Love for an Older Woman

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By Count Labia

Joan Morton and I met through a dating agency. She was seventy and I thirty. The disparity in age was deliberate. I had gone in search of an older woman and Joan had been intrigued – if not a little thrilled, she later told me – by the interest of a far younger man.

The agency was the creation of a retired school mistress, Ellen Romaine, who was certainly no prude. She advertised discreetly in the classifieds of a local newspaper, promising connections between ‘like-minded adults interested in new adventures’. She charged a quite exorbitant fee, insisted on a personal interview and guaranteed to put the ‘liked-minded adults’ in touch with one another.

I enjoyed meeting Ellen. She was a handsome, broad woman with luxuriant red hair that she kept bunched on the top of her head. She was all business behind her desk, with a huge file of respondents in front of her. She flipped through the pages, seeking the names of subscribers she thought might appeal to me.

‘So what age were you interested in?’ she asked.

I told her I liked older women. I didn’t tell her that I had been seduced by a girlfriend’s grandmother, who had introduced a young man inexperienced the arts of lovemaking to new and hitherto unimagined sexual delights. When the girlfriend discovered the liaison, she abruptly broke it off with me to be followed by the grandmother, leaving me with a fetish for older women. I was unlikely to meet such older women until my eyes fell on Ellen’s ad in the personal section of The Argus’s classifieds.

‘So, tell me,’ Ellen offered. ‘What age would you be looking for? Forty?’

‘Older,’ I said. She seemed surprised.

‘Fifty, then?’

‘Older,’ I said. It felt like an auction.

‘Sixty?’ By now there was a slight desperation in her voice that she could satisfy this difficult client.

‘Sixty and beyond,’ I replied.

‘My God,’ said Ellen. ‘I might even keep you for myself.’ She looked to be well into her sixties.

‘I wouldn’t object to that,’ I said, having admired her ample bosom.

‘Really?’ Ellen wanted to be sure what she’d heard.

‘If you are offering yourself,’ I said. ‘I would accept. I’d like that.’

It was at that point that Ellen left her desk, crossed the floor and suggested we share the sofa in her office.

‘Just where shall we start?’ she asked. So I leaned across and kissed her. She didn’t object, so I reached to feel one of her huge breasts through her cotton dress. It felt good and, encouraged by Ellen’s response, I explored further, one hand moving beneath her skirt and fingers tracing her legs to her thighs and beyond where a pair of panties blocked my progress. Still no resistance from Ellen. I kissed her deeply and it was not long before she surprised me with glorious carnality that began on the sofa and ended on the floor. I took her from behind, from the side, from the front, ending with her on top. For woman of her size she was remarkably light, and she met my upward thrusts with those of her own. We quickly fell into a smooth sexual synchronicity. She moaned, then gasped and shrieked, apparently quick to orgasm. She climaxed three times. At first I thought she’d faked it, but when I eventually ejaculated, so did she.

As she spilled her warm vaginal juices from deep inside her urethra onto me, she exclaimed: ‘God! I love a young cock.’

Ellen and I would use the office sofa several times while my subscription lasted, but she was not the jealous nor possessive type. Hers was a business after all and I left that first visit with a list of names and telephone numbers of other older women, one of whose belonging to Joan Morton, who had been given a special mention by Ellen.

Joan turned out to be more subtle. She suggested a neutral meeting in public for coffee just in case either one of us had misgivings.

‘Archibald?’ she announced in a rasping, honeyed voice when she arrived at the table. ‘Is that what I should call you?’

I was half out of my chair by the time she had settled in opposite me.

‘I like Archibald,’ she repeated. ‘I shall call you Archibald.’

If I had any doubts about Joan Morton not fulfilling my ideals about older women, she dispelled them with her arrival. Yes, she was old, with short grey hair and a face that had conceded some ground in the battle against age. But, my God, she was so elegant. It was an elegance that was holding its own in that battle. Her immaculate make-up with bright-red lipstick emphasised high cheekbones, all framed by a perfect coiffure, eyebrows and sweeping lashes. And a dazzling smile. Beneath her cashmere Burberry trenchcoat I caught the glimpse of a sleek body with legs that ascended from a pair of Christian Loubertin heels. She had come dressed to thrill, and with me she succeeded beyond expectations.

She had confidence and charm too. When the waiter arrived to take our orders, she gave him her full attention. Then she gave me hers.

