A Grandmother’s 50 Years of Sex

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A note about verb tense. I use present tense when writing about sex acts. Present tense makes the action seem more immediate, and, one thing for sure, sex is immediate. There’s a second advantage, present tense uses fewer words than past tenses. None of those annoying little helping verbs.

That Gretel! I met her a long time ago, 52 years ago. I had become “sexually active” that year, so I have been sucking and fucking and being licked and stroked since before over half the people in the country were born. To set your mind at ease, I’m still doing it, just not so often at 76. Lot of reasons for that; many men in my age group find it difficult or impossible to get hard. [Too true also, there’re many fewer men in the 65+ age group.] It’s more difficult for me to have an orgasm, but they still come and feel as powerful and satisfying as ever. As you’ll see, I don’t restrict sex to men; I like women, and I like small numbers of both.

Another comment on getting old. Those of us with pussies don’t have to get hard, so we’re spared that humiliation of age, but all of us have lessened desire, reduced “libido, “if you like big words. That can make it difficult for two women to find each other at a time when both are hot.

GRETEL AND ME.

I was in graduate school and had been seduced for the first time that year when I was 24 (yes, there were 24-year-old and even older virgins running around in the early 60s.) I liked sex from the beginning, and, lucky for me, I came quickly and easily, from stroking and licking, and rare as I had a chance to do it, in group sex. If I’ve ever cum from a straight fuck by one man, no hand or mouth on my pussy, I don’t remember it.

The boy who’d “popped my cherry” was gone for the summer. I missed his cock and mouth and brain, which in the long run turned out to be most important, and thought about sex pretty often. I wasn’t terribly surprised when my panties were wet with pussy juice on long, lazy afternoons or warm evenings when I thought about fucking and coming.

I am a mixture of recently lost innocence and recently earned wanton knowledge. As the first weeks of summer roll by, my desire to screw grows stronger and stronger. And, lucky for me, the Pill is available – had been for a couple years – and I and any other woman “on it,” could screw without the biggest worry from fucking – getting pregnant.

I wanted to get laid so that my boyfriend wouldn’t learn know about it, by someone who knows what he’s doing and will never be more than a “fuck buddy.” No one had heard or used that term in the 60s, but it describes exactly what I wanted.

I know just the man. He’d already fucked a couple of my acquaintances, had married one of them, and, by all reports, still pushes his prick inside other girls. He’s a professor of religion, which, meant so far as anyone could determine, giving two lectures to small classes every week and preaching a sermon once a month. Leaves a lot of time for counseling pretty members of his class, naked, at least from the waist down, on his desk or couch.

In my usual procrastinating way, I do nothing meaningful to contact the man.

In May, a roommate left the house I was sharing, and my two roomies and I looked for a replacement. We found a few applicants and disagreed about everyone. Two of us liked Gretel, the oldest, about 30, and the nearest to graduation with a PhD in history. The other roomie objected to the way Gretel dressed – much better than the rest of us – but the complaint was she dressed “too sexy,” and the worry was that she’d bring men home. We had a “rule” against that, only infrequently violated because none of us dated much. When Gretel said she’d be leaving in January at the end of the semester, the objections died away.

She moves in and gets the smallest, least desirable room, next to mine. It’s especially bad in summer because it lacks cross-ventilation and no graduate student has air conditioning in 1964.

She’s easy to get along with, and she stands out against the motley girl graduate students. Taller than average, she’s 5 foot 9 inches or so, with sparkly blue eyes, black hair, and very light, really white, skin. She teaches history, part-time, at a junior college, and has more money than the roomies or I. She dresses better, not in an overtly sexual way, but no matter what she wears, she looks sexy. Her coloring and her figure, especially her tits, makes her alluring. It’s clear that she sometimes doesn’t wear a panty girdle (for those of you under 50 or 60, ask an older woman what a panty girdle is, or look it up on Wikipedia), and when she doesn’t, her ass has a wonderfully curved shape. You see too that she has two cheeks. You don’t often notice cheeks on early-60s women. Panty girdles enclose them and make them into a “unibottom.” [I just made up that word.]

As summer rolls along, I’m frustrated as hell some of the time, but I can’t jerk off and come and get over it. I like the way my pussy feels when I put my hand on it, but before long, I remember or think about the fact that it’s bedava bahis my hand playing down there, and, somewhere, I learned that that was a bad thing to do. I quit well before I cum.

