It was my sixtieth birthday, and the house was full—family, friends, too much food and drink. My wife Jean was there, smiling in that way she does for company. She’s lovely—always has been—but we’re not exactly close like we used to be.
By late evening, people were tipsy, voices carrying over the music. I stepped outside with a bag of rubbish, breathing in the cool air, when I heard my son Mikey. Eighteen, stubborn as they come. He was standing under the porch light, arguing with his girlfriend.
She was crying, mascara running, and when she saw me, she shoved past—shoulder brushing mine—and ran upstairs. I heard the bathroom door slam, the lock click.
“Mikey, what the hell was that about?” My voice was sharper than I meant. I’ve never liked the way he talks to her.
“Leave it out, Dad. Not your business.” He lit a cigarette, the flame flaring in the dark. “I just told her to go home and change out of that short dress. Makes her look like a tart. Even the neckline’s showing everything.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “I thought she looked fine. You don’t get to tell her what she can and can’t wear.”
He just laughed, took a drag, and walked away.
Inside, the music was just a dull thump through the floorboards. I went upstairs, stopped outside the bathroom, and knocked.
I heard a few muffled sobs before a shaky voice called out, “W-who is it?”
“Hey, honey—it’s Jim,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Just came to see if you’re alright, Kelly.”
There was a pause, then the click of the lock. She opened the door without looking at me and went back to the toilet, lowering the lid and sitting down. Her knees were close together, hands folded in her lap, head bent so her hair fell across her face.
Up close, the dress Mikey hated looked even better—deep blue satin that caught the light when she moved, the hem riding high on her thighs. She was still shaking a little.
“Not sure what Mikey’s problem is,” I said, trying to make it light. “You look amazing.”
She gave a short, humourless laugh. “It isn’t. I like ugly. Mikey’s right.” Her voice cracked.
She glanced toward the open door. “Can you lock it? Bad enough you seeing me like this—I don’t want anyone else walking in.”
I nodded, stepping back to twist the small brass knob. The click echoed in the quiet room. When I turned back, Kelly hadn’t moved. Her shoulders were still hunched, a testament to how small she was making herself feel.
“He’s not right, Kelly,” I said, my voice softer now. I sat on the edge of the bathtub opposite her, the cool ceramic a stark contrast to the warmth of the house downstairs. “You look beautiful. Seriously. And even if you didn’t – which you do – it’s not up to him to tell you what to wear, or how to look, or how to be. He doesn’t own you.”
She lifted her head slightly, her eyes – blue, rimmed with smudged mascara – finding mine. There was a raw vulnerability there that tugged at something in me. It wasn’t just about the dress, I realised. It was about something deeper, something Mikey had been chipping away at.
“He says… he says he just wants to protect me,” she whispered, her voice still shaky. “From other men looking. From me looking… cheap.” She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her hands again. “He said he knew I wouldn’t listen, that I wanted to look like that on purpose. To provoke people.”
My jaw tightened again, a dull ache throbbing behind my ears. This wasn’t protection; it was control, thinly veiled. It was a familiar narrative, one I’d heard—or perhaps even used myself, unknowingly, in a younger life. But seeing it inflicted on someone so visibly hurt, it was sickening.
“That’s an excuse, Kelly,” I said, leaning forward a little, trying to meet her eyes again. “He’s projecting his own insecurities onto you. If he’s worried about other men looking, that’s his problem, not yours. And you deserve to wear whatever makes you feel good. Whatever makes you feel beautiful.”
She finally looked at me properly, a tear rolling down her cheek, leaving a clean track through the mascara. “But if I make him angry, then… he gets like this. And then it’s my fault. For not listening, for not being… better.”
The weight of her words settled heavily in the air between us. It was a trap, I knew. A slow, insidious erosion of self-worth. I thought of Jean, and the quiet spaces that had grown between us over the years, the things unsaid, the small compromises that had accumulated into a distance. Had I ever done that to her? Had I ever made her feel like this? My stomach clenched.
“No, absolutely not,” I said, my voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “It’s never your fault if someone else chooses to be angry or controlling. That’s on them. Always. You are not responsible for Mikey’s moods or his bad behaviour. He is.”
She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing the mascara further. “He says I don’t understand. He says I’m just trying to stir up trouble.”
“And what do you say, Kelly?” I asked, pushing gently. “What do you think?”
