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When Jane, my sixty-five year old secretary informed me that I had an appointment with Mrs. Cynthia Long, I immediately grew concerned. Mrs. Long was well-known for the lingerie she produced in a factory located just outside of town, and her reputation was one of being a ball-buster. From my attorney friends, I heard tale after tale of how she went through attorneys as if they were tissues: one use and then discarded as if they had no further use. "You'll be fine, Sam," Jane said as she stroked my hair. If you recall from my earlier stories, Jane and I have been engaging in older woman - younger man sex for almost two years now and believe me, she knows exactly how to calm me down. Although I had just turned twenty-nine years old and Jane was nearing her sixty-sixth birthday, the age gap did not matter. And although it was not Jane who introduced me to the sexual wonders of older women, it was certainly she who kept my sexual and erotic needs fulfilled. Well, along with the forty-five year old Freddie, my six-foot, five-inch private investigator. But you'll have to read the past chapters to see how sexually and emotionally important these two older women in my life.

I knew from recent but short contact with her that Mrs. Cynthia Long was in her early sixties. A check in the Business Owner's Register, the manual that listed the assets and qualifications of local business leaders, that Mrs. Long was sixty-two years old. Although she carried the title of a married woman, everyone knew that her husband fucked around on her, and that she did the same to him. Oh, sure, they ...

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