I had been visiting the nursing home ever since dad was moved into it from his marital home, and it’s been tragic watching a strong and vibrant personality, with a terrific sense of humour, slowly fade away in front of my eyes. In a twisted sort of a way it reminded me of my own marriage, and widowhood. My husband you see had died of cancer. Prostate cancer.

They reckon all men will get it if they live long enough, but he hadn’t. He was only fifty six when he died. I nursed him at home for the last three months, till his body could fight no more. Then his spirit was released from its broken prison, to live in the ether around me, and comfort me in my time of loss. It broke my heart, and the pieces fell onto the bed alongside his shattered body as I pulled the sheet up over his head when the last breath had sighed from his lifeless lips.

That was over ten years ago, and I miss him to this day, but life goes on, well mine did anyway, but it was empty. There was no reason for me as a person to want to go on living. Yes I know the kids and grandchildren need me, but living no longer held any great joy for me, just for them. However, I am still here, so I’ve had to make the most of it. That’s where this story begins.

You see, my frequent visits to the nursing home had been as much to heal my aching soul as to watch over my dad as his life slowly broke into little pieces that were lost by the day. By trying to help and comfort him I was really trying to exorcise my own demons of loss and anger at Luke’s passing. I don’t think it did really, but I tried to spend as much time with dad as I could before his inevitable demise.

During the year he’d been there his character had regressed almost to that of a newborn baby. It’s an absolute tragedy that the onset of that terrible disease we call Alzheimer’s had robbed him of his life’s memories so that he no longer recognised any of his children, and he’d completely forgotten that he and mum were married for nearly forty years.

Despite my wish to nurse my dad, I was rapidly losing my will to live. Not that I had much of one anyway, and my tears each time I walked away from his chair have stained the flooring in his room, and probably all along the corridor to the main entrance of this grand old building. It used to be a stately home you see. It belonged to the fifth Marques of something or other, before he had to sell up to pay death duties back in the 60’s.

It was as I was sobbing my way out of the building one day when you came over and put your arm around my shoulder.

“There, there,” you said, “I know it’s bad, I’ve been going through the same with my mum since she came in.”

I’d seen you before of course, your mum was in the next but one room to my dad, and we’d often bumped into each other as we either arrived or left the respective rooms. We’d even exchanged pleasantries in an effort to lighten the mood as we passed like ships in the night. The night of despair for the both of us. It was a cruel irony for the pair of us that our meeting should be one initiated by tragedy, but that’s how life goes, as one door closes another door opens, or so they say.

After our first cuddle in the corridor, you tried to comfort me every time you saw me, and I know you didn’t need to. Your mum died over three months before my dad went, yet you still visited the home every day in the hope that I’d be there too. As you know, I visited nearly every day, right up till last week, when dad finally succumbed to his illness.

It is my fervent hope that he and mum are together now in their after-life, and I hope that they’re as happy there as they were in this one.

As to our cuddling. That soon turned into canoodling, and after a month of meeting you in the corridor, then going out for a cuddle and a snog in the car, I remember I said, “We can’t go on meeting like this, people will talk!”

You laughed out loud at that old chestnut, I liked your reply though.

Quick as a flash you said, “Okay sexy, you know this place ain’t big enough for the both of us, so what’s it to be, your place or mine?” in a very dodgy Humphrey Bogart accent.

Well, we both know it turned out to be your place AND mine. You’re just like a naughty little boy with a brand new toy really, and I know you wanted to do more than just wipe my tears each time you held me to you, I could feel your need pressing on me, on my hip, or my stomach, and once or twice I managed to brush against it with my hand. I must admit it wasn’t always completely accidentally when that happened, and it was very flattering to find that I could still have such an effect on a man. I don’t suppose I’d have cared for it if it had been anyone else, but for you it meant something very special to me.

In just over a week it went from sitting in the car and telling each other jokes, to kissing with tongues down each other’s throats. Then opening shirts and blouses and feeling each other’s chests. Oooh! I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone caressing my breasts, and tweaking my nipples. I don’t think they’d been hard like that since Luke died, but now I found them responding to you as though you were their rightful owner. It got me all hot under the collar feeling the electricity of sensation that spread out from each one as you played with it and kissed it, and I started feeling other twinges where I hadn’t felt twinges since Luke’s passing.

