Gramma Torrie Chapter Three
A Tale of Winter/Spring Love Torrie's Side
The next day my life returned to normal. I went to the Historical Society meeting and made decisions about things that didn’t matter. I giggled a little, sitting there, thinking of a joke definition of a local Historical Society - old men and old women worrying about old buildings for no apparent reason.
I cleaned my house that afternoon and watched television that night. My life was normal.
I cried out his name at night as the pleasure took me and I squeezed on the candle inside of me.
“Torrie?” he asked when I answered the phone.
“Hello Roger,” I said, recognizing that deep voice.
“That is flattering,” he said. “Could I interest you in dinner tomorrow night?”
“And that is flattering Roger, but I don’t think it would be wise,” I said.
And he laughed.
“Oh Torrie,” he said, “when I imagined this conversation I imagined so many possible responses but questioning wisdom was not among them.”
I giggled into the phone.
“Okay,” he said, “but you’ll come around eventually,”
And he was gone.
I was stunned. I held the phone, looking at the silent instrument for a minute or two before I put it down.
That night I masturbated again and once again I had to call his name to get my release.
The fourth invitation got a “yes” from me and the dinner-and-a-movie date was delightful.
When he walked me to my door he kissed me gently and then turned and walked back to the driveway and got into his car.
He courted me for a month. And that's the word. I felt like I was a teenager again. We would have dinner at least twice a week. Sometimes a movie. Sometimes a club. A couple of times we went to loud bars where he was known and I felt strange in a group that young. But he introduced me whenever he struck up a conversation with an acquaintance and I was always included.
By the fourth date, I realized that I was falling in love. I kept telling myself to not be a foolish old woman, that he wouldn’t call again. But he did. And I kept saying “yes.”
At my door, on the tenth date, he bent to kiss me and I put my hands up between us and held him away.
“Roger,” I said, looking up at him, “are you ever going to make a real pass at me or is this some platonic relationship we have going.”
There was that grin again and he literally swept me off of my feet. He reached down, his forearm behind my knees and when he lifted I had no choice but to put my arm around his neck. This time the kiss was firm, and for the first time, I felt his tongue touch my lips.
He broke that kiss quickly and said “I thought you would never ask.”
He carried me across the threshold, so to speak, and swung the door closed behind us with his heel. He had been in the house and had a feel for the layout.
“Upstairs and right?” he said, his intonation putting that question mark in it.
I smiled and nodded, I didn’t trust my voice right then.
He carried me up the stairs and for the first time, I was glad of the way I had lost weight after menopause. At the top of the stairs, he made the right turn and then found my bedroom.
He set me onto my feet and took me in his arms and this time the kiss was hard and full of desire and his hands were exploring my back and my ass and I was arching my back into him and I couldn’t catch my breath and I was aware of his maleness and my femaleness and my need, so powerful, deep in my belly.
When he broke the kiss and leaned back a little to look down at me I reached up for the top button of his shirt. But my fingers were trembling so badly I couldn’t get the damn thing undone. That brought a smile. Not that grin, but a real smile.
He took my hands and kissed my fingertips gently, slowly, making sure to kiss each one individually.
“I’ll do all of the work tonight,” he said, smiling down at me, “you just enjoy.”
His fingers were steady as he started unbuttoning my blouse.
I giggled and he stopped, looking at me.
“This is the first time a man ever undressed me,” I said.
“You’re serious?” he said, stopping and looking down at me seriously.
“Yes dear one,” I said, “but please don’t stop.”
That brought the grin, and his fingers back to my buttons. He untucked the blouse from my skirt and undid the last button, then the cuff buttons, and then he slid the blouse over my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
I have never felt more naked than I did right then, standing in my shoes, my skirt, nylons, panties, and bra. My necklace felt cold against my skin and my bracelet felt positively heavy on my wrist. When he leaned back and just looked, deliberately looking me up and down, I could feel the blush start at my face and work down across my breasts.
He smiled and kissed me, his hands finding the hooks of my bra and expertly undoing them. My hands automatically crossed to hold it in place and he smiled as he slowly worked the straps down my arms and took my hands, forcing me to let the bra fall to join my blouse.
He smiled and kissed me again, the kiss soft and gentle, as I felt his fingers find the button and then the zipper of my skirt and dropped it to pool at my feet.
I watched as he got to his knees and then I had to grab his shoulders for balance as he lifted my right foot and slipped my shoe off. My left foot was next and then he was rolling my pantyhose and panties down, slowly, making a tight band across my butt and then my thighs, my calves, and ankles, and then my hands were on his shoulders again while I did that awkward little two-step to get out of my underwear.
