Young Boys

Photo by Volha Milovich on Unsplash

I was assured the other day by The Unicorn that GILF (granny I like to fuck) is a thing. Apparently in her OF world niches like GILF, Mature woman, MILF etc are trending strongly. As I have aged there has been more than one occasion that I have been approached by very young men who claim to be into mature, curvy women. For the most part I find this kind of male unreliable, flaky and hard to deal with. I have a general rule of not really interacting with men under about 35 and a fairly hard boundary of no one under 25. Then I received this message; 

Where do I sign up. God Damn

M28 with a face pic in his profile. It is hard to go past someone who is massaging your ego like that. We had a conversation. Then he messaged

I’ll be out near you tomorrow 

 I tossed this back and forwards for a while. He looked OK but not my usual type. The red hair intrigued me, unusual. He seemed to be intelligent. And so I agreed to meet for a drink. I was rewarded. The first sight of him calmed my hesitation. The conversation flowed and he was genuinely gentle and kind. And then we were fucking like a pair of rabbits.

He doesn’t meet the regular criteria. If I was asked to describe my type I would say 40 – 50, taller, well built, confident and strong. Silver foxes who have spent large parts of their life doing manual labour make me weak at the knees. The Ranga is the opposite. One day he will be a silver fox who has spent most of his life doing manual labour but at the moment he is at the opposite end of that career. He does tick the confident and strong boxes. Plus he can fuck. For hours. 

He has this way of pushing me around the bed into the position he wants, inserting his finger or his cock to the exact right spot and telling me to cum for him like a good girl. Just the memory of it makes me press my clit against something hard. Like a little girl rubbing herself on the edges of furniture. Did I mention he can fuck? For hours?

People often get excited by the idea of me being a teacher. Men often recollect a teacher they had the hots for as a teenager and assure me that my students feel the same way about me. I honestly don’t believe them. I actively keep thoughts about my students in the Mrs Jones The Teacher part of my mind. I am not going to lie it isn’t always easy. While my typical ‘type’ is the Silver Fox there is something about some young men. Their vulnerability. The way they try to act like they are experienced and know all about ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is. So, sometimes, one occasionally worms his way into my thoughts for a moment before I banish him back to the professional part of my mind. 

What is a little freaky about The Ranga is that he bears a strong resemblance to one of these young men. He isn’t a doppelgänger in the true sense. But his eyes are the same and his face is the same shape and he has this mannerism that is the same. Like they are cousins or something. It is a little unsettling. But not enough to negate the fucking, for hours. In fact the confidence and skill with which he performs that act is enough of a point of difference for it not to matter. Last time we were together I did spend a couple of moments reflecting on the surrealness of that particular nuance while I sat astride him with his cock deep inside me. He asked me what I was thinking but I didn’t tell him. Instead I distracted him with a pair of jiggling breasts and a very hungry pussy. 

TMI Tuesday Reload – Bed Time

1. What time did you go to bed last night and were you alone?

My alarm goes off at 5.30am each weekday. By 6.30 I am usually on the road heading to work. Admittedly I don’t need to get to work as early as I do (7.30am) but experience has taught me the Gateway Motorway is not a place to be after around 6.45 am most days. And so I usually arrive at work before most people. Consequently I am a massive nana and am in bed by 9pm most nights. Mr Jones usually spends some time with me and then I go to sleep by myself.

2. If you could be given ANY gift what would it be?

A large modern house on an acreage block with lots of bush around it. Something like this.

Source: Realestate.com

3. What was the last film that really moved/disturbed/thrilled you and why?

Nothing really springs to mind. The last thing I watched that really disturbed and moved me as a production of Spring Awakening. The production is very dark and this particular one featured an on stage suicide followed by a very well thought out and haunting funeral. The over arching themes of frustrated, sexually repressed teenagers was definitely food for thought.

4. What is your favorite way to wake up and what is the first thing you do?

As I spoke about earlier my workdays start early, at this time of the year the sunrise is around 6.30 and it is cold (for Brisbane). I like to wake up just after sunrise and then enjoy the first cup of tea of the day. New York Breakfast.

