Most Decidedly No Longer a 40-Year-Old Virgin

Info GWinterbourne
11 Sep. '18

Grant was close. True to the stereotype of the silent cowboy, my husband rarely vocalized in bed beyond a few murmured “I love yous,” but I heard his breathing change from long and regular to rapid and ragged, which always indicated his climax was imminent. As usual, so was mine. Ever since our first time—the night Grant finally lost his virginity—when he had come before me, we more often than not finished together, shivering and quaking as one body satisfied the other.

He tensed, buttocks clenched, as he drove his stone-hard rod into me one final time, flooding me with semen. Feeling his molten release burst forth inside me was my cue to wrap my legs around him, pulling him even deeper, and clamp my muscles around his shaft, trapping him, so I could draw my own orgasm from his pulsing cock.

“Good morning,” I said when I was finally able to speak.


And thus began another day of our life together. True to his principles, Grant had proposed to me after our first night together, just six months ago, and much to the shock of my friends and family back east, I had accepted.

No one could understand why I, a young widow still grieving for my lost husband, had so readily agreed to marry a man I barely knew, or why he had asked me in the first place. But Grant had a code he lived by, and even if our marriage didn’t make sense to anyone else, it made sense to us.

Grant had still been a virgin at forty because he believed a man shouldn’t have sex with a woman he wasn’t prepared to care for and love, passionately and exclusively, for the rest of his life. Twenty years ago, he had been saving himself until he was sure he could financially support his high school sweetheart. By the time he came home from his stint in the Air Force, she had already bed-hopped her way across the county and run off with another man. In the intervening years, he had become one of the most successful men in the area, but he was still saving himself—this time for a woman he was sure he could love.

His credo was old-fashioned and a bit sexist to be sure, but it meant that physical intimacy was sacred to him. For us to have made love our first night together meant that he had already chosen me to be his. After being alone, and lonely, for five years, I was ready for someone to love me again.

We were married at the courthouse in Cody two weeks after we met. That had been back in early April; it was now October, and Grant still couldn’t seem to get enough of me.

I thought my first husband, Mike, and I had had an active sex life. We had made love twice a week, which was a lot, according to many of my friends. But Grant wanted me all the time, generally once as we either woke up or went to sleep, and often again—and again—over the course of the day.

He seemed to be making up for lost time, and because he had been a virgin for so long, he still had a lot to learn. I relished my role as teacher to an incredibly willing, and very able, student. Each new position and location we explored was truly to new to him, whether it was sex on the kitchen table or up against the wall of the stable.

I often awakened to his erection pushing insistently into my back or against my thigh, hard, and thick, and hot. If I was really lucky, he would snake his big warm hand down the front of my panties, which signaled he wanted to go down on me. Surprisingly, I had very little to teach him in this respect. The man was a natural with his tongue.

One morning as I lay panting and sweaty from the magic he had worked with his mouth, I asked him why he was so enthusiastic to perform it when many men shied away from the act or did it only grudgingly. The “aw, shucks” smile that I found so irresistible crept onto his face as he considered his reply. “Most men don’t know what they’re missing, then. There’s nothing sexier than your taste. When I do it, I think about you all day long.” It showed. If he gave me oral in the morning, our lovemaking that evening would be even more intense than usual. He continued, “It’s a little selfish, actually.”

“Selfish? It certainly didn’t feel like you were being selfish a minute ago.”

“It makes me feel...powerful. Knowing I’m giving you pleasure, without taking anything in return.”

“Well, you can be selfish any time you want,” I said, leaning over and giving him a long kiss. His hands circled my waist, drawing me closer to him. “Grant,” I protested, “we need to get up.”

He let out a long sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You must hate it all the time, then, because I’m always right.” I started to swing my feet out of bed, only to be bopped gently with a pillow.

