Better Late than Never

Hello, I'm Anne and until recently I'd never slept with a 'young' man. When I married my husband Harold he was already forty two, while I was only seventeen; the reasons behind that are a whole other story and not one I wish to repeat here, or indeed dwell upon.

Despite everything, I like to think of our marriage as a success; we raised four children, all sadly now scattered due to work and/or partners to the four corners of the earth, two in Australia, a third in Japan and our youngest daughter is in Canada.

When Harold retired in 2008 we moved full-time to what had until then, been our weekend cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, but once his health began to deteriorate ten years later, we returned to our home town near Leeds, leasing an apartment in a, Seniors Community; I was still only forty-nine!

The age difference with my neighbours wasn't an issue; that was something I was long used to accommodating, so I've quite enjoyed the place. With a warden always on call and easy access to public transport -- Harold never permitted me to drive -- I was able to get out and about secure in the knowledge that Harold would be OK.

What I did especially miss from living in the Dales though, were Carol and David: It was Harold & David who'd met first -- both members of the Rotary Club -- but when Carol and I met, we got on like a house on fire from the very start. Carol and I were of an age, with David being rather older, though nothing like the age-gap between Harold and I, but that was never relevant, we all seemed to just 'click', regularly socialising and on a couple of occasions going on holiday together too; I consider Carol to be the best and closest friend that I've ever had.

Like ourselves, David and Carol have a now grown family -- four boys, how did she cope? - though they've perhaps been more fortunate than we, in that all of their boys, along with their partners and now grandchildren live locally. That's not entirely true; their third son Robbie and his wife Gillian were abroad, though even they visited for two or three weeks each year to catch up with family and friends.

Rob & Gill have no kids, so after both had acquired the professional skills and reputations which allowed them -- for outrageous remuneration! - to work wherever they could find a decent internet connection, they simply 'travelled'; working freelance and on-line for a few days or weeks whenever their coffers need to be refilled.

Just during the years that I've known Carol they'd travelled widely through SE Asia on a motorcycle, then seemingly everywhere between Alaska and Panama in a motor-home -- the inevitable motorcycle on a trailer towed behind -- and finally aboard a yacht on which they sailed to the Pacific Islands and on to Australia; even that had small scooter aboard! Two carefree vagabonds whom everyone seemed to love, despite the envy that they must have undoubtedly garnered; I'd met them only twice, but I could easily understand why.

Robbie's tall, slim and even to my jaundiced eyes, a very good looking young man; washboard stomach -- OK, I've only discovered that more recently-- burnished tan and flowing locks of sun-bleached hair; perhaps unsurprising given their lifestyle? And of course, those eyes; expressive and a deep brown; I once overheard a young woman suggest quite accurately, that 'you could drown in those eyes'.

But it's more than skin-deep with Robbie, he's very intelligent, well spoken and old-school polite, as indeed are all of David & Carol's boys; only latterly have I become 'Anne' rather than Mrs Price. He possesses a wicked and charmingly flirtatious sense of humour, irrepressible optimism and seems always to see the best in everybody and everything.

Robbie's now in his mid-thirties - younger than all of my own kids! - but one flash from those eyes as he delivers some flirtatious complement can still give rise to a shameless shiver in an old crone like me, so I can imagine how it effects the younger girls. Gillian knows it too and guards him jealously; I can't say that I blame her, she's got herself a catch and gives short-shrift to any young woman who to tries to trespass or even looks too closely in Rob's direction; thankfully, we older ladies are given a little more leeway.

Then 2020 arrived, upending everyone's lives, including Robbie & Gill's. They were back in the UK for a visit when the world locked-down and couldn't return to their boat -- and yet another motorcycle! - in Australia. My own tribulation -- though already long expected -- was the death of Harold; he didn't go to Covid, but the pressures that virus put on the health service perhaps accelerated his demise?

More shocking and even to me more upsetting, was David; in his late-sixties, admittedly, but as fit and healthy as many men half his age. He contracted Covid early on and died within a week; in some respects it was perhaps fortunate that Robbie and Gill were back home and staying with Carol, so able to afford her some support in those days of lock-downs,

Barely a day passed during the following weeks when Carol and I didn't speak on the phone, to offer mutual support and sympathy. Then on the first day that restrictions eased, Carol came to visit; we chatted for a couple of socially distanced hours in the garden beneath our umbrellas. Carol doesn't drive either, so it was Robbie who'd brought her the fifty miles by car, though I didn't see him beyond a distant wave and smile through the rain-smeared car windscreen as he waited patiently for his mother and I.