On a pretty warm late afternoon, I lie on my bed, naked under the sheet, sort of diddling my cunt.

Gretel walks in without knocking, see my hand moving under the sheet and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sally.” She doesn’t turn to go out.

“Do you make yourself cum?”

“What?” I can’t imagine answering.

She’s not put off by my surprise. “If you ever want to do something with a girl, I’m next door. Don’t worry; I won’t pester you about it, but if you want to, let me know. I’m leaving, and you can go back to doing whatever you were doing.”

I am relieved when she leaves, but I have no desire to put my hand back on my pussy.

I try to forget what Gretel said and try to forget what she’d seen, but I don’t. As days pass, my thinking about sex with the professor gets mixed up with thoughts about Gretel. I see her every day, often nearly naked and a few times completely naked – we share the shower and bathtub. When her breasts are bare, and I think she’s not watching to see where I’m looking, I stare at her tits. They’re beautiful. They look heavy with brown nipples dark enough to be noticed but light enough that they are pleasant for me to look at. My tits are smaller, have pale pink nipples, and aren’t, and certainly don’t look, heavy.

On a steamy hot afternoon when the roomies are gone, I wander down to the bathroom, take a cool shower, and head back naked to my room.

Gretel, sitting at her desk, turns when she hears me in the hall. “Oh, I thought you’d gone out with the others.”

I pulled my towel over my tits, and her eyes shifted to my cunt. “It really is red, just like your hair. I’ve never seen a red-haired pussy before.” She sees me blush red. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Her tits are neatly and clearly outlined, under a thin, close-fitting tee-shirt, and her hands brush over them. Accidently? Intentionally? I can’t tell; it’s over in a moment. But it does something to me. All the frustration of the summer runs through my veins, and I drop my towel to the floor. I feel air all over my body. I’d never stood naked before anyone but my boyfriend. I shiver a little, not from being chilly, from excitement.

She stands up and without a word walks to me. I know it’s time to make a move if I want to go no farther with this girl-girl thing, wherever it’s going. I don’t make a move; I want to see – wouldn’t “feel” be a better word than “see”? – where she wants to go.

She wraps her arms around me and kisses me lightly on the lips.

I’d never kissed a girl before when I was aroused and excited. Her mouth is so soft, and her lips so smooth, a little slick and a little scented from lipstick. I’m startled by how different she feels from a man.

She breaks off the kiss; I wouldn’t have. She says, “You’re lovely, Stop me anytime you want to, but I really want you.”

She wants me! Me! She wants me so much that she tells me.

She cups my tits in her hands and squeezes them so that they stand out from my chest. My nipples are alive, feeling like electricity sparking is inside them.

She moves her lips from my mouth and bends down to kiss between my tits. She turns her head left to right, kissing as she goes, her mouth moving closer and closer to my nipples. I open my eyes. My nipples look bigger and more erect than I’d ever seen; they somehow scream that they want to be sucked. They grow stiffer and stiffer, harder and harder. I want her lips around my nipples, and it seems that she’ll never get there. I wait and wait, wanting more and more.

She gets there! I literally jump when her mouth sucks up a nipple, but she doesn’t suck it; she holds it in her mouth. I open my eyes again, watching her head move to the other tit and suck its nipple into her mouth and hold it. When will she suck them? Is she going to suck them? Maybe she doesn’t like to have hers sucked; maybe being held in her warm moist mouth is all I get.

The first tug of her mouth is gentle, but it’s unmistakable. I expect that I sigh or made some other sound, and she looks up to say, “Is this OK?” I feel pussy juice moistening my pussy hair

“Yes,” is all I can say.

She grabs one of my hands and puts it on her tit. She has to say or do nothing more. I pull up the bottom of her tee-shirt, pull it up over her tits that spring out a bit as they’re released from the shirt. We both squirm around so I can hold one of her tits with each hand. They’re heavy, just like they looked. Her nipples, erect as mine, stick out more than mine and are a little thicker. I have never sucked a tit, of course. What would one feel like in my mouth?

She puts a hand behind my head and pulls my mouth to a nipple. “Suck me, Baby. I love it.”

I love it too. Later I wondered – still do at times – why sucking tits excites me so much and gives me so much pleasure. Even bedava bonus after thinking about it now and again for 50+ years, I can’t find the words to describe how a young woman’s tits feel. I miss feeling them too.

