It had been three years since my wife, lover and best friend had been taken from me. Cancer is a cruel disease, and Marie’s fight had been long and hard on both of us, but final for her.

The first year had been terrible, to be honest. I was bereft, and it took me six months to even contemplate doing anything to the house that we had called home for years, and in which we had brought up our children. John and Ben had been great, but they had their own lives to get on with and didn’t live that close, so I didn’t have the grandchildren to visit that often.

The second year was about reconstructing my life, which involved me selling my (our) house, and buying a retirement home on a gated complex on the South Coast. It was a complete change, but one that I felt I had to do, if only to shake me out of my lethargy. One blessing about this place was that it had a central clubhouse and this helped me meet many others of a similar age to me.

This year was about rediscovering myself, and finding out that I could exist as a single man, albeit one just into his seventieth year, but surprisingly fit and healthy. The most surprising discovery was that I still had my sexual ability, both in mind and body. I only really discovered this as a result of one of my neighbours telling me that there was a late night channel on the TV which was piped into our apartments and which was an addition to the normal broadcast channels. He said that he and his wife often watched it late at night, and gave me a guilty smile and a wink.

So I found it and watched, somewhat shocked to begin with, and discovered that these erotic films aroused me fully. And so the nightly viewing became a time when I rediscovered the joys that I had experienced at a much younger age of masturbation.

I met my neighbour again a few weeks later, and told him that I was grateful that he had shared his knowledge of that channel. He said that it worked for him, so he was glad it did for me, and then said that I didn’t need to do it alone, there were plenty of women living here who could help me. I thought about what he said and realised that our community was something like thirty percent married couples, twenty percent single men and the other fifty percent single women.

I hadn’t been going to the club that often and had ignored the afternoons, preferring to spend them in my apartment or walking along the cliff walks close by. Dancing wasn’t really my thing, but I could stumble around a dance floor without trampling too hard on my partner’s feet, so I thought I’d go along one afternoon and see what was up.

Somewhat hesitantly I arrived at the clubhouse, and went into the main room. The tables had been pushed back to leave a dance floor in the centre, and the bar was open, though it sold tea and cakes as well as its more normal fare. Feeling that I needed a bit of Dutch courage, I ordered a glass of red wine and found a table a little distance from the loudspeakers and turntable which were operated by a dj who looked rather like a faded rock-star.

I thought the music would be really old fashioned, waltzes and quicksteps, but most of it dated to the 60s and 70s with a few from the 50s. It was good foot tapping stuff, and almost immediately the floor filled up. I was enjoying the music and starting to work out who was with whom, when I was tapped on the shoulder and a soft voice asked if I was dancing. I looked around and saw a slim lady. I smiled and stupidly said, “Who’s asking?”

She sat down and introduced herself. She was Marilyn, a widow who had come here a year ago. We got talking, and then danced a few turns of the floor, and then sat down again. She was a good dancer, and tall also, just a couple of inches short of my six foot height. I bought her a drink, and as the afternoon went on we must have had a couple of glasses at least.

When the music stopped, we got up to leave, and I asked if I could see her back to her apartment. I laughed after I said that, and apologised for acting like a teenager. She told me that it was sweet, and we walked to her place which was in a different apartment block to mine.

At the door, she insisted that I come in, and I was surprised to find it about double the size of mine. She had a sea facing balcony, and French windows that opened onto it from her living room. She opened the doors and I went onto the balcony to look out.

It was a lovely view and I told Marilyn so. She said she liked it, and as I continued to gaze at the waves, I felt her come up behind me and slip her arms around my waist. I wasn’t sure quite what to do, but any initiative was taken from me, as her hands expertly unbuckled my belt and slipped down beneath my boxers.

I groaned as her cool hands caressed my hardening length. She groaned as it rose beneath her fingers and turned me round, dropping to her knees and looking up at me with a wicked smile, opened her lips and started to lick the helmet of my cock while stroking its length.