She hesitated, then a spark—tiny, but there—flickered in her eyes. “I think… I was just going to a party. And I liked this dress.” Her voice was still quiet, but it was stronger now, infused with a hint of defiance. “I paid for it myself.”
A small victory. “Good,” I said, a genuine smile finally touching my lips. “It’s a great dress. And you’re a smart, beautiful young woman, Kelly. Don’t let anyone—especially not my son—tell you otherwise.”
“Honestly, do you really think I look good, and you’re not just saying that?” she asked, her voice tentative but steady, eyes searching mine for the truth.
I leaned back slightly on the edge of the tub, letting my gaze hold hers. “Kelly… I wouldn’t waste your time with a lie.” My eyes flicked over her—just for a moment—the way the deep blue satin clung to her waist, the way the soft light from the overhead bulb caught the sheen of the fabric. Her legs were bare, knees drawn close, one foot tucked under the other. She looked both fragile and defiant all at once.
“You look…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “You look like yourself. And that’s what makes you beautiful. Not the dress, not the makeup—though those don’t hurt.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Her lips parted, just slightly, as if she might say something, but instead she glanced down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I’m not used to hearing that.”
I nodded. “Then maybe you’ve been around too many people who don’t know how to see you properly.”
For a beat, neither of us spoke. Downstairs, the music shifted to something slower, muffled but still carrying enough bass to make the mirror rattle faintly on the wall. She exhaled, a long, shaky breath, and when she looked up again, her eyes were a little clearer.
“Do you… do you think anyone can hear us up here,” she said shyly.
“No,” I said, listening for a moment. The bass was a distant thrum, but the voices, the laughter, they were all swallowed by the thick walls and the general din of a party. “Not unless they’re standing with their ear pressed to the door, and even then, I doubt it. This old house has solid bones.”
“Come closer,” she repeated, her voice softer, almost a plea. It wasn’t a seductive whisper, but an intimate request, like a child asking a parent to lean in for a secret. She just wanted to be heard, truly heard, without the fear of interruption or judgment.
I pushed off the tub and stood in front of her looking down at her. She lifted her bum a little to free her dress as she lifted a little. She leaned back against the toilet and opened her legs. She had pink lace panties on and she pulled them to the side revealing her nice clean shaven pussy. My dick went hard instantly.
“Fancy a quickie,” she smiled and rubbed her slit.
“Aww honey, you don’t want my old cock inside of you,” but got to admit, if she let’s me I am going to fuck her.
Her smile widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, I think I do, Jim. I think I really do.” She shifted again on the toilet, her legs parting a little more, her hand teasing the damp slit between her fingers. Her eyes never left mine.
My breath hitched. The blood was pounding, loud and hot in my ears. Sixty years old, and here I was, looking at an eighteen-year-old girl, my son’s girlfriend, inviting me into her. Old, tired, sensible Jim was gone. This raw, needy man was all that was left.
“Kelly,” I started, my voice hoarse, but she just leaned forward, her hand still working.
“Prove it,” she challenged, her voice a low purr. “Show me your old cock.”
My hand went to my belt, fumbling with the buckle. It felt almost automatic, like my body had a will of its own. My trousers were still tight from the party, but I pushed them down, then my boxers, just enough to free myself. My dick sprang out, thick and hard, throbbing with a life I hadn’t felt in years. It was veiny, heavy, and undeniably eager.
Her eyes dropped, widened slightly, then a small, appreciative gasp escaped her lips. “Wow,” she breathed, her gaze fixed on it. “It’s… bigger than I thought.” She reached out, her fingers hesitant for a second, then bold, wrapping around the base, giving it a gentle squeeze.
A jolt went through me, sharp and electrifying. “Careful, honey,” I mumbled, my voice rough.
She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. “You like that, old man?” Her hand slid up the shaft, her thumb brushing over the head.
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, a guttural sound caught in my throat.
She pulled her hand away slowly, her eyes still locked on my bulging cock. “Come on, then,” she whispered, her voice husky now. “Rub it here.” She shifted on the toilet, opening her legs wider still, her pink lace panties pulled so far to the side they were almost out of sight. Her slick, pink pussy was fully exposed, glistening in the dim bathroom light. She was so wet. So ready.
I stepped closer, my knees almost touching hers. The scent of her—young, fresh, and already muskily aroused—filled my nostrils. It was intoxicating. Her thighs were pressed against the cold ceramic of the toilet, spreading herself for me.
