Widow's Fire

I must be the most inept seducer of women that has ever lived.

Women speak to me, then pull their drawers up to their chins. It is inexplicable. I am reasonably good-looking, educated, successful, full of humor and decent. I am not tall, 5'71/2", which does not help, but that cannot be the entire explanation. Having no sex appeal, I am destined for a life of self-pleasuring.

Fifty-seven years old and I have screwed only three. Number one was blind drunk, number two had conquered the entire 22nd floor of our office and did me last to win a bet, and number three was my soon to be ex-wife.

The end of my marriage was inevitable as our paths grew further apart. My wife, age 60, owned a thriving design and retail business and its continued success consumed her, although a 44-year old architect repeatedly consumed her as well. I, on the other hand, would retire in six months at age 58, just when the divorce became final. I had investments, a generous deferred comp package and an ex who was raking it in. Money was not an issue even after the divorce. I was just sick of working but now contemplated a life of self-attention.

I called on my tribunal of experts for advice. Asking opinions about women from these four misfits was like asking a rabbi for his recipe for pork roast. One was a drunk whose wife threw him out, number two decided at age 50 he was gay and left his family, three never married and had not dated in years, and four's wife had, with his knowledge, pretty much conquered entire office buildings, not just the 22nd floor.

But they stumbled onto a legitimate first question: what was my goal? "Simple," I replied, "Get laid. Not just get laid but, with few exceptions, engage in every sexual act a man and a woman had ever performed, acts that would make a porn star blush, acts that had to be illegal somewhere, probably Mississippi. So, gentlemen, where should I go to fulfill this dream?" I was determined to escape frigid, in all respects, New England.

"Mississippi?" the drunk suggested. The others would not allow me to banish him because he was paying for the drinks that mostly were sitting empty in front of him.

I was thinking New York City, the home of my younger son. No doubt, NYC possessed many intelligent single women in their 50's who live in a constant state of severe cock deprivation. New blood, even new blood as pathetic as I, might stand a chance. Also, I thought they were unreligious so biblical restrictions on sexual deviancy would not impede.

"Mistake," said number four. "The winters are still harsh, it's very expensive, you hate the Jets, and the women are not that desperate. Look, I asked my wife, and she said she would not do you, even out of mercy. You don't stand a chance with these NYC sophisticates."

Another one I would banish, except I was hoping his wife might come around in a pinch.

My other choice was Florida, since Ft. Lauderdale was home to my older son. "Florida is the place," opined number two. "I don't think the women are as bitter or as smart, hot weather makes them horny, you can restart golf, and, most of all, the competition won't be that great since all the men wear compression stockings."

His arguments were compelling, and I was on the verge of expressing my appreciation when he blurted out, "I read somewhere that men who masturbate excessively must wear compression stockings, too. You will fit right in." OUT. The only one of the four I could stomach was the single one because he had been laid less than me. Nevertheless, I started planning my move to Florida.

In early October, I loaded the car and took off. After leasing a small place month to month, I started house hunting. Two requirements. A community with a golf course since I needed to fill my solitary, sexless days. Then, buy a certain style of house called a courtyard. It has a central courtyard with a pool surrounded by the structure, making it entirely private. No one could see in, and I envisioned wet naked romps with all the ladies who had been dreaming of my arrival in Florida, yet another fantasy to make my lonely wanking more fruitful.

In February, I moved into the perfect place in Delray Beach, far enough from my son to make him happy. The seller agreed to leave the furniture, which was good enough for me. The pool area needed to be more seductive, but if I had any idea how to make anything seductive, I wouldn't be in this pickle, I thought, as I grabbed my pickle. The tribunal suggested putting a sex swing out there. What a stupid idea. I would put it in the spare bedroom.

With la casa amore ready to host lovely ladies, my quest began on, where else, dating websites. I posted the four most flattering photos I could find, and they were current: a head shot, the obligatory body shot which would be replaced if I ever hit the gym, me cooking to show my nesting proclivities and one next to my car suggesting I could drive at night, a big plus in Florida. My friends screamed you must lie, lie, lie. Post younger pictures, lie about your age, lie about your height, stand next to a Ferrari that's not yours. Everyone lies on these websites.

I took the exact opposite road to success, total honesty, although I knew my instincts always left me with my pants on. I assumed women would lie, but when confronted with an honest man, their remorse would lead to complete surrender to my desires. Instead, I met women who posted photos of total strangers, yet they pattered on without an ounce of guilt.

