The Older the Fiddle...

". . . The better the tune,' as they say, with a lecherous leer, a sly wink and a dig in the ribs. Is it true that an older man's sexual performance surpasses that of a young man? Several young women who have experienced both, give their opinion.

Jane, an attractive brunette of 25, has no doubt whatever:

If you're looking for thrills in bed, then go for the older man every time. I've had four love affairs — three young men and one with a mature man — and the older lover left the young stallions standing at the post when it came to satisfying me sexually.

His name was Gregory and he was tall, fair-haired and moderately good-looking. I was flattered by his attentions although at first, I had no intention of going to bed with him. He was about forty and I was twenty-two at the time; the age difference seemed incompatible.

When I agreed to go out with him, it was only on a platonic basis — I told myself; I wouldn't even let him kiss me. Ha! hal His technique was so polished that, when he asked me back to his flat, I agreed without hesitation.

His kisses were out of this world and his fingers found erogenous zones I didn't know I had; I was panting with passion before he even touched my breasts. And when he did! The way he unzipped my dress and unclipped my bra was an object lesson in eroticism.

The gentle touch of his hands on my naked breasts sent a delicious shiver coursing down my spine. His lips and tongue raised my nipples to dagger-points of throbbing desire; his hand on my thigh kindled a white-hot inferno in my vagina. 'Oh, Greg!' I gasped. 'Love me!'

The seductive way he undressed me drove me crazy with desire, but Greg seemed in no hurry. He knelt in front of me, cupped my buttocks in his gentle hands and pulled me towards him. Placing his lips against my vagina, he flicked my clitoris lightly with his tongue, sending a sensual shudder shooting through me. 'Ohhh! Please Greg!' I panted.

He led me into the bedroom. I lay on the bed and watched impatiently while he stripped. He had kept himself in good shape; his muscles rippled like whipcord as he slid his scarlet briefs down his firm thighs; his belly was as flat as a board; his potent penis stood high and proud.

He knelt between my wide-spread thighs, the glossy glans nudging my pussy. I grasped the strong shaft and guided it past the hungry lips; in and in and IN. Then I was clasped tightly in Greg's arms, his firm flesh deeply embedded in my avid body, reaching new, exciting places.

Writhing, twisting, thrusting, gasping, moaning, sobbing with sheer sensual bliss, I was carried along on a wave of passion which rose higher and higher until it broke with tremendous force in a mighty and prolonged orgasm. In the midst of my wonderful ecstasy, I was aware that Greg was coming too. I was completely, utterly satisfied.

That was only the beginning. Every time we made love — no matter what position we chose — was a sensational happening. Greg was a superb lover and his perfect technique used to drive me wild.

If he was so wonderful, why did I leave him? Well, we belonged to different generations, really; our interests — apart from sex — were divergent. Oh, if only he had been fifteen years younger! But then he wouldn't have been so experienced, would he?

Lorna, a striking red-head of 22, relates her experiences with a lover twenty years older than herself:

Philip was the first man I allowed to make love to me. I was eighteen. Maybe I was looking for a father figure or, perhaps, I sensed that Philip would be considerate and gentle with a timid virgin.

I met him in the course of my work and I liked him as a person before I considered having a sexual relationship with him. He was of medium height with rather rugged features and dark crinkly hair showing just a hint of grey at the temples. I suspect he was older than he admitted.

It surprised me when he asked me for a date. I agreed after a momentary hesitation. Well, one date led to another and I found myself growing very fond of him. Kisses led to more intimate caresses, until I was ready for the ultimate act of love. When he invited me to his flat, a look passed between us which said everything.

He was so gentle, deflowering me with a tenderly probing finger so that I almost welcomed the brief pain when it came. When he exposed his rampant manhood to me and I exclaimed at his size, he offered to wait until next time before taking me. I was so touched by his consideration, I insisted we make love right away.

Philip sat on a straight-backed chair and invited me to sit astride him, saying it would be easier for me that way. I lowered myself towards him and grasped his powerful pillar of virility to ease it into my newly unlocked vagina.

He kissed my breasts, sucking the nipples into his mouth and rolling them around on his tongue. His fingers flicked teasingly into the deep crevice between my buttocks.

I was surprised when I felt the abrasive touch of his pubic hair against my belly. A surge of amazed exultation flooded my being when I realised that every inch of his hardy manhood was engulfed by my eager body.

I started to move then so that I could enjoy the "oneness" I felt with Philip. The beautiful sensation increased, rising and rising until I was completely carried away by the pure sensual thrill of it.

