I am nearly 80 years old and have sung in my church choir for 50 years. My wife was my best friend and confidante for 54 years, so I didn't develop close friendships with my fellow choir members. I had noticed Samantha, a soprano, because she was boisterous and often behaved like a teenager. Never in my wildest imagination did I anticipate becoming close to her or any other woman.

Since my wife passed away, I had been attempting to mix and mingle more. During a recent rehearsal break, the subject of favorite TV shows and movies came up. Samantha and I had some similar favorites. We traded some DVDs from our personal libraries and began talking more to each other. Samantha gave high praise to Ted Lasso, a TV series about an American football coach hired to coach an English professional football (soccer) team. I had heard of the show but knew nothing about the plot, so I checked out the three-season set from the library and invited Sam to view them with me. She admitted that watching with someone was more fun than watching alone.

She came to my house, and we watched the first two episodes and had a great time commenting and laughing. We planned to watch the next two on a Friday evening, but I got a call from her that morning begging off. She had fallen during horseback riding and wondered if I could transport her to doctor's appointments. I welcomed the opportunity to help her, as one of my volunteer activities is driving seniors to appointments.

The tests and X-rays revealed compression fractures at either end of her spine and a hole in her lung. She wore both a neck and a body brace for the next six weeks. The choir organized food deliveries, and I jumped into the rotation. Our friendship was suddenly closer.

Convalescence is boring. Often people stayed for conversation while dropping off food, but I had nearly three full seasons of Ted to offer. As a result, I spent many evenings talking with her and watching TV. Our friendship grew.

I wasn't looking for romance. Yes, at times I was lonely, but I kept busy and didn't need anyone. A TV buddy was sufficient.

The braces came off and PT began. I began looking for other things to watch with my TV buddy. I also had a few nascent thoughts about helping her physical discomfort with some friendly massage, but how does one bring the subject up?

She professed to dislike musicals, and I vowed to change her mind. The first project was Into the Woods. I gave her a choice between the recent movie version, full of major stars, or an old PBS filming of the original Broadway stage production. I told her I preferred the stage version, but she went with the glitzy Hollywood production. She enjoyed it, but...

I convinced her that the movie didn't capture the full impact and humor, so we watched the Broadway version. I was vindicated. She exclaimed that the stage version was superior.

I had another favorite show to broaden her viewing world. Firefly! A cowboy space opera by Joss Whedon. There was only one season -- much to the dismay of the cult following -- so she wouldn't have to invest unreasonable amounts of time if it didn't appeal. She was hooked after the pilot episode, and we continued to watch a few episodes at a sitting.

By now, Sam had completed PT but needed to improve her physical condition. Two days after her initial Jazzercise session, she complained about her aching muscles. I saw my opening and offered to rub her neck and shoulders as she watched Firefly with me. She was most appreciative and groaned a lot. I had rubbed my wife's back nearly every night, so it felt good to have my hands performing the familiar motions.

The next TV session completed two more episodes. I was a little disappointed that she didn't request another shoulder rub as we watched. As I was shutting down the video, she said, "Any chance of a repeat of last week, maybe expanding to my back?"

Masking my opinion that I thought that was a stellar idea, I simply replied, "Sure. Do you want to lie on the couch, or should I put a quilt on the floor?"

"The couch is too soft and the back will make things more difficult for you, so I will opt for the floor."

I grabbed one of the many quilts in the room and laid it out in an open area. Once my dog had satisfied his curiosity and enthusiasm, he wandered off to his toys and didn't interfere.

I gave her a thorough, deep massage from her scalp to her waistline. My grip isn't what it once was due to arthritis, but I put my body weight into it and Sam moaned a lot and offered to give me five stars on Yelp. I was beginning to have impure thoughts.

Unfortunately, we finished the entire series and went several weeks without watching anything together. It follows that meant no massages either.

My hands itched to be on her back again, but asking her to come over for a massage was just not in the cards. I began thinking about possible shows to watch. Then, a fourth season of Ted dropped, so I got a trial subscription to Apple TV and invited Samantha to partake. She didn't need coaxing.

