How My Sexuality Changes as I Age Ch. 06

Many freshly single again women who are sexually active and curious about it, but who have no interest in commitment or longer-term relationships, may wonder just what sex in your late forties and early fifties involves and what's it all about? To answer those questions takes time, possibly involves having several partners, means trying new things and needs lots of thinking about to reach the conclusion that it's all about fun, enjoying yourself and simply satisfying a basic need, a bit like eating really. Many women who have previously enjoyed a relatively full sex life, experience this area of change when the on tap, almost when she wants it supply of sex is taken away from them for whatever reason.

I suppose that in a way, Peter gave me a taste for what's now called recreational sex, although at the time I wasn't aware that was what I was after and what I was enjoying. But that is what I had over the next year or so when I had sex with a number of guys purely for my pleasure and enjoyment and no other reason. Okay, some might call it being promiscuous, which it certainly was and some might consider me as being a slut, which I don't buy. Maybe an easy lay, but only in the right circumstances, and not, as some call a woman with a healthy sexual appetite, a nympho, as that's not how I see it, or thought about myself and my behaviour. I enjoy sex and, although having a reasonably high sex drive, I was and am by no means a nymphomaniac and quite often go weeks without any sex whatsoever. Additionally, I turn down as many, if not more, advances as I accept, I've dated guys with whom I have chosen not to have sex and I'm pretty sure that most divorced women would have similar stories to tell.

Having said all that, I and the many other women who have found and enjoy recreational sex, are likely to have been in situations where we were relatively easy lays, possibly acted like sluts and did exhibit a desire for sex to the level of a nympho. I know that during my early stages of being a single woman again, I certainly showed most of the characteristics associated with those descriptions.

Tom, an Art Director at one of the agencies where I occasionally worked freelance, who I'd known for some time, not that well and certainly not intimately, but on terms that were close enough for us to chat easily. Many years ago we'd worked together on an upmarket lingerie account where I was writing the copy and he was handling the art direction. To gain an understanding of the uniqueness of their product, which they described as 'stylishly tarty,' although we were forbidden to use that phrase in the ads, I decided to wear most of the gorgeous underwear. Having told Tom that I was doing that to hopefully inspire me to produce some great copy, he asked if he could see me in it. After some hesitation, I agreed and, inevitably I suppose, that led to him photographing me in the briefest of bras and thongs with holdup stockings. That photography session introduced me to the excitement of posing and flaunting my lady places at the camera and the photographer and I found that I enjoyed doing that.

Then there was Stuart, a lawyer I met at a dinner party who was, without any doubt whatsoever, the most technically competent lover I'd ever been with and after him came Gordon a fifty-year-old Mancunian, self-made multi-millionaire who I met while on a holiday in Spain.

After my rather unfortunate experience with Peter, I laid off men for a while and reverted to my frequent masturbation in front of my mirror before attending an awards lunch with Tom and ending up in his bed later that afternoon. The awards ceremony was at the Savoy and was all rather grand and crushingly boring, but as I had written some copy for an ad Tom had designed and we were nominated we had to be there. Fortunately, the client couldn't make it so we were able to overindulge in the free booze and by the time the room was darkened and the presentations started, we were both a bit tipsy. He pulled his chair closer to mine and I felt his arm go round the back of my chair and his fingers rest on my shoulder as we laughed a lot taking the piss out of some of the ads.

"And what, Mr. Birch, do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Actually Ms. West trying to get into your knickers."

"Well as you probably know, better men than you at your agency have tried over the years and better men have failed," I replied jokingly.

"Yes, but they haven't been close up to you when you're tipsy and just gagging for it have they?" he quipped back.

"Who says I'm tipsy?"

"Well OK pissed then," he retorted, adding, "You're not rejecting gagging for it then?"

"No comment and keep your voice down," I whispered back to him.