Still, I was deluged with responses from women aged 40 to 75. These ladies cast a wide net when new meat dove into the dating pool.

After a thorough review, I chose two divorcees, both age 51. I looked at 44-year-olds for spite, but their rejection would make me even more envious of my ex. Divorced women in their 50's, I hoped, would demand revenge sex, or maybe it was rebound sex, whatever, as long as they demanded it. I wrote both women and who found my completely insipid profile "fascinating." The first wrote her divorce was completely behind her and she wanted to meet new people, travel, and maybe take up golf. I soon learned that all women, even those who despise golf, will express an interest if the man is a golfer.

That first date was nightmarish. She listed all the lives her bastard ex-husband had ruined. She named more people than I knew. I was gentlemanly enough to pay for dinner and suggest that maybe her divorce was not behind her. She was touched by my gesture and by my sensitivity, but I declined the invitation to her apartment. Poor me, I couldn't get laid when I could get laid.

Remarkably, the second date was worse. The first woman was wounded but sweet. The second was simply a gold digger, a Florida species I had not yet encountered. I should have known when she asked if the car in the picture, a 7 Series BMW, was mine. It's mine but I did not mention I hated that ugly tugboat and could not wait until the lease was up. It had been my wife's, but both architects and I do not like that model. Cars are unimportant to me, but my buddies warned that in Florida an expensive car was an essential tool to attract pussy. I would have to wait and see.

This woman was attractive but mostly artificially constructed, and she probed more deeply into my finances than my wife's divorce lawyer. This was a business meeting. I have no expertise about women, but I am really good at business meetings, including ending unproductive ones quickly. Back to square one.

After continued hunting, I devised a new strategy. I would only look for widows. They fit my style better. Deep down, I am a nice, empathetic person and a widow would appreciate my kindness while I was trying to get her clothes off. Luckily for me, a seemingly lovely 60-year-old woman had written. She was attractive, not tall which I liked, educated and with a job in finance so we could talk shop if not about our carnal desires.

I had never spent time with a widow so I googled what dating one might entail. And then, it happened. I read the two words that changed my life, the words that gave me hope, the words that would end my drought.

Those two words were: WIDOW'S FIRE.

What is this, you ask? What is this Fire that will end my losing streak, a period only surpassed by the time the Cowboys had last won a Super Bowl.

From a Google search - "Widow's Fire" refers to the experience of intense sexual desire and a renewed interest in intimacy after the death of a spouse or partner. It's a recognized phenomenon within the context of grief, stemming from the need for physical and emotional closeness, and is not uncommon as individuals navigate the complexities of loss. Another site - Widow's Fire describes the (sometimes) uncontrollable and all-consuming desire for sex following bereavement.

All-consuming, uncontrollable. What beautiful words. Perhaps the only words that could overcome my inability to get women to bed. In their grief, this decent empathetic man will be there for them. In their grief, if they think a cock will give them solace, I will be there. In their grief, if the joy of having their pussy eaten will lead them to happiness, I will be there. This will be simple. The only hard part may be convincing them that performing like a porn star is the key to their peace and tranquility.

You might consider me a cad for taking advantage of grieving widows. You betcha. Fuck off. I will sacrifice time that could be spent playing golf to bring happiness to a bereaved widow.

So, I replied to that lovely woman, and we soon resolved to meet. We had a nice time over coffee and two days later spent 90 minutes walking through a nature reserve. It was a beautiful place for a first date because admiring the scenery and amazing birds prevented any lulls in the conversation. We stopped for a late lunch and agreed to go to dinner two days later. She later wrote and asked me to pick her up rather than meet at the restaurant.

When she opened the door, she asked if I might cancel the reservation and just stay at her place. She was hesitant and scared and I understood why. When I told her I was hesitant and scared as well, she ran into my arms.

We stayed naked in bed for a few hours and both got off. It was very nice but not the wild experience I was craving. When my mouth headed between her legs, she got tense. Perhaps this was more intimacy than she could bear, but she was soon purring. I tried then to bring her pleasure to the next level by inserting my thumb up her ass. She froze and said no. I realized this lady was lovely, but sexual adventure was my goal, and she was not the one. Later, I wrote that it was too soon for me to be in a serious relationship.

