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I'm a sixty-year old widow, retired from the local university and in the last year, have lost the only man I ever truly loved to a drunk driver. For some time, I'd fallen into the pits of depression. I was completely devoted to my husband and although he'll soon be gone for a year, he still speaks to me from the grave. Now, I know you might automatically think I've lost my wits, but what I mean is that in every situation since his untimely death, Steve, my deceased husband, has seemed to be there, offering me guidance in his strong but soft voice with the patient manner he always used with me while he was still among the living. It was his voice from the grave that spurred me to drag myself out of the heavy depression I experienced as a result of his death, and his voice that set me free, so to speak. I'm exercising more, running several miles each day, and making sure that my physical appearance returns to the same semi-excellent shape it was in before Steve's death. I've returned to wearing tighter dresses, especially those that display a substantial amount of cleavage. After all, as my late husband used to say, if you've got 38dd tits that don't sag even at my age, you might as well display them. Besides, I love the sensual touch the lace bras I encase my titties in causes. And I've returned to wearing high heels and stockings as well: Steve loved it when I wore those special, sexy items under my skirt and it's for him, or, rather, for his memory that I dress in this manner. So, you'll never catch me wearing pantyhose or "old woman" panties - the type that cover so much of your ass they could be used as a bedsheet. Now, despite my age, I'm back to men staring at me as I make my way down the street or through a ...

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