Susan's Mum

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you haven't read the story called "My Wife's Big Assed Girlfriend" then I suggest you do that first. This is neither a prequel or a sequel, but it is related. You can find it under "Erotic Couplings".

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I have always known that Susan's mum, Sylvia, had a soft spot for me. I nicknamed her "Wife No.3" I just never knew how much of a soft spot that was. But as I look back, I can see indications of how she felt about me. Sylvia is now 75 and this story takes place only a few months ago. But there have been tiny instances over the last five years that point to the event surrounding the story I am about to tell you.

There was the time Max and I arrived at her apartment to deliver Christmas presents, on our way to a party. I was dressed in a suit and had bought a new shirt especially for the occasion. Susan and her children were at Sylvia's apartment as well and Susan couldn't help herself and just had to run her fingers over my chest, just to "feel the fabric", as she put it. We all had a laugh at my embarrassment, but when Sylvia came up to me to touch, Susan steered her away and for a moment I think I saw disappointment in her eyes.

Another time, I bumped into Sylvia in a DIY shop. She hadn't seen me and was pleasantly surprised. She kept touching my face and telling me how young I looked. I am in my mid fifties now and meeting her was about four years ago. It was almost as if to her that meeting me had somehow made her day. I guess you could say that I was blissfully unaware of her intentions or her emotions that day, because at the same time, Max called me on my cellphone and I happily told her who I had run into and even put Sylvia on the phone to talk to Max.

Sylvia had a "boyfriend" called Arnold, whom she had known for the best part of twenty -five years. They didn't live together, but every so often he would come a stay the night, from what Susan and Max told me. Neither Max or Susan gave me any indication that sex was involved. I am assuming that Susan would rather imagine her mum of no longer being interested in such things, being the age she was.

Max and I bumped into Sylvia and Arnie, as he liked to be called, whilst we were out hill walking. Sylvia would have been around 73 at this point. When we met, I noticed that Sylvia was dressed in a singlet, a pair of shorts and walking shoes. It was quite a warm day and all of us were warm and sweaty. I took time to see that despite her age, Sylvia was in amazing condition. She had always been thin, but I saw that her arms were quite muscular. Not masculine muscular, but fit. No sagging skin. Her legs were in great condition too. Her thighs looked like the thighs of a woman twenty years her junior. Of course I noticed her chest. The singlet left little to the imagination and it was easy to see that she was wearing a bra. But her breasts were perky and not sagging at all.

When we met, Sylvia walked right up to me and gave me a hug. But there was more to this hug than could have been described as normal. She put her arms around my neck, nuzzled her head into my chest and held me tightly. I responded in kind, holding her as tightly as she did me. In that instance, I felt something. I can't say that it was mutual attraction, but something passed between us.

When we got home, Max teased me.

"Sylvia likes you," she said, emphasizing the word "likes" as if to say there was more to it than met the eye. I went along with the joke, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head that maybe there had been more to it.

We learned later, from Susan, that Arnie had contracted testicular cancer.

Over the following four years, his health deteriorated and Sylvia was so busy travelling to and from the rest home where his family had moved him, that we hardly saw her.

He died about six months ago. Sylvia said that she would grieve only a short while because she had had ample time to prepare for his death and knew that he was in far better place. Sylvia also said that Arnie's death had shown her that life was too short and fragile to spend grieving long term and that she was going to live out the rest of her life doing what she wanted to do.

Sylvia inherited a substantial amount of money from Arnie's will and used it to move from her old apartment into a brand new build. On the day after Christmas, we visited for the first time for dinner and bringing presents. When we walked in the door, Susan greeted us first with hugs and kisses on the cheeks, followed by her children, who hugged us. Sylvia waited until the end and walked up to me and gave me one of her "special hugs".

The evening went by pleasantly with no mention of Arnie, or the funeral or what Sylvia would do now.

A couple days into the New Year, Max called me from work to say that Sylvia had called her to ask if I could pop over to her apartment to help her move some furniture around the lounge. Susan's brother, who lived close by, had helped her before Christmas with making room for the Christmas tree, but now that had been removed, the furniture had to be moved back and he was out of the country for the six months. I said that it was fine and we could swing by later that evening. Max told me that Sylvia was adamant that she wanted the furniture moving in the afternoon. I said it would not be problem and left to catch the bus to Sylvia's place.