Maybe pursuing women in other parts of Florida would be the answer. There's not much to do in some of those small towns, so raucous sex might be the town pastime. I found a woman of great potential in Sarasota. It's not small and it's one of Florida's cultural capitals. I had never been there, but this profile looked juicy.

Annie was 66, eight years older, short-haired and cute, at least according to her photos. Her profile appealed to me. A widow who had cared for her ill, very conservative husband for a few years. I did not think she meant politically, only that his attitudes were traditional and old-fashioned. Annie was now ready to have some fun. This dating website also asked questions to elicit a match and one of her answers was magic. This is the real question, "Would you be willing to go to a nude beach on your first date?" and Annie, and only Annie, answered yes. Of course, so did I. A match made in heaven.

Here was my pitch. I'm new to Florida and want to explore. Because Sarasota is known as the home of the Ringling Bros circus and has a well-known museum, I, a circus lover, would love to have a guide. Yes, Sarasota was far, but I had planned a tentative trip to visit friends in Naples, not too far away, and I could come up and meet her.

Circus lover? Utter bullshit. But, retired work friends in Naples? There were plenty and they were always inviting me to make the trip across Alligator Alley to play golf.

Annie said it sounded like a plan, so, I scheduled what would be a very long day. Up super early, drive to Sarasota to meet Annie for coffee. Then, south to Naples for lunch, golf and dinner. Then, the unplanned part; if she and I hit it off, I would leave early the next day and head north to Sarasota for our first date. Otherwise, the trip would be a flop.

I left at 5:30 a. m. and was there to meet her at a quiet coffee shop on St. Armand's Circle. We really hit it off with laughs, irreverence, my bawdy fun jokes and talking about nothing important. Meeting the next day was certain but just before I left, I took a breath and asked the question, "Will you really go to a nude beach on a first date?" She laughed, "You saw that, huh? I never dreamed someone would ask." When I pointed out she need not worry about how she looked in a bathing suit, she laughed and said let's do it. She would gather the stuff we needed, when I admitted I already had beach chairs and plenty of towels in the car. "You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" as she reached over and stuck her tongue down my throat.

We agreed to take the long ride to Playalinda Beach on the east coast to get to know each other better and give us time to chicken out. We would not get there too early so we could spend time on the beach and then go to our room at the nicest hotel I could find. As we talked in the car, I confessed everything: ineptitude, sex craziness, Widow's Fire, I confessed to all of it. She just smiled the whole time then explained she respected her husband, but he was a "stick in the mud." No adventure at all, especially sexually. She also told me my days of rejection were over. Women would love me and hop in bed with me gladly. What appeals to an older woman is different and I have it.

"So," I asked, "By conservative, you mean he didn't go down on you, did he?" Her head shook no. "Welp, I guess a rim job was totally out of the question." When she playfully licked her lips, I knew what would be keeping me busy.

When we got to the beach, clothes came off immediately, no hesitation, and then we set up the chairs, towels and this little tent thing she had brought. I took out the sunscreen where I had written "Partners" on the label in black ink. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's special sunscreen that only works when applied by someone else." That got me a laugh, a punch, a little kiss and a very well-disguised cock tweak.

We knew overtly sexual behavior was not allowed so we headed to the little tent to lather up. She gave me the warning that really broke the ice. "I will be really angry if my pussy gets sunburned, so don't miss a spot and try to finish before sundown."

Unfortunately, the beach was not crowded because we wanted everyone to see us naked. We walked on the beach, waded up to our knees so the good parts remained exposed and held hands. As we rested in our chairs, another couple walked by, stopped, turned and walked toward us. I thought they had checked us out and decided to return. "Have a seat." I offered and they opened their beach chairs to sit.

Tina sat right in front of me, so much in front I thought I saw her bellybutton from the inside. Of course, Annie noticed and shifted so Joe got the same view. It warmed my heart that women can be so competitive at the perfect moment. Then, they caught each other's eye, grinned, and maybe spread their legs a little wider.

Anyhow, we chatted a bit and Joe asked the question I was expecting, "Do you play with other couples?" My reply was not the one he expected, "Actually, this our first date."

"What! A nude beach on the first date. You two are my heroes."

"It just happened," I said. "I wanted to go to a circus museum but somehow she dragged me here... Ouch! Annie, that hurt."