It was during that conversation when I discovered that Robbie and Gill were back for the duration: They were already arranging the sale of their yacht and the motorcycle, negotiating to buy a small house for themselves near to Carol's and both back working to pay for it.

Both Robbie & Gill were as ever working remotely and at hours to seemingly suit themselves; so it was generally one or the other, on a couple of times both, who drove Carol across for her weekly visits. Even when restrictions eased and overnight stays were permitted, it was still far easier to have either Rob or Gill drive one of us back and forth to stay for a few days, rather than trust to public transport.

Neither seemed to begrudge providing this taxi service for us, indeed Robbie seemed to delight in making the trip across the hills and it was during those journeys that I fully discovered his boyish and flirtatious nature; Oh God but he was dishy!

I soon finished mourning for Harold -- did I ever really start? - and found myself more often than was perhaps decent, contemplating Robbie as I lay in my lonely bed at night. Hell's Bells! Robbie was married, barely half my age and the son of my best friend in the world; so contemplating him even once would've been indecent!

What Robbie thought I'd no idea; I'm past sixty but clean-living and a big win in the genetics lottery has stood me in good stead; even though I say it myself, I don't look my age. I've always been 'elfin' and having remained slim, nothing droops too noticeably, my fair hair disguises the encroaching grey and I've retained -- or at least Robbie drew out -- a still youthful outlook.

On the good days -- and most especially those nights! - I was sure that Robbie found me attractive too, but on others I felt that I was just imagining it and that he actually saw me as some ancient harridan to whom he ought to be polite in deference to his mother. But he did touch me:

We invariably greeted and parted with a gentle kiss to the cheek and on those drives across the Dales he'd often lay a hand gently upon my shoulder or thigh to emphasise some point. That was why I began to eschew slacks in favour of a skirt over bare legs for those journeys, if said skirt 'just happened' to ride up my thighs as I got into the car, then Robbie's touches would be flesh upon flesh.

If that wasn't enough, those greeting and departure kisses -- or mine at any rate -- became a little heavier, lasted a little bit longer and strayed a little closer to Robbie's own lips; how could he not realise? He must've thought me a salacious old whore, even before my clumsy invitation:

On the way back from Carol's one day in late September 2021, Robbie mentioned that he & Gill often passed close to my apartment on their way to a motorcycle club -- yes, they'd bought another one! - that they'd begun attending. I immediately suggested that they should 'call in whenever you're passing - no need to call ahead -- my door's always open - you're welcome any time'.

All well and good you're thinking, but when Robbie then said that with autumn approaching, Gill would probably not be going there again before the spring, as she didn't like going out on the bike once the weather turned cold. That was the moment of my Freudian slip: "Even better, just come on your own and I'll soon warm you up..." during the pregnant pause which followed, I felt my colour rise, before I stuttering out "I... I... I could turn up the heating... or perhaps make you some cocoa."

Robbie was giving me his flirtatious smile as he pushed a hand toward me and replied: "Or I could just hold my hands close to your cheeks and warm them up on those?" I didn't respond and my eyes lowered before his teasing grin; Robbie's hand lowered too, directly onto my naked thigh, where it rested for far longer than it ever had before, gently stroking it, before returning to the steering wheel.

We barely spoke for the rest of the way home, but when we arrived Robbie's farewell kiss too seemed to last longer than usual; when I returned it -- aiming indecently close to the edge of his mouth as ever -- either I misjudged things, or Robbie moved, whichever, our lips met and I felt Robbie's tongue tease at my mouth before I could withdraw -- Oh my God! A kiss like the youngsters share! I kept my eyes lowered as I stumbled from the car and rushed away; I didn't even make the usual invitation to 'come in for a quick coffee'.

A couple of weeks later it was Carol visiting me and I saw Robbie for only a few minutes and in the presence of my best friend -- his mother! On my next trip over It was Gill who came to collect me and while Robbie took me home afterwards, Carol came along too 'just for the ride out'. Had Robbie been playing games, giving the old granny a bit of a thrill; but now felt that things had gone a little too far?