My hand guided my hard dick, bringing the head down, pressing it against the soft, yielding flesh of her labia. It was hot, so hot. I slid it slowly, up and down, feeling the delicate folds of her outer lips part and stretch against my shaft. A low moan escaped her, and she tilted her hips slightly, pressing harder against me.
“Oh, Jim,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “That feels… so good.”
I kept rubbing, back and forth, the friction building, the heat intensifying. My old dick felt alive, reborn, pulsing with an urgency I hadn’t known it still possessed. Her skin was so smooth, so sensitive. I could feel her growing wetter with every glide, the wetness spreading, making the contact even slicker, more thrilling.
I pushed a little deeper, the head of my dick nestling in the soft, wet crease between her labia, almost touching her clit. She gasped, her fingers digging into my hips, pulling me closer. “Yes,” she urged, her voice breathless. “Right there. Oh, God, yes.”
The sight of my hard, veiny cock sliding over her young, swollen pussy was driving me wild. The contrast, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer audacity. She was so innocent, so open, so hot. Every stroke made her shiver, made her gasp, and her reactions were like fuel to my fire. My sixty-year-old body was forgotten. All that mattered was this moment, this girl, this raw, animalistic desire.
I pulled back slightly, then pushed in again, feeling the distinct swell of her clitoris rub against the underside of my shaft. She arched her back, her head falling back against the tank of the toilet, eyes still closed, a soft moan vibrating in her chest.
“You’re so wet, Kelly,” I murmured, my voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet for me.”
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto mine. They were glazed over, dark with desire. “Aren’t you going to put it in?” she breathed, her voice a desperate plea. “Please, Jim. Please. My pussy can take it, I want you to fuck me hard.”
Her plea, raw and urgent, severed any last thread of my hesitation. My body tightened, every nerve screaming. This was it. There was no turning back.
“Okay, honey,” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. “You got it.”
I positioned myself, my hard shaft pressing against her wet opening. The soft, slick folds of her pussy seemed to welcome me. I pushed gently, feeling the tip of my dick slide into her. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath. The heat was incredible, a searing warmth that enveloped me.
I moved slowly, inch by agonizing inch, easing my way inside. Her tight walls gripped me, a sensation so intense it made my eyes roll back. Her hips lifted fractionally, meeting my push, an unconscious invitation. My old thick dick, a part of me I thought was long past its prime, was finding its way into a young, fresh pussy. The thought alone was an intoxicating rush.
“Oh… my… God,” she breathed, her voice stretched thin with pleasure. Her bum shifted and rubbed against the cold, smooth plastic of the toilet seat lid, a soft slide that made her hips rock up into me more. She was still sitting on that porcelain throne, legs spread, completely open to me.
I was in up to the head, and I paused, letting us both adjust to the fullness. She whimpered, a low, needy sound. Her fingers tightened on my hips, nails digging lightly into my skin. Below, between her parted legs, her eyes were wide, focused not on me, but on the point where our bodies joined. She was watching, mesmerized, as the pink flesh of her pussy stretched around the base of my pulsing shaft. The sight of her watching, seeing my old cock buried deep inside her, made a primal roar echo in my chest. It was electrifying.
“Fuck,” I groaned, the word ripped from me. I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers, taking in her scent, mixed with the musky aroma of her arousal.
“Move, Jim,” she urged, a new urgency in her voice. “Please. Move it.”
And I did. I pulled back slowly, almost completely out, then pushed in again. This time, I drove deeper. The soft squelch of flesh and fluid was the only sound in the small bathroom, apart from our ragged breaths. I pulled out, then shoved in again, a rhythm starting to form. Her hips rose to meet me with every thrust, her legs clamped around my waist now, holding me tight.
Her moans started low, a soft hum, then grew louder with each stroke. “Mmmph… oh, yes… Jim… harder!” Each sound was a shot of pure adrenaline directly into my system. This young, vibrant girl was losing control for me, for my old dick, and it was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known.
I started to pick up the pace, my thrusts becoming more deliberate, more powerful. Her bum rubbed harder against the toilet seat lid with each pump, a rhythmic thud against the plastic. Her head was thrown back, eyes still fixed on our joined bodies below. The contrast of her young, smooth skin against my aged, veiny dick was a visual feast, driving me further into a frenzy.
“Oh god! Oh Jim, yes! Don’t stop!” Her voice was rising, losing all inhibitions. It was almost a scream.