What was our relationship at this point? Friends with minor benefits? Certainly not love or romance. Given the opportunity, I could see myself capable of giving her sexual pleasure, though in the interests of full disclosure, I am impotent, so fingers, lips, and tongue were my only weapons. Though my mind was wandering in that direction, we were nowhere near that happening.

I fired up my smart TV, and we settled in to watch Ted. We took our customary places and watched two episodes, trying to remember previous storylines and pausing and conversing throughout. We generally limit ourselves to two episodes. We don't have the energy to binge. As the credits rolled on episode 2, Sam grabbed the quilt and a pillow and plopped herself down without a word.

"Is this a hint?" I asked.

"Your back rubs are addictive, and it has been several weeks. I would classify it more as a demand than a hint."

I chuckled and got down on the floor. Previously, I had knelt at her head, but this time I sat on her rump. My massage was gentler, and her sounds were very different -- more like purring than moaning. My hands slipped under her shirt and barely touched the skin at her waist. She tensed a bit, but didn't say anything. The purring began again, so I let my hands move up and to the sides a bit. Again, no objections.

Pretty soon I was exploring her entire back and sides, alternating between muscle massage and skin caresses. Then the words guys love to hear: "You can unhook my bra." It had been years, but it was just like riding a bike. Traversing her uncluttered back with my fingers was very relaxing for both of us. Eventually, Sam said, "You'd better stop before I go to sleep." So I rehooked her bra, and she managed to stand upright.

"I'm looking forward to the next two episodes. See you next week. By the way, thank you. That felt scrumptious."

Another week went by, and the evening was almost identical to the previous week, with one exception. As I straddled her and began feeling my way up her back, I discovered she had "forgotten" to wear a bra. Neither of us commented. I found my fingers straying to the sides of her breasts since the bra cups and straps weren't blocking me. She seemed to like that, judging by the new sounds.

This time, she did fall asleep. I got up without disturbing her and petted Snert while my brain tried to digest my feelings. I was enjoying the human contact as much as Samantha was. There was an undeniable progression toward something else, but I couldn't figure out what. Eventually, I nudged her and said, "Wake up, sleepyhead. You are usually out the door by now. Do I need to prepare the guest room?"

"Tempting though that sounds, I need to get home to my cat. Wow, does that make me a crazy cat lady?"

"No comment. By the way, there is an impression of the pillow seams on your cheek. See you next week?"

"I'm questioning this once-a-week schedule. I need more TV. Can we go to the library together and pick out our next watch and add a second evening?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'm open to adding Thursdays until choir starts up after Labor Day. I'll have only Tuesday and weekend evenings open once the school year begins, so we can come up with a semi-regular schedule then."

"Thursday is a date. Oops, not a date. I mean, I will be here Thursday to watch two more episodes of Ted. See you then."

I walked her to the front door as usual and turned the porch light on. Samantha looked me in the eye and hugged me. That was new. I tried not to think of that as anything beyond a normal friendly gesture. Women always hug. The fact that this was the first time after months of being TV buddies raised questions, and the feeling of those braless breasts against my chest was awfully nice. I do believe I blushed.

As I tried to fall asleep, my mind kept wondering, what might the next escalation be? Should I continue letting Sam set the pace? Will my impotence become a bone of contention? (Sorry for the pun.)

Thursday arrived, and so did Samantha, at 5:30 sharp. She was wearing a dress. I guess it would be called a sundress, since it was summer. I only mention it because I was hoping to continue the progression I was imagining, and a dress is much different from a T-shirt or blouse when it comes to accessing dorsal skin. I figured that perhaps we were stepping back and a neck and shoulder massage would suffice. However, there was obviously no bra again, and the dress was made of a thin material that did nothing to hide her you-know-whats. I was getting mixed signals.

Sam sensed my confusion. "I overdid the leg exercises at Jazzercise yesterday, and I would love to have you work my hamstrings, hip adductors, and calves, if you wouldn't mind."