He was probably right! Robbie hadn't been gone five minutes on that fateful evening before I'd been on my bed, knickers around my ankle, with legs spread and fingers positively plunging into the soft and already wet channel that lay between them. My mind reeled with dreams of his tongue pressing deeper between my lips, that hand on my thigh sliding ever upward, rather than it returning to my knee as my own hand tugged at the buckle on the heavy belt which Robbie always wore...

That was as far as I got that first evening before my world had exploded, but there hadn't been many nights -- and indeed quite a few afternoons -- since, when I hadn't similarly pleasured myself. It was always Robbie in my thoughts and those pictures which I painted in my mind became more graphic with every canvas. I frigged myself most especially silly on those nights that I spent at Carol's; the bed which I slept in there being the same one that Robbie and Gill had used until they moved into their own place.

It was very early afternoon on a mid-November Tuesday, when the intercom from the outer-door buzzed; I'd just settled myself onto the bed with some recently purchased toys handily arrayed. With dreams of Robbie already clouding my mind, I tried to ignore it, only yielding on its fourth insistent ring. I reluctantly pulled up my panties and trousers, scooped my armoury of toys into the bedside drawer and went to answer its call.

I knew it would most likely just be a friend from an adjoining apartment block, but as all were elderly they might possibly be in urgent need? Notwithstanding, I was pretty pissed at being disturbed and all but snarled into the intercom: "Anne here, who is it?" before I'd even glanced at the video screen.

"It's me and I'm cold." My eye's were now locked on the tall figure in full motorcycle gear; he still wore his helmet, but that didn't matter, I would've recognised that voice in my sleep.

My heart was racing as I pressed the door release and called "You know the way." As Robbie stumbled through the door my eyes remained locked on the video screen: No Gill! He was alone! My heart rate went into overdrive.

I had the apartment door open as Robbie arrived -- the helmet and gloves at least had been removed -- I ushered him inside and then helped, or perhaps hindered, as he peeled off the heavy jacket, waterproof trousers, and boots; all were soaking wet, so I took them straight into the bathroom.

Only on returning did I realise that all Robbie wore beneath was a thermal base layer, sort of like long-johns and long-sleeved vest; written here that sounds rather banal, but in the flesh, hugging tight to his muscular frame, the sight sent a tremor through my belly. I just stood there, spellbound until Rob eventually spoke and broke the spell: "What... no kiss to say hello?"

Snapping out of my daze, I stepped forward, grasped Robbie by his upper arms and leaned in to kiss him. I wasn't sure how things stood between us, so my intention was a gentle peck on his cheek... perhaps steering just a little closer to his lips? But in the instant that we touched, I discovered just how genuinely cold Robbie was; he felt frozen to the bone!

Pulling Robbie close I wrapped my arms about him and vigorously rubbed them up and down his back in an effort to warm him through. I didn't even think, it was something I'd done for my own boys a hundred times before; but Robbie wasn't my own son and neither was he a 'boy', but a fully grown, indeed very nicely grown, man! When that thought dawned I immediately retreated a half-step, my eyes downcast with embarrassment.

When I finally dared raise them to meet Robbie's gaze, I discovered that I couldn't; his eyes too were now lowered... staring fixedly at my nipples! Those are perhaps the only thing about me that can't be described as 'petite', so when in public I invariably dress so as to... minimise their intrusion.

But today, slobbing around at home alone, I was wearing only a light sweater, with a silk blouse and non-padded brassiere beneath; the circumstances had clearly... raised their prominence. Hell! Who am I trying to kid? My nipples were standing out like a pair of truck wheel-nuts!

When our gazes eventually met, Robbie's flustered expression was no doubt matched by my own; this he tried to hide and he glanced away as he stuttered: "Ah... sorry... erm... it appears that I've gone and made you cold now too?"

