Definitely No Longer a 40-Year-Old Virgin
Our new house was supposed to have been done by the end of summer. As it was now the beginning of October, that deadline had clearly come and gone. My new husband, Grant, and I joked that the house would have been completed on time if Skip, our highly loquacious builder, had actually been working and not running his mouth. Still, I couldn’t be too mad. Skip’s stories were highly entertaining when he dropped by to give us progress updates, and he knew all of the gossip in our not-so-little corner of Wyoming. Plus, Grant’s log cabin was plenty big for just the two of us, and cozy as an early winter closed in on the Wapiti Valley. Therefore, I was only a little disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to move in until at least next spring.
As I began to wake up on another chilly morning, I realized that it had been exactly six months since Grant and I were married. It was also now exactly six months and two weeks since we first met—and since Grant had lost his virginity to me. No one either here, or back east, where I was from, could believe it when we told them what we had done. I knew most hadn’t given us six days.
Generally, my friends and family still considered me to be absolutely nuts. One moment I was grieving over my husband, Mike, who had died tragically five years earlier, the next I had moved out west and married a cowboy. A few were starting to come around, though. A couple of days ago I had posted a selfie of me and Grant in front of a roaring fire, sipping cocoa, and smiling from ear to ear. The photo had been post-coitus, it was true, but I certainly didn’t bill it as such, and was unprepared for the response that I got from my best friend, Paige.
<<Why is it you always get all the good dick?>>, she DM’d me.
<<How did you know?>>, I responded.
<<Your hair is a mess, his shirt is mis-buttoned, and is that a pair of panties over in the corner?>>
“Egad,” I thought as I looked at the picture more carefully. I had sent that photo to my grandmother, too.
<<You know, I thought you had lost your mind. Then you started posting pictures of him.>>
<<JFC, Anna. Does he have any friends?>>
<<Paige, you’re married.>>
<<I can fix that one way or another.>>
I smiled as I remembered that exchange and rolled over toward Grant. He was still sound asleep, and it was unusual for me to be up before him. More often than not, I was awakened by his hand stroking my back, or my breast, or…lower, and his morning wood pressing into me. Grant had been a virgin when we met, but he had become the most enthusiastic partner I had ever had. Luckily, I was always more than willing to indulge him.
I lay quietly, just looking at him, thanking whatever powers-that-be that we had found each other. Grant was so smart, and so kind, and so very, very freaking hot. He had obviously gotten warm overnight and had thrown off the covers on his side of the bed, revealing his muscular arms and washboard stomach. Beneath his shorts, which were all he ever slept in, I could see the outline of his cock, which was apparently rising this morning before he was. Often I was treated to a good eating out before we made it out of bed; this morning, to celebrate our anniversary, I decided I would wake him up with oral for a change.
I raised myself to my knees and crept across the bed. There was just enough room on the far side for me to straddle him without risk of falling off. I brought my knees down on either side of him, and carefully pulled down the waistband of his underwear. His partial erection greeted me, and I bent to give it a soft kiss before taking the head in my mouth and circling it with my tongue. Instantly, I felt a surge, and his organ, previously at half-mast, was suddenly standing at full attention, hard and hot, veins pulsing. Keeping my lips around the tip, I started to stroke him with my right hand while I supported myself with my left. Grant breathed in sharply, his hips moving just slightly in time with my stroking. His hands went into my hair, twisting it gently as I moved my right hand to caress his balls and took more of him into my mouth, increasing my speed. He was typically silent in bed, so he must have really appreciated the sensation because he began to repeat, “Oh, Anna. Yeah, Anna,” over and over. I felt his balls tense in my hand and knew my efforts were about to be rewarded with several shots of warm, viscous semen, which I swallowed happily.
When I was sure he was through, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and crawled up to give him a kiss. “Happy six-month anniversary,” I said.
“If this is how you celebrate six months, I’m almost afraid to find out what you’ll do after a year.”
“Well, seeing as you were asleep, I decided to have my way with you.”
“You just thought I was asleep. I knew what you were doing.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
“Why on earth would I stop that?”
