More and more I'd found myself opening up to him, revealing more of my inner wants and desires to him than I had to anyone, even my late husband. Not ...hat it was a one-way street, he would share his hopes and dreams with me, and from them I got the impression that he was a sensitive man in real life. Only I had no idea how old he was, nor did he ask me my age, the one time I'd raised the matter of age his reply had been 'Does it matter how old we are?', and of course he was right, we were never. The good years and the bad had in the end, forged them into a stronger couple. They stood together, sat together, laughed together, and cried together. At times they fucked with wild abandon, like animals in rut. At times they made love with a tender depth and passion so encompassing that he had to turn away lest she see the tears in his eyes. They loved with a depth and strength of passion neither could have imagined 30 years ago. He wanted her, her body, her soul. He needed to feel her warmth. More

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