Memories Ch. 01

This is the latest in a long line of written reminisces but the first of its kind. I'll explain.

My name is Lucas and yesterday, I turned ninety-three. For those of you who didn't do well on the SAT, that means I was born in 1926. I've lived a long and eventful life. My children, their children and now their children love to sit around with me whenever we're together and listen to my tales of travel and adventure, accomplishments and occasional failure. In my youth, I worked as a field engineer for an international trading company. My job took me to many places around the world, some nice and others, not so nice.

When I was home, I regaled my wife and children with grand tales about my latest assignment. I was not reluctant to embellish my stories to excite my listeners. My actual experiences while traveling, aside from seeing almost the entire civilized world, were quite boring - hotel rooms, restaurants, conference rooms, bars and an occasional strip club - none of which made for much of a story. My wife, Emma, knew my actual reality and approved of my exaggerations for the children. After all, they made for good stories.

My daughter, Lucy, is my biggest fan. Her brother, not so much. I think he saw through the hyperbole to the reality. Lucy, however, lived in a world of fairies, princesses, castles, kings and dragons and would sit for hours listening and asking questions.

Emma and I had some things we liked and others we avoided. I was fascinated with human female sexual anatomy and Emma was eager to help. She frequently gave me detailed descriptions using a mirror and live demonstrations and I became an expert in what bothered her, what pleased her and what gave her orgasmic experiences that were off the charts.

Emma and I had been through some tough times but we always recovered, happy and lucky to be alive. We managed to defeat the depression and World War II but cancer was too much and Emma passed after thirty wonderful years together. It was devastating for me and I never remarried.

Lucy eventually married and had children of her own. She didn't give up her fantastical world. She passed it on to her daughter. Jamie became my most ardent audience. Even after I retired, I continued to tell my stories. The stories became my reason to continue. Watching the joy on my grandchild's face as I rambled warmed my heart. It never reached that one place that ached for my lost Emma, but it was enough.

With Jamie as my new biggest fan, I was able to recycle some of the old stories, with even more embellishments, and add new stories of places and events I had never seen or experienced. Jamie, with encouragement from Lucy, wanted me write down the stories so they'd be around to read to her children after I couldn't tell them myself.

My great granddaughter was born in 2013. I was eighty-seven years old. I realized then, that I wanted to tell her the stories but that I might not be around when she was old enough to hear them. After all, how much time did I have left?

I began to write the stories. I shared them with Lucy and Jamie. They edited them and gathered them into a large volume Jamie kept on her mantle. Lucy kept a second copy. They told me the stories were a family tradition and they didn't want to risk losing them.

As I said, I'm now ninety-three and I lived long enough to read some of the stories myself to Kate, Jamie's daughter.

Soon after I began writing, I realized some of the things I saw and did, were unsuitable for children. I hadn't related any of them to my family, not even Emma, but they were part of my history and, I thought, important enough to be written down as well. Just not read by anyone while I was alive.

Let me relate an example. Remember, I'm inclined to embellishment, exaggeration and outright fabrication. What I'm about to tell you suffers from all three but there's always some underlying truth behind each story.

When Emma died, I went through a bad time. I wasn't sure I could live without her. I'm sure it troubled my family and friends and they went to extremes to raise my spirits. I'd always been comforted by touch, either touching someone else or being touched by them. Without Emma, intimate touch was missing, not satisfied by the hugs and kisses from my family or the handshakes and back patting from my friends. I think Jon, a neighbor, figured out my dilemma. He had seen Emma and me many times over the years hugging, kissing and holding hands. One afternoon he came over to my place with a couple of beers and sat on my porch with me. He suggested that I find some volunteer activity to occupy my time and he had the perfect opportunity.

He told me the over fifty-five, residential community on the other side of town was always looking for people to come over and spend time with the residents. He told me most of the residents were older widows that craved conversation with men as much as I wanted contact with women. He suggested I take a checkerboard with me and drop by.

I took Jon's advice. It turned out he was a genius. I drove to the facility and went inside with my checkers under my arm. After introducing myself to the administration, I sat in a large common room and met several attractive and well-developed ladies. Just looking helped my mood enormously. One woman, her name was Emily, noticed my checkerboard. I asked her if she played. She did, so we moved to a small game table, set up and played several games. My presence didn't go unnoticed by the other residents and our games were constantly disturbed by ladies coming over to introduce themselves or watch.

The afternoon went quickly and I enjoyed it so much, I went back the next week. Emily was waiting and we played checkers all afternoon. Interruptions by other residents continued most of the afternoon as well. The next week, Emily suggested that the noise in the large room was distracting and we should find some place quieter to play. We left the room together. I had the checkerboard under my arm and I'm sure everybody thought we were just seeking a quiet corner to play undisturbed.

Emily led me to a section of the facility designated as independent living and a small apartment where she lived. We did play checkers. She checked me out and I checked her out. She didn't hesitate. As soon as the door closed, she took my cheeks in both hands and kissed me. It took me by surprise and I guess it showed. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked."

"No. No. You did something very right. It was just that I didn't expect it. At least so quickly."

"So, you know why I brought you here."

"Well, I was a little suspicious."

"Are you okay with it?" she asked.

I answered her by putting the checkerboard on a table and kissing her. In the process, I added a little tongue to see how fast she really wanted to go. She wanted to race. She took my hand, led me into her bedroom, sat me on her bed and stood in front of me while she undressed. She undressed quickly. No long, drawn out striptease. Just get the clothes off before anyone changes their mind.

Emily was at least ten years older than I was but you'd never guess by the condition of her body. She had a few extra pounds in all the right places but nothing wrinkled or folded over. Her breasts sagged somewhat but in an inviting way and her thighs and ass were perfectly proportioned with the rest of her body. Her pubic hair was gray and plentiful and I could see puffy labia peaking from under the untrimmed point of her triangle. She did a pirouette. "Still okay?" she asked.