We kissed for a bit, his hand caressing me gently between my legs before he pushed aside my underwear and inserted his finger into me, curving it gently upward, the way I had taught him, keeping his thumb on my clit. It wasn’t long before he had found his mark, and I arched my back into him.
“More,” I whispered. He placed another finger inside. He knew I sometimes wanted to feel fuller than a single finger could make me feel.
“More,” I whispered again. He looked at me quizzically, but soon a third finger joined the other two rhythmically pressing on my g-spot, and its addition was enough to send me over the brink. I clenched around him, savoring yet another orgasm at the hand—literally—of this magnificent man.
I was almost ready to fall back asleep when he asked, “How many have there been?”
I had been afraid this question would eventually come up. Maybe it was my desire to be stretched by a third finger that had tipped his curiosity. “Does it matter?”
“It’s just that you know...stuff.”
“Grant, I’m a thirty-nine-year-old woman who’s been having sex for more than half my life. I’m going to know ‘stuff.’”
“I know, but I’m a guy. I guess I’d like to know about my competition.”
I sighed. “What answer do you want to hear?”
I quickly calculated, then reduced my answer by half. There had been a wild period in college I wasn’t exactly proud of, and to paraphrase A Few Good Men, I didn’t think Grant could handle the truth.
“Ten,” I said.
His mouth fell open. I should have reduced my total by at least seventy-five percent, apparently.
“So, Mike and nine others?”
“Yep.” I crossed my fingers behind my back.
I wondered if that would change his opinion of me, but all he said was, “I guess they do things different in the city.”
“All right then,” I countered, “How virgin were you?”
“Isn’t it like being pregnant? You either are or you aren’t. How are we doing on that front, anyway?” he asked, placing his hand on my abdomen.
“Too soon to tell. Look, I know you didn’t do ‘penis in vagina’ until me, but, well, you’re a very good looking guy. You had to have done something.”
“Tonya and I fooled around some. I felt her up plenty, and she’d put her hands on my willy. She even put her mouth on it a little once after prom…but not like you just did.” He gave me a big, appreciative kiss.
Grant continued, “I should have known she was trouble when she tried to convince me that, uh, going up her, uh, backside...”
“...yeah, that. Anyway, she said that wouldn’t be losing our virginity.”
“Interesting where people draw the line,” I said.
“Well, after I went off to the Academy, she apparently didn’t draw the line anywhere.”
“So that’s really all you’d ever done: a little petting in high school? Didn’t anyone try to get in your pants when you were in the Air Force? I thought women were all over you flyboys.”
“There was never anyone I could see myself loving until you.”
Bam. That always got me, right in the feels, no matter how many times I heard it. I was amazed he had stuck to his self-imposed code for so long and that he could remember things that had happened twenty years ago so clearly. I couldn’t even recall the names of some of my former lovers, let alone exactly what I had done with each. But then, apparently there truly had been only Tonya—until me.
We got up then, and went about our day. We had a lot to get done before we left the next day for Bozeman to attend the wedding of one of Grant’s military friends. Tom had gone to the Air Force Academy with Grant and completed his service at the same time. He had gone on to get a Ph.D. in physics and was teaching at Montana State. He met a local woman, Sandy, and was finally ready to settle down, coincidentally, just after Grant did. Tom had given us a heads-up, so we had been lucky enough to score one of the few rooms available at the lodge where the ceremony and reception were taking place, and though I loved our cabin, I was looking forward to getting away for the weekend. It would be our first trip together as a couple.
I looked over the wedding invitation again as we ate dinner that evening. “So, you two bachelors finally decided to get married. Don’t tell me he’s a virgin, too.”
“Uh, no. Tom’s nickname was ‘Tomcat.’ He had a girl at home, a couple in Colorado Springs, and several everywhere he was posted.”
“How clever.” I rolled my eyes. Air Force officers were apparently too busy protecting the country to come up with creative nicknames for each other. “Sandra Denise Lynch,” I said, reading the name of bride. “Any relation to your nemesis?” Richard Lynch was the man everyone, including Grant, loved to hate in Wapiti.
“I’d imagine so, at least distantly,” Grant replied. “The Lynches are an old family around these parts. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of them ended up in Bozeman.”
