Baby, It's Cold Outside - Sex Stories

Baby, It's Cold Outside

As I stepped into our driveway, I asked myself, “Did that really happen?”

Before I try to answer my own question, it probably makes sense for me to provide a little background.

I'm a seventy-one-year-old retired guy who is bored ninety percent of the time. I was “retired” by my law firm a year ago, even though I was a senior partner and still productive. The firm gave my caseload to a junior associate and at a going-away luncheon, to me, a gold watch.

I didn't play golf and I hated fishing. I didn't have a woodshop in the garage and I didn't want to tune the carburetor of a classic car.

According to my wife of forty-seven years, I was in a funk. It didn't help that I was sexually frustrated.

It was kind of pathetic. With no wills to draw up and no trusts to draft, I became the poster child for “Idle hands do the devil's work.”

If I walked into the kitchen and Julie was concentrating on washing the morning’s dishes, I'd fantasize about sidling up to her quietly. I'd wrap my arms around her and cup her 38DDs. I’d hump her ample ass and whisper into her ear, “Pull up your smock. I'm gonna fuck you back to the stone age.”

Of course, it truly was a fantasy. Julie and I hadn't fucked in over twenty years. Long before that she had pronounced both sucking cock and eating pussy to be “disgusting and demeaning.”

As one might expect, I had become pretty much an expert at jerking off. Not that it is overly relevant to the broader theme of this accounting; but my ...

... go-to method for an explosive climax was a tad pervy.

When Julie was out of the house shopping, I'd shed my khakis and boxers and head into our dimly lit walk-in closet, closing the mirrored door behind me. I'd straddle the wicker dirty clothes hamper, drape my balls along the edge, and face the mirror.

I'd sort through the clothes and retrieve a pair of Julie’s used panties, turning them inside out. While watching my face in the mirror, I'd bring the cotton liner to my face and deeply inhale Julie’s musky-briney essence into my nostrils. Her pheromones would sledgehammer something deep in my brain. I'd go from zero to sixty in seconds, hardening into full erection.

Reversing her panties, I'd use the silky surface to jack the shaft with my right hand, while I encircled the base of my cock and scrotum with the left. The veins of Mr. Johnson would gnarl and he would become violaceous.

While fantasizing about fucking Julie’s pink anus, I'd frantically pound my meat, slamming my balls into the side of the hamper.

Just thinking about the tightness of her backdoor would bring me to a climax. After quickly releasing my manual cockring, I would cup my left hand at the end of my prick and shoot several ropes of hot jizz onto my palm. Not wanting to make a mess in the hamper and while watching myself in the mirror, I would bring my hand to my mouth and lap up my warm seed.

I loved the taste of my own cum and would have swallowed even more; but unfortunately, I was a ...