"You do realize I am not a trained masseuse or physical therapist. I have no idea what a hip adductor is."

She raised the hem of her dress slightly and pointed to her inner thighs. I broke a sweat. The A/C must not have been functioning correctly.

"I don't mind, but where you are pointing is a lot more intimate than your back. Are you sure you want an unlicensed practitioner messing around there?"

"I think you are competent to mess around there and I trust you, TV buddy."

"Alright, I will do my best. Be sure to let me know if I cross any lines."

Sam assumed her normal prone position, and I grasped her left foot and flexed it firmly with one hand. I caused the calf to bulge and proceeded to dig into it with my other hand. It was definitely tight. I worked that calf until I felt a definite relaxation, then switched to the other side.

"Wow. That is better than I expected. Keep up the good work."

So I continued up the legs, first behind the knees and then the hamstrings. I felt knots along the way and kneaded them away. Samantha's legs were pretty firm, thanks to horseback riding. But every new exercise taxes different muscles in different ways, so I was attacking the Jazzercise muscles while enjoying the riding muscles.

Aside from a few grunts of pain, the soundscape was a uniform hum of enjoyment. When my fingers moved to the insides of her thighs, I heard a small catch of breath. I dug in and made it as professional as I could, staying well away from the area where one thigh met the other. Regardless, I sensed that Sam was not as cool and collected as she had been. I also caught an interesting new aroma in the air which I had enjoyed in the past.

I had gone as far as I dared without specific direction from Samantha, so I gave her a little swat on the buttock and said, "All done for tonight. Do you feel looser?"

"My legs feel boneless and I may not be able to walk to my car. I am not going to tell anyone how good you are. Your hands are for my exclusive pleasure."

That sent a small jolt to my groin. No tumescence -- impotent, right? But my mind was suddenly inundated with pictures of my hands giving her pleasure. Was it possible? Time would tell. I was more than willing to provide whatever she asked for.

The coming Monday would be the last of our Ted Lasso semi-binge. We met at the library that afternoon to browse for interesting DVDs, developing a list for future reference. I checked out one season of a show neither of us had watched, but thought would be fun. We agreed that we would give it two episodes (one evening) to grab us and move on to something else if it didn't. Rather than go our separate ways from the library, we ate dinner at the barbecue place downtown, and I drove us to my house for our evening activities. She was wearing a loose, long-sleeved zip-up sweatshirt to counter my A/C but sweat shorts that exposed as much as I had explored last Thursday. Mixed signals again, so I had no idea what might transpire.

We sat for nearly an hour recapping and critiquing the fourth season of Ted. I was expecting Sam to plead tiredness and ask me to take her home. She stood up, but grabbed the quilt, arranged herself on it, and said, "Rub." My brain glitched for a millisecond, as my wife used to say that every night. Sometimes I resented the expectation, as it interfered with reading my book. But in truth, it was a beautiful connection that I really missed after she died.

I didn't hesitate to get to work. My hands quickly traveled under the sweatshirt and up her back. No bra, but the shirt was pretty restrictive, and getting the shoulders and shoulder blades wasn't easy. I heard a z-z-z-z-z sound and suddenly the sweatshirt was very loose and I could move my hands more freely. Samantha said, "Grab the sleeves and help me out of this."

I did and was presented with an unobstructed view of her back. I couldn't resist exploring the entire terrain, moving easily from her waist to her back to her neck to her scalp and back and forth. My hands roamed on autopilot, sometimes digging in, sometimes caressing like a feather. Her skin had goosebumps and was hot to the touch.

As my fingers moved along her sides, they encountered the sides of her boobs squished out by the weight of her torso. Samantha used her elbows to raise her upper body, and in a flash her full breasts were resting in my hands. I had no choice but to give them a squeeze. We both sighed, and I said, "I enjoy the tactile sensations of petting Snert, but this is even better."