"Better than okay," I offered.

"So what are you waiting for?"

When I didn't respond quickly enough, she stood me up and began to unbutton my shirt. She managed to remove my shirt and t-shirt, undo my belt buckle and my zipper and push my pants and underwear down below my knees faster than I could have done it myself. She pushed me back on the bed, removed my shoes and socks and pulled my pants, including my underwear, off my legs. We hadn't been inside her apartment for three minutes and we were both already naked.

I've never been a quick draw kind of guy but I was already beginning to show my interest. She looked with intent at my growing erection and exclaimed, "Oh. That looks yummy." A half second later, she was on her knees beside the bed with her lips wrapped around little Lucas.

She wasted no time. A minute later, she was straddling my hips and slipping me inside her as she sat down. I reached up and grabbed her tits as she rode me. I'm ashamed to admit, I lasted less time than it took to get that far. I had years of stored up semen and she got all of it in one go. I thought I might damage myself as I pumped until I hurt.

Emily froze on top of me as she felt the pressure of my release. When I finished, she rolled off and lay alongside me. She ran her fingernails through the hair on my chest, kissed me tenderly and asked, "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Too long. I should apologize."

"No need to apologize. I was horny as hell and I needed to get it out of my system before I burst. No more hurrying, I promise."

Hurrying was the last thing from my mind. Recovering was right on top. I was in new territory. I wondered how long it take me to reconstitute and give her a proper fucking.

We lay there, quietly for several seconds. Suddenly, Emily reached between her legs. "Ugg. I'll be right back," she said as she leapt off the bed and headed into the neighboring bathroom. While she was gone, I wiggled around until I was centered on the bed. She came back with a warm, damp washcloth and proceeded to wash my listless cock and balls until they shined. She tossed the washcloth in the direction of the bathroom door and lay down beside me.

"That's better. All spiffy again," she said.

She ran her fingernails around my nipples and I played with her breasts and further down her torso. When I couldn't reach further, I moved down her body and began to run my fingers through her pubic hair and around the small protrusion I found there.

Her reaction was perfectly on cue. She inhaled sharply, held her breath and quivered before letting it out. Knowing I had the right spot, I increased my attention. Her legs spread. The more I moved my fingers around her clitoris, the more spread her legs became until she brought her knees up reflexively.

That was my opportunity to move completely between her legs and replace my fingers with my lips and tongue. She squealed loud enough to wake the neighbors who I hoped were out in the common area with all the other residents. With my fingers free, I used them to separate her swollen outer labia, move some stray hair away to avoid irritation and began to slide them inside her. I pressed two fingers on the front surface of her vagina, exactly behind where I was pressing her clitoris with my tongue.

I wiggled my fingers and tongue in concert. Her body reacted involuntarily to the simultaneous internal and external pressure. She began to shutter and shake. I used the weight of my head and my other arm to hold her as steady as I could while I continued to stimulate her. I used light movement of my tongue on her clitoris while increasing the pressure with my fingers while rubbing her G-spot. I thought her next wail might alert the first responders down the road.

I felt the increased lubrication from her glands as they attempted to decrease the friction with a thick fluid. She was shaking with repeated orgasms but I could feel something larger building. I kept up the attention until she stiffened and several ounces of thin milky white liquid flowed from along side my fingers and soaked my hand and chin. It was sweet and almost odorless.

It was several minutes before she calmed enough to talk coherently. "What the hell did you do to me?" was her first question.

"I was there but only you really know. Whatever you felt, whatever you experienced were yours alone. I was just providing guidance."

"Bullshit. I have no idea what actually happened. I've been sexually active since I was fourteen. I've had thousands of orgasms and nothing like that has ever happened to me before. Not even close."

"I'm glad I could help," I said.

"You've done more than just help. You've created a monster. I want that feeling again and again after that but not right now. You've done it for me once and no one else has. I want you to 'play checkers' with me again. Soon, but not too soon. Next week would be nice."

We spent the next two hours in close physical contact. Emily embraced me tenderly, like a long-time lover and I slipped against her breasts and rested. Sometime during the time together we made love. I recovered nicely. Emily did wonderful things with her mouth and I mounted her several times, in several positions, before I came a second time. She admitted to several orgasms but reminded me as we parted that we still had a date to play 'checkers.'

I went back the next week to play 'checkers.' I went in a side door and directly to Emily's apartment. Emily was waiting for me. I discovered she was wearing a one-piece smock and no panties or bra. We had sex twice and in between we stimulated each other orally. Emily had numerous orgasms, some spectacular, but none reached the level of last week's experience. Even without a 'checkers' experience, Emily wanted to spend time with me.

The next week Emily introduced me to Sally, a good friend and another of the widowed residents living independently. During our conversation, I became aware that Emily had shared more than my name with Sally. Specifically Emily shared her 'checkers' encounter with me.

Emily explained that she had been researching her experience. She found that only few women ever had a similar experience and, for most, it never repeated. She wasn't happy about her prospects for a repeat but she was determined to find a way, even if it meant finding another source. Meanwhile, she wanted to know if I could repeat what I did to her with Sally hoping she would have similar results. Sally was eager to know as well.

Sally and I tried for hours. Afterward, Sally told me she had experienced orgasms unlike any she had ever had but nothing like Emily described. The absence of the flood of womanly fluid confirmed her assessment.

At home, I thought about the situation at the elderly facility. I had no control over who else Emily might tell about her experience and who she might conscript into service in pursuit of her obsession. I concluded that 'playing checkers,' while satisfying, was risky and I shouldn't pursue it.

My volunteer time was at an end.