Sam and me
By rampant Tiger
A story of elderly ?  lovers.


I met Samantha Brooks purely by accident - my accident. I was driving alone
along a lonely country snow-covered road when I passed a runner going in the
same direction. When I swung wide to pass, I realized the person running, at a
fast clip, was a woman.

A bit startled at a woman running at that pace, my attention wandered, just
for a moment, and I lost control of the car on the icy road. Before I could
straighten out on the road again, I had slid off the roadway into a snowbank
right up to my front door, where I was immediately stuck. Reversing, rocking
back and forth, swearing like a trooper, nothing worked, and I just sat there,
trying to accept the fact that I would have to call for a tow-truck, and the
long wait that would entail. At my age - I was nearly eighty - I just wouldn't
be able to push the car out of the snowbank.

Then there was a sudden rap on my window, and the woman - the real cause of my
problem, I really felt - signalled me to lower my window. I did so, and stared
at her. This woman, who had been running at such a fast pace, looked almost as
old as I did. I surmised she was going to suggest that, if I could push, she
could steer to get me back on the road, so I said, "Sorry, I'm just not strong
enough to push the car out of here. I'm afraid I'll just have to wait for a
tow-truck."

"Nonsense!" the woman replied, "With this weather, a tow-truck will take hours
to get here. And you won't have to push. You just steer, and I will push you
out of here." and with that the woman kicked her way into the bank, settled
her feet into a solid position, grasped the front bumper with both hands, and
said, "OK. Go into reverse slowly - very slowly!" So I did, and with a few
tremendous heaves, the car started to move backwards. In my eagerness, I gave
it too much gas. and the tires just skidded and settled down again.

"Sorry, I just overdid it. We're just not out."

"No problem." The woman replied, " We'll just do it again, and I can get a
better grip now." As she said that, she stooped and grasped the bumper again
and said, "OK. Slow now!" This time, the car moved slowly and steadily
backwards until the front tires (it was a front-wheel drive) again began to
get a grip on the road and the car began to move on its own. Thank goodness!

I stopped the car and got out to thank the woman. I had been aware she was not
young, but I hadn't realized how small she was. As I had seen, she looked as
old as me, but I now became aware, she was quite small as well. She was also
covered from head to toe with the road grit the tires had sprayed back when
they finally began to grip.

"Thank you so much." I said, "I don't know how you were able to push this car
back onto the road. You must be awfully strong for your size. And you don't
look that young, either. I don't think any man your size could have done as
well. But now you look a mess. You certainly can't run anymore with that stuff
all over you. Let me give you a lift home."

"Thank you, but I'm just here on a holiday and I'm staying at a fairly fancy
hotel. It's going to be a bit embarrassing though, going through the lobby
looking like this. But I'm afraid I must."

"Well, maybe not. I don't live that far from here, and if you would like to,
you could come to my place and at least shower off, and maybe dry your outer
things so you would look more respectable at your hotel."

"Would your wife not object to you dragging a bedraggled stranger home with
you?"

"My wife has been dead for years, and I live alone in my house. So that won't
be a problem. Get in, and we'll have you out of those things in a few minutes.
By the way, my name is Bob Elliott."

Thanks for the offer, Bob. I'll take you up on that. My name is Samantha
Brooks, but my friends call me Sam."

So Sam got into the car and we drove to my home.

************************

We arrived at my house, a fairly large, older home on a quiet street, and we
went in to get Sam cleaned up. I showed her where the bathroom was, where the
towels were, and gave her a bathrobe to wear while her outer garments were
drying. It turned out that they were in too much a mess to be restored by
drying, they would have to be washed as well. I explained this to Sam, and
suggested she stay for supper and relax until her clothes were ready. She
readily agreed, and said her underthings were pretty soggy as well, so could I
wash them too. So I tossed everything in the washer, and started to prepare
supper.

"What would you like to eat?" I called through the bathroom door, " I'v got
plenty of just about everything, but I'm no great hell at cooking."