5. You’ve been granted an extra hour in the day, what are you going to do?
a. Sleep more

Until it is summer and the Sun gets up at a reasonable time this is definitely an option

b. Extend a sexual interlude

Also an option at certain times.

c. Shop

Nope! Shopping is an activity to be done in as small amount of time as possible.

d. Finally fit in that workout that you usually can’t make time for

As much as my brass mistress is an integral part of my life. An extra hour in my day will not entice me more than I already am.

Bonus Random pic from the vault.

Flashback to the days when a chrome pole was my mistress

Am I OK?

It seems these last few days, well couple of weeks really, have consisted of me telling the tragic story of my current existence over and over again. Three questions are consistently asked.

1. How is Mr Jones?
2. How is Mr Jones’ Dad?
3. How are you?

The answers are

1. He seems OK but sometimes I can see he is struggling.
2. He is existing in the plane of grief for his wife and relief that after several years of increasing carer responsibilities he can actually do some of the things he enjoys and LIVE again. For the first few days he just wanted to be quiet at home. Which caused a little concern but people seemed to forget that he doesn’t actually live alone. Three other adults live in another part of the house and he was constantly monitored. For the record he did his thing, he ate properly and he interacted with people. He doesn’t want flowers and reminders of death in his house. That is our job apparently.

How am I? It isn’t about me. How I feel is kind of irrelevant in this situation. The whole time this has been happening I have felt like a spectator. Yes I participated in emergency situations, listened while Mr Jones ranted about some of the decisions made, had opinions, some I voiced more than others, and from time to time reminded The Unicorn that whilst we may not agree with some decisions it is not our place to openly criticise them. When the inevitable happened my grief was not for the life lost but for the grief of the people I love. My son grieving the grandmother who was an integral part of his life. My daughter who was not as close but who is affected more strongly by such things. My husband who saw his mother in situations that no child should.

The people who care about me were gentle and wrapped their arms around me. They listened while I ranted about the Not Funeral and checked in with me in a way that was not obtrusive. Some travelled to share food and a drink. Some wrapped their arms from afar. For the first little while I thought I was immune but grief is a strange beast. Or maybe just the strain of holding it all together was a little too much. The Ranga fucked the life out of me on a random afternoon hook up and it flipped a switch in me. For the briefest of seconds my focus shifted inwards and suddenly I was overwhelmed. Even a perfect ocean day couldn’t banish the Black Dog. Issues that got put on the back burner while I let this situation unfold would let themselves be silent no more.

It was a necessary thing. I needed to be reminded that I have more value. That I am not everyone’s bin to dump their emotional rubbish in and that situations that other people make for themselves are their problem. For a couple of days I was very much not OK but a session with a brass pole is more healing than you can imagine. Despite the bruises. Speaking your truth quietly but firmly makes people pay attention.

I think I need to keep The Ranga on regular rotation.

TMI Tuesday Revisited

Welcome to another edition of re-visited TMI. I don’t know why this type of thing appeals to me but it does. If you have a TMI question you want answered leave a comment or say hi on Twitter.

1. Have you performed a strip tease for a lover?

This was the reason I started pole fit all those years ago. I remember being super disappointed after my first lesson because there was a bunch of gymnastics style exercises but no dancing. Fifteen years on I am still a fan of the sexy dancing but also a little more determined to get my body to do the gymnastics part. It is a slow process but as long as there is progress and fun and fitness I am not wasting my time.

2. Have you ever let someone else bathe you although you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself?

I struggle to let people do anything for me. Especially when I am capable of doing it myself but I feel like a boyfriend washed my back in the shower some time in my distant past. As I think about this on one level I feel like it would be nice to be cared for but I am certain if it actually happened I would feel very awkward.

3. If you were asked, “does the carpet match the drapes”… Would your answer be “yes” or “no”?

My hair is currently mostly blonde which is not my natural colour. I am not high maintenance enough to blonde my “drapes”.

4. Who has done something within the last 24 hours to show they care for you? What did they do?

Yesterday my class was loud and using a lot of swear words. Which is not something I am particularly bothered by but it is often a pre-cursor to things getting out of hand. My colleague, listening in just down the corridor and knowing how my life is rolling made an appearance, unobtrusively, at the doorway to let the boys know that I have backup at the flick of a switch. It was subtle, it worked and I am very grateful.

5. What do you prefer to do after sex?
a. Go for another round!
b. Cuddle and talk
c. Eat
d. Fall asleep
e. Shower
f. Get out!

