I suspect that most of you might assume (and not without good reason) that I’m only interested in younger women. Much younger women.This is not strictly the case, though in truth, it has been an unusual turn for me to be with women my age or older since I was about 25. Rare, but not out of the realm of possibility. Marcie, for example, was (is) my age
This story is about an older woman. One who showed me a lot. It took place when I was a 20-year old, and this woman was w-a-y older. She was 25! Now I know a lot of you will snicker at that … knowing full well “25” is not “old”. And, of course, it is not. But for a 20 year-old, with still much to learn, an already divorced and much more sexually experienced femme fatale certainly counts as an “older” woman in my eyes.
I have mentioned this village before, a place where I found much happiness. A refuge that is very special to me which I came to through serendipity.
How or why is irrelevant to the arc of the story, however. I met an incredible couple shortly after I arrived, and they took this wayward vagabond under their roof almost as part of their family.
A few weeks on, I received some disturbing news, and I felt I had to leave. I was hoping to perform a sort of rescue for a close friend, who it turns out, was not that far away. It seems I had found a part of me that was not solely Marty-centered. Off I went, with my new friends to share the adventure. An adventure it was!
A month passed with the rescue successfully accomplished. The rescued friend and I headed back to the village, for what we thought would be more recuperation.
And then I met Juliet.