"Tell you what." she yelled back, "If you have any spaghetti and ground beef,
just put them out and I'll fix us a spaghetti dinner that you'll just love."

"Great!" I said, and went down to put them out, and to set the table and open
a bottle of Chianti to breathe.

By the time I'd done that, Sam came swirling into the kitchen wearing my
dressing gown.

It was miles too big for her,and it was wrapped about her waist and tucked up
into the belt, revealing only her bare feet. They were hard, strong-looking
feet, but remembering the way she had pushed the car out of the snowbank, that
didn't surprise me at all. What did surprise me was the fact she was so short.
In her bare feet, she couldn't have been more than five feet tall. I'm 5'10",
and she didn't come up to my chin.

"Wow! You're short, Sam! How much do you weigh?"

"Well, I just weighed myself on your bathroom scales and I weigh exactly 140
lbs. Why? How much do you weigh?"

"I'm 170. I did weigh a lot more, but I've lost about 30 lbs since my wife
died three years ago. Not that I mind that. I've been going to the gym fairly
regularly, and I think I'm in much better shape than before I lost all that
weight. I feel better anyway."

"That's great!" Sam replied, and started to work on dinner. She put the ground
beef in a pot to brown, and put a pot of water on to heat up for the
spaghetti, then sliced up onions, green peppers, mushrooms, and opened a large
can of tomatoes, and a small can of tomato sauce, and dumped these into the
pot with the beef. Next she added oregano and other spices - just some, she
didn't measure a thing! Then she said, "That will have to simmer for an hour,
then we'll put the spaghetti on and wait another half hour. Shall we start
that bottle of wine in the meantime?"

"Gladly!" I said, and poured two glasses. Sam sat down on the chesterfield and
tucked her feet up under her gown. I sat on an overstuffed chair, facing her.
"Well, Sam, this is certainly a more interesting dinner than I was expecting.
And you're a more interesting dinner companion. You've certainly surprised me
twice - no! Three times! First, when I saw you running at top speed down that
lonely road, then when you pushed my car out of the snowbank, and then when
you prepared this dinner that is now beginning to smell so wonderful. No! Make
that four times - you're a very surprising person! I, maybe, should not ask
you this, but I'm 79 years old, and when I first saw you, I thought you looked
as old as me. But I know that can't be! So, if you don't mind my asking, Sam,
how old are you?"

"Bob, if you're 79, you're very fit for your age. I know you said you wouldn't
be strong enough to push the car onto the road, but I'm sure you said that
because you felt you had another option - unsatisfactory though it would be.
But I knew I could do it easily, so I said I would - and I did, easily! I'm
very fit for my age, too. And I'm very strong for my age. I work out in a gym
when I'm at home, quite heavily! And I do run a lot for cardio. I've won
nearly every age-related race I've entered, mostly against men much younger
than me. How old am I, you ask. I'm 89 years old, just ten years older than
you, but, boy! I'll bet I'm a lot stronger! Would you like to find out while
we're waiting for dinner?"

"89!!! My God, Sam! I can't believe it! I can't believe you're over sixty!
Working out in a gym - no matter how heavy - and racing your heart out may
keep you strong and fit, but

NOT like you are. I'm pretty strong for my age and I'm 30 lbs. heavier than
you, and I'm 10 years younger than you, and I'm a man, so how do you think you
can be stronger than me? In spite of what I said back there in the snowbank."

"Well, there may be a simple, quick way to prove it. We can arm-wrestle. I
know I can take you three times out of three, with either hand, before we have
to put the spaghetti on the stove. By the way, I'm left handed. After dinner,
maybe we can prove it in some other ways, too."

"OK, Sam. We can use this coffee table. It's strong enough. So let's get to
it."

Without more ado, the two protagonists knelt down on opposite sides of the
table and clasped their right hands in a standard grip. I towered over my
opponent, and I felt a little embarrassed at going against such a small person
- no matter what she had said.

"OK, Sam. You say 'GO'"

Sam said, " One,Two, Three, GO!" and we went. I was going to take it easy on
Sam, so

I didn't start off with a lot of pressure, but Sam did! My hand was slammed
down onto the table so hard it hurt!

