Wedding Day No. 13

What is it about a wedding?

Here I was, seriously contemplating doing just about the stupidest thing it is possible for a man of 75 to do. But it was a wedding. Emotions were high. Pheromones filled the air. Alcohol had a hold of me along with the tetrahydrocannabinol from the lollypop one of this group had offered me. Okay, I was the odd combination of drunk and stoned that I hadn't been for at least two decades.

My son was married for about five hours now, and my daughter, unmarried, seemed to be a pretty good mom. My duties were done and I was enjoying retirement.

After the post-wedding party, I was flattered when one of the guys from the old neighborhood invited me to join the group heading to Eddies for an after-party party. So I stupidly said "Yes."

Now here I was, pretty drunk, very stoned, being propositioned by a girl that I wasn't sure had a driver's license.

"Come on, Grandpa," she said, they were all calling me "Grandpa," "Say yes and you'll be, like, the oldest dude I ever hooked up with."

Christ, it was like when I was stationed in Japan and only understood about a quarter of what was said even as I studied the language carefully. I think it was probably that throwaway word "like" that got to me the most.

"Show me your ID," I said.

Her eyes got big and then she started giggling as she opened a little folder she had attached to her cellphone and handed me her driver's license. I looked, did the quick mental math, and found her to be eighteen years and three months old, making her almost exactly one-quarter my age.

I smiled and said, "Ummmm, Margie, I don't think it would be a good idea."

"What are you? Gay," she asked.

I laughed, "No, Honey, I'm seventy-five."

"Oh my God," she said, all big eyes and white teeth, "You're like, totally ANCIENT!" the last word spoken with a rising note in her voice.

Okay, I'm not going to try to put in all of the "like," and "totally," and "awesome" throwaway words that peppered her speech like a weird form of Tourette Syndrome. Just, like, assume that they are, like, totally there with, like, every awesome utterance falling from her like totally, awesome pouty lips.

I chuckled, took a drink from the Guinness I had stupidly ordered - Christ, how DO the Irish drink that crap - and said, "Now that's the way to an old man's heart, Margie, calling him ANCIENT," trying to mock her tone on the last word.

She giggled and rubbed my leg, high on my inner thigh, and then, cat-quick, moved and ran her tongue deep enough into my ear canal that I could hear an odd crackling sound.

"Come ONNNNNN, Grandpa," she said, that tongue, warm and wet, tracing the shell of my ear, "LIVE a little."

"Margie," I said, hating the little whine in my voice, "I'm married."

"Better," she whispered and I felt the word as a little puff in my ear, "That way you won't get stupid and decide we should get married or something."

It was funny, in a way, almost like one of those out-of-body experiences you read about where you're floating and just watching yourself. I could feel my resolve weakening under her assault. I could almost feel my 15 years of faithfulness surrendering.

Christ, I WANTED her.

I think what put me over the top was the image of my wife, Paula, at home, nursing her arthritis and putting on a few more pounds every month. I looked at Margie again, tall for a woman at 5'8" or so, just a bit under my 5'9" (what used to be 5'10" but, well, gravity always wins in the end), lithe and thin, an athlete of some kind. She was wearing a T-shirt with a logo for some band I didn't recognize on it. The fact that she had no bra on was obvious with the little points that, well, pointed at me. I guessed her at about a hundred pounds. She was that slender. She was, in other words, the precise, mathematical opposite of my wife.

"Margie," I said, but she kissed me before I could go farther, drawing whistles and "ooooooooohs" from the group.

"Please, Phillip," and it was the combination of how completely focused she was on me, ignoring the others, and the use of my name that put me over the top.

I finished my Guinness, grimacing at the taste, stood, smiled at the group, and said, "I'm done in. Thank you all for a very interesting evening. It's been fun."

I went into the bathroom for a final pee before leaving and for the chance to scribble her a quick note.

I laughed as I peed, shook, washed my hands, and then got the little pad and pen that I still always carried. Well, that I always carried when I wore a shirt with a collar. I lived mostly in T-shirts these days, but when I put on one of my button-down Oxford cloth shirts it was just automatic to drop the little pad with its pen into my breast pocket. After four decades of living with the damn thing with me at all times, well, old habits die hard.

I scrawled a quick note.

Margie - I'm flattered.