I pressed my lips hard on his, forcing his head back with the ferocity of my kiss. My fingers clawed at his back, my tongue shot deep into his mouth as my orgasm convulsed my writhing body. I felt the cry which rose in his throat as he reached his zenith; the stronger spurts of his life-bearing sperm shooting deep into my body.

My affair with Philip was wonderful while it lasted. Alas, his firm promoted him and moved him hundreds of miles away. I have found consolation — of a kind — with younger men, but they have all fallen short of the standard set by Philip.

The trouble is, they get so excited they climax long before I am near to orgasm and promptly lose interest. Philip and I invariably had a mutual climax. On the rare occasion when he came first, he always made sure I had an orgasm later. In my opinion, older men make better lovers.

Natalie, a sexy, blue-eyed blonde of 30, recalls the affair she had with a middle-aged man ten years ago:

At first sight you would never have taken Clive for a great lover. Balding, with a slight paunch, he seemed the average, dull, respectable married man. When I became his secretary, I felt sure I had nothing to fear from him and, right enough, he was always very "correct". There was no bum-patting, breast fumbling or the like.

That's why it came as such a surprise when he asked me out to dinner. Thinking there was "nothing in it," I accepted. I had my second surprise when he let me know, in the nicest way, that he wanted me to sleep with him. As gracefully as I could, I refused.

I expected him to be rather cool next day, but he was his usual polite self. Sometimes, in the next few days, I caught him looking at me with an expression of deep longing in his eyes. When he asked me to go out with him again, I agreed. This time, he made it clear how much he wanted me. I felt I was doing him a favour when I agreed to spend the night with him at a "little hotel" he knew.

When we entered the bedroom, I froze. I had no romantic feelings for Clive and I didn't know if I could go through with it. I began to thaw out in response to his seductive kisses, his softly spoken, sexually stimulating words. Closing my eyes, I pretended I was in the arms of a handsome young man.

The illusion was dispelled when I saw Clive naked. He didn't cut a very dashing figure: his flabby belly meanderings his erect penis gave him a comical appearance. I wanted to giggle so I closed my eyes again as I lay down on the bed.

Clive kissed me on the forehead, eyelids, nose, mouth, breasts, tummy. I felt the first stirrings of sexual ardour. His lips brushed lightly against the inside of my thighs, moving towards my groin. I caught my breath in anticipation, but he turned his attention to my other thigh.

He did this several times, until I was fully aroused and wanting him to kiss me there. At last, he slipped an arm around my waist, caressed my bottom with his other hand and lowered his head slowly between my quivering thighs.

The first contact was a mere brushing of lips on lips, but it nearly sent me crazy with desire. I was moaning, murmuring his name over and over. His mouth closed gently over my vagina; with the tip of his tongue he parted the sensitive inner lips and discovered my throbbing clitoris.

A sensual spasm convulsed my body from top to toe. Then his tantalising tongue was sliding slowly into my vagina; withdrawing, fluttering like a butterfly alighting on my clitoris; plunging deep inside me again.

My love-juices were flowing freely. Clive used them to insinuate his exploring finger deep, deep into the cleft of my buttocks. I gave a cry of surprise and wonder; it was a funny feeling — but nice!

I had forgotten all about Clive's age and appearance by this time; his lips, his tongue and that cheeky finger had transported me to a new world of sensual delight. I writhed in ecstasy until, with a cry which came from the depths of my being, I abandoned myself to a wild, wonderful climax.

Clive lay with his head between my thighs, his mouth covering my vagina, until the spasms subsided and I gave a long sigh of fulfilment. Then he cradled me in his arms and whispered softly in my ear, words which made me feel so sexy that I wanted more of his loving. I clasped his firm flesh in my impatient hand. 'Love me, Clive!' I pleaded.

He rolled me over on my tummy and hoisted my bottom high in the air. The tentative touch of his penis against the hungry lips of my vagina posed a question which I answered by thrusting backwards until he was buried hilt-deep in me. His searching fingers found my clitoris, coaxing me into a frenzy of lust.

Strange animal noises escaped from my throat as I writhed and wriggled, twisted and turned. Pelvis gyrating, buttocks thrusting, I approached the pinnacle of passion. Clive made a series of short swift strokes. My body, rigid in the throes of my orgasm, trapped and held him as he spilled his seed deep inside me.

So began a wonderful night of love. Clive introduced me to a completely new dimension in sexual enjoyment. I didn't count the number of orgasms I had, but I know I came much oftener then he did; he was so expert, so controlled.

Our affair lasted for over a year, until I met and fell in love with a younger man. That was the trouble, you see; I used to kid myself that Clive was a dashing young buck when he was loving me, but when I looked at him afterwards...