“Always right,” he chuckled, clearly remembering the many times I had showed my “city girl” ignorance since moving in with him while we waited for our new house to be finished. He turned serious. “There is something I’ve been wondering about, though, that you clearly have more expertise in.


“I’m not sure how to bring this up, exactly.”

“It’s okay. Just say it.”

“Are you doing anything that would prevent us from making babies?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I had wondered myself why I wasn’t pregnant yet with how frequently we were doing it. Grant and I were on the older side, but I assumed we were both still plenty fertile. It wasn’t exactly like we were trying, but I certainly wasn’t doing anything to prevent it either.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

“Hey.” I stroked his hair. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen...just like you showing up on my doorstep in a snowstorm.”

I got up then and made some breakfast as the sun came up. Although it was only early October, a light layer of snow had come down overnight, and was unlikely to melt during the day as the high was forecast to be well below normal. Grant left to go work with the horses while I showered, then sat down to do some writing. Before I knew it, he was back for lunch. I threw together some sandwiches, and we sat down to eat. He was never very talkative, but I could tell something was bothering him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. It’s just that that bastard Lynch wants a refund because his mare lost that foal. He’s claiming Brutus isn’t a good stud anymore when it was clearly the fact he was overworking her this summer that did it. Poor Tawny. She’s always such a good dam, too.”

“How much was the stud fee?” I was still learning all the ins and outs of Grant’s business and, if I was being truthful, country life in general.

“It’s not about the money,” he replied. “It’s about my reputation.”

“I thought you said everyone around here hates him.”

“They do.”

“Well, then, I’d assume your reputation is safe. Who are they going to believe? That grizzled old son of a bitch, or you—my honest, honorable, and extremely hot husband?” I massaged his shoulders, then straddled his lap and kissed his neck.
He tilted my face upward, and gave me a kiss. “You always say you’ve never meet anyone as interested in 'doing it' as I am, but I think you secretly want it just as much as I do,” he said into my ear.

“It’s not much of a secret.”

“Oh, Anna, I need to get back to work, but I tell you what. I need to exercise that new horse we’re boarding this afternoon. I should have had her out before, but with Jack being away, I’ve been shorthanded. Why don’t you come for a ride with me? That way I can get her out, and you can give Trudy a workout at the same time.” Trudy was the horse he had been looking for when he showed up at my door nearly frozen to death six months ago. She was old and temperamental, but she would always have a special place in my heart for bringing us together.

“Okay,” I said, climbing off of him. Grant gave me a swat on the backside and a peck on the cheek on his way back outside.

At about four o’clock, my phone buzzed. <<Come down to the stable. I’ve got Trudy all saddled up for you.>> I pulled on my boots and a warm jacket and hurried down to meet him.

Grant helped me up into Trudy’s saddle. I wasn’t much of a horsewoman, but I was getting better. When she was in a good mood, Trudy was slow and gentle, a perfect match for my abilities. When she was in a bad mood, though—look out. Today, she seemed content as I gave her a scratch behind her ears. The problem was that she could pivot from a good mood to a bad mood on a dime.

We rode out toward the west, mountains looming in front of us. All seemed well until about half an hour into our ride when Trudy got spooked by a flock of birds that rose to the air en masse just as we came upon them. As old as she was, she still took off like a shot, nearly throwing me in the process.

“Pull up on the reins!” Grant shouted, as he urged his own horse to a gallop.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I shouted back. “Whoa, Trudy, whoa!” I repeated like a mantra.

We were quickly approaching the fence that separated Grant’s ranch from my own, smaller piece of property. I was afraid Trudy would either pull up short or attempt to jump it; in either scenario, I was likely to meet the ground—hard.

I was bracing myself for the worst when I finally felt Grant fall in beside me. Keeping complete control of his own horse, he leaned over and grabbed Trudy’s reins from me, slowing her up just in time. He swung down, and immediately began soothing Trudy, while upbraiding me. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, eyes flaming. “Why didn’t you rein her in?”

