Mediterranean Echoes

The September sun beat down on the whitewashed walls of our suite in Santorini, Greece, a stark contrast to the cool, damp air clinging to the Aegean Sea. Just days before my husband, Richard’s, birthday, we had escaped the predictable rhythm of our lives to witness his performance at a small, local taverna. Our granddaughter, Lily, a miniature version of Richard, had been captivated by the music, clinging to my arm as he belted out a traditional Greek melody. The memory of his eyes, filled with adoration as he looked at us, sent a familiar shiver through me. It was a potent reminder of a time when our love felt raw and untamed, a feeling I desperately wanted to rekindle.

The performance ended, and Lily, exhausted from the excitement, drifted off to sleep in my arms. The heat of the day began to subside, replaced by the gentle evening breeze. Richard, sensing my longing, gently set Lily down and turned to me, his gaze intense and knowing. The air crackled with unspoken desires, a silent conversation of shared memories and lingering passions.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “That little white dress suits you perfectly.”

I shifted slightly, the delicate fabric clinging to my skin, and met his gaze. It was a look that had always stirred something primal within me, a feeling that transcended time and circumstance. “You always did have a way of making me feel desired,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to trace the curve of my shoulder, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “Let’s not waste any time then,” he said, his voice laced with anticipation. “Let’s recapture a little of that youthful abandon.”

As he spoke, I slowly began to shed my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a silent cascade of white silk. The coolness of the air against my bare skin was a welcome contrast to the heat of the day, and I felt a surge of excitement as I realized just how vulnerable I was in his presence.

My love heart panties barely covered what was to come. Richard, sensing my anticipation, slowly peeled off his t-shirt, revealing a sculpted torso that still held the remnants of his youthful physique. His muscles rippled beneath the skin, a testament to years of hard work and dedication. As he took me in his arms, pulling me close, I felt a primal surge of pleasure, the kind that only a long-held, passionate love could inspire.

“You’ve shown me different sexy looks over the years, hot lady!” he whispered against my ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “And you looked so sexy in that little white summer dress.” He ran his fingers through my hair, then down my chest, lingering over my breasts. “Remember when we were young, and we used to do things like walk around snowy landscapes, then come back home and have a dance?”

“Oh, of course!” I replied, my voice husky. “We were newlyweds. My how young we were! We’d then go to bed, but not to sleep.”

“Oh, yes, and you are still so sexy. Sweet and sexy,” he said, kissing my breasts and caressing my body. “So are you,” I responded, feeling the heat building within me.

He kissed my chest, and the top of my breasts, while he caressed my body, kissing me on my collar bone and nuzzling my neck. He then took his t-shirt off, and got naked. I was getting excited. I remembered how we saw each other nude for the first time on our wedding night.

As he climbed over me, the anticipation reached fever pitch. I drew in a deep breath, bracing myself for the pleasure that was about to consume me. We locked lips in a passionate embrace, our bodies moving in perfect synchronization. The world faded away as we lost ourselves in the heat of the moment, our senses heightened, our desires unleashed.

The way he thrust and moved around inside my wet ladyplace reminded me of the night our younger daughter was conceived. It was a primal, instinctual act, a return to the raw, untamed passion that had defined our early years together.

I continued to hold my husband in my arms, showing how much I still loved him, as he kissed me all over, and stroked my breasts, gently as if they were delicate. He lightly ran his hand over one breast, cupping my face with the other.

My pleasure was starting to get stronger, those breaths turned into moans. My husband thrusted a bit faster and harder, massaging my sweetspot with his pubic bone. For a moment I even thought we were back in the 1980s! But I knew we weren’t.

Sure enough, I had a beautifully powerful orgasm, as my husband nuzzled at the side of my neck, and kissed it. I rubbed my husband’s back as I let out my breaths of pleasure as more past memories of us making love came to my mind. My husband climaxed as I came down, he held me tighter as he vocalized in ecstacy.

When he came down, we had a few moments of holding each other very tight. While we cuddled, my husband told me he remembered the times we made love when we were younger as well!

“I’ll never forget our concert together, and how we got passionate afterwards,” My husband remembered, as he kept kissing me.

“Remember our friends’ wedding back in 1992?” I asked

“Oh, absolutely! I get hard just thinking about that!” he replied.

“I also still remember how it felt to smell and taste your wet, sweet ladyplace for the first time. Making love to you now to me is no different then when we were young and making love. You’re still, and always will be mine.” my husband told me.

“I also feel no different either. You are still my sexy man after 29 years of marriage.” I replied.

After my husband said “Back atcha”, we kissed and cuddled the night away. We most certainly knew who to thank for our years together. Because we trust God in everything and put Him first, we found each other, and we still have a beautiful, sexy marriage. The scent of salt air mingled with the lingering warmth of our bodies, a perfect reminder of our enduring love. As we drifted off to sleep, nestled close together, I knew that our journey together had only just begun.

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Mediterranean Echoes

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