Chip’s note: If you didn’t read Part 1 yesterday, I suggest you read it.
I booked two two-hour sessions with Michael on consecutive afternoons. I knew that one day one would not be enough to address seventeen years of my unmet sexual needs.
Michael embraced me at the door like a gentleman, and I showed him around my home; David was away for a few days. We settled in the kitchen, where I poured him tea, and we chit-chatted a bit. Then, he asked me, “Do you want to talk about your whole situation, with your husband, and get support around that? Or would you rather just get your mind off everything?”
It was sweet that he offered to support me emotionally around my challenges. But I was already paying my therapist for that. I was paying Michael for something else entirely… and I wanted to get on with it.
“Thank you,” I said, “but no, I don’t need to talk about it. I’d rather just dive into it. How do we get started?”
“Well, we could cuddle on the couch… or we could dance a bit. I’m a trained salsa dancer…”
Again, it was sweet that he wanted to warm me up. But I was already warm. In fact, I had been waiting for this moment for over a decade. I was boiling.
“Can we just go to the bedroom?” I asked.
“Sure!” Michael said. He looked a bit surprised that I was so direct. But I figured he knew why we’re there. And he did.
I showed him to a guest room. Even though I had David’s permission, I couldn’t bring myself to have this experience on my main bed, as there were so many associations in my mind with that bedroom. I wanted to forge new memories altogether.
As soon as we walked into the guest bedroom, Michael stopped me, pulled me closer to him, and looked me in the eyes. He pulled us together for a kiss. As soon as his lips hit mine, I felt electricity surging throughout my body… as if an electrical hook-up to my home had just been turned on. (Maybe that’s why they call it a “hook-up”!)
Within moments, we were making out passionately on the bed. I felt like we were teenagers in high school. Grinding, groaning, clothes flying off like a whirlwind. He kneeled in front of me and began kissing me up my thighs. I was so, so ready for what “came” next—the first time I had received oral sex in over a decade. The pleasure welled up from my loins and spread to my whole body instantly.
After half an hour of being licked and sucked into oblivion, it was time to take it to the next level. We had talked about STI status—he had been tested recently and was clear. I hadn’t been tested in a while, seeing as I hadn’t had intercourse since the Bush II administration. I wondered if Michael might have a problem “performing”—but there was no problem in that department, he was ready to go. He put on a condom. The moment of truth arrived: I was about to be penetrated for the first time in almost two decades.
I laid on my back, and he neared me. “Are you ready?” he asked, looking into my eyes. I nodded. I couldn’t have been more ready.
“Please enter me very, very slowly,” I said. I wanted to feel every bit of him entering me.
My entire body relaxed as he entered me ever so slowly, moment by moment… as if I was letting out a somatic sigh that I’d been holding in for years.
And that’s when the orgasms started. Before that afternoon, I had come here and there over the past seventeen years, from masturbating, but they were small “jolts”. These orgasms I was having now were thunderbolts from Zeus into my loins. One after the other after the other. There weren’t discrete, separate orgasms… it was more like one continuous wave, with peaks and valleys, some bigger, some smaller, but never stopping.
He held me from above and gazed into my eyes, going softly and kissing me gently. Soon, he could tell I was ready for more, and he began alternating between these tender moments and animalistic, passionate bursts. I felt like he had unchained a wild beast in me as we moved from position to position. The two hours went by in a flash, with too many orgasms to count. Who knows, maybe fifteen or twenty? (Or maybe, just one, big long one). Fortunately, I had another two hours booked the next day—I hadn’t even come close to getting my fill.
On the initial “meet and greet” Zoom call, I had told him I wasn’t sure if my “parts” were still in working order. I discovered, on that afternoon and the next, that they were working just fine. They had just needed a little TLC—which Michael gave me in bundles.
After he left the first day, I danced and pranced around the house nude, saying to. myself, “You go, girl!” I could hardly sleep that night, and needed to masturbate several times to calm my sexual energy.
Those first two days, being fucked for hours as he kissed me, I remembered exactly why I wanted this, and needed this.
I am a sexual woman. I had forgotten that. I had let that part of me die. Now it was blooming, and I knew I was going to water this garden of passion inside of me for the rest of my life.
Coming tomorrow: Part 3: The Making of a 69-Year-Old Sex Goddess
-Madelyn
(Note: I’ve been keeping a diary of my experiences with Michael, and gave him permission to post entries from this diary on his own blog. You can read my diary entries here.)