"Oh and, of course, as I had forgotten now divorced and a free woman," he went on squeezing my shoulder and pressing his leg against mine as he did for most of the rest of the awards ceremony. As we both drank more wine so his foot ran up and down my calf and as we realised we hadn't won so I felt his hand on my leg.

"Oh well that's that then," he muttered leaning over so that his mouth was close to my ear, "We might as well go and have a quick fuck then hadn't we?"

In my slightly, well to be truthful, fairly pissed state and with me now trying to be the sophisticated sexual creature who really could 'fuck 'em and leave 'em' it seemed sort of cool really to say.

"Yeah I guess we should I suppose."

So we did, and it was good. We did it twice that in his flat in Fitzrovia a short cab ride from the Savoy. Neither of us were in that fit a state for sexual acrobatics so both times were leisurely and probably not that expert, but they were fun.

Until Tom, I'd never really looked on sex as actually being done as fun. But with him it always was. He didn't take anything that seriously, so why should he with sex was his belief? So for a two-or three-month period, when he introduced me to smoking marijuana again after what must have been a fifteen- or sixteen-year absence, we had fun as we had sex. We smoked, drank and laughed our way through a series of premature ejaculations, a number of 'oh fuck it I can't get it ups,' a couple of 'I'm not wet enough' and some absolutely monumentally mind-blowing sessions.

At the same time, I was also having my occasional sessions, as I thought of them, with Stuart who, slowly and methodically as his legal training prompted him, did everything absolutely properly.

The first date all friendly and diplomatic and a peck on the cheek as we said goodbye. The second, dinner, at a posh Italian restaurant in Mayfair was a little more romantic and talk of a more intimate nature followed by a lips-on-lips kiss in the cab on the way to my home. No thought on either part though of coming in for coffee, no not on a second date that would not be right. It was on the third, though, as was a full-on kiss and tongues in the other's mouth. Up top only on the third date as he enquiringly at first touched my breasts. Finding only the appropriate level of resistance he persevered as we sat in his flat that was just around the corner from the Italian restaurant we went to on our second date. That impressed me as he had taken me all the way home by cab without trying to persuade me to ask him in, and then presumably back again after dropping me off. After a lovely meal at another nearby restaurant we'd walked hand in hand to his flat and after what must have been half an hour and a full measure of Hennessy XO cognac, he undid a couple of buttons on my blouse. It took probably another fifteen or so minutes for him to get his fingers inside my bra and another ten or so before he eased each boob out from its restraining cup. After he'd played with them for a while, but not going so far as to suck my nipples even though that was exactly what I wanted him to do, I recalled the teenage dating protocol of 'only up top for the first few dates and no upskirt fumblings until at least the fourth or fifth!' Of course, in the years since then that had all changed and what then had been the fourth or fifth was nowadays the second or third.

Out of the pinstripe suit and white shirt that he nearly always wore, Stuart was a different man. Once he threw off the uniform and restrictions of his profession he changed completely. When naked he was godlike. I could hardly believe that the man who had been so diplomatically dating me could have such a beautiful body and be so awesome, yet odd, in bed. He was an amazing lover and quite the most technically adept I had been with, but almost totally lacking in passion.

At his flat after the meal, we sat together on the sofa and he took up from where we had left off with me with my bra still on and my tits out pulled out of it, but no sucking or nipple chewing, yet. But, of course, that was soon to come along with so much, much more. He had earlier undone the buttons on my blouse, gone through the cursory entry level of caressing me outside my bra before again easing them out of it. Now, though, he leaned behind me and undid my bra. I like that feeling as the restriction of the tight elastic is removed. I like the sensation as the cups are eased away from the mounds. And I enjoy the look on a lover's, well a potential lover's in this case, face when he looks at them for the first time.

