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Down by the River Side

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He gave a gasp as he pumped the last of his semen into me, then with a cry of “Oh Cassie,” he relaxed. We lay buried in the sweet smelling grass just above the sandbank by the bend in the river. I stroked his hair and face as he lay on me, his shaft still in me, slowly slackening.

It had been sweet, almost bittersweet. It had been thirty years before when I had lost my virginity to Matt on this very spot. It was here that Matt had made me pregnant for the first time, and here were the Parson had married us. This spot by the river had been almost sacred to Matt and I, the place where we loved and where we engaged in our favourite pass time of fishing.

Now all these years on, I had opened myself to young Drew, welcoming his young manhood into me. Had I betrayed Matt, especially as Drew and I had used the old place where Matt and I had loved? No, Matt wasn’t like that. He would have said, “You go ahead, old girl, enjoy it. Don’t go mourning me forever.”

Matt had died nearly three years before, and quite inadvertently, Drew was the last person he spoke to. Knowing he was dying he said to Drew, “Take care of the Misses for me, young Drew.” Drew had replied, “I will.” Within five minutes, Matt was dead. Now I wondered whether the instruction to “take care of the Misses,” included what we had just been engaged in.

Of course, it was something you might expect him to have said to our three children, but over the years they had drawn away from us, following their professions, starting their own families in distant cities. Young Drew, on the other hand, had grown close to us.

As I have said, Matt and I enjoyed fishing. That’s how we met, when for the first time I borrowed my father’s fishing rod and went down to the river. It was an unusual thing for a girl to do in those days, and I had no idea how to go about fishing. On that first occasion, I met Matt on the sandbar.

He was tall and handsome, and I asked him, “Could you tell me how to put these things together?”

He laughed and set up my rod and reel for me, then showed me how to bait the hook. I think I fell for him right then.

After that, we met frequently on the sandbar, and from fishing we graduated to making love. Contraception in those days wasn’t what it is now, so I got pregnant fairly quickly, and we got married. All our married life Matt was a wonderful, caring lover. When he died, I was devastated for months after.

Young Drew, as we called him, came into our lives through fishing. I think he must have been ten or eleven when he turned up one day while Matt and I were fishing. Someone had bought him a cheap rod and reel for his birthday, and like me in the beginning, he didn’t know where to start. Matt and I set him going, and thereafter we met up constantly on the sandbar with our tackle.

Drew became a constant factor in our lives, “Our fishing son,” as Matt had called him. A bond of friendship grew up between us, or perhaps it should be, “A bond of love.”

Not only did Drew join us fishing, he was a constant visitor to our home, and seemed to worship Matt. When the time came for Drew to leave high school, Matt helped get Drew an apprenticeship.

Matt worked at the nearby dry dock, where the ferries that crossed the river at various places, were brought in to be serviced and updated. So, Drew began his apprenticeship working alongside Matt.

When Matt died from an unexpected heart attack, samsun escort Drew was almost as devastated as I was. In the months after we had scattered Matt’s ashes into the river at the sandbar, it was Drew who was my main comfort.

I had never bothered to analyse my feelings for Drew. From our first meeting with him, he had grown into our lives. While Matt was alive, it was he that Drew seemed to relate to more than me. After Matt’s death the bond between Drew and I seemed to intensify. Perhaps it was our shared grief and the consolation I received from him. He would put his arms round me, saying nothing, just holding me.

Before Matt’s death there had been few physical signs of affection between Drew and I. An occasional peck on the cheek was the limit of our physical contact. After Matt’s death the pecks gradually became kisses on the lips, but it never occurred to me that there was anything sexual in this. It was just a dear young friend being kind.

How could it have been otherwise? I am nearly thirty years older than Drew is, and I am not going to pretend that I looked other than my age. Three children had changed my breasts from their youthful firmness, with pink up pointed nipples, to slackness and large brown nipples. My thighs bore the marks of childbirth, as did my belly. More obvious to the world were the lines round my eyes and across my forehead. Why would a young fellow, even a loving one like Drew, want a woman like me?

Having written this, I realise that I have given myself away. However deeply I may have repressed the thought, the mere fact that I had considered my physical self in this way, suggests that there was a sexual element in my relationship with Drew.

Perhaps this is something that is true for all of us. Deny it as we will, when we meet a member of the opposite sex, whatever the disparities between us, we weigh each other up as sexual beings. We may immediately reject the possibility of sexual contact, but the thought has been there, however briefly.

As far as I know, I had never indicated any sexual interest in Drew, so it was, to say the least, a surprise – even a shock – when he made his approach to me.

It began with what seemed like and innocent enough question:

“Cassie, do you still miss Matt?”

“Yes, but not as much as I used to.”

“Did it take long before the pain started to ease?”

“You should know, you helped me through it.”

“Yes, I tried. What is it you miss most about him?”

“Oh, I suppose his just being there; his kindness and cheerfulness.”

“Nothing else?”

“What do you mean, ‘Nothing else’?”

“Well, you know…I mean…you’re not that old…and you loved him, didn’t you?”

I could have gone on pretending I didn’t understand what Drew was getting at, but it was a lovely, warm and languorous afternoon, the fishing was poor and I was laying back on the sand, relaxed. So, perhaps foolishly, I took up his question in just the way I knew he meant it.

“You mean sex?”

“Er…yes. Do you miss it?”

“Yes.”

“Much?”

“Sometimes like hell.”

He was sitting beside me as I lay, eyes half closed. He leant over and kissed me very softly. As he did so his tongue flicked across my lips, and his hand cupped my breast.

“Would you let me, Cassie?”

Again, I could have pretended I didn’t know what he was getting at, but escort samsun I had enjoyed his kiss and his touching my breast, so I said the most obvious thing:

“Don’t be silly, darling, I’m years older than you are.”

