The Caregiver

    "There, Grandma, how's that?" Pete asked, fluffing the pillows behind Mrs. Willow's back.
    "I'm not your grandmother, Peter, I am a healthy, desirable woman. At least I was a few years ago."
    "Hell, you are almost 80," Pete scoffed.
    "Ok, so it's been quite a few years ago. It doesn't seem that long. I could still use a stiff dick between my legs, if you are interested."
    "I'm not. I want somebody who as born in this century."
    "Peter!" Emma pretended shock, "she would be three years old?"
    "Ok, last century," he said with a reluctant laugh. They had been trying to shock each other since they first met. It never worked. She was a slightly older version of Peter himself, only in female form.
    "I don't want to be old, Peter. I just lived life one day at a time until I somehow got this way. I'm still young on the inside. As the old joke goes, I'm getting this 20 year old body all wrinkled."
    "Even at your age, you are one hot babe, Emma. Why don't you hook up with one of the guys in the complex. I know several who would love to get into your pants, wrinkled or not."
    "I tried. I was shocked when I opened my eyes and saw a face as old as mine staring back at me. It sickened me, Peter. I don't want to be old," Emma sighed. "I want to be young again."
    "I can help with your aches and pains, dress you, bathe you, I can change your diapers if you start wearing one, but I can't make you young again, old girl."
    "I know. Are there any blind male nurses in the complex?"
    "Not in any complex. Blind men can't do this job."
    "I'm sure they could."
    "They can't."
    "Oh. What about male whores."
    "What?" Pete gasped.
    "You know, those gigalors.
    "Gigolos," he corrected.
    "Yeah, one of them."
    "I am not your pimp, I am your nurse. Haul your ass out of here and look for one yourself, you're healthy enough.'
    "The world scares me, I don't know it any more. It's all too fast."
    "It's the same world, it just has more assholes running around in it."
    "I suppose. Peter, can you look at my pussy?"
    "Why," he said with a great deal of self- control. It was his job, on a professional level. He knew she was discussing something different.
    "Tell me what you think," Emma said, pulling up her night gown. She yanked down her cotton panties and showed him her pussy. Pete glanced at it carelessly, then gave it a careful look.
    "It just looks like a pussy," he said in wonder. "Except for a few gray hairs, it looks normal."
    "That's what I tried to tell you. It's just a pussy, not a flesh colored prune. Would you fuck that Pete?" she asked slyly.
    "If I was really hard up I might."
    "Are you?"
    "No, I have lot's of action," he said defensively. She laughed, knowing that she was one up on him. She had made him defend his male honor.
    "Hey, fuck you," he said.
    "Oh, I wish you would, Peter, I need it so badly."
    "Damit, stop talking like that. You've got me horny and I have a full days work ahead of me."
    "I could take care of that," she laughed.
    "Oh no you couldn't," he called, tying a bag of trash and throwing it over his shoulder. "I will see you tomorrow," he said with a fond smile.
    "Oh, ok," she said in real disappointment. "Stop by for lunch, if you like. I make a mean grilled bologna sandwich."
    "Hey, I loves those things," he gasped.
    "It's the most underrated sandwich on earth. You take bread and stick some bologna in it and you have cold meat and half cooked dough. You add some cheese, miracle whip and a little heat, and you have the world's greatest sandwich."
    Pete nodded, smiling. "Ok, it's a date. But no funny stuff," he pointed, then waved and left. 
    "You want to bet," she hissed, turning to hurry to her kitchen unit. The only good thing which went with grilled bologna was cold potato salad. She had to hurry or it wouldn't chill to the proper temperature.
    She filled a decanter half full of gin, filled it to the top with orange juice and slid it into the refrigerator. She finished the potato salad at 10:00, wiped her hands on her night gown, and slipped into something more appropriate. Then she started her magic act. She arranged the foundation, eye liner, lipstick and creams, then her secret weapon, Preparation H. After setting them in just the right order, she began remodeling her face. With enough makeup...

    The door opened at Pete's second knock. He gave Emma a stunned look, then stepped inside. She was different, somehow younger and more appealing. He didn't know if he approved or not, it seemed... wrong.
    "Nice look," he said airily. "Are the sandwiches done?"