I am a rather arrogant about my tits and I know they're pretty good. Okay, they may have a little sag nowadays, but that hardly shows unless I am standing and that rarely happens when I make love. Over the years, and through all the changes to my sexual outlook I've been told enough times to now believe that I've got a good rack. I know that many, or at least, most men are suckers for full tits and mine vary between being D and DD cups, which Kevin used to describe as 'ample handfuls.'

In that respect, Stuart was no exception to my other lovers, although where he was different was that I'd never had a man pay such homage to my breasts before. That was with the time he took playing with them and what he did to me by doing that. He must have licked and kissed every single square millimetre of them at least once, have sucked and chewed each of my nipples for longer than News at Ten lasts and he stroked each of the orbs until I was in fear that he might rub them away.

So, now naked above the waist, skirt pushed up to mid-thigh my breasts being lengthily stimulated by this amazingly patient man, what did I do? Unusually for me I just laid back and thoroughly enjoyed it. He was so in charge and was so systematically directing proceedings it didn't seem right for me to interfere. Sure, I kissed him back when appropriate and I did undo a couple of buttons on his shirt and yes I felt his, quite impressive, length through his trousers, but not much more. My part seemed fairly well defined and that was to be his plaything, and so, plaything I became.

And boy did he play. Although his concentration was on my boobs, and wonderfully so I must say, there was the occasional fingers sliding along my thighs and now and then the lightest touch on my panty covered pussy. As I tended to jerk when he did that, he would then apply a little more pressure right there. Right where I wanted that pressure. Right where all females love that pressure. Yes right alongside my clit that, unlike many men, he seemed to find so easily. As he did that he was sucking, quite noisily in fact, on one of my nipples or licking the softer flesh of one of my tits. The combination of being strongly stimulated in two places at once had the inevitable effect on me. Yes, I climaxed, twice for sure and maybe three times on that sofa. But these were not explosive orgasms and not of the sort that had fucked up the time with Peter as, somehow for some reason I never quite understood, they built up slowly and went on for ages as he cuddled me through their beautifully arousing long moments. My climaxes with him were an essential part of the sexual foreplay as he saw it and expected from me. It was almost as if it was my duty to cum. And being a dutiful girl I did, willingly and wonderfully, though not explosively.

But that was just the start. As I lay on the sofa in my mellow, post orgasmic state, he stood up and not taking his eyes from mine for a moment he undressed. Out of his pinstripes he was truly beautiful, if that term can be applied to a male physique! He had an almost perfect body, being tall and slim without an ounce of unnecessary flesh he obviously looked after himself in the methodical way he did everything else, including me as it turned out. Lightly tanned with a nice covering of hair on his chest he had an absolutely flat six pack and a beautifully long and smooth, circumcised cock that reared up from a thatch of golden pubes tinged with splashes of grey. Unlike many men, Paul was totally unselfconscious about his nudity, he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom where he stood me by the bed.

One aspect of his lovemaking that I wasn't that keen on was that we hardly talked throughout the session. That was the way that Stuart made love, which didn't include talking, not even using some stimulating dirty language as I had with Kevin and most certainly and fully with Tom.

Sitting on the bed with me standing next to him he slid my skirt up and sighed deeply as he looked at the white, pretty much see-through, satin and lace knickers I was wearing. Slowly moving the fingers of one hand in little circles right on my clit he eased the back of my panties down with the other. Eventually getting them down my thighs he slid them down my legs and encouraged me to step out of them so that I stood before him in just my slightly flared skirt and my strappy, tart's heels as Princess Di had famously once called them. With him still sitting fully naked, on the bed he kept me standing before him and buried his face in my skirt as he kissed my stomach and pubic area through the thin, silky material and ran his hands up and down the back of my legs and caressed and squeezed my bare ass.

