Reminiscing To Re-enacting. How Old Is Too Old For Wild Lovemaking? ~ Angela Goodnight

A couple of weeks ago Peter and I were sitting in the lounge after dinner, watching some recording on TV (Beck I think) while we sipped the last of the champagne he’d opened to go with a fish dish I’d cooked. Teriyaki swordfish with pasta and tomato pesto.

[Our stories are true unless labelled fiction in the title. See our Back Story for more information. The non-explicit story on this link tells about me discovering I was in love with him as a fourteen year-old.]

We don’t often open champagne with a meal, but Peter pointed out we had a nice bottle of Bollinger which had been sitting in the rack for several years and champagne doesn’t really age well, so we thought we’d use it up. Lovely. Cut Glass Edinburgh Crystal Champagne SaucersIt gives us a chance to use our Edinburgh Crystal hand-cut saucer glasses. Everyone uses those tall glasses these days because it holds the fizz better. Unnecessary with good champagnes. There is also something decadent about deluxe cut glass saucer champagne glasses.

Beck finished and we were thinking about bed. Peter asked if he could take a tablet. He doesn’t usually take one after drinking so he only took 25mg of sildenafil. Sitting together holding hands and caressing each other’s thighs on the settee meant we were already feeling randy so we thought a half tablet of Viagra would be enough for a good experience.

He went off and took the tablet and returned while I was setting some programmes to record on the Sky box for Saturday 1st October and he said it was close to the date we’d lost our virginities together in 1964.

“It was 19th September,” I told him. Girls remember things like that even if the loss of my virginity was a disaster (read the story here).

“So it would have been last Saturday, 17th?” he said.

“Yes, closest I suppose.”

“Fifty-second anniversary – that’s why I opened the champagne,” he laughed.

“Don’t tell me you remembered! Don’t believe you.”

“No, but it would be nice to reproduce it, don’t you think?”

“What? You and me naked in the castle hollow. Tonight! Not warm enough.”

“Course it is. I’ll keep you warm.”

“You really up for it?” I asked, wondering if he was joking.

And that was it. The undeniable thrill of real devilment went through me. Yes. Yes, I was up for this.

“Need to think about wardrobe. Give me a minute to change. You find a torch and put on some loose boxers.”

I ran upstairs, stripped off my jeans, put on some warm thigh-high woollen stockings plus a tiny pair of briefs and knee-length skirt. I put plenty of tissues in a handbag plus a Tena Lady mini for leakage.

Ten minutes later we were walking through Gurney around the crescent towards the millennial light and the castle. So amazingly exciting, knowing we were going to do something naughty.

[The picture below is a real picture of where we lost our virginities in 1964 although, today, it is more open and you can get access 24/7. Someone guessed Gurney’s real name in the summer from my descriptions on here and Twitter, but it would still be difficult to identify who we are.]

We were holding hands like a couple of teens, got into the castle grounds through the main entrance and climbed up what is now just a grassy slope to the hollow. The grassy hollow at Gurney Castle where we lost our virginities in 1964There was just enough light to see where we were going from street lights, but once we got to the top of the hill Peter turned on the torch, keeping it shielded so as to not draw attention to the fact people were in the castle hollow. We didn’t want some nosey-parker to come and investigate.

I threw down a large blanket in approximately the right place and we got down onto the ground. God, ground is so much harder when you’re in your sixties than when you are young teens. We’d made love up here a few times in 1964 and once fully dressed in the cold as I told in this story. Great fun!

Today it was really mild whereas yesterday had been distinctly chilly.

We lay down side by side with our coats behind our heads, staring at the sky and holding hands.

“Do you think we’re safe?” I asked.

“Who’d come up here on a dark night in September?”

“That’s not an answer,” I laughed.

He eased himself onto one elbow, leaned over and kissed me.

His warm, soft lips took me straight back to 1964. His kisses always have stolen my emotions and caused me to want to love him. So special.