Yes, if you're still interested.

1234 Smith Street

5678 code

Wait 15 minutes then come.

If you don't, well, it was fun.

Grandpa.

I tore the note out of the little notebook, folded it, feeling oddly silly like I was passing notes in third grade or something, and went out for final goodbyes.

"Thank you all," I said, moving from person to person, shaking hands or kissing cheeks depending on sex. At Margie, I kissed her cheek, drawing more of those "ooooooohs" from the group who hadn't been oblivious to our little play, and slipped her the note with all of the grace of the third grader I once was.

The drive in my oversized Ram 2500 pickup should have taken about three minutes. It was only a few blocks to my little Airbnb. In my state though, I was being extremely careful, driving slowly, stopping completely, and carefully looking both ways before proceeding. And then I missed a fucking turn and had to stop and re-enter the address into my GoogleMaps app and then follow the blue line.

But I survived, unticketed and unwrecked.

She was waiting for me when I walked in.

She was standing in the middle of the front room, the first room you walked into in that little shotgun house, as naked as the day she was born with a glass of water in her hand.

God DAMN she looked good, even though my tastes had never run to skinny women. Her arms were thin, the elbows the biggest parts of them. Her legs were thin, her knees the biggest parts of them although her calves were well-developed and shapely. Her breasts were tiny, I doubted that she filled out her 32A bra, with very pink areolas, tightened into cones, and slightly darker nipples. Her ribs showed. The hollows inside of her hip joints were deep and distinct.

But all of that was secondary to where my eyes focused.

She was absolutely smooth between her legs. Her labia were full and smooth and the slit of her sex was just that, a fine line separating those outer lips.

"You like?" she asked, closing the distance between us.

"You're beautiful," I said.

She smiled and said, "Hold out your hand."

I held out my hand and she dropped a little white pill into it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Something better than that Viagra you have in the bathroom," she said.

I chuckled and asked, "Christ, what did you do, run out right after me? I asked you to wait 15 minutes."

"Take your pill," she said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

I figured this could go on all night and I didn't really think she'd poison me so I took the damn pill.

"It's called X," she said, "or Ecstasy." She smiled and kissed me. "Give it ten minutes," she said, "I'm pretty sure we can find something to fill the time."

She kissed me again, a good kiss. Somewhere, deep in my mind, I thought she'd be a truly world-class kisser in a few years. She certainly wanted to practice enough.

"Would you like to see something cool?" she asked.

"Yes," I said and I was feeling a twinge of lightheadedness that I figured was part of the drug working.

"Sit," she said, pushing me toward the couch.

"Wait," I said, and in what was my last clear thought of the night I walked, a bit unsteadily, back to the bedroom where I stripped off my suit pants, hung them along with the jacket, and got them into the closet.

I guess the drugs had me by then, though, because it felt perfectly natural to walk back to the front room dressed in my white shirt, tie, boxers, and brightly patterned socks.

Oh, and my dick was hard, something that hadn't happened in years without chemical assistance.

As I walked into the front room her back was to me. It was to me because she was standing in front of the window, dancing. Of course, the curtain was drawn. I was mildly surprised to not find a small crowd on the tiny front lawn.

"Okay," I said, watching her, "come over here. I really don't want to wind up in jail."

She giggled, turned, and I could see what she had been doing.

Her flat mons and lower belly were shiny with the thick, almost white nectar that was running down her thighs and that she was rubbing with her hands like it was lotion.

Her womanscent was heavy and my body responded far below the level of thinking. My erection, nice and firm before I walked into the room, was suddenly rigid and throbbing.

As I watched she bent down slightly, laid her palms on her inner thighs, just above her knees, and slowly rubbed up, passing the slit of her sex and up her belly, leaving her shiny and slick, and then rubbing her breasts. Not lifting, they were too small to lift, just rubbing, her palms leaving them shiny.

She smiled at me, and then touched her fingertips together and pulled them slowly apart, smiling across the little cat's cradle of threads connecting them.

I damn near came when she suddenly licked her palm.

She came to me, arms held out, fingers up, palms facing me.

"Taste, Grandpa," she said, "Taste how delicious my grool is."

That stopped me.

"Your what?" I asked.

She giggled and sucked her finger like it was a popsicle.