The position he held me in, his nudity and my semi-undressed state made me feel unusually wanton as he fondled me and alternated his gaze from my stomach to my eyes and back again. He was now also stroking my legs and ass and fumbling his fingers between my cheeks to run along the crease and down from that to slide between my thighs that I helped him with by opening my legs a little way. He didn't push his fingers into me, but with the lightest of touches he ran them around my lips, stroked my clit and pressed suggestively and enquiringly right on my anus. After what must have ten or fifteen minutes of priming me like that he had worked out how to undo my skirt and I felt it fluttering down my legs into a crumpled heap around my ankles. Carefully stepping out of it still in my heels, I at last got to lie on the bed and was thinking that now we would fuck. Oh no, not yet, it wasn't time in his programme for that. No, this was the time for the beneath the waist foreplay that we could both see rather than just feel and we then had another, God knows how long, maybe half an hour or so of him attending to every part of my lower body. Strangely, though, only with his hands and not once did he use his tongue or mouth on my pussy. But the intensity and, I have to say gentleness and expertise, with which he inflamed my lips both inside and out continued on my clit and all around my bottom made me cum again.

His lovemaking though quite expert and very giving was sort of mechanistic and so bloody drawn out. It was as though he could give for ever but not want anything in return. As though he took all I had, but never really revealed anything about himself. Even when, eventually, he did fuck me it was as if he were programmed. He did everything correctly, he took his time, he combined long and short thrusts and fast and slow ones but not once did he let himself go, or really welcome my contributions, not even, or so it seemed, my stroking his cock and he positively politely rejected my offer to suck his cock. There were no loud moans from him, hardly any words were exchanged and there was absolutely no dirty talk at all. He seemed to know exactly when to surge deep and hard into me, then almost come out and thrust softly, when to stop and when to speed up and fuck me hard and, of course, when to cum.

It was like being fucked by a machine. True a powerful and very efficient one, but still a machine. A fucking machine actually!

In this post divorce, rather promiscuous, further period of change in my sexual attitudes and thus, life I was running two affairs with one guy where it was all fun and another where it was mechanistic and then I found one in the middle.

I was on a short holiday in Spain with Cat, a female friend I'd made at work. After the first day we realised we'd made a bit of mistake as the hotel was near to what we learned was a good and very popular golf course so there were loads of, mainly male, golfers staying there. However, after a few days when we'd had got to know some of them in the bars and had been chatted up around the pool when they came back from golf in the mid-afternoons, we agreed that perhaps it wasn't really much of mistake. And by the fifth night when one of them had his hand in my knickers as we kissed I was convinced it was not a mistake at all.

Cat and I had accepted an invitation from a group of guys to play padel with them. In that game, which is a bit like tennis, you always play as doubles and I'd been paired up with Gordon. He was a sturdy man with strong looking arms who was a bit slow around the court, but had good anticipation and hit the ball hard and mostly quite accurately. Having played tennis for most of my life and during my late teens to a fairly high level, I was probably the best player amongst the group. There was a dozen or so couples in the tournament that the golf guy's organiser had set up which went on throughout the afternoon and into the early evening when Gordon and I were crowned as champions by beating two guys in the final.

He was from Manchester and as we'd sat around waiting to play our next matches he'd told me that he owned a business that manufactured something that I never quite understood and that it employed some 200 people, so he was well off. He made no pretence at being single or separated from his wife and three kids who he lived with in Cheshire just south of the city. He had a good sense of humour, didn't take himself too seriously and flirted with me in a friendly and challenging way and we got on well. He had a quick mind, was very down-to-earth and worldly-wise and I admired his thoughtful phrasing even though he made it quite obvious that he was available if I wanted him and stressed that he was in London two or three times a month. Nearly five hours of playing padel and sitting around and talking and you get to know someone pretty well. And overall I quite liked what I got to know.

Although my affair with Stuart wasn't going anywhere, not that I wanted it to, and after three or four sexual work-outs, I'd starting making my excuses, my fling with Tom was still wafting along on a cloud of smoke, booze and laughter, but was also going nowhere. So was I on the lookout, I wondered that evening as I got ready for dinner that we'd decided to eat in the hotel restaurant?