"OUCH, Sam! I wasn't ready. But OK, I will be next time."

"OK, Bob. You say 'GO' this time."

So we grasped hands again, and I made very sure I was braced and ready before
I said

"GO" but the result was the same. 'BANG!' onto the table went my hand. This
time it

hurt even more, and I didn't have an excuse.

" GOD, Sam! You ARE strong. What kind of muscles are you hiding under that
robe?

I don't think I want to try this again. I admit you can take me three times
out of three, and

that's with your weaker arm against my stronger one. Are you really sure
you're 89 years

old? And that you're a woman? I know you're small, but how can you be so
strong?

"Well, Bob, I do have muscles under this robe and, after we eat, maybe I'll
show them to

you. But now, let's cook the spaghetti and eat. Oh, and maybe drink a little
more of that

Chianti. Do you have another bottle? This one's just about finished."

I got another bottle of the wine, and we started on it. By the time we sat
down to eat we

were both feeling pretty darn good. The spaghetti dinner was fantastic, spicy,
moist and

filling. After the dinner, and after cleaning up the dishes, we had a little
more wine - or maybe, a lot! - and we both staggered into the living room to
just relax - and, for me, to find out more about my guest's physique. I just
couldn't believe an almost ninety-year old woman, five feet tall and weighing
140 lbs. could have the strength to defeat me so easily in arm-wrestling, and
could push a car out of a snow bank, after running at top speed, for God knows
how long but long enough to raise a soaking sweat. I had smelled it when Sam
stuck her head into my car window.

"So, Sam," I ventured, when we were sitting at ease again, "you said maybe
you'd show me your muscles after we ate. Did you really mean that, or were you
just pulling my leg?"

"I really meant it, Bob, but first I think we should do something to work off
that great - even if I say so myself - dinner. How would you like to indulge
in a little wrestling bout - not arm-wrestling this time - but regular,
no-holds-barred wrestling. Your extra weight and height and your youth, at
least relatively, and your gender should count for something. I know it didn't
in arm-wrestling, but this may be different. Just maybe!"

said Sam, grinning a teasing grin.

I really didn't think that I would have any better luck in wrestling than in
arm-wrestling, but I was willing to give it a try. At least that way, I would
get a better look at what kind of physique Sam really had. So I agreed, and
asked what rules she had in mind.

"Oh, just the usual male-female rules. No punching, biting, hair-pulling, and
wrestling to submission only, two falls out of three. OK?"

'Jeez,' I thought, ' Sam seems to have done this before, and is pretty
familiar with the set-up' However, "OK with me." I said, "But what should we
wear?"

"Good point!" Sam grinned, " I figured I'd just go as I am, but that might be
too much for you, so you get into your gym shorts, and I'll get into my
briefs. They should be dry by now." So we went our separate ways to get
dressed for the bout ahead.

In a few minutes we were back in the living room, both of us wearing our
robes. Then we made a space in the centre of the room by moving back the
furniture and taking out all the small items that might get broken. We were
ready!

We faced each other across the cleared space, and together we took off our
robes.

WHAM!!!

What I saw shook me rigid. Sam stood there in her briefs - and they were
brief! - otherwise bare-naked. Ninety years old, and she had a body like the
statues of Greek Gods you see in museums. No sagging skin folds, just
full-bodied muscles all over. Her biceps and triceps bulged and rippled, her
shoulders were rounded and solid, and her pecs were striated and supported
small jutting breasts that did not sag at all. Her abs were six-packs that
moulded into a cut belly that slid into bulging, valleyed thighs, and

pear-shaped calfs above small, strongly-muscled feet. The feet, I had seen
before, beneath the robe, and they had surprised me with their musculature,
but that was nothing compared to the total picture of amazonian womanhood. I
stood and stared in wonder at the figure before me. And, in response to that
vision of the massively muscular physique before me, my cock rose in an
erection that I had never had in twenty years! I couldn't believe it!

