House Renovation Expert

I confess I’m a sucker for all those TV shows about DIY home renovation, flipping houses and restoring classic, older homes. I just had no idea that looking for advice on fixing up our own home would end up renovating my sex life for a few months, just when I probably needed it most.

My husband and I live in an older neighborhood which was only a couple years old when we moved in. It was where we had raised our family and had lived for 30+years. Our kids were grown now and had moved away. Soon it would be time to move into a smaller home somewhere else. And it would be time to redo our own home and sell it for the maximum price we could get.

For many years it has been my habit to walk for up to an hour every morning throughout our neighborhood, rain or shine. I used that time to check out all the other homes in our neighborhood to see who was selling, who was renovating and which houses still needed renovating. And I walked briskly, not a leisurely stroll. I found myself getting fitter and fitter as I continued, shedding pounds and feeling the best I’ve felt in years.

I treated myself to a new exercise wardrobe to celebrate my new figure (and show it off). Some tight tank tops, the kind with a built-in bra for simplicity’s sake and some actual sports bras. Some were bright colors, high viz yellow and lime green, powder blue in addition to the usual black and navy. They showed a modest amount of cleavage and came down just far enough to show only my navel. not my entire midriff. That would be a bit too much skin to show for a middle-aged 50+ woman who was already a grandma. I also liked them for their total design for comfort and their front opening zippers. So easy to take off and put on. Now I knew why so many young women tended wear them all the time.

Same with the tight leggings and yoga pants. Total comfort 24/7 and with my new, fitter and toned glutes, quads and calves I not only felt good, I looked good.

Working as an elementary school teacher meant getting up rather early each day and getting my walk in before sunrise during the shorter days of the year. I always took the opportunity to gaze at home interiors from the sidewalk as lights came on and neighbors started their day.

My walking and home gazing always gave me more ideas of what I would like to include and exclude in renovating our own home someday as well as what I wanted to see in our next home. During the summer months I could walk a bit later in the morning when more of our neighbors were also up and about and that gave me more opportunity to stop and chat with them to gather ideas about their own home renovation experiences, reliable appliance brand names and dependable contractors.

I kept my cell phone with me to take pics of good examples to show my husband and I usually kept it tucked in my bra or in the waist band of my pants.

I know I bored my husband John to tears whenever I returned to regale him with the data I had gathered. But I knew I had to nudge him on a regular basis or we’d never get our house redone, sold and move to a new home for our retirement.

When something is HIS priority then he is always impatient with me to get going, whether it’s a large project or as simple as a new restaurant he wants to try or to see a movie he wants to see. But if something is my priority, then he’s always dragging his feet, taking his own sweet time. Drives me up the wall like you would not believe, but I knew he wasn’t going to change this passive-aggressive nonsense after 30+ years together. Though I sometimes concocted elaborate scenarios in my head to teach him a lesson as a cure. But I’m always too chicken to actually carry them out, of course. I hate conflict.

It wasn’t long before some houses in the neighborhood were purchased by individual contractors/speculators specifically as ‘fixer-uppers’ intending to turn them around quickly for resale, instead of moving in as new homeowners. Of course, this gave me even MORE opportunities. I could see what was being torn out of the houses and going into the roll-off containers and then see the new slabs of granite, new appliances, boxes of flooring and other building materials being unloaded and moved into the houses.

I also attempted to engage some of these renovators in conversation about their work to get more ideas, but they were usually a bit gruff or indifferent to a nosy, 50-something old woman interrupting their work. I fully understood time is money to house flippers so I gave them a wide berth and returned to silent home gazing.

In the spring of our last year living in the neighborhood I noticed that a home identical to our model was now being renovated. Perfect! This would be the ideal example of how to update our own home. I made sure to include it every day on my walking route to note it’s progress. I had retired from teaching by now so I could walk by the home during day light hours every day. I definitely yearned to see the progress inside.

As I walked by one morning and stopped as usual to look at the progress just before Memorial Day a voice called out, “Well hello there, Miss Ponytail.”