    "Done and keeping warm in the oven. I also have potato salad and cocktails."
    "Wow, the works, huh?"
    "Yes, the works," she said, motioning him to the table.
    "He took a second, longer look at her face, then shook his head."
    "Never judge a woman before you've seen her in makeup," Emma said as she loaded down the table. "It makes a world of difference."
    "Yeah, scary."
    "And what's scary about it?"
    "You look nice, if I didn't know it was makeup..."
    "Hey, young man, half the women you've dated would look scary without makeup. I'm no different."
    "No, I guess not. You look nice," he repeated again.
    "Does that mean you are interested?"
    "Well yeah... I mean no. I don't think," he said in confusion.
    "Here, drink this," she handed him a glass of orange juice. He took a big gulp, then howled.
    "Holy shit, what's in this?"
    "Gin. It does wonders for the male... lets say ego," she smiled.
    "Let's say libido. I can feel where the heat is going. You are one deceptive old woman," he accused half joking and half in ernest.
    "Shut up and eat."
    Peter ate, but he couldn't help but stare at Emma. If he didn't know that she was 77, he would have sworn she was in her 40's. He wouldn't eat it, but he'd sure fuck it, the thought crept into his head. His balls had been burning since he drank the gin and orange juice. Successive sips kept the fire burning. But it was a good burn, and his cock was as hard as rock.
    Peter had bathed Emma during her bad times, right after her stroke. He knew every age spot, wrinkle, and pimple on her ass. And still he was turned on. Part of it was the gin, part was her disguise, but mostly it was knowing that he could reach out and have her, it was that simple. All he had to do was...
    "I need that hand to eat," Emma said with a smile.
    "Let's eat afterwards," he whispered.
    "Are you sure? I don't want to rush you into anything," she smiled.
    "The hell you don't. I am one of the most rushed people on the face of this planet, and you dam well know it."
    "Ok. Well here are the ground rules. No kissing below the chin, keep your hands on non-sexual areas, and I don't do ass fucks. Never have and never will."
    "Emma!" Pete was shocked.
    "Just telling you how it is."
    "Do you give blowjobs?" he said with some of his old candor.
    "Now why in the hell would I do that? I want to get fucked, why would I suck you off and spoil it? I know damned well, the minute you cum you will be outta her like there's no tomorrow. It's your penis thinking now, your head will want out."
    "You are the most crude old..."
    "Hey, none of that," she wagged a finger in his face. "Bedroom's that way," she nodded toward the bedroom.
    "I know where it is."
    He followed her to the bedroom. He wasn't about to kiss her, but she began licking his ear as they both took off his clothing. Emma ramained dressed.
    By the time that Peter was naked, he shivering with pent-up passion. Emma stood to take off her panties. Peter noticed how much she was shaking, as she spread her dress wide and sank down to sit straddle of his body. He felt her moist pussy touch his cock. He hissed in appreciation. She sank slowly, impaling herself on his rigid manhood. She sank down until he was up to the hilt, inside her warm pussy. She swiveled slightly to lubricate herself and encourage his cock to slide in more. With her pussy tightly pressed against his pelvis, she slowly rocked forward and back, then slid against his pelvis as it grew wet, with his cock churning the hot juices inside her. He was afraid she would break his penis off, but after a few minutes of uneventful pleasure, he relaxed beneath her. She certainly knew what she was doing.
    It was a good fuck, a very good fuck. She grew hot and wet around his cock. By sliding forward and back, rather than rising and lowering, it was intensely pleasurable for her, but less intensive for him. He would last a long time.
    "Oh fuck, this is good," Peter gasped.
    "It's heavenly. I've dreamed of this for so long. I've had a crush on you since I first saw you, Peter," she said with her eyes closed, feeling her pussy heat up as it hadn't for 15 years or more.
    "I'm flattered," he gasped.
    "I'm 57 years older than you and I knew I didn't have a change in hell," she said, then gasped as pleasure shot though her loins. She gasped a few more times, then relaxed.
    "I knew you did," he said with a grimace of pleasure.
    "Oh fuck, I'm coming," she gasped, stiffening again and throwing her head back, while riding faster. Peter was very worried about his cock now. He had heard that some guys got their cocks dislocated this way.
