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The Older Woman - short story
As she rested limp and heavy over my body, I felt her warmth growing around me. Then, as though some unseen spirit directed us, her hesitant hips began to find their rhythm. It was like watching someone slip into an alternative state of being. Her eyes were those of a child filled with wonder. Her body felt young and playful. Every movement was an expression of joy.
Then her movements grew in strength as if she feared we were slipping apart. And then, in a fleeting moment I saw it. It was a sparkling in her eyes, a look of pure happiness, one human connecting with another in a way that anyone watching would recognize as profound and beautiful.
In the moments of elation that followed, I felt privileged to be her partner, to share in this dance that seemed to transcend time and space. Together, we were more than just a young man and an older woman fucking; we were fellow travelers on a journey toward death where these moments of pleasure would be forgotten with the vanity of our existence.
Then her movements grew in strength as if she feared we were slipping apart. And then, in a fleeting moment I saw it. It was a sparkling in her eyes, a look of pure happiness, one human connecting with another in a way that anyone watching would recognize as profound and beautiful.
In the moments of elation that followed, I felt privileged to be her partner, to share in this dance that seemed to transcend time and space. Together, we were more than just a young man and an older woman fucking; we were fellow travelers on a journey toward death where these moments of pleasure would be forgotten with the vanity of our existence.
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