I stopped and glanced up, shielding my eyes from the morning sun to see a young man sitting in a chair on the front porch, feet up on the railing, drinking a mug of coffee.

“Miss Ponytail?”

“Sorry, but I see you walk by here every morning in your baseball cap, checking out the house. I don’t know the names of anyone here so I just give everyone a name tag based on appearance. A terrible habit of mine, but it’s the best I could do.”

I laughed as I self-consciously stroked my long hair that I habitually pulled through the back of my baseball cap every morning before setting out. I waited until after my walk to shower and shampoo my hair. Hiding it under my cap as much as possible before then was my go-to strategy until I could shower.

“Oh, I get it. No problem. It’s actually Mrs. Ponytail and I had far worse nicknames teaching grade school.”

“Teacher? Where were the teachers like you when I was in school?”

I definitely blushed a little at that obvious attempt at flattery, but changed the subject.

“It looks like you’re doing a total gut job on this one.”

“Yeah, the previous owners hadn’t done a thing with it in 30 years, except new appliances. I should turn a good profit from updating this one. Would you be interested in seeing the inside?”

Would I ever! A golden opportunity for some ideas to take back to our house.

“Definitely! but I don’t want to interrupt your work. I know your time is valuable.”

“Shoot. I always have time for my most devoted admirer.”

I think I blushed slightly at that comment, too, and fidgeted with my ponytail again for no good reason like some silly schoolgirl. I walked eagerly up to the porch. As he got up from his seat, I couldn’t help but appreciate his tight t-shirt and jeans and his muscular build, no doubt honed by years of manual labor. He looked about 30 years of age, just a bit older than our oldest daughter, with no wedding ring. Hmm, handsome, single, great body and good with his hands. A perfect match for our daughter. Too bad she lives 1000 miles away. Oh well, her loss and some other woman’s potential husband or lover, at least.

“This is the exact same model as our house. We’re getting ready to sell and move soon. I wanted to get some ideas on what to do with ours before selling it.”

“Well step on in and I’ll give you the tour. It’s early days yet, so not much to see except what I’ve torn out and knocked down for more of an open concept inside.”

I felt a bit self-conscious, hair not washed, no make-up, wearing my exercise tank top and leggings and definitely a bit sweaty since I move at a rather quick pace on my walks.

“So, you know already it’s one of the larger models in the subdivision. Four bedrooms and four baths, so a decent size project. Are you and your family moving into a similar or larger house when you move?”

“Oh no. Downsizing. Just me and my husband now. Our kids are all grown and moved away. We’re looking for a smaller ranch style house. Three bedrooms max. Maybe a finished basement, so there’s space when our grandkids visit. ”

He gave me a puzzled look, “Jesus. Did you say grandkids?”

“Yes. We have three so far. But we’re hoping for more if our oldest daughter will get off her ass, find someone and settle down.”

“Excuse me for asking, but just exactly how old are you and your husband.”

“That’s alright, I don’t mind. This grandma is 56, and grandpa is…”

Before I could finish my sentence, he gasped slightly while sipping his coffee leading to a brief coughing fit.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a sudden choking death.”

“No, no problem. Sorry. Just went down the wrong pipe there for a moment. I’ll be ok. Plumbing’s not my strong suit anyway.”

I gave a wry smile, “Just how old did you think I am?”

“I’d be too embarrassed to admit ANY of what I was thinking. Do you usually go around scaring strangers by telling them you’re a 56-year-old grandmother?”

Hmm, sexy and a sense of humor too. How do I convince our daughter to move back here ASAP?

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. That and your gagging at the sight of me as a great non-verbal compliment. Thank you.”

“Well, let me show you the rest so you can finish your walk.”

We made a quick tour of the rest of the house. It was down to studs in some places, a few non-load bearing walls taken out or shortened, old carpeting and flooring taken out. He’d done a lot in a short time. I was impressed.

As we were stepping around a pile of debris on one floor, his hand went to the small of my back to guide me around the obstacle. It definitely felt good for some reason, and even better as I stepped up and around the pile, causing his hand to slip briefly down to my ass, but there was no attempt to let it linger there or give a gratuitous squeeze. A true gentleman. And a nice little thrill that I hadn’t felt in some time.