"My grool, geez, Grandpa, join the 21st century," she said, scorn dripping as it can only from a young person explaining something to someone older. "My grool, girl drool, get it? My pussy juice? My twat snot? My box sap? My extract of snatch? Or, if you're an ancient Greek or maybe an Indian working on the latest edition of the Kama Sutra, my Nectar of the Gods?"

I felt the smile on my face, blank, as I listened. The drugs were working and I found her hilarious.

While she was talking she was playing, her fingers touching each other and pulling threads of her, what did she call it? Her pussy juice until she had a fine web between her hands, almost like one of the lace doilies my grandmother had scattered everywhere in her small house.

She moved forward, slowly, her hands extended, that web between them, and she laid it on my face like a mask.

"Here, Grandpa, enjoy," she said and moved back to the couch. She sat, scooted forward until her ass was hanging just a bit, and pulled her legs up, spreading them so her knees were beside her small breasts, showing herself, offering herself.

In that position, I could see her anus clearly, and it was pink and clean, unstained in the way of young people. As I watched, that thick, well, I'll call it grool too, overflowed her pussy and started slowly running down her taint, you know, the old joke about what's that area between a woman's asshole and pussy? The taint where "t'ain't ass and t'ain't pussy."

I've always enjoyed oral sex, but this was new.

I got to my knees, put my hands on the edge of the couch cushion just outside of her hips, bent, and used the tip of my tongue to touch the puckered little circle of her anus and then slowly lick up. What rolled onto my tongue and into my mouth was thick and hot and salty and oily, almost slimy, with an odd hint of sweetness in the aftertaste.

I drug my tongue through her labia, probing as deeply as I could, and kept moving forward until I found the hard little bump of her clitoris, hidden deep in that slit of her sex.

She shuddered.

So I did it again, one long lick, anus to clitoris.

"That's nice, Grandpa," she said, her voice a little shaky, "Now prove how much you love it. Rub your face in it. Kiss it. Tell me it's pretty."

I rubbed my goatee through it, feeling the weight of the sticky grool as I lifted my head to smile at her.

I rubbed my face through the thick grool running down her taint to her asshole and then bent my neck and rubbed my hair in it, feeling its weight and flashing back to those long-ago high school days when I spent a lot of time worrying about my hair and used something called Brylcreem ("a little dab'll do ya," the television commercial had assured us in those days) to keep my ducktail hairdo just right. It had that same greasy feel.

Finally, I looked up, kissed her pussy, and said, "It's a gorgeous pussy."

"Just my pussy?" she asked and worked some muscles inside so that her anus bulged suddenly and then relaxed back into a tiny puckered dot.

So I kissed it and slipped a finger inside it.

"This is gorgeous too," I said, sinking my finger deeper. All of that natural lubricant made it easy.

"Stretch it, Grandpa," she said, "let me show you how I can cum."

The drugs had me now. The room was spinning slowly, the pinkness of what I was playing with was the pinkest thing ever, her womanscent was the best smell ever, the sound she made when I slipped a second finger in was the most beautiful sound ever, but then a third finger brought an even sweeter sound from her, a soft hum that rose and changed, sort of a "mmmmmmmaaaaaaahhhhhHHHHHHHHHHH," sound.

And she came.

Her first sudden explosion of release left my face and shirt looking like something out of one of those porno videos about a bukkake party. My face was covered with her hot, thick, sticky ejaculate, and I felt it soaking my shirt as well. Strong anal sphincter muscles squeezed on my fingers and I felt something warm and firm touch the tips.

The drugs had an interesting effect on me. Overriding all else, of course, was the sexuality of what was happening, Her scent and taste, the feel of her around my fingers squeezing, the taste of her on my tongue, even the burning of my eyes from the way she had cum on my face, all of that blended into one ball of pure sex.

But there was an oddly thoughtful part too.

Feeling what was touching my fingertips I could clearly remember the OB/GYN doctor explaining to us that at that ultimate moment of childbirth when the urge to PUSH took over, the muscles used to force the baby out for its final trip into daylight were the same muscles used when you're fighting your constipation, and that was why she would get an enema on her way to the delivery room..

On yet another level, the throbbing of my cock was unavoidable.

On a fourth level, or maybe the fifth or sixth, I knew what she needed and said, "You're beautiful. Do it again."