Grant hadn’t raised his voice for fear of setting Trudy off again, but I had never seen him so angry. “I tried,” I hissed, “but there was just no stopping her. I’m glad to learn who’s more important to you—me or this stupid horse.” I began to cry out of fright and frustration.

Grant’s demeanor immediately changed. “Anna,” he said, reaching up to lift me off of Trudy, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not mad...I was just so afraid of losing you. I’ve seen very bad things happen with runaway horses.” He held me tight, kissing the top of my head. After a bit, I finally stopped shaking and relaxed into his arms.

“There,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. On the way back, you can ride behind me, and I’ll just hold on to old Trudy here.” He gave the horse a pat. “Naughty girl. She likes coming out here for some reason, though.” He pointed to the new section of fence that replaced the portion where Trudy had gotten through six months ago. She had been headed there again.

“Well, this spot is beautiful.” I took a step to the fence and looked out at the dying sunlight over the mountains.

Grant followed a moment later and wrapped his arms around me again. “You are beautiful.” I felt a familiar stirring against my back. “I want you,” he whispered.

“I want you too. There’s a bed waiting for us back at the house.”

“No, I mean I want you right now, but there’s no place to do it.” He was right. The ground was still snowy, and I didn’t want to imagine the splinters I’d get if he sat me on the fence.

I turned and glanced down at his jeans. His erection looked painful trapped beneath his straining fly. I was still amazed at his ability to get so hard so fast. A smile crept over my face as I knew what we were going to do. It was corny, but I couldn’t help it. “Take me like one of your stallions,” I giggled.

“What?” The reference confused him. Then it dawned on him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll hold onto the fence, and you take me from behind.”

He still looked dubious.

I gave him a look. “Most men don’t hesitate when a woman is willing to bend over for them.”

“Women really like that? I thought that was just something you saw in porn.”

I sometimes forgot just how long he had lived alone on his ranch. And God bless him for not believing everything he saw in the limited amount of x-rated fare he had watched. “Well,” I said, “I don’t like to be choked, or have my hair pulled, or anything like that while you’re dong it, but yes, I like it. When you stroke into me, you’ll be angled so you hit my special spot, for one thing.”

“You do like it when I hit that spot.”

I unzipped and shimmied my jeans down. There was a pair of work gloves in the saddle bag, and I put them on over my thin thermal ones before I leaned over and grabbed the fence, spreading my legs as far as I could under the circumstances. “C’mon. It’s chilly.”

I heard Grant’s zipper being pulled down. “Howdy! That’s cold on my willy.”

I looked over my shoulder. Even in the chill air, he was managing to maintain an absolutely huge, throbbing hard-on. “Then get over here, and stick that thing someplace warm,” I said.

Grant grabbed me by the waist with his left hand, and used his right to guide his massive erection into me. Even though I had been expecting it, I still felt a burst of pleasure as he penetrated me from behind.

It felt so dirty to be doing it out in the open, but realistically there was no one around for miles except the horses. The thrill was making me even wetter than usual, and the warmth of my arousal, which had started to flow out onto my thighs, made a pleasant contrast on my cold flesh. Grant pulled off his gloves, reaching around to stroke my clit with one hand while reaching under my jacket and shirt to tease my breasts with the other. Soon we were moving in harmony, me backing into his increasingly frequent thrusts, thoroughly enjoying being impaled on his long, hard shaft, feeling his glans ramming my g-spot.

“Baby,” he breathed.

“I know,” I said, crying out in ecstasy as he thrust one last time, emptying his balls into me. Now there was truly a flood of warmth trickling down my legs.

He handed me a handkerchief to wipe myself off as best I could, then patted himself dry, and re-zipped. He stood holding me as we looked out over my property—our property now—and at the house that was nearly complete.

“Do you think this was the one?” he asked.

I knew he was looking at the big new house, with plenty of room for children. “It might have been, Grant,” I said, “It just might have been.”