At first I felt guilty about it, because I still thought of myself as Luke’s wife, but after the second time it happened I sat myself down and had a long hard talk to myself about my life, or lack of, and realised that Luke was gone, and he would never come back to hold me, to kiss me, or to touch me ever again. I cried buckets of tears that night, but in the morning I woke up feeling more relaxed and happy than I’d felt for a decade.

I came to the conclusion that if he could speak to me now he’d probably be saying “Go for it love! Second chances don’t come round that often, so grab one if it’s offered, and make the most of it!”

I could even hear his voice saying it in my head, and I thought about it over and over again to see if I’d change my mind. After I’d given myself a headache and another very sleepless night over it, I finally came round to accepting that Luke hadn’t rejected me by dying. He couldn’t help getting cancer, and I’m sure he still loves me as much as I’ll always love him, but I was now a single woman, who has needs that haven’t been satisfied for a very long time. So long in fact that I thought they’d never be satisfied again.

So I decided to see if I could ever feel the longing for something like the heat of bodily lust again, and when you and I did meet we moved on to the next level, so to speak.

That was a revelation in itself as well. The feel of a man’s hand snaking slowly down from my waist to my pubic mound inside my underwear, tickling my skin and sending shocks of pleasure through me like a live wire. It made my nipples even more sensitive, and your hand and mouth soothing and sucking on my nipple, while you slowly moved your other hand southwards made me damp inside and outside between my legs so much that I thought I’d pee’d myself.

I was honestly surprised at how wanton my body was becoming. How much I craved the touch of your hand on my pulsing clitoris. How much I desired the feel of you exploring my vaginal opening with your fingers. How I needed to feel your penis rising up and filling my inner void with warmth and strength.

All these things went through my mind as we sat on your sofa that evening and snogged each other. I felt like a teenager again, excited to explore this new world of sex and what delights it held for whoever ventured in.

I loosened my skirt to let you get your hand in more easily, and as it went down to gently touch my little button I opened my legs as wide as I could, and when I felt my skirt restricting them I pulled my skirt up out of the way. I was now yours for the taking, but I felt that you knew that anyway, and were just making sure of it before we connected fully.

So I helped you loosen your belt and opened your trousers so that I could touch you in the way you were touching me. Wow, what a surprise! I knew you could be hard, I’d felt it before, and I’d even helped it get hard before by brushing against it accidentally on purpose, but to feel it now, thick and strong, and in the flesh instead of through layers of cloth was very different. It was mighty, it was magnificent, and it was letting me know that I had your full attention for as long as I wanted it. Such power is very lifting for a person’s confidence, and I nibbled your ear and gently blew into it as I took hold of your massive member for the first time.

I remember you cried out a little as I gripped the shaft and slowly pulled your skin up and down along it. I then looked down to see how it was reacting, and found that your foreskin was peeling itself back off the enormous bulb. The pink and purple flesh now exposed was throbbing and shiny with your juices as you responded to my movements. Meanwhile you reached my clitoris with your fingers and began to swirl them around and gently press on it then lift off every second or so.

The feeling made my face go red from the feeling of heat in my head. I could feel it as my cheeks blushed, but I couldn’t stop myself from moving my hips to push against your fingers. You now started to move further on down with your hand, and while you cupped my clit in your palm, you explored along between my inner lips till you found my vaginal mouth. Here you twirled your fingers around to make sure they were soaked with my juices, then you hesitantly pushed one finger inside my opening. I couldn’t help but give out a soft moan when you did that, and I gripped your penis tightly as the shudders of delight swept through my body.

This set you off and I could feel your hips trying to push up and move your penis in my gripping hand. I’m a little rusty at all this, but it didn’t take long to remember what to do next, so I stopped kissing your lips then leant forward so that my mouth was directly above the bulbous end of your pulsing penis. I let some drool drop onto the end, wiped it all around with my fingers, then started stroking you up and down in rhythm with the movements of your fingers in my sex.

We then went back to kissing with our mouths again, so that we could explore each other’s palates and cheeks with our questing tongues.

I guess it must have been a long time since you’d had anyone else touch you like that, and I suddenly felt you go rigid. Then you uttered little “Oow” noises one after the other, as I felt the pulses of your orgasm and watched your sperm gush in long spurts out of your penis and all over my hand, your belly, and the bottom of your shirt. You begged me to stop almost immediately because you were now getting so sensitive it was starting to hurt, so I just held it there and enjoyed the feel of warm sperm sliding across the back of my hand once more. I can tell you it was a very long time since that had last happened to me, so it was lovely to see and feel the power of a man once more as I held and controlled him in such an intimate way.