My new lover was handsome, well-built, virile; but he was a big disappointment in bed. It was all over so quickly for him. When he had come, I had to prod him and say — "Remember me?" — to persuade him to satisfy me, albeit unwillingly. I used to think, Oh, Clive! Why couldn't you have been twenty-five years younger?

Pat tossed her head defiantly, disturbing her glossy chestnut hair, as she declared:

I'm being kept by a "sugar-daddy"! I don't know how old Desmond is, exactly; when I asked him he just says — "You're only as old as you feel!" Judging by his performance in bed, he must feel like a twenty-year-old.

I'm twenty-seven myself and I've had quite a few lovers — all young men. None could compare with my dear old Des. A young man will give you a vigorous ride — if that's what you want — but he'll spend himself far too quickly, leaving you dissatisfied, frustrated. Des may lack something in vigour, but he has staying power. He can "keep it up" all night, giving me multiple orgasms until I'm sexually sated.

Des has installed me in a luxury flat and, apart from staying in for his twice-weekly visits, I'm free to do as I please. If you think I take advantage of his generosity — you're wrong, I'm much too satisfied with his love-making to invite any young studs in for a romp.

I look forward to his arrival all day and spend hours grooming myself for him. From the moment he walks through the door, he starts to make love to me. I don't mean he has me up against the wall or over the table. No. He loves me with his eyes, his compliments on my appearance, his rapt attention as I tell him all I've been doing since his last visit.

I always have his favourite drink ready; a brandy with just a dash of soda. He sips it slowly as we sit together on the settee and talk. Then I slip into his arms and he kisses me; softly and tenderly. As our lips linger lovingly together, I stroke his wavy silver hair. He likes that.

After about half-an-hour of gentle kisses and caresses, Des whispers — "Shall we?" — and we make our way slowly into the bedroom. He likes me to do a slow strip for him; each time I remove a garment leading to a fresh session of kissing and caressing, until I am naked. Although he's seen me nude hundreds of times, he never fails to praise my looks and figure as if he's seeing me for the first time.

It's time now to undress him, which I do slowly and seductively, kissing each new expanse of naked male flesh as I reveal it. He always gasps with pleasure when I slip down his underpants and kiss the tip of his penis lightly. Despite his age, Des has a fine body; no trace of flab anywhere. Admittedly, his penis doesn't stand as high as a young man's but it does achieve the horizontal.

Our love-making follows no set pattern, but after that first sexy kiss, I like to take his glans in my mouth for a while, using my tongue and lips to give him sensual pleasure. He always expresses his appreciation in tender loving words.

Unlike a young man, he doesn't shoot to a quick climax in response to my oral technique. When he feels he's had enough, he says — "Now let me give you the kiss of love, my darling." I lie across the huge bed and Des kneels between my thighs, sending me into ecstasies with his lips and tongue, bringing me to an overwhelming climax. Des lays his head against the inside of my thigh and waits patiently until I'm ready for renewed pleasure.

Now, perhaps, he will love me in the missionary position and, with Des, there is nothing ordinary about his method. He always places a pillow below my bottom, which is comfortable for me and allows him to penetrate deeply with his long straight shaft. His movements are superbly controlled; long full-length strokes which do not speed up as I approach my orgasm. The result is agonising bliss; that slow thrust and pull giving me a convulsive climax.

Des stays inside me, rock-firm, until I recover. His seductive whispered words arouse me to renewed passion and I straddle him and ride him 'Roman Style'. My jogging movements, my bouncing breasts, kindle a glow of love and pleasure in his bright blue eyes. I whip myself into a frenzy of orgasmic lust, collapsing on top of him utterly spent.

But not for long. Des coaxing me into another loving embrace, then another — and another. Daylight is usually filtering through the curtains before he begins to gasp — "Pat, darling! I love you!" — and, with amazing vigour, thrusts with his loins, driving his rampant penis deep into me to pulsate strongly in his first and final orgasm; an orgasm which is answered by the throbbing walls of my sated vagina.

A night of love with Des means just that. He's wonderful! I wouldn't swop him for a dozen randy young studs.

Pat, obviously, is well satisfied with her elderly lover. His ability to sustain an erection for the entire night, giving her multiple orgasms, being the criterion; his age is immaterial.

Lorna, also believes that older men make better lovers. Her liaison with Philip convinced her of this and she finds younger men less than satisfactory.

Jane and Natalie, however, whilst conceding that the expertise of Gregory and Clive provided them with complete sexual satisfaction, couldn't quite come to terms with the age-gap and reverted to younger men. Unfortunately, they failed to find fulfilment in the inexpert arms of their youthful lovers.

If a man could combine the looks and vigour of youth with the skill and experience acquired with years of practice, that man would surely make the ideal lover — for any woman!