"What do you have planned?" asked Tina and I replied that it was up to Annie. Either she thinks this did not work out and we drive back tonight, or we go to the hotel. Annie rolled her eyes, "My clothes will be off in the elevator."

Joe and Tina hoisted themselves up and started to tell us to have fun when Annie shocked us all. "Wait a minute, Joe, I never said no!" The three of us were amazed then she continued, "I have dreamed about two cocks for a long, long time and I may never get a better chance."

She looked at me and apologized, "Sweetie, I hope it's okay. You will get all you want when we're done." She laughed because my cock pointing to the sky betrayed my fake look of disappointment. She apologized to Tina as well who replied, "It's okay because get ready Annie, I'm going to eat a lot of pussy." Annie whispered to me, "Another dream come true."

"Do we have everything we need?" I asked. Tina said she always carried lube, Annie said she had lube, and I said I bought lube. Always come prepared. "Do we have condoms? I asked. "Nope and we are not getting them." said Annie.

Once we returned to the room and showered together, the action really began. Tina learned that Annie suffered CD and AD syndrome (Cunnilingus and Anilingus Deficiency) and the two of us started the cure immediately and simultaneously. The women were burning up, especially Annie, who, while lying on her back, insisted she needed to sixty-nine Tina. Man, things were falling off her bucket list like autumn leaves, but the big ones remained. The fucking, sucking and spit roasting continued until Tina pointed to the other bed where Annie had mounted Joe. It was time for the main event.

I lined myself up to Annie's rear and then surprised myself by working my way into Annie's already filled pussy. I had never expected contact with another cock, but I knew she would love this and she really did. She was howling when Tina decided what was next and started lubing up Annie's back door. In a bit, my cock struck home. I felt a little guilty about how hard I was pounding her ass but she seemed to be in heaven. Joe and I finished and we all collapsed on the bed.

After resting, I paired up with Tina who was truly good at this and Joe pounded Annie once again before shooting his second load to be swallowed. After chatting and giggling a bit, Joe and Tina left us to crash on soaking wet sheets. Annie never moved all night.

We drove to Sarasota the next morning knowing we needed just to get naked and cuddle. Annie was sore and I was spent. That first day we just hugged, diddled and laughed, mostly.

Just before bed, I congratulated her on winning the World's Show Your Pussy to a Complete Stranger Championship. Not missing a beat, she thanked me, because she thought she finished second. "You are so clever and funny," I said, "Annie, I worry that your irreverent sense of humor maybe was hidden for a long time." When she burst into tears, I knew I hit a nerve and apologized. All the years of a marriage without laughter weighed on her. Through her tears, she said it was among the nicest, most intuitive things anyone had ever said. It was likely our most poignant moment.

Next morning, I went to retrieve breakfast. Annie was just getting off the phone when I returned. "That was my daughter. She was thrilled."

"About what"

"About our trip, silly. The nude beach, me eating pussy, being DP'd, having two cocks in my pussy. She understands. She is almost as happy as I am.

"You told your daughter!?"

"Of course, I tell her everything. She gets it."

"Wow, I'd really really like to meet her... Ouch, stop hitting me."

That afternoon, our sex began. It was fun, silly, loving, sometimes rough but always aimed at surrendering to satisfy each other. For example, Annie started to chastise me, with pauses.

"I am angry with you" [Pause, the pause because she had a finger, which she did not remove, up my ass and her mouth bobbing up and down on my cock as far as she could muster.] "You are very presumptuous" [Pause] "You brought that anal lube" [Pause] "You assumed I am the type of lady" [Pause] "Who does anal sex"[Pause] "On the first date" [Long Pause] "Fortunately, you were right."

Then she stood and commanded, "Now lube me up." She proceeded to squirt lube all over my tongue. I did a thorough job when I heard, "You're not done yet." This time the lube covered my tongue, nose and chin. But, when I entered her thoroughly receptive ass from behind, reached my hand around to her pussy, slammed slow, hard and deep while diddling very quickly, Annie hit high gear. Despite her protests, I slowed down to prolong her pleasure, and she collapsed after the orgasm shook her from head to toe. Eventually, I asked her to, "do that finger thing again, but no talking" and when she inserted a second finger, she swallowed a very happy conclusion. A deep French kiss followed by a nap and one more round before I left.

