She was a lot older than he thought, but did it really matter?

When I got divorced and moved to a new neighborhood two years ago, I met a lady named Letitia, who hung out at a local bar which I also frequented. She was a good looking, mature woman, who I guessed to be in her late 40s or maybe early 50s. She was pleasant to talk to, and we often sat at the bar and chatted over a few drinks. Over the course of a few months we became good friends. She was really a hell of a nice lady, widowed but not bitter, and very outgoing.

I often wondered why she didn’t have a man. I couldn’t see a gray hair on her head, and no stretch marks or wrinkles, other than some very faint crow’s feet around the eyes. She had curly dark hair, blue eyes and a nice smile. She also had the prettiest pair of legs I’d ever seen, smooth and shapely. I told her several times that her legs should be on a billboard somewhere, advertising stockings or high-heeled shoes, but she just laughed. I sometimes heard other people making comments about her legs as well, even though her hemline never rose more than an inch or two above her knees.

I found her legs so attractive, along with the rest of her, that after a time I began to flirt with her a little. Since I had never seen her come in with a guy, I figured I had a good chance. Letitia knew what I was after, and she was good-natured about it, even seeming to enjoy the chase, though she would scold me gently whenever I suggested that she go home with me.

After many attempts, she allowed me to kiss her neck and nibble her ear one night, but that was it. A little later on she let me pet her knee as we sat at the end of the bar where no one could see what we were doing. I managed to get my hand under her conservative dress, and those thighs felt every bit as good as I had imagined. But after a few minutes she stopped me and pushed my hand away before things went too far.

But then finally, one Friday night, Letitia agreed to go home with me. I was surprised but happy, and even more surprised at how bold she was once we were behind closed doors. She kissed me very passionately, rubbing herself against me like a cat in heat.

When I began undressing her I saw that all my efforts had been well worth it. Her breasts, though small, had very little sag, and her body had almost no wrinkles. Her hips were soft and curvy and her skin as smooth and creamy as could be. She also had a lovely little ass, and of course those gorgeous legs. Her legs were very arousing!

She let me explore her fully without protest. Her cunt was pretty too; it looked like an 18-year-old’s, with short, taut lips and a little pink crack. When I went down on her, her pussy had an intriguing scent and tasted delicious. She squirmed and panted as I ate her out, and then she came like crazy.

Once I started actually fucking her I found out how snug and hot that pussy was. She was so tight that it was almost painful to get into her. But once I did she wrapped her legs around me and met me stroke for stroke, moaning and clawing at my back as we fucked our brains out.

Letitia stayed with me all that weekend, and she let me fuck her any way I wanted. I really got a thrill when I got to nail her doggie-style as I slapped and probed her ass. When she didn’t object to me putting my finger up her ass, I went for it and stuck my cock in there too. She moaned and winced a lot, and I had to go very easy, but after 10 minutes I finally got all the way inside her asshole, and we shared an intense anal fuck.

Because she was unable to get pregnant, she also took every load I shot into her pussy, or anywhere else, and by Sunday evening we were fucked out.

As we lay talking, somehow the topic of an old TV show came up, and Letitia mentioned that she had seen the original episodes before they were reruns.

I laughed and said she must be kidding, as she wouldn’t have been alive then. Letitia frowned and said she most certainly had been. I told her not to kid me, because that would make her at least 65 or so.

“Sixty-eight,” she corrected me.

“Get out of here!” I said, but she assured me she was telling the truth. She even showed me her driver’s license. I was completely astonished, because she certainly didn’t look a day over 50.

The next time I was in the bar without Letitia, I got into a conversation with the bartender, who had known her for a long time. He had also known Letitia’s late husband, and he confirmed what Letitia had told me.

When I said I could hardly believe it, the bartender grinned knowingly and winked at me, “You took her home last weekend, didn’t you?” he said. “How was it?”

“It was awesome,” I told him.

He nodded. “I heard she’s good in bed,” he chuckled.

I didn’t have the heart to ask him who he heard that from. But I didn’t really care. The woman had a great body, great legs and was a fabulous fuck. Why should I worry about how old she was? I decided not to, and Letitia and I have been fucking ever since.

—C.N., Xenia, Ohio