Masturbating For Women - Sex Stories

Masturbating For Women

I had registered with a so-called dating site for older women, because I like older women and although the world is full of them, they tend to keep themselves to themselves. Some complain that after a certain age, they feel invisible, because men don't eye them up or chat them up as they used to, but is it just one-way traffic? Perhaps, ladies, you are preempting the lack of attention by portraying yourselves as not interested anyway. Getting your retaliation in first.

Anyway, there was a woman on this site who said she liked to watch men wanking, in real life, in the same room, while she played with herself. This sounded exciting and it occurred to me that, since women, by and large, tend to go along with whatever a man wants to do, even if they would not dream of suggesting it themselves, and I like watching them playing with themselves, it stands to reason that a woman might get turned on by seeing a man tossing himself off in her honour.

Quite by chance I then got off with a librarian, a quiet, shy woman in her late fifties, with long, bushy grey hair that had clearly been her crowning glory her whole life and just because the colour had gone out of it, she saw no reason not to show it off as she always had.

I was sitting at one of the library computers, purely for the sake of being in the building where she and a younger colleague provided a nice, understated show of femininity. I had a perfectly good laptop at home, but sometimes I just felt like getting out ...

... and about like that.

So I was sitting there when she came through with an old couple who needed help with an internet search. They sat at the computer next to mine and she stood with her back to me. When one of them moved the chair to get closer, Wilma stepped backwards and her bottom lodged against my shoulder. I didn't flinch and nor did she. She didn't even look round to see what she was resting against, which I felt was deliberate, because she would then have had to apologise and beat a hasty retreat.

So, there we were with my shoulder between her buttocks, not one of the more common fantasies, but very enjoyable all the same. Eventually, the couple achieved their goal and left, and I struck up a conversation with this object of my desire. I asked her if she would like to meet for a drink after work and to my surprise she said okay.

She walked into the pub a few minutes late.

"Just nipped home to get changed," she said, a bit nervously. "I live in the flats down there." She gestured to the street opposite. We got along well and were soon cosily ensconced in our own little world, telling our life stories while the world went on around us and without us. The pub food menu was outrageously expensive, we agreed.

"I can knock something up for us," she offered hesitantly, and after a quick trip to the wine shop for a good bottle of Beaujolais, we found ourselves in Wilma's warm, friendly, scrupulously tidy living space.

After spaghetti bolognese, we sat together ...