Sam flipped her body. She was suddenly on her back, and my hands were planted directly on her breasts. "Pet these puppies!" she demanded. I am and have always been a breast man. Size isn't critical as long as there is something to hold on to. These were very satisfactory. The nipples stood at attention and begged for my attention. Who was I to deny them? As I gently massaged each of them between thumb and forefinger, I heard gasps that were music to my ears. Samantha's entire upper body flushed, and suddenly she was shaking and grunting. Talk about responsive. Getting a woman off that quickly is a boost to any guy's ego, but I wasn't ready to quit. I took her left nipple between my teeth and gently tugged, then closed my lips around the entire tip of her boob and sucked while my tongue flicked. Damned if she didn't have another boobinal orgasm. This was fun! Could I get one more on the right side? Yep, that worked.

"Holy crap," Sam inelegantly uttered. "That has never happened before. And you wrung three out of me. I am wiped out."

"Do you want me to drive you home, or would you like me to cover you up and let you go to sleep on the floor? There is also a guest bedroom upstairs you could sack out in."

"What if I said I'd prefer to sleep with you?"

I didn't answer immediately. This was suddenly complicated. I didn't know what she wanted or what I wanted. I wasn't in love -- was I? -- and didn't want to be in love. Just like Vivian in Pretty Woman, I was avoiding kissing since in my mind that is for emotionally involved couples. What we were doing was just fun. Wasn't it? Yet, I enjoyed Samantha's company and would hate to stop whatever was going on. In fact, I hoped to follow up on the aroma I had detected as I worked on her legs. I truly love the taste of pussy.

Hesitation is never a good response when a woman puts herself out there. Samantha scrambled to her feet, grabbed her sweatshirt, and zipped it up. "I guess you can just drive me home."

"No! I want..."

"Go on. What do you want?" she snapped. I had really stepped in it.

"That is the problem. I have no idea. Since my wife died, I have made an effort to strengthen friendships and fill my life with activities that banish loneliness. I'm not looking for love or a wife, but our relationship has moved beyond simple friendship. The physical contact you've allowed during our massage sessions has filled a void, and I'd love to continue. The thought of having your warm body in bed with me excites me, but I don't understand why you offered. I'm not only 15 years older than you, but I am Webster's definition of "old codger." We have never discussed your relationship history, but you don't give the impression of someone searching for a mate. What pushed you beyond the TV buddy stage?"

Samantha looked at me closely. "You're right. I have been perfectly content living alone and have never required a man to complete me. However, I don't hate men, and being TV buddies with you has been great fun. It never occurred to me we might move beyond sharing entertainment, but the first time you touched my neck, I got goosebumps and my nipples got hard. I found myself wanting more, and you kept providing what I wanted."

I spoke up. "Let's go ahead and get into bed together, just to see how it feels. I hope one of your wants isn't intercourse. As long as we are opening up to each other, I need to confess that I have been impotent for years."

Sam unzipped the sweatshirt and pulled it off, exposing those full, soft breasts with their luscious nips. "I can live with that. Lead the way, sir."

"Slow down. I think I need to change the sheets first. They haven't seen a washing machine in a while. I don't want your first sleepover to be the last."

Sam assisted with the housekeeping and slipped her sweatshorts off before slipping between the sheets. I got a brief glimpse of cheeks.

I usually air my privates overnight so they don't build up too much stink, but tonight I grabbed my one pair of pajama bottoms from the dresser, turned my back to her, dropped trou, and pulled up the pajamas before getting into bed.

"Cute butt, buddy. Especially for your age."

"From what I could see when you flashed me, yours is competitive. Now, shut up and give me a hug," I suggested.

The hug was... stimulating. My hands drifted down to said butt, one of the few places on her body I hadn't touched yet. The other was on the front side, and I was pretty sure I'd get there eventually. Her panties were surprisingly brief, so I was clutching soft, resilient skin and muscle unimpeded by fabric.

