Strays

I'm proud of myself. I've given up women. Well not quite right. I've given up stray women
but still stick it to my regulars. It's the only decent thing to do at my age. The hair on my knees and elbows disappeared when I was thirteen. Now that I'm older I'm starting to feel the cold. So I need the extra fluff to keep me warm. With a bit of luck it will grow back again.

Recently I was visited by a woman I knew thirty years ago. We had a mad passionate affair
that wore a hole in the carpet. We had a competition in the 1970's as to who could seduce the most new partners in three days. She got three and I beat her with five. I was quite proud of my self-fulfilling stand up and be measured achievements. It was only a matter of timing. Wheel one out the door and get on the phone for the next success story.

Laid Marion is a part Maori lady and had an excellent figure in the old days. She's put on about fifty pounds of beef and her top half has drooped a little. Well, not a little, try about six
inches. She was always a sex craved wench and age had made her realise that she didn't want to die with that empty feeling. So she turned up at my place to fill her emptiness with
extended memories. Apparently she had married and had a couple of kids. Got divorced and so on. I've never been married: nobody has ever asked me. I have three regular women to keep me in practice and we all get on well together, although my memory for names is not what it used to be. I tend to use the wrong name at the wrong time.

Marion made it plain what she wanted, so I got stuck in and obliged her wanton demands.
I'm very religious and in true missionary fashion, settled between her legs like an accomplished professional. These days I use an inner sprung bed because once the bouncing starts. The springs help keep the momentum going. I'm not as young as I used to be. She shut her eyes and gasped that she had missed me and all that sort of thing.

'Don't you dare stop until the cows come home.'

It was then I realised she was nothing short of greedy. I didn't know the first thing about cows. All she wanted was brutal sex. Long and full strength unadulterate sexual intercourse. But was this what I wanted?

'Lift your knees up, Brown Cow.'

I looked down at her wrinkled face, crowned with greying hair and watched her floppy udders that hung to each side and shook my head with dismay. No, this wasn't what I wanted. I admit it was fun going through our old routines. The tweaking of solid nipples, the tickling of her little man in a boat with a searching finger. Lifting her legs high and plowing the bushiness of her furrow, the loud moaning upon completion and having a slow in-out session to let her get her breath back.

It was then I decided to give up strays. I didn't need this sort of thing. I was under no
obligation to service her inner needs. I was a free agent, not her toy-boy. Gritting my teeth
with determination, I finished plowing her furrow in a short forty-five minutes.

'I'm now retired from active women. I've had enough of being used and abused. It's totally immoral and will make me fat. You'll have to seek your amusement elsewhere. Be gone with you, Silvia.'

Mission accomplished and with my mind decisive, I fetched a drink of water to avoid
dehydration. She lay with her eyes shut shamelessly displayed her nakedness. Never again would I climb her mountain of quivering blubber. No more will I fall into the old trap of
allowing myself to be manipulated into her personal fiefdom of overindulgence. Smiling
inwardly I felt strong and powerful. I could look the world in the eye and say NO and actually mean NO.

'My name's Marion, not Silvia. Do it again for old times sake.'

'Whatever. You came, you saw, you conquered. Let that be enough. Be gone with you. Well, OK then. Just once more.'

Weeks later, and with great resolve, I showed my true potency. I now have Silvia, Mary,
Gertrude and Laid Marion as regulars. But I've definitely given up strays.