“That should be interesting, then.”
“They’re actually a nice family. I don’t know what happened to Dick.”
“Maybe he just felt he had to live up to his name.”
We left after chores the next morning, leaving the horses in the care of Grant’s employee, Jack. We took the long way through Yellowstone because we figured it might be our last chance to do so this year before the snow started to close many of the roads through the park. Of course, we got caught in a “bison jam” of the giant beasts milling about on the road that delayed us, so we only arrived at the lodge about thirty minutes before the wedding. We checked in, and hurried up to our room to change. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Grant checking me out as I stripped down to my underwear. From the look on his face, I knew he was thinking about all the things we could do on the big, king-sized bed. “Uh-uh, mister,” I admonished. “We have a wedding to attend.”
“Tom would understand.”
“His new wife, no doubt, would not. They had to pay for us, you know.”
“Later?” Grant said, hopefully.
“If you’re a good boy.”
We went down to the wedding—a brief ceremony, held outside on the prairie—and then to the reception in a tent adjacent to the hotel. Tom and Sandy made a lovely couple, and they had chosen a beautiful spot to embark upon their new life together. The whole afternoon and evening were perfect, except for the fact that Sandy was indeed related to Dick Lynch, and he had turned up at her wedding.
We did our best to avoid him, however, as did practically everyone else, it seemed. Grant was right. The other Lynches were nothing like him. Several of Tom and Grant’s Air Force buddies were also there, and they constantly tried to one-up each other—who was the best pilot, who currently drove the best car, who possessed the biggest prick. There was nothing they couldn’t turn into a contest. I also found out that, given enough liquid courage, my husband was a pretty good dancer. Unfortunately, about halfway through the electric slide, I began to feel queasy. “What’s wrong, sugar?” Grant asked when he noticed I was turning green.
“Nothing. All of a sudden, my stomach’s just a little upset.”
Grant steered me off of the dance floor and sat me down. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have too much to drink?”
I glared at him. “I can drink you under the table, and you know it, lightweight.” Besides, I had only had sips from the champagne during the toast at the beginning of the reception, so I knew that wasn’t it. “It’s probably just that it’s getting late.”
“Maybe a little Coke would settle your stomach. Do you want me to get it for you?” Grant gestured toward the bar.
“No, I’ll come with you.” The bar was near an opening in the tent, and I thought that the cool night air wafting in might do me some good.
We had just ordered our drinks, a Coke for me and a scotch for Grant, when Dick Lynch stumbled up. He had clearly had too many already, but was still looking to take advantage of the open bar.
“Walsh,” he slurred. “Never did formally introduce me to your missus. She’s a real looker, huh?” He leered at me like a dirty old man. “Little older than I like, but she’s certainly kept her shape.”
Grant sighed. “What do you want, Lynch?”
“I have a proposition for you. You let me take her out back and do what you did to her in that field the other day, and I forget all about that money you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything. Your mare lost that foal because you overworked her in the heat of the summer, not because of anything I did. Come on, Anna.” Grant started to lead me away.
Lynch grabbed my arm. “Hey!” I shouted, loud enough to attract the attention of some of the guests. I tried to shake free, but his grip was surprisingly tight.
“You’re frisky.” Lynch leaned into me, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You like his other gal—Tonya? Mmm. That Tonya. Man, she was something. She was up for anything, with anybody, except for Grant.”
A crowd was starting to gather. Grant said evenly, “I’m going to tell you just once. Let go of my wife, and don’t ever come near her again.”
“Or what?” Instead of letting go, Lynch tried to pull me into him.
“Or this.” Grant’s fist whirred past me and smashed into Lynch’s jaw, laying him out flat. I was lucky he let go just before he crashed to the floor, or I would have gone down with him.
There were cheers from the crowd, even from Lynch’s relatives. The manager of the lodge appeared and asked if a call to the authorities was necessary.
“Nope,” said Tom, who had made his way over. My wife’s great-uncle was just leaving.”
I don’t know where Lynch went after that. I do know that the party carried on long after he departed, only breaking up when Tom scooped Sandy up and carried her out of the tent to their honeymoon suite in the lodge to the raucous clapping and whistles of his buddies.