‘So tell me all about yourself,’ she said. She half leaned across the table gaziantep escort with her decolletage hinting at a pair of good breasts. Her voicing was rough but soothing. ‘I want to know it all.’

So I told her just a little: a bachelor, working in finance and in no relationship.

‘You missed out your athletic achievements,’ she added. I had not told her about being a long-distance swimmer and a triathlete who’d once held a national record. She had been doing her homework on me.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d be interested,’ I said.

‘When a man wants to meet me,’ Joan began again. ‘Especially one as young as you, I want to know absolutely everything.’

Before I could reply, she added: ‘And why someone as old as me? Do you like to be mothered?’

‘Quite the opposite,’ I protested, then cited some relationships that did not exist, framing them around older women I knew in passing, like a former English professor and a friend of my mother’s, neither of whom I had thought of at the time as potential lovers.

‘I find older women interesting,’ I said.

‘Only interesting? Or is there something deeply oedipal?’

I tried to keep it light-hearted. ‘Are you going to psychoanalyse me now, Joan?’

The flippancy eased some of the tension, so I decided to be more specific.

‘I like a woman who is experienced,’ I said. ‘Someone who is without too many inhibitions, hang-ups that many young women seem to have. And someone who is well past menopause.’

‘That’s quite a tall order,’ she said. ‘And what do you think I might want from a man?’

‘Oh, I’ve given that some thought, so perhaps we could work out what a woman, someone like you, would expect. Companionship, affection, attention, conversation. And who knows, even love?’

‘You’re a real romantic,’ said Joan. ‘Ellen said I would like you, and she was right. But you didn’t mention the most important part about your expectations.’

‘The most important part?’ I was playing the innocent.

‘You didn’t mention sex.’

‘I didn’t want to sound presumptuous.’

‘Darling,’ said Joan, already moving to a term of endearment although she probably did it with everyone, male or female. ‘Don’t be shy about it. This is what it’s about. Ellen is all about sex. Didn’t you know?’

I was stumped for a clever response.

‘Let’s be honest,’ she said. ‘We’re both here because Ellen, in her usual veiled manner, never uses the lovely word. But the implication is always there. We all go to Ellen to be fixed up with a lover.’

‘OK,’ I said. I had decided to be frank. ‘I’ll add sex to the list.’

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘You’ve come to the right woman,’ she said. Again, we laughed together and to ease some of the initial tension, we reverted to small talk before I told her about the ex-girlfriend’s grandmother. I couched my explanation in anodyne terms such as ‘affair’ and ‘romance’. Not that Joan was fooled for a minute.

‘So you had sex?’

‘We did,’ I said and probably blushed because Joan reached out with a hand and held mine.

‘You must have given her a wonderful boost. It would have been good for her self-esteem.’

‘It did a lot of good for me too.’

‘I bet it did,’ said Joan. ‘That’s the thing about sex. It’s always good.’

We sat in silence for a while and I was not sure how Joan would assess my confession. Would she feel offended? Would it put her off?

Then she gave me one of her radiant smiles, but it came with a caveat.

‘Just one thing,’ she said. ‘I’m married.’

That took the wind out of my billowing sails, but only for a brief moment.

‘That makes it more exciting,’ I said. ‘More dangerous.’

‘So you like danger?’

‘I like that kind of danger,’ I said.

‘I like the way you think,’ said Joan and again she surprised me. ‘But let me fill you in, and you’ll understand why you and I are here talking about pleasures of the flesh.’

Joan was married to a man of great wealth, which explained the expensive Burberry. Roderick Morton – also known as ‘Robber Rod’ — was well known in the business world, a corporate raider who was notorious for doing deals. From what I’d heard, he had made a name by buying poorly run mines cheaply in destitute African countries, most of them ruled by corrupt despots. He turned those mines into productive and efficiently run ones, always ready to offer bribes, then flogging them for a huge profit. He was 10 years older than Joan when she married him at the age of 25. She was still a virgin, she said. That last bit took me by surprise.

‘Well, I’d led a very protective life as an only child and I was very much into books,’ she said. ‘Did you know I am a published author?’

I told her how much that impressed me, but did not let on that the titles of all three her books were unknown to me. All were non-fiction and dealt with such esoteric subjects as Middle Eastern art, women’s liberation in the 19th century and wives who’d accompanied their men to war during gaziantep escort bayan the Napoleonic era. She was a real egg-head, I thought. And an attractive one too.