It is so much more difficult cuddling and caressing each other when you are on hard ground. It brings it home to you how old you are.

After ten minutes or so his hand found the naked flesh above my woollen stockings and arousal began for me, although, to be honest, it was not as easy as I thought. I guess we get so used to the warmth and privacy of being indoors at home in our wonderful bed, that what we were doing now was really alien.

We did make love in the garden quite often in the summer but that was usually on our comfortable swing seat or on cushions on the patio. What had seemed comfortable sand and grass in 1964 in the castle hollow was now proving to be much less comfortable than we had thought it was back then.

He relieved me of my briefs and began to give me those delightful warm compresses. The heel of his palm on my mons and his fingers covering the rest of my vulva, providing rhythmic presses. It always worked, even though I had the anxiety of being found up here preying on my mind.

Once one of his fingers found my entrance and I could tell my juices were flowing normally, I reached over and undid his trousers.

“Your not taking them off me?” he asked in a worried whisper.

“Yes.”

“What if someone comes?”

“Someone will come … you! But you’re not having it away with me in your trousers,” I chuckled.

He relented and I removed them. He’d changed into lightweight khaki trousers so they came off easily.

“What do we do if someone comes?” he asked even more worried as I pulled Zebedee through the fly of his boxers.

“They’ll probably go in a fit of embarrassment. What would we do if we found a couple of wrinklies having sex up here?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

“Concentrate, Peter, you’re not even erect. Don’t you fancy me?”

We laughed and he kissed me again as I sensed his erection growing rapidly in my hand. Still six and a half inches, still a lovely girth, still capable of making me want him.

“Did you remember the condoms?” I asked.

[We both laughed again. Read the story about losing virginity to find out why it was so funny.]

I lifted my skirt and we made love missionary style. Oh, the wonderful opening, filling and possession of me I always experienced at penetration. It was no different up here, just my thighs were cooler and there was an annoying bump under the middle of my back.

He was thrusting quite quickly.

“Stop hurrying,” I scolded.

“Just nervous.”

“Don’t worry about people coming. No one will.”

“But they could.”

I gripped his bum and held him still. “Peter Stone. If you don’t stop worrying and fuck me to an orgasm I’ll run off with your trousers. No – one – will – come, except the two of us!”

He laughed, seemed to relax and came back to his lovely rhythm. The trouble is that all the talking had switched me off a bit and it took a while to get those warm sexual sensations to return to my vulva. Eventually I could feel them deepening within me, pulled him up my body further to impact my clit and tried to rub myself against him as we made love.

Once we’d relaxed it was really enjoyable for me and, although it wasn’t huge, I did manage to come. Two or three contractions, but he felt them which was good and held still while they came.

“That’s it,” I said after just three spasms.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Better than expected and a million times better than 1964.”

He laughed and I held him tight as he began to work for his own release which seemed to me to be pretty good.

“Lovely,” I said.

“Wonderful,” said he between deep breaths.

We lay together for a good while. The beauty of Viagra is that he stays erect for long after ejaculating. Wonderful for me as being occupied after sex is such a terrific sensation and I feel the most incredible love for him when he is still in me after twenty or thirty minutes.

Of course, eventually, my treacherous kegels evicted him, I scrambled for the tissues and he rolled off me onto his back, cursing and swearing about how hard the ground was. LOL. God, aren’t we old?

We stopped off in the Coach Inn for a drink on the way home. I could see Peter was still flushed and I had a nice warm glow. Wonder if anyone noticed? We both drank treble Martini Rossos and my glow spread more widely through me. What an adventure. 

Angela Goodnight, 9th October 2016

2 thoughts on “Reminiscing To Re-enacting. How Old Is Too Old For Wild Lovemaking? ~ Angela Goodnight

  1. Curvaceous Dee

    This was such a pleasure to read! Thank you so much for sharing it with us 🙂

    xx Dee

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