B followed by A. Mostly. Sometimes B followed by D. Kind of depends on the situation and the style of orgasm.

Bonus: Anal sex…giving or receiving, which do you prefer?

I have enjoyed both in the right circumstances. These days I am a little cautious about receiving full penetration it seems to disagree with me later but other forms of stimulation including butt plugs and teasing with a penis are very pleasurable.

I have also successfully given prostate massages to some people, I am not sure about the exact technique it is very hit and miss and that was also a lot of fun. Something to add to the “to do again sometime” list.

Bonus Bonus Random photo from the vault.

I thought this one was in theme.

Waiting in Line

When there are twenty or so people at a party drinking and there is only one toilet there is going to be times when you have to wait to pee. At least I could pass the time posing and feeling cute in my purple mesh skirt.

The Visitor

Death is a strange visitor. Every time it comes it wears a different face and carries a different demeanour. Sometimes it comes in the night, stealthy, uninvited, unexpected. Sometimes it rides in blazing with drama and departs leaving a trail of grieving people in its wake. When Death came to my house it was neither of these. When Death came to my house it stayed for dinner, and breakfast the next day and then, like any unwelcome guest, it stayed until all of our tolerance for it was gone.

We always knew he was coming. His visit was announced many times by people who professed to know. Predicted arrivals came and went without the presence of the expected guest. We became a little blasé about his visit. When we discussed it we would remind ourselves that last Christmas and the Christmas before and even the Christmas before that the experts had told us that Death was imminent and yet we were still to experience him. Despite this we continued to listen to them, we continued to visit doctors and health professionals and hear predictions and diagnoses of the impending visit but no one could actually pin down a time. As time passed we thought we heard him knocking but when we opened the door no-one was there.

Meanwhile we watched as life ebbed away. We strove to ensure that the dignity and wishes of an ageing person were preserved. We watched a wife, a mother and a grandmother fade away from a person who was once strong and determined. Who lived life the way they chose and didn’t bow to the pressures of others. Many times we asked ourselves was this life that was ebbing away so painfully and slowly really living. Yes, she was surrounded by family and people who loved her. Yes, she was comfortable and cared for. But was she living? Days went by uneventfully. To us, to me, I couldn’t imagine living that way. Never leaving the house except to visit the doctor. Nothing to occupy my hands or my mind except the decision to have a rest or to sit in the sun for a little while longer or to take a slow shuffling walk from the doorway to the birdcage and back. A total of twenty metres. Nothing happening except getting up, existing and then struggling to sleep at night.

Eventually Death made a genuine appearance. Even as we watched his approach he dallied. Days went by as he shuffled towards his host. Taking life one handful at a time. We could see him in the sunken eyes and the voice that struggled to be understood and finally in the breath that took effort to be drawn. We had time to say goodbye. We had time to reminisce. We had time to understand and to grieve even before it was truly time to grieve. And then, when we were sleeping, Death came. Quietly, peacefully with a touch so gentle that we almost couldn’t tell he had been. Except for the absence of his host. The physical things that she had left behind.

In the morning, after the 4am phone calls to sleepy people with news we all knew was coming but were still shocked by I had a moment of clarity. I thought about the Not Life that I had witnessed. I am surrounded every day of my working life by teenagers who have their lives stretching before them in a way they cannot comprehend. They struggle to think past the next five minutes of their lives. Once I was like them. Living life as it came at me, not really thinking about where I wanted my future to end up. But now I am surrounded by people who are older. There is more than one person in my life who is expecting a visit from Death sooner rather than later. I am starting to wonder what retirement and the rest of my life will look like.

In that moment of clarity I knew I didn’t want to live the Not Life. I want to LIVE. There is so much of the world to see and things to experience. People who look at my life from the outside don’t see the woman who is often afraid. Who shies away from being truly audacious. Maybe in living just a little bit more the way that everyone looking through the peephole I give on these pages sees I have an appreciation for a completely new level of life. I hope I am brave enough.

Unexpected

Sunday started like many mornings preceded by a night of revelry. Memories of things said and done that were regrettable a slight throb in my head. When I checked my messages I read; I will be over your way later, if you want to meet. I left it on read. As much as I wanted to I couldn’t formulate a response. Somehow I couldn’t decide if today was a day that I wanted to meet new people in a place that required proper clothes. 