And then, there I was, standing naked and blushing before a young man almost exactly one-third my age.
When he kissed me again and then started unbuttoning his shirt I crawled up onto the bed, laid on my back, spread my legs, and closed my eyes.
And laid there.
When nothing happened I opened my eyes and he was standing there beside the bed, that nice little smile on his face.
His eyes met mine and he said “really?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
His smile was sweet.
“This is how you see sex? Laying there and waiting,” he said softly.
“I guess,” I said, confused.
He smiled as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and then his slacks. I watched him kick off his shoes and stand on one foot and then the other taking off his socks.
He held my eyes with his as he hooked his thumbs in his shorts and pushed them down to his ankles and then kicked them off.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of his erection. I was thinking “he does want me.”
He crawled into the bed but didn’t just put his knees between mine and take what he wanted. Instead, he stretched out beside me, his fingertips lightly touching, caressing, my face.
He kissed my cheeks and my eyelids and then whispered, his breath warm in my ear, “Torrie, I apologize on behalf of all stupid men in the world.”
I could feel my skin taut where he touched me.
“For what dear?” I asked.
“For whoever,” soft kisses to my cheeks and eyelids again, “taught you,” more of those soft kisses, “that this,” and he made an expansive gesture indicating my body laying there like that, “is what making love is about.”
And he kissed me, and he kissed me again, and my mouth was responding to his, my tongue seeking his, my hands finding his skin at his hairline.
I realized I was crying. The kisses were getting tear salty and snot slick and even that seemed beautiful and natural.
And the kisses kept up. He didn’t hesitate. He was covering my face with sweet soft kisses and I was kissing him back.
He was gentle as he pushed my shoulders down and he rolled around, his knees now between mine. I felt his hand leave my breast and felt his wrist touch my belly as he reached down to guide himself and then, easy and natural, he was inside of me.
And I was climaxing.
Just that quickly my body was wracked with wave after wave of utter ecstasy.
I couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t stop laughing and now he was smiling down at me, not that grin he liked to flash, but a sweet smile as he gently thrust, deep into me, and when I gasped my orgasm he bent quickly and licked my upper lips where my nose ran like a fountain.
His rhythm was slow and with each thrust, I came again.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t think. My ears were roaring. And I was thrusting against him, my hips bucking uncontrollably.
He smiled as he sped up his rhythm a little, each thrust lightly hitting my mons veneris, each thrust tormenting my swollen clitoris, each thrust sending another wave of pure pleasure through me.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered and I exploded again.
“That’s right Torrie, don’t stop,” he said a little louder, his thrusts a little harder. I was so wet each thrust was making an audible little splash.
But I was tiring now. I could feel myself sweating. I was panting, gasping actually.
“Don’t you stop on me,” he said and I exploded again.
I was screaming now in my pure pleasure, my voice a high squeal as I came again.
My back arched from a cramp and I screamed again, this time with the agony of the cramp and he pulled out, quickly rolling me over and rubbing where I was cramped.
I was spent. I was exhausted. I was still crying and still laughing and I realized I must look like a crazy woman and I didn’t care. He worked the cramp out of my back and I managed to relax.
He was laying, stretched out next to me, his hand lightly caressing from my neck down to cup my ass and down to the backs of my thighs and then back up, slow, gentle. I could feel goosebumps where he was caressing me.
Then he rolled me back over, still gentle. He kissed me and his hand found my breast. He hadn’t really paid much attention to them earlier and I just assumed he found my poor fallen empty boobs uninteresting. But now he was teasing my nipples and I could feel them tightening. When he started just lightly tickling the very tip of my nipple he was taking my breath away. He teased some more and I could feel the areola tightening.
I gasped as he took my nipple into his mouth. sucking very softly. And then he was sucking a little harder, drawing more tissue into his mouth. I realized that he had latched on, like a hungry baby, and his head was in the crook of my elbow as he started nursing. Actually, he was suckling by then. And to my absolute surprise, I was suddenly cumming again. This time there was none of those hard muscular contractions like had happened earlier. No cramps. No terrible/wonderful buildup of pressure to a sudden release. Rather, I was flowing. I could feel my wetness leaking, hot, down the crack of my ass. And still, he nursed.
We both went to sleep then, my nipple deep in his mouth, my body exhausted.
About the author
College degrees in teaching, history, and economics.
Veteran, Vietnam ERA but I never, EVER, put myself in the same league as those guys who went over there and did it. I was an Air Force analyst.
Retired now, and write for fun and profit.