Lydia Common wisdom is that a post-menopausal woman lubricates less than when she was younger, and that her sex drive decreases to the point of apathy. Sure, I've seen that happen in a few women. It certainly wasn't true for Lydia. Lydia and I met doing online chat. Two years of conversations resulted in a face to face lunch at a Mexican restaurant, an hour away and halfway between our homes and our spouses. We sat next to each other in a booth, knees touching, talking in hushed tones and laughing. She was quiet at first, then as we both got more comfortable, her personality unfolded. She was medium height, with flashing blue eyes and brown hair with a hint of red tint. Her body was, to use a cliché, pleasingly plump, with big breasts and wide hips and small hands. By the time our plates were empty, we were holding hands. The conversation lulled, then I looked at her. It was time to ask. "This was nice. Shall we do this again?" Lydia smiled. "Oh sure! Mexican again?" She leaned toward my ear and whispered, "Or something else?" She pulled back, seemingly surprised at her boldness, and blushed. I grinned at her. A month later we passed on the tostadas and went straight to the Holiday Inn Express. We stood at the foot of the bed, undressing each other, exposing my flesh - some of which was very firm - and her flesh - most of which was soft and curvy. Toe to toe, we kissed continually and explored each other's body. Her breasts were big handfuls, her nipples small and pink. Her skin was dotted with freckles and moles, smooth and warm in my hands. Her hands played in my chest hair, with one hand wandering downward to clutch my erection. My hand found her pussy, shaved down to a goatee of hair above her cleft. The bedsheets were white, crisp, and cool, but not for long. We pressed against each other, face to face, chest to chest. Lydia slid down to engulf my shaft, humming little noises as she alternately throated me and licked my precum. "Lie on your back," I told her, and she complied, thighs spread open. I moved on top of her, and she lifted her knees and spread them wide, and she wrapped her arms around me. My lips and tongue found hers, and my cockhead played in her pussylips. Her hips rocked up and down, brushing herself against me. I nudged inside her, gently, not quite wet enough for a smooth entry, teasing her and teasing myself. Lydia had a nondescript vagina, with no discernible nibbling muscle at the entrance, smooth, snug because she wasn't fully wet. I pulled out and moved down her body. I held myself above her on elbows and knees, visiting her big, beautiful breasts and small hardened nipples. Lower, visiting her rounded tummy, kissing freckles as I descended. Her thighs widened and her lips parted, pink and glistening, and my mouth went to work. Faster, then slower, nibbles and sucks, sometimes a thumb in her vagina, sometimes two fingers, but mostly just listening to her body and its responses and sticking with steady, moderately firm licks. Lydia's climb to orgasm was one of those hockey sticks. For five minutes, ten minutes, she lay there and stroked my head and shoulders and enjoyed my feasting. Her inner lips started small and grew only slightly, her outer lips were the same, but her pussy splayed open and juicy. Her modest hooded clit was a hard little nubbin, and my steady flat-tongued lapping licks seemed to have only a gradual effect on her state of arousal. Then it was as though Lydia decided to allow herself to climax and just flipped an internal switch. I sensed her clit harden another fraction, and her breathing shifted into another gear. It was time. My tongue quickened its pace, matched by an increase in her breathy moans, and she went from 25 to 100 in ten second. My eyes glanced upward to see her face redden and scrunch into that delicious female agony of pleasure. Her hips tilted toward my busy mouth, her body shuddered, and she exhaled several loud grunting gasps. My licking slowed, my job complete, at least for now, and I moved upward again. We refound our missionary position, my cock refound her pussy, and I discovered just how juicy Lydia had become. I entered her, effortlessly, sinking into her now almost-frictionless vagina. Her walls felt like they barely grasped me, she was so open and soft and liquid inside. I'd never felt a vagina like Lydia's. I've encountered those that were overall snug. Some that felt almost muscular, with active kegels. Some have been textured, others as smooth as Lydia's, but none as soft, none as yielding to my shaft, and definitely none as juicy. Inside, she was flowing. Her juices leaked out and trickled down my balls. When I stroked, her liquid cracked little noises. "I feel you," she told me, "all of you." My penis jumped. "God, you are so wet," I replied. "No friction," she breathed. "You just glide. I can't believe how wet you get me." Her eyes were open wide, her mouth in an open O and breathing. "I'm close," I told her, and she nodded. "I'm going to come." She kept nodding. I groaned, and then I just let it happen. Thrusting faster and faster into Lydia's soft, sweet, incredibly yielding vagina, my instincts trying in vain to find some small measure of friction of her walls against my cock, but I didn't really need that friction. "Here I come," I told her, but I doubt she needed that update. My juices added to hers, one liquid spurt after another. Lydia's eyes were glued to my face. I'm sure I was wearing the same goofy expression that she'd worn a few minutes earlier. My cock throbbed inside her, and my mind pictured how I was filling her with my come, making her more and more slippery, if that was even possible. "Warm," she whispered. "It feels so warm." And that's how it would happen with Lydia and me for the next three years, with a rendezvous every month or two or three at that same motel. We were patterned, she and I, with only the smallest of variations. "I like patterns," she told me once. "I know what to expect. I know how I'm going to come." Oh, we had our occasional change of pace. Some afternoons she would go down on me for a few minutes. On other occasions she would get on top of me and rock. But mostly it was the pattern established on that first day, where Lydia would climax from my mouth, then I would mount her and fuck her. We both loved missionary. I loved to fuck her, and she loved to be fucked. Some days she would climax a few moments after I slid inside her, when she was still high on the mountaintop of her oral orgasm, and sometimes not. A few times, after my orgasm when she didn't climax from penetration, my mouth would restart the steady licking that she found to be so effective. Those second oral orgasms for her came quickly and sharply. And we would always have time for a second round, sometimes even a third. She was less likely to climax after her first one or two strong ones, but she didn't mind. We both seemed to enjoy the leisurely fucking, with my cock caressing her soft, yielding, incredibly slippery walls until it just seemed to be the right moment for me to fill her, again, to overflowing.