We finished the quick tour, he held out his hand, “I’m Matt by the way.”

“Janet, but I prefer Jan,” putting my hand into his. It felt warm and comforting, causing me to leave my hand in his a couple beats too long, hoping he didn’t draw any untoward assumptions from my pause. Or maybe I did want him to assume something.

“Here’s my business card. Maybe, you’ll give me a shot when you’re ready to remodel.”

I told my husband later about my find and gave him the business card. For once he seemed a bit more enthused about redoing our house. THAT was progress. He was a real procrastinator, especially when it came to large projects. I considered it my wifely duty to overcome his tendency toward inertia and get things moving along.

“Stay on top of that one, Jan. Definitely sounds like something to get things in motion for our house.”

Hmm, on top? In motion? That brought a naughty image to my mind. I silently chided myself for even thinking about being naked on top of an equally naked Matt and riding his cock to a yummy orgasm. What’s the matter with me?

Ever have one of those images that gets stuck in your brain and you just can’t shake it? Like the proverbial musical ‘ear worm’, a tune that just keeps playing in your brain over and over like an itch you can never scratch? That image of me on top of Matt kept replaying in my mind in a frustratingly endless loop.

And whenever I was able to shake it, it would just come back in a slightly different and more provocative permutation. One minute we’d be on the floor of the unfinished living room, on plywood sub-flooring, sawdust all over us with our clothes scattered around us, left where we had tossed them carelessly in our rush to start fucking.

Next, we’d be in the dark basement where he suddenly decided he had to have me before I knew what was happening. He unzipped my sports bra and yanked my tight leggings off and dragged me on top of a tattered old mattress lying on the floor that under any normal circumstances would have been repulsive but in our lust, it was than sufficient to meet our need for each other.

Then as the house progressed, we would have to “test” the shower in the master bath to see how long the hot water lasted while he fucked me standing up, from behind, as I bent forward and held on to one of the grab bars.

And of course, once the house was finished, we would have to ‘christen’ every room in the house in order bring good fortune to the new owners. That would require fucking to orgasm in every room before it changed hands. And our final act would be to test the sturdy four poster bed he was planning to put in the master bedroom. We would have to make sure it didn’t squeak unnecessarily when we fucked as vigorously as possible in a variety of positions.

Ok, I admit it. I’m sick. I need help. I have heard of 12 step programs for sex addicts. But I was pretty sure there wasn’t a 12-step program for sex-starved older women who have never actually had sex outside of marriage with anyone. And if there were, who would attend one anyway?

I wished I could share my fantasy with one of my girlfriends but I doubted any of them would identify with, let alone understand the sudden increase in my sexual fantasizing. And if I ever talked about how I could bring it to fruition they really would think I was crazy. And now if our daughter came for a visit, and met Matt and was attracted to him? All thoughts of playing matchmaker were out the window. It would be a death match to the finish between us in order to see which one of us got to fuck Matt exclusively. And I don’t like losing.

I figured one way to ‘exorcise’ my sexual demons would be to masturbate while imagining one of my scenarios with Matt. I found myself impatiently waiting for my husband to go to work so I could go back to the bedroom and get myself off while running one of my Matt-fucking scenarios through my head. The first time I tried it, it was a shock to me how quickly I came, and violently so, in less than 5 minutes! That never happens. At least not since I was in my teens.

And worse, this form of ‘exorcism’ didn’t tamp down my libido, it just ramped it up further. Not only that, but any attempt to mentally revisit any of my older, formerly very reliable masturbation fantasies no longer worked at all. It was Matt and only Matt that got my juices flowing, literally and figuratively. So now I HAD to masturbate to Matt’s image every day and I always came quickly and reliably.

And of course, it didn’t help that I just had to continue walking by the house every day to check things out. Luckily Matt was not always there, which prompted a combination of relief and disappointment. Relief that the object of my irrational lust was not there to offer yet more temptation. Disappointment that he was NOT there to somehow take advantage of my irrational lust and fuck the living daylights out of me. If he even thought of me that way at all, which was an increasingly dubious possibility.

