with such a wonderful expertise, I could not believe that I was experiencing all this.
I then went down and placed my tongue inside what felt like a very delicate cunt.
I could hear her begin to murmur and then become more and more excited.
"Please come inside me." "Now."
I me to her and warned her that I was very big. She said, "go slowly now. It has been a while for me." I entered and she was incredibly tight. But it was so wonderful touching her ands kissing her. She rocked me back and forth, as we kissed and touched each other, and then slowly she began to get short of breath and I could feel her beginning come, just as the explosion came from inside me.
It was so intense and spectacular. I could not believe it. We waited a few minutes, lying and kissing and caressing and then made love again.
That week, we made love almost every night in my friend's apartment. It was getting better and better. And then she had to return home. One night she called from the cottage where she had gone alone so that she come to Montreal. She aid she was driving in to see me because she wanted me so much. We made love until dawn and then she returned to her cottage. That night she said that she had to have me as much as she could, "because it would not be long before she would not be able to anymore." I had no idea what she meant, as I presumed that one could have sex into their 90s if they wanted.
As it happened, the relationship lasted a few months and then I met a woman who was my age and who I (wrongly) thought I might marry. So I broke the news that we would have to stop seeing each other. I was very sad, and she took it pretty hard.
A few years later, I saw my friend Barbara and we went for coffee. We had lots to catch up on and then I asked her how her mother was. "Oh, she and my father are fine, just getting accustomed to retirement."
"Retirement? I knew your dad was getting on my I presume your mother was little young to quit working."
"Oh, no", she replied. "Mom is about the same age as dad - he is 65, she just turned 64."
I was in shock but I could let on to my friend that I had been her other's lover when she had been 62 and I had been 37. A quarter of a century difference. She was wonderful, fit, knowing, gentle and passionate. And very sexy. She put the sex back in "sexagenarian." Now I understood wheat she meant when she said she only had a little bit of time left to be able to make love." It all made sense.
But I could never forget what she told me about growing old. The person inside her had never aged. And so it was just like making love to a 25-year-old.
It reminded me of the lines in the Shakespearean sonnet:
"But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
Thank you Penelope, wherever you are.
End of Story