A sudden wave of panic hit me. The music downstairs was loud, but not that loud. And the party was in full swing, but what if someone decided to walk past the bathroom door? What if someone came up here looking for the toilet?
Her moans were becoming uncontrollable, pure ecstasy pouring from her lips. “FUCK ME, JIM! FUCK ME HA-”
Without thinking, my hand shot up, clamping firmly over her mouth. Her scream was cut short but a muffled, guttural cry still escaped the side of my palm. Her eyes, wide and glazed with pleasure, darted to mine for a split second, a flicker of surprise, then pure, unadulterated passion. She understood.
“Mmmffph!” she groaned, muffled through my hand. Her hips bucked beneath me, urging me on.
I began to drill her. Harder. Faster. My hips piston-like, slamming into her. Her pussy squelched with every deep thrust, a wet, sloppy sound that fueled my primal urge. Her body trembled, a delicious tremble that vibrated through me. I could feel her tightness, her heat, the way she was clenching around me with every stroke.
“Mmmffph… mmmffph!” she cried out again, her muffled sounds desperate, pleading, ecstatic. Her fingers were digging into my back now, pulling me even closer, trying to consume me. Her legs locked tighter around my waist, her ankles crossed behind me as if to keep me from ever pulling out.
The bathroom grew hot, humid with our combined heat and exertion. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, tracing paths down my temples. I slammed into her, pushing deeper, aiming for her core. Each thrust was a hammer blow, driving not just into her body, but into every preconceived notion I had about myself, about what I was capable of.
I was sixty years old, but I felt like a twenty-year-old animal, driven by instinct. Her youth, her fire, her uninhibited desire… it was all consuming. The way she was watching, that intense, mesmerized stare at our joining, the way her little bum rubbed against the toilet seat lid with every powerful thrust, her muffled cries of pleasure. It was too much. It was perfect.
I felt her muscles clench around me, a sudden, powerful spasm. Her body went rigid against mine, then dissolved into a series of shudders. Her hips arched up, pressing herself fully against every inch of my cock. A long, drawn-out, muffled moan vibrated into my palm.
“Mmmmmmfffffphhhhhh!”
She was coming. Hard. I felt the wetness gush around me, hot and abundant. Her legs trembled, and she wrapped them tighter, holding me as if she would never let go. I kept pounding, wanting to push her deeper into that delicious oblivion, wanting to feel her climax wrap around me, pulling me along.
My own release was building rapidly now, an uncontrollable surge of pressure behind my balls. The friction, the tightness, the sight of her lost in pure ecstasy, her muffled screams vibrating against my hand – it all pushed me over the edge.
With one final, desperate thrust, I groaned, my own cry muffled by the overwhelming sounds of our coupling. I held myself deep inside her, emptying myself, feeling the hot release flood into her depths. My body shook, exhausted and exhilarated all at once.
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing heavily, the only sounds the pounding of our hearts and our ragged gasps for air. Her body went limp beneath me, still quivering faintly. I slowly lifted my hand from her mouth. Her lips parted, and she took a shaky, deep breath, her eyes still clouded with post-orgasmic bliss.
“Wow,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, almost a croak. She looked up at me, a soft, dazed smile gracing her lips. “Wow, Jim.”
Her gaze dropped again, between her legs, where my dick, still thick but softening, was slowly sliding out of her slick pussy. A trail of white and clear fluid stretched between us as I finally pulled free. Her pink lace panties were still pulled to the side, soaked and clinging to her inner thigh. Her pussy was swollen, glistening, a testament to what we had just done.
I could still feel the phantom sensation of her squelching around me, the delightful friction of her hips against the toilet seat lid. My legs felt weak, my head light. I leaned back against the sink, catching my breath.
She looked up at me again, her smile widening into a mischievous grin. “See?” she said, her voice stronger now, a playful challenge in her tone. “My pussy could take it.” She shifted carefully on the toilet, her legs still wide, eyeing my half-limp dick. “And your old cock… it’s not so old after all, is it?”
I managed a weak chuckle, shaking my head. “No, Kelly,” I admitted, looking down at the proof. “No, I guess it’s not.”
She leaned forward, her hand reaching out, cupping my heavy balls. My body jumped at her touch. “Looks like there’s still plenty of life left in you, Jim,” she purred, her eyes dancing with an undeniable, knowing glint. “Plenty.”