And the few times I did see him as I passed by, he only occasionally would invite me in for a progress check. Every one of those visits was sheer torture. My engorged nipples would be begging for his touch as they strained against the fabric of my tank top or sports bra. My pussy would always get very warm and moist as if we had been well into foreplay. Whenever he placed a hand innocently and gently on my back while ushering me from one room to another, I had to fight the urge to suddenly grab it and place it firmly on my breast or my crotch and keep it there. And of course, after each visit, I would have to briskly walk home, strip off my clothes and immediately masturbate to orgasm. At least my climax was always extremely fast and explosive after every one of our tours, so brief moments with him were valuable in that respect. If Matt had any inkling of what was running through my mind, he could have exploited that knowledge to fuck me 24/7.

As the weeks went by with no sign of him even remotely wanting to grab me and fuck me, I slowly resigned myself to the depressing reality that he just wasn’t that into me. Of course he wasn’t! What 30-year-old stud who could have any young chick he wanted, waste time with a 56-year-old grandmother? He obviously had a steady girlfriend more than willing to satisfy his every need anyway, though I never saw one stopping by to see him at work.

Eventually his hands-off approach worked its unintended magic on me. My ardor cooled, my imaginings of us coupling drifted away and I could go for days, even a week or more without masturbating. I even had sex with my husband a few times and enjoyed it. Slightly.

I still went by Matt’s house, though with less frequency and even less expectation of anything but idle chit chat between us. The ultimate reality of the yawning gap between my fantasy and the truth was almost too much to bear. It was enough to make me cry some days. The only thing worse than a fool is an old fool. Especially on old fool approaching menopause.

Memorial Day and 4th of July came and went. Labor Day was approaching and days were getting shorter, shadows lengthening. End of Summer and early Fall have always been my favorite time of year. Crystal clear blue skies, a hint of frost some mornings and leaves changing used to cheer me up. But now it felt more like Verlaine’s “Autumn Song”, as these days could only “wound my heart with a monotonous languor”. Especially the few times I worked up the nerve to walk by Matt’s house since it was nearly complete and he would doubtless be moving on soon.

It didn’t help that my husband jokingly referred to him as “your boyfriend, Matt,” no doubt because I had dropped his name a few too many times when gushing over his work. Referring to him as my boyfriend was NOT because my husband had any suspicions about him or me. The comment was fully intended as a sarcastic and ironic dig to highlight the obvious fact that no 30-year-old stud would have any interest in me. I never said anything when he made this casual jibe at my expense, but inside it really stung sometimes, though I never let it show. I told myself that it was something that just happens in a decades long relationship. Casual cruelty passes easily from the lips of one partner only to be just as easily accepted and internalized by the other partner. You teach people how to treat you over time, I sighed to myself.

I decided to walk by one last time as it was apparent Matt was nearly finished. I wore my favorite high viz yellow sports bra, no way he would miss me if he was there. I timed it for when he would be on his front porch late afternoon coffee break. But that meant I would be a bit pressed for time since my husband had made dinner reservations for this evening. I even brought my cell phone for a few final pictures.

“Hello Mrs. Ponytail. Long time no see.”

“Hello yourself, Matt. Almost done I see.”

“Yep, just some final clean-up before it starts showing this weekend. Realtor is coming by later to put the sign in front.”

My heart sank a little more. What’s the use? I was about to turn and leave when he said almost plaintively, “Want one last look before you go?”

“Yes, I do. Very much.” I tried to hide the enthusiasm in my response.

“We have to take our shoes off, though. I vacuumed most of the place already.” Likely the only things I’ll be taking off during this visit, I thought to myself.

I walked up the steps onto the porch, shed my walking shoes and his hand went to my lower back to usher me in the front door as usual but more firmly and confidently than previously. We deposited our shoes in the kitchen and started our final tour.

I was entranced by all the skilled workmanship in all the woodwork, the choice of fixtures, colors and appliances throughout. A man with the good taste of an interior decorator.

“Want to see the upstairs now?”

“Of course, please.”