He persisted: “Please, would you let me?”

There had been no sex since Matt’ death, and while some women seem able to shut up shop, I can’t. Masturbation was my only release, but now, with Drew’s hand gently touching my breast through the cloth of my shirt, I was being aroused.

He became more importune: “Please Cassie, I want you so badly…you’ve no idea how much…”

He was unbuttoning my shirt and I did nothing to stop him. He reached round my back and released my bras, so my breasts flopped out.

“That’ll put him off me,” I thought.

Instead he raised one breast with his hand and took my nipple into his mouth. His other hand went up inside my skirt, feeling for my sexual organ. His fingers squeezed past the cloth of my pants to begin gently probing my opening.

This was almost the decisive point. I either stopped him now, or let him go ahead. I wanted him badly. His moves had roused me almost in a flash, and I was so hungry for sexual intimacy, I had no will to resist. Coupling with a lovely, ardent young man, was a temptation I could not dismiss.

I said, “Not here, darling, it’s too exposed. Come up onto the bank, in the grass.”

We went up into the tall, sweet smelling grass to almost the spot where Matt had first taken me. I took off my panties and raising my skirt, lay down and spread my legs to receive him.

He took off his jeans and underpants, and coming between my legs, gently entered me.

“Gentle” is the word that describes our first union. Drew seemed to want to lose himself in me, and said repeatedly, “Oh Cassie, Cassie, I love you.”

I simply reveled in his tender loving, holding him and moving with him. I felt like a mother seeking to give her child pleasure. I wanted him to enjoy me, to be fulfilled in me, to plant his young seed in me as Matt had so long ago. At the time when most women have given up hope of sexual intercourse, I was having what might be my last moment of sensual love.

Now I lay with him still in my arms. I had not had an orgasm, but I did not mind. The loving contact with him had been enough at that time. I had not spoken since he first entered me, but now I asked: “Feel better now, my love?”

“Oh God, Cassie, yes. It was wonderful. Can we, again…?”

“Come and have a meal with me this evening, darling.”

“Oh, yes.”

He came that evening. I did nothing special with myself. He would see me as I really am, marked by the years and life. If he found me undesirable, so be it. It was to be as I am that he must accept or reject. Rejection would not be easy to take, but better now than later was my thought.

We ate very little, both of us eager to renew our sexual interaction. I led him to the bedroom with the great double bed on which Matt and I had loved so many times. I stripped and stood before him. He was just finishing undressing, and he looked up. I was anxious for his response.

His eyes scanned me from top to toe for a moment, then, with no sign of distaste he put his arms round me, drawing me close to press his belly against me. I began to rotate my hips against him, and even this mild stimulation seemed to drive him mad.

He samsun escort bayan almost flung me onto the edge of the bed crying, “Cassie, Cassie.” I felt my legs pulled open and his head was between them, his tongue frantically probing my vagina.

Already aroused, I put my hands behind his head, forcing him closer, making him stay with me. His tongue found my clitoris and I began to cry out, my voice rising to a scream as I felt my orgasm approaching.

I was calling out all those contradictory messages that women use at such a time, one moment begging him to stop, the next pleading with him to go on forever. Orgasmic shock waves hammered me and I was lost in a world of agony and gratification.

The climax passed and I was still vibrating with the after effects. I somehow got Drew on to the bed, and sat across him, his beautiful spear thrusting deep into me as I bore down on him. I heard someone howling and weeping, then realised it was me.

He added his cries to mine, groaning out my name constantly, until I felt the first burst of his semen into me. We struggled together, fighting to force his sperm ever deeper into me. I wanted his seed, wanted it to fertilise me, to give me a child – a child I was now well past being able to have.

His ejaculation came to an end, and with his shaft still in me I leaned towards him so that he could suckle my breast. He took my nipple like a child seeking nourishment, neither wanting to withdraw his penis from me, or release my nipple. He had discharged into me twice that day, yet still he hungered for me.

He clung to me and I to him, and for the first time since our loving by the river, I wanted to speak.

“That was lovely, darling, but why me, a woman more than twice your age?”

“Cassie, believe me, I’ve wanted you ever since I began to have sexual feelings. I used to be so envious of Matt, having you to himself.”

“But Drew, you and Matt were such friends!”

“I know. I tried to hide what I felt for you, tried to be with him more than you, but all the time I wanted you so badly. I felt guilty sometimes, but we can’t help our feelings, can we?”

“No my love, we can’t, and I’m amazed that you have hidden yours for so many years, even after Matt’s death. But you haven’t answered my question, why a woman my age?”

“Don’t be angry with me, Cassie, but it was because you looked…looked…looked so…”

He struggled to find the word he wanted.

“You looked so…so comfortable. I always thought you looked as if you’d be warm and ssoft inside, and I was right. You feel…welcoming and somehow safe to be with like this.”

I understood what he meant. It was the desire that many young men feel these days for the older woman. He, at the height of his sexual virility, and she perhaps lacking sexual fulfillment and past her prime where looks were concerned, this could be a potent combination.

I smiled and said, “Well, my darling, you were very welcome today, and will be gladly received in the future.”

“You mean, we can go on making love like this, always?”

I smiled again. “Darling, there are many ways of making love, and you shall have them all in time.”

I was not deceived. His one little word, “Always,” might well be utterly sincere at that moment, especially as I could feel him getting another erection, but I knew it could not last forever. A year? Two years? Perhaps more perhaps less. I was willing to settle for whatever I could get from him, and in return I would love and comfort him, teach him the full pleasures of a woman’s body, until he must leave me.

I turned to him and took his penis into my hand and began to fondle it, saying, “Yes, my love, for as long as you wish.”

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