I argued with myself for a while and then I realised it wasn’t that much of a big deal. One drink at a pub really close to my house. It wouldn’t be that much of an inconvenience if he turned out to be as disappointing as most of the people I had dealt with recently. I made a time and left the house dressed appropriately, including pants. Walking into the pub I was, as ever, uncertain, but the first glimpse settled my nerves. Taller than me? Check. Looks like he could manhandle me? Check. Actually an OK looking person. Very much check. My initial reservations were somewhat put to rest.

The afternoon whiled away very pleasantly. Conversation ebbed and flowed from regular life stuff to sexy and back again. We talked about life, sex, kinks, what turns us on and our experiences. Somewhere during the conversation I discovered a way to sit on the metal outdoor stool that resulted in the smooth curved edge pressing pleasantly against my clit. It added to the titillation. I watched him twitch a little. He started pausing in his conversation and watching me. Kind of like a cat watching a mouse. Waiting. The question hung in my mind. Did I want to have sex with this guy? Did he want to have sex with me? At that point I had completely forgotten that he had asked if I fuck on first dates and I had replied with probably not today. Somehow we stumbled over that and he reminded me that when dealing with men black and white is usually the best. To demonstrate his commitment to clear consent he left the question of wether we would have sex today entirely up to me to answer. I hate making decisions. 

And then, somehow or, in spite of ourselves, we were naked, on a bed, his face in my cunt. His mouth devouring me, his fingers filling me, opening me. He was hungry and, I realised, so was I. He moved me, firmly where he wanted me. He pushed my hands away when I tried to wiggle away from the intensity of what he was doing. He kept my legs open so that he could keep ministering to me as shudder after shudder jarred through my body. I sucked his cock, right to the back of my throat, listening to his breathing as I explored the shape of a new cock. He really was the perfect size for this activity. Not so big that he choked me but big enough that I could feel him filling my mouth. Shudders jolted through me as I gorged myself on him. Taking pleasure from giving pleasure. 

My cunt made her desire known. She wanted more than tongue and fingers. She wanted to be filled. I knew that fucking, while delicious, would mean an end to the delights I was feeling right now. For a while I let the push / pull of desires play out but in the end he decided. He pushed himself inside me, filling me in the most delicious way. He fitted perfectly touching all of the parts that made me squirm and more shudders of pleasure. The bed beneath was saturated with my juice both of us were covered with my musky fluid but we didn’t care. I was insatiable, gorging myself on the simple pleasure of this act. Fucking with complete abandon. 

He flipped me over and fucked me from behind. Gripping my hips as he pumped his cock into me.

“You have the most amazing arse.” He slapped me firmly causing another moan and small squirt of liquid to cover his cock and balls. I didn’t notice the sting. Several more firm spanks followed. I didn’t count. I just got lost in the whole experience. I don’t really remember all of the details. So much fucking. So many orgasms. The bed was saturated with my pleasure. He was insatiable as was I. I had forgotten how good this was. I had begun to think I had outgrown fucking with such abandon. I was wrong. 

Later, after we said our goodbyes I drove home reflecting. For the first time I noticed the warmth on my butt cheeks. I smiled to myself, remembering. It was the first time I had ever noticed this feeling. The warm glow of a spank long after it has been delivered. I was surprised at how good it felt. For the first time I hoped I could still feel this tingle, perhaps a little memory of his hand the next day. I wanted a physical reminder of this for more than a few hours. 

Later, with my husband’s cock buried deep in me I could still feel the tingle. I ached for more layers of heat to be added. In that moment I think I could have taken a full flogging. Something I have always resisted. It seems I have just never been warmed up properly.  Perhaps I have created a monster. 

Party Time

It is funny how you sometimes don’t realise how little things affect others. I dressed to attend a spicy party in clothes that were spicy but I guess because of the situation in my house I wasn’t feeling particularly spicy. I was kind of on autopilot. The Computer Guru brought it to my attention that my outfit was far from pedestrian. The instructions were,

“Go take a photo of that shit and send it to me right now,”

Who was I to question an instruction like that?