We went slowly, room by room, that hand always returning tantalizingly to the small of my back going into each room.

He, or may be both of us, saved the master bedroom for last. As we headed for the door, he offered some commentary on his staging decisions for the house sale.

“This is the only room in the house I didn’t have the staging company place their ‘faux’ furniture. I wanted to show off some of my own pieces from my workshop. Some self-serving advertising. When realtors start showing the house maybe some of the lookers will take my business cards and generate some sales. The best option would be for the eventual home buyers to buy them as a separate deal from the house purchase so I don’t have to lug them out of here. Especially the bed, it would be a bitch to move again.”

A beautiful oak four poster canopy bed dominated the room. it faced new French doors leading out to a new deck offering a breathtaking view of the foothills in the distance. Delicate white sheers hung on three sides of the bed and highly detailed, hand-carved floral designs adorned the headboard and footboard. Matching night stands and dressers completed the decor.

“You did all this?”

“Yes. Like it?”

“Like it? I absolutely adore it! It almost takes my breath away.”

“Really? It means a lot to me to hear that from you. I would have shown it to you earlier but I hadn’t seen you as much lately. I definitely missed our little tours the past few weeks, so I could show it off to you sooner.”

“Really? I’m so sorry. Things got so busy at home that I just got a bit distracted, is all. I missed our little tours as well.”

I felt my voice quiver at this last, hoping he didn’t pick up on it. I had to turn to look out the French doors and pretend to be gazing at the view so he wouldn’t see the tears starting to well up in my eyes.

He obviously hadn’t noticed, because he continued talking behind me while I struggled to regain my composure.

“This is going to sound silly, but each day when I was carving the designs on the bed frame and trying to get it all just right, I would always be thinking just one thing.”

“Oh, what was that?” I said, still facing away from him.

“I hope Jan likes what I’ve done, once she finally has a chance to see what I made specially for her.”

That was the last straw. Now I was actually crying. Not a few tears running down my cheeks mind you, but loud, heaving, uncontrollable sobs. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed of my emotions as much in my life as I was right then.

He came up behind me, putting his warm hands on my bare shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know how I felt about you, that’s all.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s just about the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

His hands didn’t move from my shoulders. He only moved slightly closer so he was barely against my backside, but it felt very good and I heaved one last sigh that ended my outburst. I wiped my face with my hands as best I could, sniffling like a baby.

We stood like that for what seemed an eternity, without speaking. I finally broke the silence with the most fateful words I probably ever uttered in my life.

“Please, go ahead. I want you to.”

He didn’t ask for any further explanation. His hands just went up to the front of my bra and he unzipped it, very slowly, as if waiting for me to tell him to stop. That wasn’t going to happen, not with my heart racing full speed and my breathing starting to become audible and faster.

Once it was totally unzipped, he left it there, open but still covering my breasts for a few long seconds. Then he slowly pulled it off my shoulders. I let it slide off me, down my arms to the floor. He held my upper arms, gently. The cool air felt blissful, stimulating and liberating on the flesh of my breasts. My nipples were already quite hard without the added stimulus of the cool air. I could have stayed just like that for a long time, with my eyes closed, just waiting.

The sound of Matt removing the last of his clothes, dropping them on the floor, shook me back into the present moment. I felt his naked body against me as his hands held both my breasts gently. My nipples protruded through his fingers as he kissed my neck and his warm breath was starting to become more pronounced.

All the warmth, wetness and tingling that rose up in me when pleasuring myself thinking of him week after week was now in full flood. All my senses were heightened. He undid the drawstring of my yoga pants, slowly peeled them down and off my feet. He was much faster and rougher yanking my panties down to my ankles, partly tearing them as if he was now in a hurry to get me naked. I didn’t care, I actually loved the burst of enthusiasm and as soon as they were off, I turned around to face him.

We embraced and shared a long, passionate kiss. He suddenly grabbed me firmly around the waist and lifted me off the ground while I had my arms wrapped around his neck. Before I realized what I was doing, I had my legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked behind his back. He was supporting me with his hands under each thigh. I had never been in this position with a man before. I felt a thrill go through me as I realized just how strong he was, holding me up without flinching at all.

