She stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the full length mirror, toweling her short solid black hair - still with no gray roots - as she examined her face, searching closely for unwanted lines or blemishes which traditionally adorned and troubled a woman in her sixties. 'Not bad, ' she thought, as water dripped off of her body onto a brand new bathmat, 'if I must say so myself.' Her face still looked as new and unused as when she had been a teenager.

She gazed at the glistening wet body below the face. Barely five feet from top to bottom, she didn't quite hit a hundred pounds. She was somewhere between slender and skinny. Her breasts would need surgical augmentation if she ever attempted to fill anything larger than a thirty-two bra. Her nipples were perky though, with large areolas, and nothing sagged. Hell, there wasn't really enough there that could sag. Her hips rounded out enough to give her a decent child-bearing shape; no one would ever refer to her as Olive Oyl.

A matching carpet of still-damp black hair adorned her pubes. She had long since given up shaving her pussy bald, as she had previously done for her former husband, Lou. She still kept it trimmed, for the new love of her life, Sonny, but she didn't want it to be as bald as his head. She wondered even about the trimming, since she didn't get a heck of a lot of action down there nowadays. Like nothing but fingers. Her own fingers, becoming more and more expert at the job!

Her face, she noticed, was still her best feature. Even if it would never grace the cover of a magazine, the twinkle of her eyes and her outgoing nature, added to her trim figure, led people to use the word vivacious, full of life, to describe her, though in truth it was just a plain face. She was popular among her acquaintances, a pleasure to talk to and also to look at, though she drew neither leering nor fantasizing suitors.

Marci, for that was her name, knew that she was alone. She had returned home from the gym to find that Sonny had already gone off to another day of thirty-six holes of golf, with no Mulligans and every stroke faithfully recorded. He played by the book, as he practiced his whole life; he refused to accept a 'gimme' and insisted on counting every putt. He was gone for the day.

She tried to remember how long it had been since she had last gotten laid, last felt hard phallic flesh in mouth or cunt. Before she had the answer, she gave up on the quest, deciding instead to satisfy her recurring itch by the skillful use of her own fingers, a practice that she had lately realized had not disappeared but had simply gone into remission since she had first met Lou.

Marci's eyes dropped from her face in the mirror to her cunt hair. A genteel woman in all other respects, she thought of — and in conversation often referred to — her reproductive channel as her cunt. And she enjoyed staring at it whenever she masturbated. She spread her legs about twelve inches apart. The backs of her fingers began to comb the tangled bush into a straight line. Thumb and forefinger of her left hand spread her labia wide as the middle and ring fingers of her right hand twisted their way inside her depths. At that instant, her lips parted and she began to breathe through her mouth. Still fixed on the central core of her sexuality, her eyes nevertheless began to lose focus.

After a few moments, her right hand came out of her body and Marci brought it to her face, inhaling the musk of her lust and then tasting the juices from her fingers. She was happy that she could still get wet down there, that she wasn't yet a dried-up old prune. Her mouth worked her fingers as though she were fellating a man, sucking off her fingers as though she were giving some man a blow job. How long had it been, she wondered as she did often, how long since she had last sucked Sonny's cock, had last felt his creamy sperm rolling around in the mouth, rinsing her teeth, sliding quietly down her throat? Her fingers dove back into her cunt until they hit bottom. Her left hand, no longer needed to aid access, went to her chest, alternately to pinch and to caress firm nipples.

Marci's mind went back to the sex of her youth. Lou had been her first ever, taking her precious gift in her final year of high school. Back in those days, a girl made a boy work for it. She remembered that first date, the handsome football player plucking the Plain Jane from the pack in the lunchroom. It was a movie date, followed by a pizza in the local hangout as she glowed with pride at the jealousy of the other girls. Poor Lou didn't score that night, though not for lack of trying. Marci smiled at the memory of his fumbling attempts, and suddenly she screamed.

"AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE." The sound of her orgasm resonated around the steaming bathroom as Marci's fingers successfully completed their appointed task. Her knees bent, weakened, and she staggered backwards to sit on the edge of the tub. Perspiration poured off her forehead, down over her eyes and onto her cheeks. A single drop fell into an eye and made her think that she had begun to cry. Knowing that she hadn't, still the almost tear took her back to the days of frequent orgasms, when Lou and later Sonny had serviced her oh so often and oh so adequately.

She thought again of that first date and of Lou's attempts to use her body. She had been old enough to understand it, had heard enough friends describe sex, had used her own fingers many times to satisfy herself, no, make that to relieve herself. It would require a cock for true satisfaction. Lou was not the first to attempt to breach her virginal membrane, merely the first to succeed. And that took him some time.

The first date had ended on the sidewalk in front of her home, her parents asleep but confident in her discretion. Marci held Lou's hands tightly against his sides as she kissed his cheek goodnight. She assumed that he had then gone home to masturbate; her friends told her that all boys did so. A couple of the previous boys had even told her that they did exactly that, presumably in a crude attempt to excite her for their next attempt. They never got the chance.

Her second date with Lou, who she kept thinking of as her 'previous' husband, had been the same, except that the kiss to end the evening had been on his lips. Still, Marci knew, even back in those Puritanical days of our parents, that the white wedding dress she would someday wear would be the wearing of false colors. None of her friends expected to retain their virginity until marriage, and Marci had no qualms about joining that cause. And she had already decided that Lou would be the one to pluck the ripe cherry from the wet folds of her cunt.

Marci's fingers were still inside her cunt, as the first date was still inside her mind, merging seamlessly into the second and third. That oh so significant third date, following the kiss of the second. 'Give me a kiss to build a dream on, and my imagination will make that dream come true.' Those words from an old song, from her younger days, inspired Lou to his seductive best. The date had ended in her house, around the coffee table with her Mom. Or so Mom had thought as she went upstairs to bed, trusting still yet to the discretion of her high school senior daughter.

Lou's charm kicked in after an allowance of fifteen minutes for Mom to get to sleep. T'was a dangerous assumption, but luck held. The kiss, a reprise of the second date, quickly morphed through tongue, feel and then bare tit as Lou managed to stretch Marci out on the couch. Her eyes were closed as he sucked a nipple. He took her hand and placed it on the tent in his jeans. Marci froze but Lou held her hand and moved it gently up and down on his hidden erection. After a few moments, he released the pressure and Marci continued the rubbing on her own. His heart pounded as he realized that he would not need to masturbate that night.

Still, Marci was not aggressive. Her eyes remained shut. She allowed her hand to be led as Lou wrapped two of her fingers around the pull of his zipper and then used her hand to pull down that barrier to the — temporary - fresh air his cock craved. He led her hand inside his jeans; since his shorts had no fly front, he threaded her fingers in through a leg hole. She touched the skin of his cock and stiffened again. Marci, that is, not the cock, which was already stiff enough. She opened her eyes, searching Lou's face. She mistook the seduction in his eyes for love. Looking up toward the ceiling, she strained to hear any sounds that Mom might be making. Hearing none, she took his hard member and pulled it out.

She had never seen one for real in her life. Pictures aplenty she had viewed though, both on porn websites and on a couple of DVDs that friends had sneaked out of their brothers' — or fathers' - stashes. She would later learn that Lou's was circumcised, and would cringe when she learned how that was done to a newborn baby boy. The blood filling this one came close to the skin of the sensitive crown, giving it a red or purplish cast. She bent to kiss the tip, noting the teensy drop of clear fluid at the pee hole.

Back in her bathroom all those many years later, Marci could still feel the slickness of that little drop, the erotic aroma wafting up from Lou's groin, the soft crown and the hard shaft, the sensitive ball sac — accessible only after Lou had pulled his jeans and shorts down to around his ankles. Why his ankles, she remembered thinking. If Mom had caught them, the second or two that he would have saved getting dressed again would not have prevented her from knowing everything. Marci's fingers strummed her clit hard as she remember her first blow job, Lou's hand on the back of her head, his hips pushing up into her face, trying to deep throat a girl whose mouth was still virgin, his exhausting grunt as his spurt began, his spurt, his spurt...

"AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE." Her eyes widened in surprise. How long had it been, she wondered, since she had cum twice in a row? Her body shook with the excitement, the arousal, the sweet relief she had given to her body.

Marci threw a robe over her naked body and went to the kitchen to put up some coffee. When it was ready, she poured a cup and sat in the den, a Cosmo on her lap. 'Why are you still buying that, Marci?' Sonny had asked that very morning. 'You're too old for that stuff; it's for kids.' She hadn't answered, reflecting on the sadness she felt at the question. She leafed through the magazine as she sipped her coffee. The letters and the words they formed reached her eyes, but didn't get through to her brain. Her mind drifted back to Lou, and to the night that he had made her a woman.

Lou had an old jalopy, so designated because of all the old junk heaps delivered to the seaport of Jalapa, Mexico for resale. And his jalopy had a well-worn — and well-stained - back seat, upon which numerous previous owners had deflowered or at least serviced — such a cold word - numerous teen aged girls. And so it was to be with Lou and Marci, back in the days of drive-in movies where teens could park way in the back of the lot, in the dark area where none but other teens would notice the up and down motions of car frames on squeaky springs.

By that night, Marci was already adept at giving head to dear Lou, and swallowing every drop of his sweet spurting discharge. But the best she ever got from him back then was a set of rubbing fingers, which half the time or more quit before she could cum. That night, that beautiful cloudless night, both of them knew without words that they would cross the line, that all but the wildest, the loosest of their parents' generation would have been shocked to know how far they had gone. Yet Marci had no intention of allowing Lou his fondest wish without making sure that she wouldn't have to masturbate when she got home into her bed.

They were already in the back seat of the jalopy. The heavy speaker used in those days was hooked over the front door window but neither teen had any idea what the actors and actresses were saying on the screen. Marci's blouse was back on the front seat; she rarely wore a bra except to school. Lou's lips were fastened on one or the other of the perky nipples centered in her size thirty two breasts, sucking like a newborn.

(Years later, Marci would wonder often whether it was the small size of her breasts that contributed to the breakup of her marriage to Lou, but that's for later in this narrative.)

Lou's fingers were working the buttons of her jeans. The previous weeks of practice had long since eliminated the need for fumbling. But the same weeks, spent talking to her girl friends and complaining about the - intermittent - orgasms from Lou had brought Marci some important advice. Her jeans were off and lying on the rear floor, her plain white virginal panties atop them. Lou too was naked from the waist down, his fingers massaging her clit.

"Not yet, Lou," she said. He stopped, wondering what was on her mind, anxious as he was to finally shove his anxious cock deep inside her. "Half the time you don't make me cum. I want you to eat me first," she commanded.

Lou had never claimed to be a virgin, and in fact he had scored his home run for the first time almost a year earlier, with the school slut. He had however never been 'forced' to eat pussy. He figured that he sort of knew what to do, but the idea held no attraction for him. Like most boys before him, he would never know how good it tasted until he tried it. Back then, the idea terrified him. Had he been asked an hour earlier, he might even have said that the idea repelled him, but with a bit of cunnilingus now the only thing standing between him and an immediate fuck, his cock took control of his brain.

Marci sipped her coffee, closed her eyes and leaned back. The Cosmo slipped off her lap and fell to the floor as she remembered that long-ago evening when she had first felt a mouth and a tongue between her legs. Though it had preceded the rupture of her hymen only by a few moments, still it was Lou's oral love that was the highlight of the evening, the manifestation of a woman's power to make a man kneel between her legs, to worship at her cunt, to make her orgasm before she would allow his organ to spit its creamy load of sperm inside her.

Lou lowered his face to her virgin grotto. Back in her den, Marci smiled at the memory of Lou's faint sniff. She had known that it would happen, had known that he would not be able to hide the sound, as he tested every boy's belief in the Old Wives' Tale — no pun intended — that all cunts smell like dead fish. And the joyous part, in Marci's memory, was the knowledge that even if she had smelled that way, poor Lou would have had to eat her to orgasm unless he wanted to go home and whack himself off.