I didn't give it that much thought but I did find myself dressing in underwear that would look good to be undressed in. Daft and a little lacking in moral fibre, but then hey I'm single and free aren't I? And of course I'm now a woman of the 21st Century and if I want a quick fuck why not?

After the dinner there was dancing and Gordon made a beeline for me and we had several dances before I accepted his invitation to sit at the bar with him after seeing that Cat was very engrossed with another of the golfing guys. The dancing finished at midnight with a slow, smoochy number so I was in Gordon's arms pressed fairly tightly to him when he suggested, "Maybe a night-cap somewhere?"

Showing strong resolve as I was not absolutely sure that with Cat all that happens on this tour would actually stay on tour, I turned him down with, "Sorry Gordon, I will have to pass I am very tired," and ended up in bed and didn't see Cat until very early the next morning when she crept quietly into our room.

The next evening I had no excuse to avoid the night-cap after the dinner and dancing and we had a drink in a bar a short walk along the sea front from the hotel. He was easy to talk to and asked if when he was in London next could we meet and I agreed. As we were walking back to the hotel, possibly encouraged by my agreement he slid his arm round my waist, which felt nice so I left it there. I was wearing a yellow, silk dress with a lowish neckline and a slightly flared skirt that may have been on the short side for a woman of my age, but hey what the hell!

We went into a side entrance to the hotel grounds. It was dark and secluded. He stopped and turned to face me. I knew what was coming and was prepared, in fact I welcomed him pulling me into his arms. It was nice and comforting being held and I felt mellow and relaxed. I was, I knew, a little tipsy and that made me receptive and close to him. I suppose that I was absolutely primed for him to make his move on me for he'd done a good job in preparing me and showing the patience my last night's rejection required. We kissed open mouthed with lips squirming and I could feel him hardening as he said in a rather authoritative and commanding manner, which sort of impressed me, so I didn't think for one moment of saying no, "Come on let's go for a walk,".

We wandered around the hotel and into the extensive grounds, across the large pool area and onto a narrow pebbly path that ran alongside the beach. He was telling me about his business at first and then we chatted about golf and I told him a little about my life. We'd been walking for ten minutes or so away from the hotel and we'd reached what was a public beach area with loungers spread out over it. It was dark and very secluded, "You really are a stunning woman Jayne," he told me stopping and turning towards me. I never know what to say when complimented like that so I usually smile and say, thank you, as I did to him, "And on top of that an intelligent one and a great paddler," he went on smiling, but also playing to my weakness of being told I'm intelligent. I like that. I like to be admired for that more than I do my looks although being admired for my tits does run my mind a close second.

We found a shelter along the gravel path that ran behind the beach and sat down. It was very dark and completely deserted. We kissed again and this time it went on for ages and, of course his hands found my boobs. He slid the thin shoulder strap off and slipped his hand firstly inside my top, but outside my bra and then inside that. He cupped and squeezed my boobs then pinched and pulled each nipple in turn. I am very sensitive there and his fingers aroused me quickly. I grunted and he asked, "Okay Jayne?"

"Yes, fine," I whispered cuddling his head as he bent forward and sucked, what seemed like half my tit into his mouth. That sent me climbing further up the wall of sexual excitement, which in turn lowered any resistance I may have had and shoved my inhibitions right out the window. He had primed me perfectly so, as his hand slid up my bare legs and rubbed against my stomach and then pressed right against my closed thighs, I opened them. By rubbing my clit through my panties, he made me cum, almost as quickly, but not as embarrassingly, as with Peter, which now seemed an age ago, and he held me panting in his arms as my climax slowly subsided. As I recovered, he took my hand and pressed to his body. He had undone his zip so my hand went right onto his bare cock. Almost at the same time, he pushed the gusset of my panties to one side and his fingers found the extreme wetness of my pussy. I rubbed his cock and he starting to pull my panties down, which for some reason made me come to my senses and I groaned, "No Gordon, stop," grabbing hold of the waist of my panties.