I could feel I was poised just above his erect cock. We were both wet. Looking directly into each other’s eyes, I reached down with one hand and felt the top of his cock and guided the head of it into me. I returned my arm to fully embrace him around his neck, closed my eyes, rested my head on his shoulder and waited.

Ever so slowly he lowered me down onto his waiting cock. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. I hadn’t even looked at it before, but as I gradually felt the size of it, I promised myself I would be taking a good look later. And he was very, very hard. I had long forgotten just how hard a young man’s cock is.

He gradually started moving me up and down on his cock with increasing power and speed. And deeper. Now I was fully impaled on his cock with each fall and rise. I wasn’t thinking about how practical this position was. I was only enjoying the sensation of my breasts rubbing against the hair on his chest, the tightness of my legs wrapped around him as my own sexual tension started rising up deep inside me to the climax I knew was going to overwhelm my senses.

When it finally came, it was as if all the frustration, self-doubt and confusion I had been feeling over the last few weeks was being carried away in a flood. This was the first time in my life sexual climax had been so cathartic and I was totally in the moment. I didn’t care how I looked or sounded as I threw my head back and yelled out loud.

I felt such a sense of relief and joy I couldn’t help squeezing him as hard as I could with my arms and legs with each contraction of my orgasm. A series of loud moans emanating from somewhere deep inside me put an even bigger exclamation point on the intensity of my physical and emotional reactions to this gorgeous young man’s throbbing cock inside of me.

I clung to him limply after my orgasm ebbed and he carried me slowly to that beautiful bed that was meant for me. He lowered me onto my back, my legs still wrapped around him. He slowly started into me again as I realized he hadn’t cum yet and I could look forward to a few more minutes of him thrusting into me.

The only thing I wanted now was for him to simply enjoy my body completely just as I had enjoyed that same gift from him moments before.

“Fuck me. Cum inside me. Fill me up.”

I’ve never talked like that to any man during sex in my life. But it was exactly what I felt. I coaxed him into me with my feet crossed over his ass. I could already feel that my words, my legs and the return motion of my hips under him were having the desired effect.

He became even stronger in his thrusts. God, what a feeling having this vigorous young man fucking me with an enthusiasm I hadn’t felt since my 20’s.

I felt his whole body shudder and heard him moan “Oh my god”, as he thrust into me one last time and released himself deep into my womb.

He lay on top of me, spent, his cock still inside me. I squeezed his cock with my vagina several times as we lay there and he let out a little chuckle as he felt my series of clenches on his slowly softening cock. Our bodies were slick with our sweat. I released my legs from his body and spread them as wide open as possible on the bed. I felt more alive than I had felt in years.

I wanted him to be absolutely sure that my body only belonged to him now. Spreading myself as wide open as I could for him on that fantastic bed, he created was my way of showing him he could do whatever he wanted with me.

He pulled himself up and I thought we were done for the day. He kissed me on the lips, my breasts, then kissed his way down my tummy to my pussy. He laid my legs over his broad shoulders and I rested my feet on his back as his mouth moved to my pussy. I laid my head back, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and placed my hands gently on his head, encouraging him to go down on me all he wanted.

Oh my! I don’t know who his tutor was but I told myself after this is over, I was going to have to get her address and send her a very sincere thank you note. Matt was clearly no amateur. I felt two fingers enter me, complementing the rhythm of his tongue. I could feel my orgasm rising in me well before it started. I love that feeling when I know there is no stopping it and it’s going to hit me like a runaway roller coaster ride, no longer in control of my own body.

It hit so hard I instinctively grabbed his head with both hands, pressing him into my pussy as hard as I could. I was momentarily worried about smothering him but helpless to release him. I held him there so hard it almost felt I was bruising myself and him.

“Jesus Christ, Matt! Oh my god!”

My body convulsed so violently forward I was doubled up with my face almost reaching the top of his head while I was squeezing him tightly between my thighs.