“I guess that’s our cue to turn in,” Grant said. “How are you feeling? Is your stomach still feeling bad?”
My nausea had long since passed. I shook my head. “I guess all the excitement must have scared it out of me.”
As we walked back to our room, Grant mused, “Did he think he was in that movie?”
“Who, and what movie?”
“Lynch. You know, that Robert Redford movie…what’s it called? Indecent Proposal.”
“Hmm,” I said, “Robert Redford, in a luxury hotel, for a million dollars, or Lynch, by the dumpsters, for a stud fee. There are certainly similarities.” We laughed.
I still had one question, though. “How did he see us? That day we took the horses out, I mean.”
“I don’t know. His property is just over the ridge. I guess if he was out near the boundary, and had binoculars with him, he could have spotted us having sex.”
“Ugh. I don’t want to think about being spied on by a pervy old man. Hopefully you taught him a lesson tonight.”
“Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry for causing a scene. I just couldn’t have him talk that way to you, and when he put his hands on you…”
“It’s okay. It was kind of badass.”
“Does badass make you hot?”
“Oh, yes.” I replied.
We barely made it to our room before Grant was unzipping my dress and backing me toward the bed.
“You know what I want,” he said into my ear.
“Tell me.” I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“I want to watch.”
Grant was enthusiastic about everything we tried, but I knew his favorite foreplay would always come back to where it all began—him watching me touch myself as he did the same. Whenever we had the luxury of time, as we did that night, it was what he wanted.
I hooked my fingers in the sides of my panties, and eased them down over my hips, then reached back and unfastened my bra. Naked, I crawled onto the bed and eased back into the pillows. Grant removed all of his clothes as well, down to his boxer briefs, and sat on a chair, facing the bed.
Looking him straight in the eye, I raised my hands to my breasts, and began to gently circle them with my fingers, from the outer curves, inward until I had reached my areolae. As I caressed, I slowly moved my legs apart, spreading them wide so he could see how wet I already was. Breaking eye contact momentarily, I glanced down at his lap. Grant’s cock was stiffening, and he began touching it lightly, through his underwear. A dark spot of moisture appeared and spread across the fabric from the tip. Raising my eyes to his again, I traced my right hand slowly down my body until I reached the light hair on my mound, leaving the left to play with my nipples. I used two fingers to part my outer lips, giving him a view of my clit, engorged just from knowing he was watching me. I gave it a little massage, causing it to twitch and darken even more before I moved down, catching some of my arousal with my fingers and bringing them, glistening, back up along my inner lips. Moaning slightly, I closed my eyes and repeated the process several times, then moved my left hand from my breasts to my opening, thrusting a finger inside.
I heard Grant pull down the band on his shorts, freeing his erection, and I knew he was starting to stroke in earnest, slowly at first, then faster as he became more and more aroused by the performance I was giving. “More,” he said. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He nodded slightly, a hint of a grin on his face. “More,” he said again.
I smiled back, understanding, and inserted another finger from my left hand into myself while keeping up the pressure on my clit with my right. He shook his head slightly, and mouthed, “I said, ‘more.’”
I had just placed a third finger inside myself when Grant rose from the chair and crossed the room to the bed, peeling off his underwear as he walked. Grabbing my legs, he pulled them up, one on each of his shoulders, and penetrated me with his throbbing cock. “I couldn’t take it anymore, seeing you stretch yourself like that for me,” he said, driving into me over and over with such force that we shook the headboard. Already primed by our own ministrations, it didn’t take us long to orgasm together, then collapse in an exhausted but ecstatic heap.
The next morning, we were awakened by rhythmic thumping coming through the wall from the room next door. “Tom and Sandy must be up already,” I giggled. Then I had a thought, “Oh, man, what if they heard us last night?”
“So what if they did? I didn’t hear anything from over there, and Tom’s probably trying to even the score this morning. A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.”
“Yeah. And we’re about to take the lead, two to one,” Grant said, reaching for me and winking.
“You guys will make anything into a contest.”
“I feel like I should be a little offended.”
“I don’t know why. It’s all thanks to you that I can finally participate.”
Copyright GWinterbourne 2018.