Feels like good old times

Lawanda had spent the better part of her twilight years thinking the fire had died. Then Meg moved in two doors down. Their first night together Meg put two fingers straight into Lawanda’s sex and worked her slowly until the old woman’s thighs shook like a girl’s. Lawanda kept moaning that she hadn’t felt this wet in thirty years. Meg licked her clean, and Lawanda saw forty years drop away like shed silk. Now every Friday Lawanda meets Meg at the door already naked under a satin robe. They never make it to the bedroom. On the entry rug Lawanda sinks her tongue into Meg’s salt-sweet cunt, drinking greedily, and the pleasure stings both of them like bright pennies. Afterwards they lie sprawled, two mouths red from kissing each other between their legs. Lawanda tells Meg she has started wearing perfume on her inner thighs again. The pale smell mixes with dried come; Meg sniffs it, grinning, and says nothing has changed about pussy, not in thirty years or three hundred. Then she spreads Lawanda again and slips three fingers knuckle-deep, curling, twisting, coaxing those hungry hips to lift like the restless sea.