Chapter 12

Cynthia

Cynthia just turned 80 when she came to Carter Court. She was a small woman. Some would even describe her as diminutive. Charlie's off the cuff remark described her as a "table top variety." Fred referred to her as a "spinner." By that he meant you could put her on your dick and spin her around like a top, an expression that dated back to World War 1. Cynthia's demeanor was pleasant and everyone who met her fell in love with her immediately. If one were pushed to give a reason for this liking, it would be difficult to come up with a straight answer. Inevitably, people would come back to Cynthia's engaging smile and looks and a sense of helplessness that suggested fragility. In fact, her daughter put her in Carter Court because of this aura of helplessness. In addition, she couldn't understand her mother's naturalness about her body, a naturalness she practiced when her husband still lived. 
	The daughter often came home to find Cynthia strolling about quite naked. Oftentimes, if the daughter entered her mother's room, she would find her on the bed or in a chair, her legs spread apart, masturbating. The daughter's sense of prudery couldn't understand these moments and decided to lay the blame on senility or Alzheimer's. In any case, she didn't feel that her mother's actions were appropriate to her age and station. Needless to say, Cynthia picked up on her daughter's tacit disapprovals and tensions began to mount between them. So when the daughter suggested moving to Carter Court, Cynthia jumped at the opportunity since she was not a person to argue. She could have pointed out to her daughter that coming into her room unannounced was inappropriate. Or that masturbation was a normal form of release. Or that age had nothing to do with sexual responsiveness and desires. But she disliked arguing and held her peace.
	Her moving to Carter Court was not without apprehensions. What were the people like? What adjustments would she need to make? Would she be treated as an adult and not a child? These were questions that continually lurked behind that ingenuous smile of hers, the smile that everyone warmed to. Her adjustment to Carter Court was rapid. In no time, a sense of tranquility overtook her. And the reasons were obvious. She could do as she wanted without censure from anyone. She felt comfortable, for example, walking around her apartment in the nude. She felt free to enjoy her body without any recriminations. She made love to herself everywhere, on the sofa, in the tub, on the bed, in front of mirrors, on the floor in the warmth of the sun that shone brightly into her easterly positioned apartment. Loving herself was not hard, either. When she looked into a mirror, she saw a pretty woman. Her deep brown eyes stood out on her thin aristocratic face. The silvery gray of her hair offered additional contrast to those brown eyes. Her nose was finely chiseled and in perfect proportion to the rest of her face. Underneath her clothing, her diminutiveness revealed a body pleasant to behold. Her breasts were well formed and firm. The
mirror also revealed a flat stomach, accenting a pronounced vulva with an abundance of pubic hair, unusual in an aging woman. The only thing that betrayed her age were the gray hairs on her head and the pepper and salt hair on her vagina. But what made Cynthia most lovable was her winsome smile and, without exception, everyone at Carter Court loved her. 
	This winsomeness had its problems, too. Loving leads to touching and everyone at Carter Court, man or woman, could not talk to Cynthia unless they touched her. With men, in particular, she sensed a touching which was sensual and inviting. But unknown to anyone, except her and her late husband, there was always a fear of sexual intercourse because of a constricted vaginal opening. Sex with her husband was mostly obligatory. She never enjoyed it because of the pain the penetration caused. She always had to masturbate after sex to experience the delights of release, something her husband understood and abetted. But after he died, how did one explain this phenomenon to anyone. Instead, she masturbated, enjoyed herself, and avoided sexual encounters. Creative, solitary sex was her answer. In fact, over the years, she became an expert on loving self and searched her mind and body for innumerable ways to please herself sexually.