It felt like I drove home in no time at all because reliving these memories made time fly by. Over the next three months, I spent most nights in Sarasota only returning home to look after things. I ignored all messages from other women but was happy to have time off to refill my tank. We filled days and nights with dinners, cooking, theater, and happy lovemaking, but thankfully I avoided the circus museum. I cared for Annie so much, but sadly, we knew it must end. Her daughter needed help with a sick child, but I was not following Annie to Grand Rapids, MI.

During our time together, I rarely came in Annie's pussy. Her whole life had been vaginal sex, and she loved feeling my cum in her mouth and ass. But, for our last weekend, there was very little sex, and I came only once, in her pussy. I felt that one last time was a symbol that we really cared for each other. Mostly we reminisced, hugged and laughed. When I left, her last words were, "Why don't you get rid of this ugly car?" Two days later, I pissed away five grand to buy out the lease and bought an Audi convertible. I never got teen-age blow jobs in the back seat, and I was hoping a convertible would change my luck even if in the garage.

So, I was back on the dating market, but Annie was right. Getting laid was easy-peasy. One widow told me she and her husband had been swingers for years. We hopped into bed about one hour after meeting. She said that had happened many times but she never remembered being so uncontrollably horny. Being a nice person, I told her it might be a symptom of grieving, and she should see a therapist. She preferred five or six therapy sessions with me, and I told her since I took insurance, there would be no charge. That wisecrack made her so happy she always went all out to please her therapist. Thank you, Fire, because she was fabulous.

Two women, who I don't think knew each other, confessed to doing things they had never done with their husbands. That's code for ass play, I think. For their entire marriages, their asses sat on the sideline. Now the asses pleaded, "Put me in coach, and I want to catch." I was very lucky to be the coach and lead-off batter all at once. They had regretted waiting so long for this type of fun, and I had the sense many lucky men would be cumming to bat as these girls worked their way through the lineup.

While playing golf with my son and trying out his new Calloway driver, I took a cue from Annie and described how I had gone from dud to stud by relying on Widow's Fire. Four weeks later, UPS left a new driver at my door.

"What's this for?" I texted him. A photo and video arrived in reply. "Be discreet," he wrote. The nude woman in the photo was a gorgeous curvy brunette, mid 30's, with magnificent tits and shaved. In the video, her head was devouring a cock, going back and forth faster than Woody Woodpecker attacking a tree. She kept it up until he obviously blew his load into a waiting, swallowing mouth that never quit.

"Wow," I wrote back.

"She's been a widow for seven months. I guess the Fire works for all ages."

"You can thank me for that blow job. I deserve new irons as well." I wrote Annie with this story, and she replied she regretted we never did videos. I told her they replay in my mind every time I try to sleep.

Then, a few months later, my great new Calloway and I were driving back from a South Carolina golf trip. I got off the highway and drove to Playalinda to reminisce. As I walked, I thought I spotted a familiar figure. I did. It was Tina, alone. Joe had died two months earlier and she was very sad. So am I, I said. I relive our night together all the time.

She knew Annie had moved and asked about my love/sex life without her. I described my Widow's Fire strategy and now felt guilty because I had been taking advantage of great women like her. But, it had changed my life, and I had gone from loser to stud as I approached 60.

Instead, she laughed and insisted, "I know about the Fire. You keep at it. You are a great guy and are bringing joy and meaning to these women. Honestly, now that you are here, I am starting to heat up a little. How about coming to my place?"

Tina was the best fuck that ever lived. I took a Viagra because I knew I would need to be at my best. Fortunately, my tank was full and I came three times, a rarity. Like Annie, I did not come in her pussy thinking that some women reserve parts of their body only for their most special men. Yet, we realized this night was good for both of us.

As I drove back, I recognized my life had to change. The goal had been achieved: lots of sex and the need to wear a disguise if I ever went to Mississippi. My new goal must be to build a lasting relationship. Someone to live with, travel with, meet my kids and take care of each other. Of course, really raucous sex was a must, but I wanted more.

I knew exactly how to describe her. "Wanted: intelligent, educated independent widow from 55 to 65. Loves all kinds of sex and could be a former porn star or devotee of the lifestyle. Hopefully likes golf but does not like BMW's."

That, ladies, is a tough ask, and I do not know how to begin. If you have ideas where to look, or better yet, know somebody, or even better yet, are that somebody, I am here to douse your Fire.