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I got married when I was twenty. My husband Karl and I were both virgins. On our honeymoon, we experimented with all different ways of having sex.

I'm Lily French, and I'm telling this story at age sixty-eight and a widow. I'm telling it because I can't believe I ended up in this situation.

Karl and I found the ways we liked it and didn't like it. I'm not embarrassed to tell you that I liked sucking cock; sucking my husband's cock. I discovered that blowing my husband was the greatest thing. On my wedding day, my mouth was as virginal as my pussy.

I'm embarrassed to tell you that he had almost no interest in eating my pussy. For years I thought it was me. Did my pussy smell or taste funny? Was my pussy ugly?

The other thing was when we fucked, Karl liked being on top.

For the first year of our marriage, we had sex as often as possible, between work and all. Yes, I blew him all the time and he got on top and fucked me all the time.

Then I got pregnant. The twins were born just two years after our wedding. That put a big crimp in our sex life. I didn't blow him while I was nursing. I wasn't sure if his cum would get into my milk.

Like I said, I liked blowing Karl. For a few months after I stopped breastfeeding, I just wouldn't take it out of my mouth. "Karl, I've missed your cock so much," I told him almost daily.

We settled into a routine. Friday nights, he'd come home from work. His weeks were stressful. Once I got the boys to bed, I'd join him in bed and blow him; sometimes twice.

He'd be off to play golf Saturday morning, and his parents would take the boys for an overnight Saturday night. We'd fuck Saturday night and Sunday morning. Somewhere in there, there was usually another blowjob. I liked pleasing my husband. I liked pleasing him on my knees and on my back.

I was a real estate agent. Usually on Sunday afternoon, I'd have an open house. More than once, I was certain a client, even after brushing my teeth and using mouthwash, could smell Karl's cum on my breath.

For the next three decades that was pretty much our sex life. The boys went off to college; got married, then we were grandparents, and Karl had a heart attack and died. I assure you; it had nothing to do with sex.

I found myself a widow, alone in the big house. My work kept me busy; kept me busy from thinking about how lonely I was.

Two years after Karl died, my girlfriends pushed me to start dating. I didn't want to; I was almost sixty. "Who'd want anything to do with a woman my age?"

Then I did.

TO BE CONTINUED

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