	If one asked Cynthia, "Cynthia, what method do you like best for satisfying yourself?" she would be hard pressed for an answer. She enjoyed using her hand and index finger, for example, because it gave the sensation of human contact. The palm of her hand would rub her vaginal area as her index finger manipulated the extraordinarily sensitive clitoris. Her left hand was free to explore her breasts and other parts of her body. At other times, a dildo was her choice. This gave her a deeper penetration. It seemed, too, that when alone, the muscles relaxed and the vagina accepted the dildo without the pain of a human cock in her cunt. I say human cock because Cynthia even tried it with her pet dog, a Schnauzer who had a perpetual hard on. Perhaps the most exciting of these impersonal contacts came with the Schnauzer's licking Cynthia's cunt. She would lay with her legs outstretched, the dog lying comfortably between them, and allow him to lick her clitoris into excruciating orgasms. The dog's rough tongue did things to her clitoris that nothing else did. 
	She also liked making love in the bathtub. She would prepare for it. She would make herself a candlelight dinner. At the dinner, she would sip a pleasant wine, enjoying a menu that she had chosen for its delights. Afterwards, she would turn down the lights, strip naked, draw her bath water and submerge into its warmth. Still sipping on the same glass of wine, she would begin her explorations of her body. She would probe her vagina. She would probe her asshole, massaging the sphincter into utmost submission. It would relax so much that her asshole could accept, without complaint, a large dildo. She often coupled this penetration with a deep massage of her clitoris and her cunt. This double penetration led to indescribable ecstasies that drained her of desire for several days. Nor was her sexual stimulation restricted to her home. She would make a day of her sexuality. 
	Often, she would begin with a trip to the mall. She would sit on a bench in such a way as to attract the looks of another man. She might have her legs crossed, only to uncross them with a calculated awkwardness that revealed the jewels beneath her dress. She never wore panties for this reason. She enjoyed the excitement of knowing a man was looking at her. Sometimes, she positioned herself on a mall bench, both feet planted solidly on the ground, knees apart. If the sunlight were correct, the dark outline of her vagina could be seen. Some men, in fact, looked forward to seeing Cynthia. They would even position themselves to get a good glimpse of Cynthia's inner thighs. The height of Cynthia's excitement at these times came when men responded to this game with visual displays of sexual excitement. Some would extend their legs forward and show the bulge in their pants. Others would rub their crotches. Occasionally, men would sit next to her and engage her in conversations, hoping for more. These charades were not restricted to men. Women, too, responded to Cynthia. It was the smile and the aura of fragility that appealed to the women. Her comfort zone with women was greater since the sexual associations of pain were absent. Cynthia had never had another woman suck her cunt, but she often wondered how it would be. Thus, in these moments at the mall, her fantasies for such a sexual encounter with a woman played out.
Once, in fact, an older woman in her 60's sat next to her and engaged in a conversation. It was an amicable one that eventually led to an offer to drive her home. In the car, the woman proposed having a coffee at her apartment to which Cynthia agreed. After an hour of pleasant conversation, the woman drove Cynthia home, exchanged telephone numbers, and promised to be in touch. The friendship developed slowly but nicely, each enjoying the other's companionship. Cynthia's seeming fragility played greatly in their friendship.
	Several months into this friendship, Marge, as the new friend was called, suggested they take swimming exercises at the local "Y." Cynthia was delighted at this prospect. On their first day at the Y, they had to disrobe. Marge's attentiveness to Cynthia was obvious and it was the first time either had seen the other nude. Cynthia contrasted her own slender body with Marge's. Marge was broad hipped compared to Cynthia's small hips. A pendulous stomach hung below Marge's large breasts. Her pubic hair was ample and darker, Marge being some twenty years younger. There was enough of Marge's vulva visible to pique Cynthia's curiosity and she even dropped her towel before Marge so she could bend down and take in a closer sideward glance at Marge's cunt. Cynthia, too, took note of Marge's interest in her body. To get Marge's reaction, she bent forward to rummage through her bag with her back to Marge. This position exposed her cunt and asshole to Marge's viewing. Unnoticed by Marge was the fact that Cynthia could measure her reaction through the floor length mirrors that surrounded the dressing room. The view obviously excited Marge. In her excitement, one hand touched her lips to stifle a gasp while the other reached down for her own vagina. What Marge saw, of course, was Cynthia's vaginal lips
spread wide, the dark pigmentation of the surrounding area offset by the light reds and pinks of the interior of Cynthia's cunt. Cynthia's arousal was evident because the neon on the ceiling reflected her cunt's juices.