Wrestle with that amazon goddess? No fucking way! I could barely stay on my
feet! I couldn't stay on my feet! I sank onto my knees, and then dropped onto
my belly and crawled toward that vision that just stood there and grinned at
me. When I reached her feet, I kissed everyone of her toes and clasped my hand
around the rock-hard rippling muscles of her calves. Sam squatted before me
and put her hands, her sinewy, vascular hands, under my shoulders and raised
me to my knees. My face was pressing against her breasts, and she put her
arms, her bulging, rippling biceps, around my head and squeezed me tight into
her. Just one more squeeze, and I orgasmed right over the muscles of her legs.
I came, like I used to come fifty years ago, and I collapsed into her strong
arms. There was no thought, in either of our minds, of wrestling.

Standing there in the middle of the room, Sam just grinned a rapacious grin,
and put her arms under my knees and shoulders and lifted me off the ground.
With no trouble at all, the 140 lb., ninety-year-old woman, carried me, my 170
lbs of dead weight, up the stairs into my bedroom. She laid me out on the bed,
stripped off my sodden shorts, and then stripped off her own briefs. I watched
as she flexed in front of my full-length mirror, rippling every muscle on her
amazing physique. I watched, and my cock arose again in another involuntary
erection. Sam smiled. I'd had an orgasm, brought about by Sam's tender
embrace, but she hadn't - not yet! Now that I'd produced another hard - and
very long and thick - penis, as a result of Sam's manouvering, she was not
going to let it go to waste. No indeed!

Sam abandonned her flexing in the mirror, and strode over to me as I lay on my
back on the bed. She softly stroked my arms, and my chest, and slid her warm
hands down my belly to my thighs. Over my thighs to my calves, then up to my
belly again. Her hands were warm, but they were not soft. Years of hard work -
and years of lifting very heavy weights - had made her hands as tough as the
soles of her sandals, but they were flexible

and experienced. In just seconds, my hard cock got harder - steel-hard - and
got thicker, much thicker - as my blood followed the urging of Sam's hands. At
last Sam was satisfied with the result of her effort, and she lay down on top
of me. My rigid cock was between her legs, protruding far above her rock-hard
glutes. Grinning, she raised her belly into the air until her cunt was above
the head of my cock, and then slid me inside her with a deft wriggle born of
years of experience - many years, probably more years than I had even lived!

I was inside her! But that was only part of the sensations I was going to feel
before I was released from that woman's caresses. The walls of her cunt
gripped me and squeezed me till I almost screamed from the pain of it. Then
the walls rippled and I came - almost! My wad was shot, but entrapped in that
warm iron fist, it had nowhere to go, so it stayed in my balls - and it hurt!
Then her hands, rough and tough and small, but oh so strong, slid into the
crevice of my ass. A little push here and a little push there and my annal
ring collapsed in agony. Sam's whole hand slid into my rectum and, from the
inside of my bowels, passed my prostate and played with my balls. The pain was
excruciating, the pain would not go away, and I lost consciousness.

Did that end my lover's - NO! NOT my LOVER! - my sadistic, enthusiastic,
sexual penetrator's enjoyment of her sex-toy. NO! Not at all! Sam squeezed my
cock fom within, and played with my balls from within, and then, with her
tongue, forced open my mouth, pulled my tongue into her cheeks and then sucked
the breath out of my body. I, of course, was not aware of this. I was
completely unconscious. But Sam was having fun! At last she tired of the games
she was playing and withdrew from all my orifices. She lay quietly on my
collapsed torso, then with the trained walls of her tunnel of love,
masturbated me within her until I came in a tremendous explosion, and she
orgasmed so violently that she was thrown right off my inert body. She rose to
her feet and grinned again. " Christ! I guess I've still got it when I can
fuck a man to death and still want more!" And Sam flexed her magnificent aged
muscular physique in front of the mirror till she was satisfied it was still
perfect, and then , without showering, she lay down beside me. . 'Now,' she
thought, ' I'll still smell like a whore in the morning and Bob will be rested
up and eager to be fucked some more!' And Sam went to sleep.