I knew that this was the moment -- one way or the other! - for our long-running coquetry to end: "Not at all Rob, in fact I'd say that you've done just the opposite." Leaning forward, I kissed him again; it was my usual peck, but this time I placed it full on his lips; for a few moments Robbie was too stunned to react and even when he did, it was warily, allowing me every opportunity to resist... or object, if he'd... misunderstood:

As Robbie returned my kiss with a more protracted one of his own, his hands went to the hem of my cashmere sweater, rucking it up a few inches and taking it clear of my waistband. A pause, as our eyes locked together, before Rob kissed me a second time while tugging and teasing my blouse free from that waistband. I again returned Robbie's gaze, but neither moved nor spoke as his hands slipped beneath my blouse to settle against the bare skin of my midriff.

That elicited a gasp and a tremor from me, Robbie's hands were certainly cold, but that wasn't the only reason! A final pause before they slid slowly and very deliberately upward, my only response a light tremble and a hum of obvious delight when they eventually reached and encompassed my bra-clad breasts.

That was the end of any prevarication. Robbie's thumbs hooked beneath each cup of my brassiere, tugged firmly upward and my small breasts popped free to be scooped-up, flesh against flesh in his hands; my humming became a febrile growl, which I concluded with a far far from ladylike: "Oooohhhh fuck, yesssssssss."

Robbie kneaded my breasts firmly, his thumbs and forefingers rolling the nipples between them as he kissed me once again and then responded in a now more confident tone: "I was rather hoping that we might."

In keeping with my 'no more games' approach, I turned away, grasping Robbie's left wrist as I did so and dragged him along behind as I headed toward the door growling: "And about bloody time; the bedroom's this way." I didn't look back, but felt no resistance, Robbie was following behind.

Once we arrived I remained unambiguous, releasing Robbie's hand I all but tore my own clothes off and had rolled backward onto the bed with legs invitingly splayed before looking at him again. He hadn't moved, open mouthed and staring, still in his thermal underclothes: "What are you waiting for? I... want... fucking!"

That broke Robbie free from his trance, in seconds he too was naked and climbing onto the bed as I parted my legs yet further in lewd invitation. Robbie knelt between them and his face dropped instantly to my breasts, his mouth engulfing each nipple in turn as I growled out my delight.,

For perhaps the first time in my whole life I gave thanks for having inherited my mother's dainty boobs, they might well be small, but even at sixty-one they were still full and firm rather than the burst balloons that most of my friends now carried around; most importantly... Robbie clearly loved them!

Robbie worked on my breasts with lips, tongue, teeth and hands for several minutes before slipping downward planting a line of gentle kisses across my ribs and over my belly; these sent a further series of tremors through me and obviously addled my brain, so it was only when his lips passed below my navel that I realised his intended destination.

Harold had never done that for me -- no doubt too far beneath his dignity -- and there had never been anyone else in my bed; my heart rate soared and my pussy seemed to palpitate with anticipation, but still I grabbed Robbie's head in both hands and hauled him back upward as I screamed "No!"

Did Rob's expression say 'embarrassed' or 'crestfallen'? Perhaps it just said 'ouch' as I'd caught him by the ears, poor love; whichever, I was quick to reassure him: "Sorry. I would like you to do... that, but not right now, maybe next_ sometime in the future..." - To have said 'next time' felt just a little too presumptuous - "What I would really like... in fact need... and right now, is sex. Just straight up and down sex; you between my legs and... and fucking me; we can do... other things, if you want... later."

I was relieved to see Robbie smile as he nodded in assent, though that feeling of relief quickly morphed into something much more improper when he slid back up the bed between my open legs and it was my own hand which gripped his cock and guided it between the soft folds of my labia as he approached.

Robbie felt of a similar size to Harold, though that was a distant memory I was comparing to; what was different was Robbie's rigidity, his prick felt like a hammer shaft in my hand! Harold hadn't been this stiff when he first... took me and as the years had passed things - even with the assistance of his little blue 'friends' -- steadily worsened; it was a bitter reminder of what I'd missed by accepting and tolerating marriage to a man of Harold's age.

As Robbie gently, almost carefully penetrated my womanhood, I reconsidered that size comparison, either I'd contracted -- from lack of use? - or Robbie was better endowed than I'd given him credit for; it certainly wasn't a problem of lubrication, I was awash, even my inner thighs were damp! It took Robbie a half-dozen firm thrusts to fully penetrate my tight channel -- the first man to have done so in a dozen years!