We kiss and suck for a long time, lying on her bed, standing in her room, going outside onto the second floor back porch when it’s really dark – she wanted to do that. “We’re both covered with sweat. There’ll be a little breeze, and it’ll cool us off and feel wonderful.” She’s right.

Our hands never move below the waist. I want to feel her ass and cunt, but I wait for her to make the first move. I know how my cunt feels and how it makes me feel when a hand or mouth is on it or a cock’s inside it. Will Gretel feel the same things when I touch her cunt? She doesn’t make a move; I’ll have to wait for another day.

The roomies are expected back about 11:00, and we quit kissing and sucking in time to make ourselves presentable. We’re in the living room when the roomies came in, and we sit around drinking gins and tonics and beers for an hour or so. I’m amazed that the other two don’t realize that something had happened between Gretel and me. I’ve French-kissed a girl, and she’s sucked my tits and I’ve sucked hers. I’m not surprised that Gretel is calm, drinking and chatting. This is probably old hat to her. She’d seduced other girls and been seduced by them, but I was surprised that I acted normally and coolly.

We go to our separate rooms to sleep. We agree not to get together again except when both roomies are out of the house and we know how long they’ll be gone.

Knowing what I want, as soon as I strip and lie under my sheet, I caress my cunt. I want to cum. I know my pussy is wet but not how wet until I slide my hand along my slit.

I’m still throbbing or so it seems from Gretel’s hands and mouth and from squeezing and sucking her tits. I’m sure that my hand is a blur – I can’t see in the dark – as I jerk off. There’s no question about where to rub. I can feel my stiff clit near the top of my slit. I avoid my clit’s tip; it’s too sensitive. I jump when I touch it. No thought intrudes to tell me that it’s my hand and that I shouldn’t play with myself. That “no-no” disappeared when I was naked with Gretel.

It takes, what a minute? My whole body contracts. My ass lifts off the bed, and my thighs vibrate in time with the contractions that run from my vagina up into my trunk and down my legs. My toes curl; curl so much they hurt, and then they relax. I’m exhausted, and I fall asleep almost before my ass is back on the bed. I wake up sometime during the night. Still excited I think about Gretel’s mouth on my tits as I whack off. I have another wonderfully strong orgasm.

When the roomies are gone, and they’re often gone to classes at other universities or to visit friends and family, Gretel and I are together. She leads the way, and a day or two later, we’re naked from the waist up, kissing and sucking. She says, “Look,” and I open my eyes to see her unzip her skirt. It falls to the floor, leaving her naked all over. Her very white skin makes a dramatic background for her black pussy hair, as dark as the hair on her head. Her pussy hair always looks as if she’s combed or brushed it. Not like mine. My red – orange, really – pussy hairs curl everywhere.

She cups her hand around my cunt and slips two fingers into my slit, unerringly touching just around but not directly on my clit. I kiss her madly, she strokes me, and I cum in, what seemed, seconds. For a couple days, we masturbate each other, all the time. I think the smell of her cunt, which I like, will never wash off my hands.

No fuss accompanies my masturbating Gretel. I know how to do it to myself, and it seems like all I had to do is turn my right hand around to do her. Most times, I put two fingers of my left hand inside her vagina. Not far in but far enough to stretch it a bit. I like to feel her contractions course down her vagina when she cums. When her orgasm approaches and I don’t have a finger or two in her, she almost always says, “Put your fingers in me. I want you to feel it.”

The next surprise comes when she lifts my hand from her cunt and puts it on mine, “Do yourself. I want to watch you do myself.” She was right if she thought it would excite me. I literally tremble watching her hand move over her cunt and feeling mine doing the same thing.

Does she feel what I feel? I felt unrestrained pleasure and satisfaction. How could all this pleasure have been in me all the time and not released until Gretel came along? If Gretel hadn’t come along, would I have found it by myself or would someone else have come along? I’ll never know. I know it was there as Gretel and I watched each other masturbate and did ourselves.

Neither of us is multiply orgasmic as some women are supposed to be. After we cum, we rest or nap or sleep, depending on the time of day and how much time we have to be with each other. If we have time, we do it again after a rest.