When Sylvia opened the door, she was dressed for cleaning. She wore a singlet, like the one she wore when walking and a pair of sweatpants. The carpet slippers on her feet seemed a little out of place with the rest of her attire. Her dark hair was tied back in a short pony tail to keep it out of her eyes. I could tell that her hair was in need of recoloring because I could see the grey roots showing across her hairline.

She ushered me inside and as the door as closing, I received one of her special hugs, only this time she pulled me into her, tightly. She told me to hang up my jacket and follow her into the lounge. I could see why she needed help. Her suite, which consisted of a couch and two chairs, was large and heavy. Not for the faint hearted and certainly not for a 75 year old grandma.

After about half an hour of humping, dragging and cleaning, we were done.

"Would like a cup of coffee?" she asked and I accepted.

Sylvia told me to me to take a seat on the couch while she made the coffee. As she poured water into the kettle and spooned coffee grounds into the the French Press, we made small talk about work and my relationship to Max. She also told me of her suspicions that Susan was dating someone. Max had never said anything and so I could only assume that Susan was keeping things on the down-low until the relationship was me solid. It was plainly obvious that Susan had never mentioned her evenings at our place.

Once the coffee was brewed, she placed the French Press on a tray with mugs and a plate of cookies and carried it to the coffee table, in front of the suite. Then she sat on the couch, next to me.

I felt her hand touch my thigh and turned to look at her.

"Would you be surprised to hear that people my age are still having sex?" she asked in a very calm and matter-of-fact way.

I wasn't surprised to hear the fact but it made me curious as to why she was asking me.

"I'm not surprised at all," I answered. "I don't believe that there is "use by date" on intimacy. I think it's all down to the individual. As long as you are fit and healthy, take care of yourself and can still move your limbs, I can't see why we can't be having sex into our nineties."

She smiled.

"I'm not sure I will have the energy to be doing it at that age," she replied.

I raised the mug to my lips and was about to take a sip of coffee, when Sylvia asked,

"Do you know how long it has been since I was last intimate with a man?"

Putting my mug down on the tray, I shook my head.

"Twenty years ago. Can you imagine that?" she replied. "I haven't been with a man in twenty years."

I noticed my hand was shaking. Suddenly I was feeling very nervous.

"B...but...what about you and Arnie?" I stuttered.

"Arnie, bless his soul, was ten years older than me, when I met him. We had a good sex life for about five years until he developed problems with his waterworks. The doctor said it was an enlarged prostate. Arnie didn't want the operation, but there was no other choice. Afterwards, he was unable to rise to the occasion, if you get my meaning."

I nodded my head.

"I had ample opportunity to engage in extra marital relations with men, over the following years, but it is not in my nature to cheat. I was in love with Arnie, whether he could get it up or not."

"How did you handle it?" I asked. "I mean living without the sex."

"I read somewhere that women have an easier time of going without sex than men, but it's not strictly true," she replied. "But I dealt with it as best I could and tried to focus on things that took my mind off of intimacy. It is one of the reasons why we never ended up living together."

I sipped my coffee again, trying to process what Sylvia was telling me and trying to fathom where this was all leading.

I felt her squeeze my thigh and looked at her again.

"I suppose you must have guessed that I am very fond of you," she said.

"I don't think Max or Susan have worked it out," I replied. "Max makes fun of it, because I think, to her the actual reality is absurd."

"Do you think I am being absurd?" she asked.

"No, not at all. I have a very deep respect for you," I replied. "You are a very attractive woman and any man of any age should be proud to know you."

Was I laying it on a little thick? What the hell was I actually saying? I think I was just babbling.

"I have always found you to be an attractive man," Sylvia said. "I am quite envious of Max because she gets to sleep next to you every night and make love to you whenever it pleases her."

I was about to say something, but Sylvia clearly hadn't finished what she wanted to say.

"Do you remember the time we bumped into each other in Sharpes DIY?" she asked.