‘On my wedding night I discovered sex,’ she said.

‘And you liked what you’d discovered?’

‘Well, I’d always been interested, but also been a bit afraid. I had stern, church-going puritan parents. Marriage gave me permission to try,’ she said.

‘And…?’ We were now back on what had been my agenda all along.

‘And I was disappointed,’ she said. ‘Roderick might have been a bull in the boardroom, but he was a pussy in the bedroom.’

‘Oh, no. Why was that?’ She had my sympathy I told her.

‘I expected him to take charge. I had prepared for our wedding night. I must confess, I was quite keen for it to happen. Then he turned out to be quite timid. It was as if we were both beginners.’

I kept sympathising, but I was also eager to hear more. I didn’t tell her that I was also becoming quite aroused.

‘Well, we eventually got it done,’ she said. ‘But I always thought there must be more to this sex thing, so I read up about it. I found friends I could confide in. I began to explore, in books, magazines. I went, alone, for therapy and I even began to watch porn, secretly. I began to understand what it was Roderick and I both lacked.’

‘And what was that?’

‘It was hard at first,’ she said. ‘I had to convince Roderick we needed help, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Then my therapist came up with an idea: a threesome. She — my therapist was a woman — even had suggestions. They were, of course, all very expensive prostitutes and we had to hire one of them very discreetly who would be our sex guide.’

‘God, Joan,’ I said, ‘this is riveting stuff.’

‘Calm down, Archibald,’ she touched my arm again. ‘I’m telling you this so that you will have context.’

‘Roderick was appalled. At first. Then I began gently coaxing him, all with the therapist providing the lines. He came round to the idea and the woman whom I arranged to join us first insisted on meeting me in private.

‘She was very sexy, I must admit,’ said Joan. ‘And she was bisexual. She suggested the two of us have a practice run. Well, how could I refuse? It was my idea after all. Or at least I had bought into the idea from my therapist.’

‘So how did it work out? You and the woman?’

‘Surprisingly good. The one thing that I’d never even considered was masturbation. She showed me how and it was, well, sensational. I began to practise on my own, learning how to bring myself to orgasm. She often went down on me, and I was completely sold on the idea.’

‘So you took it home, so to speak,’ I said.

‘And it worked like a charm. Roderick could not keep his hands off the woman. The strange thing about that session was how much we all enjoyed it. Well, I don’t know about the hired hand, whether she put on an act or not, but she was damn good.’

‘So it helped Roderick?’

‘He insisted she come back and this went on for a few months, then something very odd happened.

‘What?’ I couldn’t wait to hear the next part of Joan’s story.

‘Roderick started to develop some strange obsessions. First he wanted only Asian women, then only black women, then very young women, which was a damned difficult thing to arrange. Between the therapist and me, we were able to indulge Roderick, but I began to felt a bit left out. So I set off on explorations of my own.’

‘And what did you discover?’

‘That in spite of Roderick’s sexual proclivities, I could not be unfaithful to him.’

‘So what brings you here now?’

‘Dear Archibald,’ Joan was almost exasperated. ‘All this did not happen quickly. It took years. Eventually, we settled — Roderick and me — on a modus operandi. We would explore different partners, but we would have to agree on them. That was how we ended up with Ellen. She helped us to find compatible couples with whom we could share. Swop, actually. Roderick claims he now enjoys making love to me more after I have made love to another man.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘I do. And he proved it often enough.’

‘So what about you and me?’

‘Let me explain,’ said Joan. ‘Roderick is now eighty and his libido has been one the wane for some time. Ellen has also had trouble finding couples who will join us. God, we are getting on, you know. I had almost given up on Roderick and me finding another couple when Ellen called me with a suggestion.’

‘And I was part of that suggestion?’

‘You guessed right. She said she had someone who I would like. The only trouble was he was single.’

‘So what do we do?’ I said. ‘Because I will be straight with you, Joan. I have become quite aroused by you, and your story. I would be eager to bed you.’

‘You’re lovely,’ she said. ‘And the feeling is mutual. So let me suggest a plan.’

She told me Roderick was away in New York and would be returning only in a few days. Some new deal, she said. escort gaziantep She would be alone in their apartment.