But his tongue was still working my clit and the convulsive contractions kept coming over and over. I released my hands from his head so I could beat the bed with both fists, I was writhing and squirming, actually trying to pull myself away from his tongue despite feeling wave after wave of the most intense pleasure I had ever felt.

“Matt! Matt! Oh my god, I can’t stop coming! Please stop! Let go!”

But he wouldn’t let me go. Even as I struggled to pull away, his powerful hands pulled me back against his mouth and that amazing tongue.

Suddenly I felt everything get very fuzzy and indistinct around me. My body went limp, I felt my head fall to one side and then the room suddenly went completely black.

I don’t know how long I was out, but when I finally came to, it took a moment to fully understand where I was, who I was with and what we were doing, like trying to recall a recently ended dream. Matt was beside me now, looking down on me with an expression of fear on his face.

“Oh my God, Jan are you all right?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine darling.”

“Are you sure? I was positive you had a stroke. Or an aneurysm.”

I couldn’t help laughing, my tits were even shaking ridiculously from my laughter.

“Oh darling, no. Just an episode of la petite mort.”

“La what?”

“The Little death. A brief loss of consciousness after an especially strong sexual climax.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

I took his head in my hands and kissed him.

“No silly, not a joke. Just proof of what an amazing lover you are! I’ve only experienced it twice before. And never since I’ve been married. Thank you.”

“Phew. What a relief! You have no idea what was running through my mind while you were lying there.”

“Try me.”

“I thought you had a stroke. I was about to call 911 and then my mind was racing, thinking what I would say when the paramedics arrived. And then at the hospital, your husband coming to the emergency room and how I would have to explain how you ended up there.”

That prompted another tit-shaking belly laugh from me at the image of my panicked lover going through such an ordeal. The sight of my tits heaving up and down caused him to suddenly take my right breast in his mouth, sucking my nipple. I let out a shriek of pleasure and laughter at his sudden and unprompted display of affection and physical attraction.

“Oh stop. I really need to get going. My husband will wonder where I am.” I could tell from the lengthening late afternoon shadows that it was getting late.

He let me up and I got up to search for my scattered clothing. He watched me the whole time: stepping into what was left of my now slightly torn panties, pulling up and wriggling my way into my yoga pants, putting my arms into my bra and zipping it up.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Know what’s sexier than a beautiful woman taking her clothes off?”

“I give up, what?”

“Watching a beautiful woman putting her clothes back on after fantastic sex.”

“Fuck. You would have to say something like that.”

I reversed course. Off came my bra. Off came my yoga pants. Off came my already distressed panties. I walked over to the bed as he rolled onto his back. I walked onto the bed instead of lying down next to him.

I stood directly over him, my feet on either side of his hips, my hands on my own hips. I wanted to make him focus on just one place: my still very wet pussy, the pubic hair matted with his dry cum still on it and our combined juices still sticking to my inner thighs.

“What about your husband?”

“What about him?”

“You said he’d be wondering where you are right now.”

As if on cue my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text from John. It was lying on my heap of clothes.

***where r u?****

The wife I was a couple of hours ago would have been in a mild panic over that message and rushing around to gather up her clothes and get home as fast possible to be on time for our dinner date, and to avoid any suspicion about where I had been and what I had been doing.

But this wife, after an afternoon of the best sex I’ve had in years with my young lover could care less. I know that sounds terrible, but it was true. My husband could use a healthy dose of doubt about his wife and what she’d been doing. And a healthy dose of waiting on me for a change instead of the other way around.

I picked up the phone and texted back.

***coming soon. getting final tour of matts house***

That’ll piss him off. I told Matt how I replied.

“Did you really have to say COMING?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” I lowered myself down onto my knees, straddling his knees, I bent down, took his soft cock in one hand, held it up and surrounded it with my lips and gently sucked.

He lifted his head off the bed and our eyes locked. “Oh God. You’re amazing”.

Yes, I am, I thought. I hadn’t attempted to suck my husband’s cock since before we were married. “Only whores suck cock!” was his reaction when I had barely started on him in my first and only attempt. I was shocked. I had prided myself on my fellatio skills with a few previous boyfriends before meeting him, and rightly so, based on their feedback. My husband-to-be didn’t have any other sexual hang-ups, thankfully.