But he survived the ordeal of that first inhale. Still, no untrained boy really knows how to eat pussy, so Lou just began to lick up and down along Marci's slit. And Marci, herself never having been eaten by an experienced woman, was content to merely direct Lou's lips to her clit. He sucked on her clit as instructed, seemingly trying to get the last drop of soda up through a straw. His hands tweaked Marci's nipples as he brought her toward her orgasm. When she was ready to cum, she slammed one hand against the back of Lou's head, holding it in place that way a man holds a woman's head while she sucks his cock.

At the critical moment of her explosion, Marci put her free hand in her mouth and bit down hard. She knew that the kids in the nearby cars would see Lou's jalopy bouncing up and down as they fucked, knew that they might even hear Lou's usual grunt and yell as he began to spurt, but she simply didn't want them to hear her cum. What the heck, everyone has to draw the line someplace.

Lou's mouth released her and he leaned against the back of the front seat. His face wore the smile of a Cheshire Cat and it glistened with the juices of Marci's orgasm. He was relieved; he had survived the dreaded cunnilingus, though he didn't even know the word back than. Nor, as Marci reflected far in the future, was it likely that he ever used it or knew what it meant.

Lou was also relieved that the preliminaries were concluded, that he would soon be fucking his flat chested girl friend. They had never discussed it, but Lou believed, quite correctly, that Marci was cherry, and that he would be bragging the next day to anyone who would listen about the new notch in his belt. All the high school boys do that shit, but for a change, Lou would be telling the truth.

In her den, Marci had recalled the first part of that night with her hands in her lap, having masturbated enough for the time being. Nor did remembering the next part, the moment that she was deflowered, inspire her to do more than day-dream.

Lou was still between her legs, but his face was now opposite hers. They kissed, tongues dueling, as Marci tasted her familiar self in his mouth. He gently pushed her sideways, to lie on the back seat. Her legs were spread; one was stretched straight out, her heel resting on the floor between the two seats. The other was up, resting on the deck of the rear window. Marci knew that she was signaling to the surrounding cars that she was offering her cunt to Lou, but she was confident that few if any of the other kids could actually see her leg in the darkness of the jalopy.

He was butted up against her crotch, his cock lying on her stomach. He didn't really know much about fucking, beyond where to stick it and how to make it cum. In particular, he figured that an orgasm and a French kiss would be enough to make her ready for his cock. Of course, he never considered the extra tender care that the taking of a cherry requires. With his mind thus void of any thoughtful analysis, Lou reared back, used his fingers to line up his purple crown with the center of Marci's femininity, and poised to thrust in.

Marci closed her eyes in readiness. Years later, remembering that night, she again closed her eyes, in sympathy for the vivid recollection. He blasted into her in one rapid stroke, hard and fast as a jackhammer. Membrane tore, blood oozed, vaginal walls dilated under rough friction. Totally forgotten was Marci's desire to avoid announcing her orgasm. To the contrary, she screamed loudly, the sound carrying far beyond the circle of teen age sex in the rear of the drive-in to send the news forward to couples with sleeping babies nearer to the screen.

The nearby school mates knew what the sound meant, that Lou had just popped his date's cherry. And they celebrated with him as the school did when they bested their hated cross-town rivals in a championship football game: first one, then a second and third, and finally all the assembled teens began to blow their horns, to share the joy of their classmate. Lou remained suspended inside Marci, not moving. He giggled and she cried as the serenade continued for several minutes.

When the noise died down, Lou began to stroke inside her. Marci felt nothing except the continuing pain. Outside the car, teen aged boys and girls in various stages of undress and coupling watched as Lou's jalopy bounced up and down on its worn springs. When, without warning, Lou suddenly exploded his sperm into Marci and collapsed on top of her, and the bouncing of his car ceased, a new round of car-horn applause rang out again.

In her den, Marci had abandoned the coffee and switched to a glass of wine. She sipped it. And cried.

