The day had been perfect. Our baby girl had gotten married in the garden of the house she’d grown up in, just as Marie and I had done twenty years earlier.
Everything had been picture perfect, and now, as the party wore down and the sunset in the horizon, we watched from our second-floor bedroom window as our daughter and new son-in-law shared a romantic slow dance.
Their younger party guests had mostly stayed, and we’d retired to the house to watch and reminisce. We knew they’d appreciate the “old folks” (we’re nearly forty, after all) giving them their “space”. And from our vantage point, we knew from experience that the glare of the setting sun obscured us completely from everybody in the back yard.
I swayed gently against my wife as we imagined ourselves down there, all those years ago. As I gyrated against her, memories of our honeymoon began to excite us both. My hand traveled up the front of her sundress, finding her nipples hard against my palm. My other hand undid the buttons, letting the garment flutter to the floor.
She still looked good, and her opaque reflection in the mirror overlaid the site below like an erotic dream… a melding of yesterday and today. She gasped as I released her bra, letting her full mature breasts sway freely. My thumbs hooked the waistband of her panties, sliding them slowly downward, off her hips. She kicked them aside.
I, still in my tux shirt, released my throbbing member… guiding the head to her moist, inviting opening, as she arched her back, catlike.
A girlish squeal escaped her throat as she bit down on her lip, and felt me enter her, as I had for the first time, all those years ago. Our guests continued to dance, unaware of us, as we submitted to our urges, becoming increasingly unaware… of them.
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