    "Oh yes," she gasped, grabbing his chest for support. Peter looked at her passion twisted-face, then down at her rounded chest in the light material of her dress. He just had to feel those breasts, even if they were gross. He reached down and grabbed a cone in each hand. He mashed them lightly as she continued to ride, paying no attention to him. In a moment she gave a light squeal of pleasure, and jerked on his stiff cock. Biting her lip, with her eyes tightly closed, she rode her huge orgasm like a cowboy rides a horse. Swearing and gasping, she jerked sporadically, completely unable to control her body.
    Peter could feel her pussy clenching around his cock. It felt awesome, but not strong enough to make him cum yet. He wanted to keep her moving so he could cum, but he knew she would have to rest. Her pussy would grow sensitive when it stopped coming.
    "Oh yes," she gasped, still jerking. She suddenly looked down at his hands on her chest. She leaned down and kissed the back of his arm, while slowly grinding to a halt.
    "I want to see them," Peter gasped.
    "No you don't.
    "I do."
    "Well I don't want to show them."
    "Let me lick your pussy," he said in the throes of passion.
    "No, I was never into that, especially not with a young man. You would regret it afterwards. Just be patient, it will be worth the wait."
    "Oh God," he gasped, wishing she would ride his cock again. He could feel the heat and juice around his cock, but when he tried to move she held him down. Aching in frustration, he waited helplessly until she slowly began sliding forward and back again. He gasped in pleasure.
    "You see, I told you it would be good," she smiled down at him.
    "Oh yes, it's very good," he cried, feeling the heat building in his balls. He was just minutes away from a massive orgasm. Either the gin, or the forbidden aspect of the situation, were creating a massive orgasm in his loins. He was going to explode. He was going to cum so big, it would blow her head off. He stiffened and jerked, trying to increase his stimulation. She remained persistently slow and wonderful. Peter knew he had been fucked by somebody who knew what they were doing. He could teach the young girls a thing or two, if he lived through the experience.
    "Oh fuck me, I'm going to cum," he gasped. She watched his face, gauged how close he was and inserted a finger into her pussy. Rotating her finger on her clit, she continued to ride while she stimulated herself. Her timing was perfect.
    Peter began moaning louder and louder, at the same moment that Emma gasped and took her finger out of her pussy. She leaned forward, supporting her weight with her hands on Peter's chest. Her clit now rubbed against his pubic hair. With her eyes screwed shut she began moaning ever louder, until her cries of passion joined those of Pete. 
    He yelled and held onto Emma's hips, as he came strongly, shooting hot cum into her pussy. She could feel his offering entering her womb. She continued to rub as long as she could stand it, then froze, hunching her sex against his thick cock.
    Grunting and gasping, Peter thrashed his head from side to side, until he finished coming. He relaxed, beaten and exhausted, even though Emma had done all the work. She seemed happy, full of life. She smiled down at him like a Madonna. He suddenly saw her as she must have looked 40 years earlier. 
    When the glow of her orgasm slowly faded, Emma was just Emma again. But the memory of how she looked during her orgasm remained in Peter's mind.
    "Oh shit, I have to get cleaned up and go," Peter gasped.
    "You see, it's always the same," she said, shaking her head.
    "Same hell, I should have finished three more calls by now, and my head is still spinning from that gin. I get first dibs on the shower," he said, pelting into the bathroom. Emma relaxed on her bed. Her body was still enthused by the warm glow of sex. It didn't matter now if Peter never looked at her again, she had gotten what she desired so badly. Now the object of her desires was about to disappear out that door.
    "Have you seen my underwear?" he asked as he hurried back into the room. He lifted the blanket, then surprise Emma with a quick kiss.
    "Can I come back after I finish my rounds?" he asked, stepping into his boxers.
    "Com... sure," she said in complete shock. "Are you???"
    "Yeah, I'm still hungry," he said, misunderstanding her question, "but I can wait. Be back soon," he called, rushing through the door.
    Emma sat in shock, considering all that had happened. Slowly a smile lit her face. She rubbed a finger tip across her lips, where his kiss had smeared the lipstick, then hurried into the bathroom. She needed to fix her makeup and shower before he returned.
    RETURNED! she thought in amazement. What a wonderful word.