Fading Away

About nine years ago Mr Jones’ parents came to live with us. At that time they were living completely independently but were starting to see the need to move from the other side of the country where they had no immediate family to support them when there was a health crisis, or any other kind of crisis, to the city where their children and their families lived. They elected to pay for an extension to be built on our house rather than buy a stand alone property.

At the time many people expressed concern about the arrangement. Many questions were asked. What happens when they get older and are no longer living independently? How will you keep them from intruding into your living space and being nosy parkers? Etc. I will say that the people asking those kinds of questions were probably reflecting on how THEY would behave in this situation ie that they would be the ones expecting their daughter in law to put her life on hold to care for her husband’s aging parents. Or THEY would be the ones who would insert themselves into their child’s life more than was necessary or even healthy.

Whatever people thought the arrangement worked well. The Old People kept to themselves mostly and the door linking our house with theirs was not used more than it needed to be. There were times when it was convenient for everyone. #1 Son enjoyed being able to toddle over to his grandparent’s house and chat almost every day. Grandparents were able to see major events in their grandchildren’s lives that they may not have otherwise. For everyone it was a positive.

Of course over time the predicted health decline happened. The plan to have younger, healthier relatives in close proximity paid off. The door was a way to easily call for help late at night and in the wee hours of the morning. Having someone to help meant that when one grandparent started to really decline the other was able to keep caring for them with just a little help from ‘the people next door’.

Eventually this was not enough. Death, the one great certainty of all life forms, creept ever closer. Watching someone you love die is hard. Not knowing how and when is ever harder. Watching them refuse to eat and then shrink down until they look like a tiny frail doll like version of themselves is heart breaking. Constantly worrying that they will fall, or that they will not wake up one morning takes the life out of you. Eventually we had to make the call. A health professional told us that a time would come when we could no longer be able to be the nurse and the family. That being the nurse would preclude being the family and our last moments with our loved on would be spent worrying about catheters and drips instead of saying good bye. And so we made the choice. Grandmother was place in an ambulance to travel to a hospice. She looked so small and frail. Grandfather watched her go. Unable to express his thoughts. No doubt relieved that the responsibilities of being the nurse no longer rested with him. But also lost at the thought of never seeing her in their home again.

And now we wait. Visiting daily, Sharing the news with friends and other relatives, making preliminary funeral arrangements. The question hangs in every thought; When? I don’t know. I cannot answer. For most of the day things seem to be as normal. Meals are eaten, chores are done, we go to work but our minds are often filled with the questions and the finality of death. It makes the regular life hard. All of us are a little disoriented. Confused and feeling as if we are in a fog. When death finally comes it will answer the questions but I feel the fog and struggle to go about daily life will take some time to dissipate.

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

TMI Tuesday Reload

1. What is your favorite part of sex?

The fucking.

And when your face is between my legs.

2. Do you enjoy phone sex?

No. It always feels contrived and fake. I rarely get excited by it unless I have been conversing with the person for a while and / or have actually fucked them in real life. I hate it when a random from the internet starts a conversation with me and then deliberately steers it in this direction. Without consent or really asking. When this happens I tend to either stop talking to them or leave them with the message “I don’t do sex chat.”

3. What’s your favorite color lingerie?

Black with either pink or red highlights. But a browse through my lingerie drawer reveals predominantly black like this one.

4. Have you ever had sex with “just a friend” and gone back to “just being” friends?

The only person I was friends with and then had sex is no longer a friend. To be honest that relationship danced around dating off and on for a good ten years. I guess the proof of his feelings, even if he never professed them, was revealed when he reacted angrily to my engagement to Mr Jones and never spoke to me again.

Right now we have several people in our life who we count as friends and who we sometimes have sex with and still remain friends. Some, I am discovering, are a bit like onions. Layers and layers of discoveries.

5. How did your last relationship end?

I have been married to Mr Jones for the best part of 25 years. So clearly it has been a while since the person I profess to love deeply forever has walked out of my life. There have been a few more intense relationships with some of my side interests but they inevitably end. Usually when they decide to get a girlfriend or return to their ex wives. You win some and you lose some I guess.

Bonus random photo from the vault.

From cruising days with Mr Jones and The Second Mate. Note the finger marks on my left breast. Those were sexy days.

These questions are from the TMI archives April 12 2011. I participated in TMI Tuesday for such a long time and now it is defunct I miss it. So now you get to read the re-load.