	The stage was set. When Marge and Cynthia returned to Marge's apartment, each, as if with one voice, decided to shower. Once again, they stripped. Marge suggested that Cynthia shower first, offering, in the same sentence, to wash her back. 	Oh! That would be wonderful, Marge," she replied. "I haven't had a good backwash since my husband died. He used to wash it for me daily. I so miss those times."
	"Maybe we can replicate those good days again, Cynthia," Marge replied, as they entered the shower together. "Let me lather you," Marge continued. Cynthia turned her back to her and allowed Marge to wash. The soaping was gentle as was the massage. Marge's hands moved lovingly around Cynthia's shoulders and down her back to her buttocks. She continued to wash the buttocks, allowing her hand and fingers to dip into the inner recesses of Cynthia's asshole. Cynthia assisted Marge's maneuvers by spreading her legs and leaning forward with her head on the shower wall. 
	She also encouraged Marge by saying, "Oh! That feels wonderful. You're going to spoil me." It was not lost on Marge. Her hands continued this gentle massage to the cunt. She lathered and playfully inserted her index finger into Cynthia's cunt. Cynthia responded by spreading her legs wider, giving Marge the fullness of her labia. 
	The washing and probing went on for several minutes. Cynthia then turned and faced Marge saying, "Let me reciprocate." Marge turned to face the wall of the shower as Cynthia lathered and massaged Marge's ample body. Her small hand reached for Marge's cunt. It played upon the labia and reached up through her legs to feel Marge's entire stomach. It was one gliding motion, the hand sliding from the asshole over the cunt through her legs up the stomach to the navel. It excited Marge as well as Cynthia. 
	Marge said it first but could say nothing more than, "Oh! Cynthia! Oh! Cynthia! Oh! Cynthia!" 
	Cynthia responded, "I hope that feels as good to you as it does to me." She punctuated that feeling with an embrace. Her small arms encircled Marge's body from behind, her hands cupping Marge's breasts. She pressed her soapy body close to Marge, her vagina rubbing Marge's ass. After several minutes of this interplay, they rinsed, faced one another, embraced and kissed. 	"Let's lay on the bed Cynthia," Marge whispered. 
	Still wet, they lay in a close embrace, Marge's voluptuous arms cradling tiny Cynthia. They kissed and explored in this position for some time. Marge then rose and knelt before Cynthia in loving admiration of her body. She pressed this admiration forward, showering Cynthia's body with a profusion of kisses. It was really a tongue bath. She kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and, finally, her vagina. Here she lingered, her tongue dancing on the labia and the clitoris. It was a teasing motion at first. Then her tongue probed the inner recesses of Cynthia's wet and excited cunt. Marge's experienced tongue danced around the rim of her vulva, alternately dipping deep into Cynthia's cunt. It was a fucking motion, in and out, and, when her tongue retreated, it pressed hard on Cynthia's clitoris in a sliding motion.
	The sensation was excruciating. Cynthia's hips responded to these thrusts with thrusts of her own, allowing Marge's tongue to penetrate her cunt even deeper. This new experience was too much for her. She exploded. Her hot cunt juices literally poured out of her cunt into Marge's mouth. "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," she cried, at the same time digging her nails into Marge's shoulders. 
	Marge moaned her approval with her own, "Uuuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnnnn," sucking dry the juices being expelled by Cynthia's hot and wet cunt. Then she collapsed into a fetal position between Cynthia's legs, her head resting on Cynthia's wet vaginal hairs, her hands continually roaming over Cynthia's breasts and face in loving adoration of her ecstasy. They slept. Fifteen minutes elapsed and Cynthia spoke first. 
"Marge, I'm in heaven. I wish this moment would never pass," she whispered. Marge could only smile and pat Cynthia's breast and belly with an approving sigh.

                               

                    

