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It was what she preferred    
once the desire was stirred;  
she'd have difficulty  
with the missionary.    
Not that she was strait-laced;    
she'd just had hip replaced.    
We had started dating  
when past thoughts of 'waiting  
until meeting right one'  
was stage in life long gone.  
Experienced we were  
from loves we had before.  

She was still attractive,
HRT kept, active
with younger family
long past dependency.
Most of her wrinkles, scars
were under clothes, no bars.
My heart gave accession    
to need for concession    
to the advancing years;    
we both wanted no tears.    
We still had love to give    
despite how long we'd live.    
Her quilted double bed    
(kept though hubby was dead)    
was easy on our knees    
when I set out to please,   
stroking clit, labia,    
with hands moved from her rear.    
I shagged her from behind;    
there was no 'Do you mind?'    
as she relished each thrust    
while hands played with her bust.    
Each time I drove him home    
brought forth a pleasured moan,    
Cries of 'Deeper, harder!'    
greeted manly ardour.    
Here we were, on all fours,    
she past her menopause,    
no fear she'd pregnant be    
from this activity.
Written by Solomon_Song
Author's Note
Dedicated to older couples at this Valentine weekend.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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