‘I’m ready to break the rule of a lifetime,’ she said. ‘And be unfaithful to Roderick without his knowledge. And once he’s back, I am determined to find you a partner who would make love to my husband. I’d even hire one if necessary.’

Which was how we began the logistics of our first assignation. Consulting diaries and dates. While we did so I felt a Christian Loubertin brush my leg under the table. She held it there, then reached across to take my hand.

‘God I could take you right now,’ I told her.

‘Good,’ she said before looking around to make sure we were not overheard. ‘Because I like to fuck.’ All subtlety disappeared with our quick familiarity. Like Ellen, Joan was straight to business, and I like her all the more for it.

Then it was my turn. I reached under the table to grip a knee with one hand while above it bringing up the hand that held mine to kiss. Joan enjoyed our intimacy.

‘I think I owe Ellen,’ she said.

‘You do?’

‘Yes, she told me about your little romp.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘That you fuck like a champion.’

‘I hope I can live up to Ellen’s assessment,’ I replied.

‘Come up to my place — and show me,’ said Joan and we immediately set a time for the next day.

Joan lived in a spacious penthouse apartment that overlooked the ocean. A manservant in a white coat let me in and Joan arrived seconds later to embrace me and kiss me on both cheeks. When the manservant discreetly left, I seized her and kissed her on the lips, our tongues meeting in a delicious connection. She kept offering me her mouth, so we kept kissing, each tongue trying to reach impossible depths. I felt her teeth, then kissed her throat, her neck, sucking her wrinkles where her veins were palpitating with desire. I could sense she wanted to be taken immediately, but she broke away. She held me at arm’s length, then took my hand to guide me to her boudoir

‘You get ready here,’ she ordered. ‘I won’t be long.’

She stepped into a dressing-room off the boudoir and began to undress. I was already at my priapic limit, my penis hard and extended. I lay back on her huge bed, naked with my member erect like a flagpole. Joan did not take long to join me, but before she did, she appeared at the doorway of the dressing-room, her arms extended, draped on the door frame. I could see the muscles of her upper arm sagged. She was unembarrassed by her age and she wore a body stocking that enhanced that body I lusted for. She stood there for a moment, legs together, feet n little golden slippers like an aged ballerina, and as desirable.

‘I thought I’d leave a little something for you to remove,’ she said. ‘Just to make it more exciting.’ Then she came to me on the bed.

We kissed again, this time my hands reaching for her breasts. Her hands were around my neck. She thrust herself towards me and I began to slip off the strings of the body stocking and slide it off her breasts. Then I buried my head between those soft, round parts of her chest, sought the nipples and began to suckle on each one. She dug her nails into my back and gently bit an ear. I felt her murmurings of joy as I pushed the body stocking down to her waist, then raised myself to take it down, past the vulva, pausing only to admire her greying pubic hair, then down her legs, over her feet and tossing the garment to one side. I began to kiss her toes, her calves, her knees, then spread her thighs, kissed the inside of them and was about to caress her vulva when Joan stopped me.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve done that.’

She was already lubed up. ‘I was worried I’d be too dry. Why don’t we just fuck.’ So we did.

She reached to hold my cock, guiding it towards its target. I slipped in easily while her hands were animal-like, spreading over each part of my body. She pulled my head to her mouth while I began thrusting inside her. She seemed to enjoy my weight on her. Shivers passed through her body like electric impulses. She wrapped her legs around mine and I kept pumping, my hands reaching behind her to grip her buttocks. I came within minutes and she moaned, her eyes wild. I could feel her panting breath in my ear and she began murmuring love words that I couldn’t quite catch.

When my tumescence began to fade, she allowed me to slip out of her, then she pushed me off her and began to kiss my body. Reaching my penis, she began to lick it like a cat at the milk, savouring it.

‘Poor thing,’ she whispered. ‘Now so small. But we’ll get it up again soon.’

She licked my balls, kissed them, took my penis in her mouth and began to suck on it.

‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘It’ll be back — I promise — but only in a while.’

‘We have all day,’ she said. ‘I intend to fuck you all day.’

Joan let me recover from our first frenetic session of lovemaking, but it wasn’t long before I was in the mood again. She sensed my renewed interest by keeping a hand close to my swelling penis, but she also urged restraint. I realised why when the door to the bedroom opened and her manservant arrived with a tray of drinks and snacks.

‘Just as you required, madam,’ he said, putting it down on a table in the room before departing as silently as he’d arrived.

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