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This is Anita Hardiman. Last week, Mr. Murton died. It was just a few days after we’d just spent the weekend at the Classic Hotel.

When the aides found him, they claim he had the biggest smile on his face. I want to believe he was thinking of eating my pussy or maybe me giving him a blowjob. I want to believe he had the taste of my pussy in his mouth and the smell of my pussy in his nostrils.

I don’t know much about men, but I suspect lots of men would say that’s the perfect way to go.

I attended the wake and the funereal; staying in the background. At the cemetery, a man about my age approached me. “Aren’t you the reporter who interviewed my grandfather last year?”

“Yes, I’m Anita Hardiman.”

“I’m Carlos III. Anita? Grandpa was always talking about an Anita. I thought he was rambling, delusional, having fantasies, but you’re real.”

I blushed. I wondered what Mr. Murton said in those rambling, delusional fantasies.

“We’re having a little gathering in a private room at the Classic Hotel; won’t you join us?”

“I couldn’t. That should be for just family.”

“I insist.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost lunch time; you have to eat.”

I blushed. It crossed my mind how much Mr. Murton loved to eat. He had more stamina when he was on his old, creaky knees.

Walking into the hotel brought back wonderful memories; my panties were damp.

At the gathering, Carlos III and I found a table and talked about his grandfather. He knew him in a completely different way than I knew him. He told me stories about his grandfather. I pretended to know little about him other than the background research I did for that ninetieth birthday story. Of course, I didn’t tell him about our encounters right here in this hotel.

A week later, my phone rang. “Hi Anita, this is Carlos Murton III, I was wondering if you might have dinner with me Friday night?”

My heart skipped a beat. Although for the TV cameras I was photogenic and men considered me attractive, I rarely had a date. Older women in the TV business told me that the camera makes us look intimidating. Men were hesitant to ask us out.

Perhaps that’s why I turned to Mr. Murton.

Dinner was superb Carlos III was funny and we laughed a lot. He got serious when he asked if I’d go home with him.

Ever since he’d called, I’d been hoping. In fact, I had my toothbrush and a very sexy, revealing nightie in my bag.

I followed him to his home in the suburbs, not far from my TV studio.

We didn’t waste a lot of time. In just a few minutes were helping each other out of our clothes. Remember, Carlos and I were in our mid-twenties.

I wanted to fuck; he wanted to fuck. There wasn’t much foreplay. His young, hard cock stretched my pussy. It had been a while. Remember Mr. Murton and I didn’t fuck; he thought that would be too much for his heart.

If I do say so myself, I gave Carlos III a great fuck. He gave me a great fuck. “Stay the night?” he asked after we’d finished and were in an embrace.

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