'What Fools We Mortals Be', Marci thought, as her period arrived on time. Yet the couple continued to fuck and suck without using a condom. Time passed, the couple married, and only then did Lou's little swimmers succeed in fighting their way against millions of competitors inside Marci's ovulating body. Twice it happened, yielding two beautiful children, who we can now basically forget about, because they have virtually nothing to do with the rest of this story.

When the children were still small, Lou changed jobs, moving the family from the Chicago area one time zone east to New Jersey. It was about the time that the Garden State, hoping to revive the 'glamour' of Atlantic City, legalized casino gambling. Lou was by then making a lot of money and was an avid gambler, approaching High Roller status. At first, Marci enjoyed going to A.C. with him for a weekend. She would hang on to his arm as he bet stacks of colorful chips, including some without color, those black $100 chips. Their room, their entire stay would be comped; when Lou tired of rolling those ivory cubes with the dots on them, they would retire to their room, where Lou would fuck Marci mouth and cunt all night long.

Their sex life was good during the week also. They would fuck nearly every night, and Lou made sure that Marci would cum before he did every time, the friction of cock on clit supplemented occasionally by his fingers. The only exception would be on those days when she had her period. For whatever reason, Lou refused to fuck her then. Marci, who saw no problem with a little blood on the sheets, was instead relegated to sucking Lou's cock, who would repay her with his fingers. Marci didn't mind giving him blow jobs, but she preferred cock orgasms rather than finger orgasms. Despite the great sex, once they were married, Lou never again went down on Marci.

But, as was hinted at earlier, Marci soon tired of A.C., since she didn't particularly get any thrill out of gambling. Lou began to drive by himself to the casinos. At first it was once a month, and then over time the frequency increased until it was almost every weekend. In retrospect, Marci recalled when she had first become suspicious. Lou had come home Sunday evening, reporting a small profit for the weekend. After they put the children into bed for the night, they headed for the master bedroom. Marci stripped down to her panties. Red panties!

"Oh," said Lou with a raised eyebrow. "Do we have our visitor this weekend?"

"Don't worry, Lou," she said with a smile. "You've only been away for two nights. I haven't forgotten how to take care of you. Unless of course you'd like to give up your silly objections to making love with me when I have my period."

He paused, as though thinking about her suggestion. "No," he said, "but I've got a better idea. There's still one opening that you've never let me use." There was an inflection of a question mark at the end of the sentence.

"Oh no, Lou. That monster of yours is much too big for that entrance." In fact, it probably wasn't, but a lying compliment is always accepted as true. "Besides, I don't have any lubrication for that kind of action. Do you?" she challenged.

Pausing again, he said "No."

In bed, kneeling between his outspread legs, Marci felt Lou push her toward his side, so that he was able to caress her back as she serviced him. That was a position that they used quite often. Unfortunately, service was the correct word. Despite the fact that Lou would try to get her off after he had cum, she still felt that she was merely servicing him. Especially since the fastidious nut insisted that his menstrual masturbation of her be done with his fingers outside her panties, away from the cursed flow.

Marci took Lou's cock in hand and began to slowly lick up and down its length. He sighed in relaxed pleasure, almost the purr of a satisfied cat. Unable to keep his surprising request out of her mind, she twisted her head so that her mouth could engulf both of his balls while her hand stroked his stiff member. He massaged her back gently as her tongue washed his nuts. Suddenly his hand was off her back and under the waist band of her panties, a finger probing between her fleshy cheeks. She started to lift her head but his free hand clamped it in place, her mouth still full of testicles. Unable to speak, she moaned angrily.

His finger found the entrance he sought. She tightened her protective muscle but he forced his way inside her anus. His only words were "Keep stroking," She did so as his finger plunged in and out, uninvited and unwelcome, until she heard his grunt and felt him throb, felt his cum in her hair, oozing down toward her face. Wordlessly, he pulled his finger from her ass and rolled over to go to sleep. There would be no orgasm for her that night.