"Why Jayne?"

"Because it's daft," I said pushing my skirt down.

"You're enjoying it aren't you?"

"That's not the point," I retorted going to pull my bra back into place covering my boobs, but his hand was already there and that stopped me.

"So what is the point?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you here with me, why have you let me play with your tits and touch you up down there?" he persisted, actually sounding both quite logical and persuasive, so much so that I didn't have a ready answer and I mumbled.

"It's not safe here."

"Well we can't go to your room as you're sharing with Cat aren't you?"

"Yes, yes I am and you?"

"I am too so, if we want to fuck each other luv, as we nearly have this is all we have isn't it?"

I whimpered a meek, "Yes."

"And I take it you did want to Jayne?" he asked running his fingertips across the top of my breasts and into the cleavage, "Didn't you?"

"Oh shit Gordon this is madness," I stammered as my desire for him and to have sex went into conflict with my, albeit nowadays loose, morals and common sense.

"Have you never had sex outdoors Jayne?"

"No, no never, well once we did do it in our garden."

"Who with?"

"My husband of course."

"Well why not make it a first with someone other than him?" he asked pushing my hand to one side and cupping my bare breast as he leaned forward and kissed it. I should have stopped him, pushed his face away from my chest or stood up, but I didn't, I felt transfixed, almost bewitched and nearly hypnotised as I felt his hand going up my skirt again as he sucked my nipple. I was lost, gone, finished and totally out of my sexual depth as he pressed right against my clit and whispered, "Well Jay can we, can I fuck you out here?"

To my utter amazement and almost as if it was coming from another person I heard myself whispering, "Yes Gordon, yes you can but please be careful." Having agreed and asked for him to take care I seemed to forget my reservations and concerns and I wrapped my arms round his neck, opened my mouth and tongue kissed him just as passionately as I would had we have been naked in bed instead of being fully dressed in a small cabin on a deserted beach.

This time, after arousing me by rubbing me through my panties when he took hold of them and started pulling on them, I raised myself up from the bench and let him pull them down my legs and watched him slip them into his pocket. Sitting beside me he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down just a little way and sufficient for me to see his fully erect dick. It looked lovely and I reached out for it and stroked it as we kissed and he whispered, "I don't have any condoms Jay, is that ok?"

"You sure you're ok?" I maybe rather unwisely asked, but then, when he said that he was, I believed him and I did as he asked and sat on his lap facing him with my legs open either side of his hips. Pulling the top of my dress down he pushed my boobs together and burying his face between them he replied.

"Yes luv as clean as a whistle and like this we're safe from any passersby although we'd probably hear them okay?"

I had really now got into the mood of having sex with him, "Yes Gordon, yes I'm fine," I almost gushed as I felt his hand fumbling around and then had the delicious sensation of his bare cock pressing right against the wetness of my pussy as he, unlike Stuart immediately got into dirty talk.

"Good, so then I can fuck you can I Jayne?"

"Yes Gordon yes you can," I groaned back as he pressed his erection against my pubis and bare stomach making me groan with a combination of desire and arousal.

"Can what luv, what do you want me to do?"

I didn't get what he wanted for a few moments, but then the penny dropped and I replied, "Fuck me Gordon, I want you to fuck me."

"What with this?" He asked thrusting his cock against me and again taking hold of my hand and pressing it against his dick

I played along with him by saying, "Yes, with your big, hard cock."

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Fuck me?"

"Where do you want it?"

"In me?"

"In you where?" he asked squirming the end of it right against my clit and this time I knew what to say as I'd said it many times for my ex-husband.

"In my cunt Gordon, I want your cock to fuck me in my cunt."

And in that shelter on the beach not far from our hotel that's precisely what he did then and the next night, when I was standing up, leaning forward, supporting myself against the wall with him fucking me from behind.