Her second orgasm was just as amazing. This time her sound was a simple "eeeeeeEEEEEEEEE" rising in pitch until I expected to hear dogs barking. She squirted, like you see in those porn videos, something I had always thought was some kind of special effects with water balloons or something. This time it was hot and watery and clear and VERY salty where I caught it in my open mouth.

She was bucking now, her pussy still running, slinging that hot release all over the front room. I giggled as a phrase I heard once seemed appropriate - she was flopping like a beached carp. I chased her with my hand, still with three fingers up her ass, and my mouth, licking and kissing.

She yelled a final, "YESSSSSS," and relaxed so suddenly I thought she had fainted or something. She was gasping for breath, though, and giggling softly.

"Okay, Grandpa," she managed after a while, some timeless time while I looked at her and felt her relax, no longer squeezing my fingers inside of her and making me think it might be fun to try that "fisting" I had seen in porn videos.

But she said, "Go wash your hands, Grandpa, and bring back a washcloth to clean me up."

So I did. My fingers were thickly stained and I couldn't resist a quick sniff. The earthy scent made me throb even harder where my cock was still standing straight up my body, something that hadn't happened to me in years. I pushed down the urge to taste and, instead, washed my hands carefully, soaked a small hand towel, and went back to her.

She had moved around so her arms were on the cushion of the couch, her face was cushioned against her forearms, and her knees were on the floor. Her back was arched, offering her ass and pussy, and her pussy was still flowing that amazing grool, thick again after her orgasms, running in a very thick teardrop down her thighs.

Amazingly, given what I had done, there was only a slight staining around her anus when I spread her cheeks. I cleaned that carefully and then kissed the tiny starburst of the exit of her alimentary canal, pink and clean again although I did catch a faint earthy scent that made my cock twitch once more.

"Dealer's choice, Grandpa," she said, wiggling her ass prettily, "But leave your clothes on."

So I moved behind her, got my ridiculously hard, 75-year-old cock out through the fly of my boxers, guided myself until I was touching where she was SO slick, laid my hands on the balls of her hips, and THRUST.

Christ, she was SO tight. No baby had stretched her out.

"Yeah," she said softly as my lower belly contacted her ass with an audible smacking sound.

"YEAH," she said again as I pulled out very slowly and then THRUST again.

This wasn't making love. This was pure fucking like I hadn't done in decades. And one of the good things about achieving three-quarters of a century, hell, about the ONLY good thing about achieving three-quarters of a century, is that I felt no urgency. On that thinking level of my mind, I understood that this was the drugs talking. I didn't think I needed to hurry before I lost the erection that I was enjoying so much right then.

So I took my time.

SLOWLY out and then HARD in, drawing that satisfied "YES" with each stroke.

And something in the drugs helped my stamina too.

I had been fucking her for almost ten minutes, drawing another very thick wet orgasm, when she looked over her shoulder and said, "Swap holes, Baby," I noticed she didn't call me Grandpa that time.

SLOWLY out, this time all the way out, and then I guided myself with my hand to that tiny starburst of puckered skin and started pushing.

She was well lubricated from her grool and my cock was slick too, but it still required more effort than I wanted to use. I was afraid I'd hurt her.

"Take it," she said.

I hesitated. She looked SO tiny.

"TAKE IT, GRANDPA," she said, not quite a yell but loud.

So I pushed, and watched as the glans, the head, started to enter her.

"TAKE IT," she said, this time a yell.

I THRUST, entering her, once past that first resistance watching my full-length slip inside.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSS," she cried and came again, that thick grool running down my thighs.

I pulled out, slipped into her vaginally, pulled out, slipped into her anally, drawing those beautiful "YES" sounds with each thrust.

That is how I finished, swapping holes, telling her how beautiful she was, and in the end, my own climax was in her ass.

I was surprised when I didn't soften instantly after my own ejaculation, but I stayed, well, not hard, but "tumescent" is the word that fits. Firm if not fully hard.

She was panting, gasping, and whispering things into the pillow I was having trouble making out.

Finally, as happens, I softened and slipped out, and she squirmed from under me.

"Stay put," she said, her breathing ragged but more under control than mine.

I was exhausted and the alcohol and drugs were working on me. I laid my face against the couch cushion and waited, wondering what was next.