Nor would there be any sleep, not until near dawn. When Marci finally woke, she found that Lou had gotten the children dressed, fed and off to school, and was long gone to his office. She tossed and turned some more, finally deciding that it was just some male madness that he had gone through the prior evening. Breakfast and a shower left her feeling better, and she set about her household chores. Monday was wash day, and she went into Lou's overnight bag to get his dirty clothes from the weekend.

You guessed it! Buried under his dirty underwear, Marci found a tube of KY. It was dented, squeezed in the middle and clearly half empty. She put it back, closed her eyes and began to plan, if not for the rest of her life, at least for the next week. The plan, to try to get him to forget whoever he might be using that KY on. It went into effect on Monday night, with her bedtime declaration that she had a headache. It is well known to be the standard female lie, but in the absence of proof positive to the contrary, the lie stands as true. Let Lou think about that, she thought to herself.

Tuesday night was different. With but a single reference to Sunday, "Don't you ever go near my ass again," Marci threw herself into the sex, swearing to give Lou the ride of his life. She fucked, she sucked, she licked, kissed, swallowed, rode him like a cowgirl all night long. It took all of her effort not to sit on his face and make him eat her. By Wednesday morning he was bow-legged. That night and the next were more of the same.

Although she had hoped against hope, it didn't surprise her that Lou nevertheless decided to go to A.C. for the weekend, leaving Friday at noon. Marci gave him a two hour head start. Then she left the children, as prearranged, with her best friend and pointed her car toward Atlantic City. She thought that she knew where he would be playing and staying, so she parked there. A tedious walk through the Valet garage confirmed his presence. She searched the craps tables in the casino but he wasn't there. Marci found a nickel slot machine and nursed ten dollars for over an hour. Then she went searching again.

She found Lou bent over a table, with a pair of dice in his hand. His other hand was on the ass of a statuesque blonde, sporting at least 38Ds, with the bored face of a full-time whore under an hourly or daily contract to the casino. Marci walked up silently behind them and as Lou drew his arm back to roll the dice, she whispered sotto voce, "Is it her big tits that you prefer or does she let you fuck her up the ass?"

Lou lost control of the dice, which went flying off the table. He turned to look at Marci as the stickman yelled, "No Roll." Lou opened his mouth to speak but all he saw was Marci's ass as she walked away.

It was after dark by the time Marci dragged the last of Lou's clothing out on to the porch. She went into the house and poured herself a glass of wine. She cried, contemplating the rest of her life, starting with telling the children that Daddy wouldn't be coming home anymore.

She met Sonny at the tennis courts. Their paths had crossed casually for several months until one day they were paired by lot in a Mixed Doubles tournament. Tall and handsome, broad shouldered too, he sported a bushy mustache. Marci had been divorced for a year. Though looking for a step-father for her children, she had not found anyone tempting enough to entice her into bed. Her fingers, and that little mechanical object that ran on batteries, gave her all the sex she needed to survive. Idly, almost nostalgically, she wondered how his mustache would feel on her clit if he was tongue-fucking her.

Marci played tennis three times a week at least; she considered herself a damned good player. Sonny, though ten years her senior, was an excellent athlete, and she knew that is was his skill alone that had earned them the trophy.

"Let's celebrate. I'll buy you a cup of coffee," Sonny said, after a chaste congratulatory hug. Marci mentally ran through her calendar, crossed off a trip to the supermarket, and nodded her acceptance.

They dawdled over cappuccinos for an hour, sharing the details of life stories that took too long to tell between serves on a tennis court. Despite his lady-killer looks, Sonny had never been married. Still, he dropped enough information about his past life to convince her that he was straight. Marci's mind began the fantasy trip of a teen-age girl — or a newly divorced woman. As she listened to him, and he to her, she felt like she was on a first date.

And suddenly she was. She looked at her watch. "I've got to go now. I promised my kids that the baby sitter and I would take them on a picnic."

Sonny hesitated just a moment. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

Marci hesitated in return. "That would be nice," she said with a smile.

They went to their respective homes to shower, and, Marci smiled to herself, to preen. She marveled that she was actually going on a date, albeit with her children and a baby sitter as chaparones. An hour later, Sonny, following her contorted directions, arrived to pick them up. They all piled into his van.