The second orgasm, deneme bonusu as enjoyable and exhausting as the first, feels very different. I don’t know the words to write how they feel, especially on the inside of my vagina. I remember the line in Our Bodies, Our Selves that goes something like: We can’t tell you how an orgasm feels, but, don’t worry, you’ll know it when you have one. Every woman who’s had an orgasm, knows it. My orgasms don’t always feel the same, but I know they’re orgasms.

Another surprise rises up when we jerk each other off. She touches someplace just inside my lips and along the sides of my erect clit. I cum in seconds. I touch her cunt there; she gasps and her hips jerk up and down. It’s superfluous when she says, “I’m going to cum.” I know from the way she moves. That really magic spot is elusive, and neither of us always finds it on herself or on the other.

I’m a biologist and thinking about evolution’s selection of desirable features and traits comes naturally to me. In the apes the position of the vulva allows entry only from behind and the movement of the vulva from there toward the front as it is on women was a fundamental step in making us human. It allows eye-to-eye contact and kissing and, after the discovery of speech, talking during coitus [I hate to use “fuck” when I’m talking about science], which are fundamental to the development of intimacy and commitment. [And I hate the use of “intercourse” or “banging” when the talk is about fucking.]

I like lying on our sides, head to foot, with Gretel’s mouth on my tits and hers in my mouth. Women’s tits and mouths are delightfully arranged that way. Probably there’s no evolutionary advantage, but it works out well for me.

The biggest surprise (maybe) comes when Gretel moves her mouth from mine to my tits and keeps on going down. She kisses me with little kissing sounds moving slowly until she reaches the top of my pussy hair. Then she moves quickly and her lips are on my pussy lips. A touch or two of her tongue into my slit at the level of my clit is all it takes. I cum with my hips jerking forward and back and my legs clamped together.

I don’t eat her. She didn’t ask, and I didn’t want to put my mouth down there. I didn’t like the idea of kissing hair.

But so many things I want to do, and we do them. I love it when she moves my hand to her cunt, clothed or unclothed, and when I reach under whatever she’s wearing and hold her pussy. Whether through a skirt, slip, and panties, through shorts and panties, through panties, or naked, I feel the curve of her cunt and the hair over it. I stroke her to a climax in a minute or two if she wants or keep her hanging on the verge of contractions for 10 minutes or longer. [I told you I was a scientist, and scientists time everything. I know how long things took because I sometimes sneaked looks at a clock when Gretel and I were “doing” ourselves or each other.]

Often we do each other at the same time, but I like coming more when I’m not distracted by doing her, I keep that a secret from her. It was no burden, we do ourselves often enough when we’re together, and I do myself when I am alone. I wonder how many times I came that summer. As many as in the rest of my life? Not so many, but maybe close.

When I bring her off, she clamps her hand over mine and says, whispers, really, “Just hold my pussy [or cunt]. You don’t have to move your hand.” I pull my fingers out, cup her cunt, feel the heat, and the slickness of her juices. [I look for a pattern for when she says “pussy” or “cunt,” but don’t find one.].

Those two months in the summer teach me all that I’ll ever need to know about two women’s bodies – Gretel’s and mine. As I expected, knowing Gretel’s and my body meant that I knew a lot about all women. Oh, faces and mouths are different – we all know that because people look different. What’s surprising and not known unless you undress and look at a few or many women is that every woman’s’ tits and cunt are different from every other woman’s.

Looking back, those two months were all sex. I went to a few lectures, read some things I needed to read, socialized with other grad students, even had a couple dates with boys. One boy was at the university only for summer and would go back to his own university in the fall, and I seduced him. He was a virgin, I think, although he denied it. What I liked best was playing with his cock. He wasn’t, as you can imagine a good fuck; he didn’t know enough, but he got better. He apparently had had more experience eating girls, and he was good at it. We did d69 a few times. I liked it because I cam. He too polite to cum in my mouth. At the last minute he jerks his prick from my mouth and cums on his handkerchief or on the grass – it was summer and we did it outside.

Gretel and I tell each other about dates. She has more than I do, and she fucks at least two of them.

Our conversations about men, boys, and cocks didn’t make us jealous of the other. On the contrary, they excited us, and our sex after those talks was especially gratifying. We are both on the Pill, and let our dates cum in our cunts. Back home afterwards, we get over our squeamishness about putting our fingers in the other’s cunt when it’s dripping cum. I even get to like it. Does anything else feel like cum?

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