She then slid one hand under to grip my scrotum and play with my balls, and then opened her mouth wider and sucked me in, her tongue working underneath my glans. I just decided to let things take their course, which fortunately was a good long time, one of the few benefits of ageing!

I don’t want to boast but, although I had been faithful to my wife, I had always thought that I was better endowed than many of my peers, an observation formed years ago in the dressing rooms and showers of my local sports club. Our lovemaking had been pretty straight, with oral taking place very rarely, and memories of that were quite dim now. But here I was being fellated by an expert, and it was a wonderful feeling.

Gradually she took me deeper and deeper, until her lips were pressed against my belly, and I could feel the grip of her throat around me. I felt myself getting near release, but wanted to prolong the sensuality of this time, so reached down and drew her to her feet, so I could kiss her, deeply. Her tongue hungrily responded to mine.

She pulled away and took my hand, leading me across the living room to a door off the hallway. It was her bedroom, obviously and I was surprised and partly shocked by the eroticism of the painting she had adorning the walls. She felt me pause and look, and leaned up top kiss me again. When we broke for air, she simply asked, “Do you like?”

I kissed her again and told her “Yes," and we undressed each other. She smiled up at me as I approached her from the end of the bed. I kissed each leg as I moved forward, each thigh, my hands opening and lifting her legs, until I was poised above her, with her legs supported on my shoulders.

My tongue then tasted her, and I was lost in her taste and texture. My fingers probed her as I swirled my tongue around her hard clit, and I may have hit a more sensitive spot as she convulsed, her legs snapping tight across my head, and she screamed out loud.

"Now!” she demanded. “Now, quickly, I want you deep in me."

Far from it from me to deny a lady, I rose above her, and my erect cock slid easily into her. She felt wonderful, I had almost forgotten just how it felt, hot, moist, and as our bodies moved against each other, that beautiful friction of lubricated skin against skin. We rolled over after a while, still impaled on me, and she rode me hard, until at last my balls tightened again and I erupted into her.

I sat up and held her on me until my spasms eased, and then she rolled off, slipping down to suck me once again, getting every last drop of my cream into her mouth. Then she slid up my body and we kissed, rolling our combined juices around our tongues.

I stayed the night and, insatiable though she was, I managed to satisfy her needs either by use of my eventually-flagging cock or my mouth or my hands and fingers. We slept and in the morning, she cuddled backwards into me, her hand stroking me to life again. She pressed it into the crack of her ass, where she tensed and relaxed her butt, giving me a lovely butt wank. She told me she loved to queen, getting so much from the feeling of a cock across her asshole, but when I went to try to take control, she said she liked the feeling outside but not inside.

So she simply sat up on me and, facing away, slid me into her pussy. I could play with her asshole, and to our great surprise we both managed to cum.

Now I have to admit that her body isn’t the greatest, but then mine isn’t either, and we have too many lines and bumps to ever be called pretty or handsome. But we have found something else. That age doesn’t have to mean the end of sex, it is just different, slower, less urgent, and if done right, is immensely more erotic and sensual that I would ever have expected some three years ago.

Over breakfast, Marilyn asked me if I would object to meeting some of her friends. I must admit, I just gaped a bit, and inhaled a bit of toast causing me a paroxysm of coughing. When I had recovered, she explained that she needed sex at times, but so did some of her friends, and she thought I had been good, so wanted to share me with them.

She was so matter of fact about it that I just sort of sat there, not really knowing what to answer.

“Look," she said, “I’m not going to marry you, nor you me, we’re well past that. We need company and friendship and, frankly, we don’t see why sex should be off the agenda.”

When I really thought about it, I couldn’t see why it should be either, so I kissed her and told her I was up for anything.

“I hope you really mean that,” she told me after we’d kissed again, “we can be very… er… demanding." And she giggled.

Maybe there will be more to come…..