But no more blowjobs for him. It wasn’t a deal breaker for me since we enjoyed an otherwise satisfying sex life. But over time I realized I missed it. I’m one of those women who gets wet watching a man get totally turned on by whatever I’m doing to him. Call it a power or control thing or whatever you want to call it, but it works for me. And obviously works for the man I’m pleasuring right now. Matt got very hard, very fast.

“What if he comes here looking for you. The front door is unlocked.”

Oh my. I had a sudden rush of adrenaline at the very thought. I really have changed after one great session of fucking. A few hours ago, the mere suggestion that my husband could walk in on me having sex with another man would have sent a chill up my spine and totally shut down any sexual urge. But now I found myself turned on more than ever.

I imagined my husband sitting in the corner of the bedroom watching me sucking Matt’s cock. Another thrill surged through me.

I grabbed my cell phone and impulsively took a selfie of myself sucking Matt’s now extremely stiff cock.

“You’ve totally lost your mind baby,” Matt was barely able to get the words out between gasps of mounting pleasure.

I stopped briefly to acknowledge his concern. “You’re right baby. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I picked up the phone again. But not to delete my selfie. I switched to video mode, resumed my skillful sucking, held the phone at arm’s length and let it roll to capture me in full color and motion working that glorious cock for at least 10 seconds.

“Oh. My. God.” was all Matt could say as he let his head fall back on the bed in a gesture of total surrender.

I thought I could hear a car pull up outside and the sound of a car door slamming. Matt gave no sign he heard it. Good boy. I got a thrill hearing the sound, imagining it was someone, maybe even my husband, coming to the house and finding us together. I put down the phone and really went to work.

But now I was distracted by how close Matt seemed to ejaculation. Not yet lover boy, not yet.

I pulled myself forward quickly and straddled his pelvis, lowering myself onto his rock-hard prick. He lifted his head again to look at me.

“Oh, my fucking god!” He exclaimed. I started riding him very fast right away. No need for a slow start after all we’ve done before.

Our moans and the creaking bed made it hard to hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. But I could hear them even though Matt clearly didn’t. I didn’t care who might walk in on us in the next few moments, but I was hoping it would be my husband since it would trigger an epic orgasm.

Matt had his hands around my waist, head back, eyes closed, thrusting up, up in me every time I forced myself down on him. I kept my eyes glued on the doorway, hungrily waiting for whoever was going to have the honor of setting off my orgasm. My hands on his chest propped me up as I rode Matt, on the edge of coming.

The door swung open, and a young man about Matt’s age stepped in, eyes like saucers and his mouth totally agape at our spectacle. Oh, just the response my now hypersexualized brain had been seeking. I dropped onto Matt’s chest as the orgasm surged over me. My pelvis was involuntarily slamming down on him trying vainly to keep up with my internal contractions.

In the midst of my orgasm, Matt saw our shocked visitor, “Holy shit!” was all he could say. His vain attempt to get out from under me only heightened the intensity of my final contractions. Perfection. At least to me.

I rolled off him, laughing at his obvious embarrassment and in celebration of how well I had timed my orgasm, one of the skills that comes with age and experience.

Our shocked visitor retreated to the hallway as Matt started to get up. “But Matt, you haven’t even cum yet!” My stupid joke caused me to laugh even harder. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

“It’s my kid brother, Jack. I totally forgot he was coming by to help me finish up.”

“I guess you were distracted by something today.” It was almost too much, seeing this otherwise confident young lover so embarrassed over something I now found utterly hilarious. His own brother for heaven’s sake!

Matt pulled on his clothes in record time and rushed out of the bedroom and followed his brother who by now had retreated downstairs to the kitchen.

I took my time locating my scattered clothes for the second time that day and put them on slowly. I was almost going to toss my torn panties but pulled them on anyway. They felt like a perverse trophy of my afternoon adventure. And I definitely didn’t want Matt or his brother to find them in a waste basket and be forced to discard them for me. Or worse yet, be left behind for prospective buyers to see in a few days!