After about a minute Mike’s cock began to pulse and his cum spurted on my hand. He fell back on his chair and looked at me and said, “ Dare you to eat it.” Whether it was the buzz from the scotch or because I was so horny I licked the whole load from my hand. “ Dirty bitch. Come and sit on my knee!” I slowly sat on his knee and now Mike released my cock and began to wank me. The feeling of someone else’s hand on my cock was electric and it took only a few strokes before my orgasm shot spunk onto Mike’s thighs. “ Dare you,” I smiled. Mike took my load onto a finger and licked it all off. He took my hand and led me to his parent’s room. He took off the rest of his clothes and I got a view of his fit Rugby playing body. I realised he was hot. He pulled me to him and out of the blue kissed me. I hungrily responded and our tongues explored each other’s mouths. We moved to the bed and lay on it and kissed and fondled each other’s like true lovers. Our cocks were hard once again and as Mike. My oldest daughter, herself distraught from the loss of her mother, had to care for me like a baby. I couldn't think, could barely breathe, and didn't want to. The kids settled Claire's affairs; I wasn't capable. Eventually though I had to try and have some sort of life, even if it was without her. That's how I ended up as a troll.Yes, a troll. You know the kind. Lives under a bridge. Grumpy. Doesn't want company. A long time ago, I read a series of essays called Magic Harbor1, by a fellow named Don Berry. In one of the essays, he described himself as a troll. I find myself in a very similar physical and emotional situation. I live on my boat, not under a bridge - that doesn't work well with a real mast - and without the light in my life. I really don't want to interact with anybody and I don't even think about finding someone new. No one could take her place in my heart; it had been torn out when she died.Things have been odd lately. I would be puttering around, doing minor.
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