I nodded.

"That was the highlight of that day for me," she replied. "You looked so young and handsome. My heart beat faster than usual."

She paused for a moment, but I sensed there was more to come.

"For the rest of the day, I kept thinking about you," she continued. "And then I did something and experienced something that I hadn't felt in over thirty years."

"What was that?" I asked.

"I noticed that every time I thought about you, I got a tingle, like ants crawling about in my belly. This feeling would then spread further down my body. I realised that thinking about you, turned me on. I got wet.....really wet. I went to the bedroom, removed my underwear and touched myself. I haven't done that in thirty years. I had an orgasm...something I haven't experienced in twenty years. It was so beautiful and all down to you. Or at least the thought of you."

I took another sip of my coffee.

"Do you remember meeting Arnie and I on the hill walk?

I nodded again.

"I gave you a huge hug. Arnie and I had just learned about his cancer. When we met you, I wanted to hug you and not let go."

Another pause.

"Arnie stayed the night, but in the spare room. As he slept, I masturbated in my bed next door, thinking about you and meeting you on the walk. I had another lovely orgasm."

She paused again, looking into my eyes as if searching for some kind of validation.

"So, now that you know that, how do you feel?" Sylvia asked.

In all honesty I didn't know how to feel. I was getting warm and my heart was beating faster. I put it down to nerves but if I had to admit it, I was feeling turned on by her story. The image she had conjured in my head of her lying on her back, panties around her ankles, with her fingers caressing her pussy was quite vivid and hard to ignore.

"I'm not sure," I replied. "I suppose it wouldn't be wrong to feel flattered by your story. To have such an effect on anyone is a surprise to me."

Her hand moved from my leg and closed around my hand.

"I have a confession to make," she said. "I could have moved the furniture without your help. I had an offer from a neighbour, but I turned him down. I wanted you here and to have you all to myself."

I was a little surprised by her deviousness, but I let it slide.

"I wonder," she said. "Would it be wrong of me to ask for a kiss?"

"I don't think so," I replied. I leaned into her and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek.

She scowled a little.

"I think that after everything I have told you, including my little confession, that I deserve a little more than a peck on the cheek," she demanded.

In all my life I had never kissed any woman of her age on the lips. Not even my own mother. However, the look in Sylvia's eye told me that a peck wasn't going to cut it. So I leaned in again and our lips met. I was pleasantly surprised at how soft her lips were. They parted and allowed my tongue to slide between her teeth. I opened my lips a little and felt her tongue dart in and out.

I moved my hand out of hers and wrapped my arms around her shoulder, pulling her in close. I felt as though I was surrendering to her. No longer in control of the situation. But then all of a sudden it didn't matter who Sylvia was. She was no longer a seventy-five year old grandmother or the mother of my wife's best friend. Sylvia suddenly transformed into a passionate woman. A woman who had been sexually neglected for too long and was long overdue in need of intimacy.

I could feel my penis stiffen as we kissed. Sylvia moved her hand onto my thigh and slow across the front of my jeans. When she reached my hardening cock, she gave it a gentle squeeze which elicited a groan from me.

She stopped kissing me and pulled away from me. I was thinking that she'd had a change of heart, but her gaze was directed at my groin and the growing lump that lay there.

"My, my," she said in surprise. "I don't think that I have ever felt something so large and thick."

I thought, in all honesty she hadn't been all that many men, so it could difficult to have a point of reference.

"May I see it?" she asked and began undoing my belt before I could answer her.

She fumbled for a few minutes but her thin bony fingers couldn't get much of a grip.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "But I don't have the same strength in my hand as used to. Not since my operation."

Sylvia had taken a fall whilst out shopping. It was the council's responsibility to maintain the pavements and they had been lax of late. Sylvia tripped over a misaligned flagstone and face-dived into the pavement. Along with the usual count of cuts and bruises that came with this kind of fall, she also hurt her hand, trying to steady herself. Not just breaking a bone in her hand, but damaging a nerve. Although surgery was performed, the damaged nerve couldn't be repaired and the result there was a loss of functionality in the limb. Whilst she could still write, with some difficulty and hold a cup or glass, anything that involved putting pressure on her hand or having to lift weight of any kind, was almost impossible.

I smiled and helped her by undoing my belt. She was able to undo the button on my jeans and unzip my fly. The material of my black cotton boxer shorts was stretched across my thickening organ and there was a small damp patch, caused by pre cum that was seeping from the tip.

She smiled and giggled like a schoolgirl as she peeled back the boxers' waistband and slowly pulled my underwear over my rigid cock. Her eyes widened as she gazed upon my penis.

I heard a sharp intake of breath get caught in her throat.

"Oh, what a beautiful penis," she exulted. "So large, so thick and so hard."

She ran her index finger along its length from the tip to my scrotum.

"What large balls you have too. Max must be a very lucky woman to have this inside her every night," she continued.

To be honest, the only time Max and I had sex was when Susan stayed over. The three of us would fuck, or I would fuck Susan while Max sat in an armchair, watching and masturbating. Or Max would lick and finger fuck Susan, while I wanked off in a corner. But we never seemed actually to have sex together anymore. I couldn't tell Sylvia this and so I had to think of an answer.

"She certainly doesn't complain," I replied.

Sylvia grasped my shaft and began to massage my cock.

"Could I taste it?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied.

As her warm mouth engulfed the head of my cock, I laid my head back on the couch and closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of her sucking my rock hard penis.

She stopped sucking me and looked up.

"Maybe we should take this into the bedroom," she said.

I buttoned my jeans, stood up and followed her into her bedroom.

It was a small room, big enough for a double bed, a closet and a dressing table. A window was covered by a roller blind which she unrolled by pulling on a cord.

Sylvia sat on the edge of the mattress and beckoned me to stand in front of her.

"Take off your jeans," she demanded.

I unbuttoned the garment and she tugged them and my boxers to my knees. I pushed them further and kicked them off into a corner. My cock was still hard and pointed at my belly button. She gripped it and pulled me closer . Her mouth, once again, engulfed my thick staff as she slid my cock down her throat. I felt her tongue wrap around the head of my penis and my knees buckled.

"Sylvia, if you continue this way, I might come in your mouth," I gasped.

Sylvia stopped sucking me and said, "And that wouldn't be very good would it:"

She stood up and began to remove her singlet as I removed my t-shirt. She unclasped her bra and tossed it onto the floor. Her breasts were lovely. Hardly any sag in them, as I had suspected. Her nipples stood erect and protruded from the large areolae that surrounded them. I reached out and cupped one breast and felt Sylvia shudder.

"It's been too long since a man has touched these," she said. Using my thumb and forefinger, I took one of her nipples and rolled it, squeezing it at the same time. She moaned. I bent my head forward and sucked the nipple into my mouth, rolling it around my tongue. Using the tip of my tongue to poke the nipple into her breast and then sucking it out again.

I heard her gasp again and then moan. While paying a lot of attention to her breasts and eliciting all sounds of rapture from Sylvia, I slid my free hand inside the waistband of her sweatpants and downwards. The back of my hand brushed against the soft material of her underwear until it touched her mound. I turned my hand around and cupped her panty-covered vulva, feeling a slight wetness at the crotch. Using my middle finger, I pushed the cotton against the source of the wetness and found very little hindrance. I moved her gusset to one side and my finger slid easily inside her. She was very wet. Sylvia slung her arms around me and held buried her face into my chest as I moved my finger in and out of her soaking pussy. It wasn't long before she reached her peak and my hand was flooded by her warm pussy juices. I heard her whimper as she came. I looked down at her and she looked up at me with tear stained eyes.

"Thank you," she said, her voice cracking up.

"Do you want to stop now?" I whispered, removing my hand from the inside of her sweatpants.

"No," she replied. "Please don't stop. I want you inside me. Can you do that?"

I smiled and said, "Yes."

Sylvia removed her sweatpants and revealed quite tasty lace edged black cotton panties. She pulled them down, showing me the hairiest pussy of any woman I had ever met. She climbed onto the bed and lay on her back. I climbed on alongside her and caressed her breasts again.

"Does my old body disgust you?" she asked.