I turned off the light, and we fell asleep in each other's arms. Sometime during the night we changed positions, and I awoke spooned against her back with one hand cupping her breast. She stirred, placed her hand over mine, and squeezed. I nuzzled into her neck and nipped her ear. "Good morning, TV bud," I whispered. "I slept like a log. How about you?"

"I usually thrash around all night. I wonder if my three little orgasms removed the normal tensions that interfere with sleep?"

"We can test that tonight, if you'd like. Would you like a bigger orgasm?"

"I wouldn't say no, but I thought you said you're impotent."

"Have you ever experienced cunnilingus? Not to brag, but I am an expert. If I can't make you cum, you'll get your money back."

"What money?"

"It's just an expression. What do you want for breakfast? I have cereal, eggs, and oatmeal. I could also whip up some French toast or pancakes. How much time do you have?"

Samantha picked up her shorts, but made no attempt to put them on. She began walking out of the room, putting some extra sway into her step. Naughty, naughty. "Actually, I did have some errands to run and an appointment in the afternoon. May I have eggs and toast?"

"Scrambled or fried? One or two? Butter on the toast? Jelly or apple butter?"

"Scrambled, two, no butter, apple butter," she said over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. She tossed her shorts and her panties onto the discarded sweatshirt and continued toward the bathroom, now totally naked. I drooled a little.

"May I use your shower? Where do you keep clean towels? Want to join me?"

I almost tripped over my pajama bottoms as they dropped to my ankles. I kicked them aside and casually said, "Sure."

It takes a few minutes for the hot water to reach the shower head, so I just came up behind her, covered her breasts, and pulled her into me. After a few minutes of that, during which time I kissed all over her shoulders and neck, we stepped into the shower and adjusted the temperature to perfection. I grabbed the soap and began rubbing it over her skin. It took a while, but I eventually got every square inch clean. I spent a little too much time on her clit and she screamed through an orgasm. My bad.

Luckily, I had shampoo in the stall. I didn't mention that it was Snert's before applying it to Sam's hair, rubbing vigorously as she braced her hands against the shower wall. I pulled the shower massager from its holder and rinsed that slippery, delectable body until no soap remained. She almost came again as I played the spray over her pussy.

I had soaped and rinsed myself while I was taking care of her, so after I hung the shower massager back in its place, I turned off the water, opened the door, and grabbed a clean towel. My shower buddy (a promotion from TV buddy) was a bit shaky and out of it, so I accepted the task of drying her. When I approached her dripping bush, she grabbed the towel from me and said, "No, you don't. I can't risk another orgasm. Errands, remember?"

I quickly toweled myself dry and headed to the kitchen. "If you need a hairdryer, it is in the upstairs bathroom," I called out. She casually walked past the kitchen door and headed upstairs, totally unconscious -- or perhaps totally conscious -- of her nudity. She apparently has a wild side.

We enjoyed our breakfast sitting at the dining room table. Clothing had still not made an appearance.

"I enjoyed that breakfast more than any I can recall. The food was good, too. Shall we start the new TV series tonight? Or should we skip that and go right to you eating me out? I must confess, nobody has ever offered that pleasure. A few boyfriends gave me a lick and a promise just to prove they really cared, but not one mentioned enjoying it."

I thought for a second. "Here is my vision. I will recline on the couch and you will recline on me. As we watch TV. I will grope you in a foreplay manner and whenever you feel sufficiently lubricated, we will turn off the TV and I will remove any clothing accidentally remaining. I will suck your nipples and kiss my way down to your pussy. Then... "

"Stop talking and do it! You are a pain in the ass!"

So we commenced with my plan. When I got my tongue into her entrance, I got a taste of the elixir I had only smelled before. Many men refer to older women as "dried-up old hags." That was certainly not the case for Samantha. There was no shortage of fluid for me to feast on. The more attention I gave, the more it flowed. I did everything I could to keep her on the verge of orgasm. Her body writhed, her breathing was labored; she muttered, she moaned, she swore. All good things must come to an end, and cum she did. She screamed, her body went rigid, her thighs crushed my ears, and the flow of fluids became a jet, soaking my face and neck. I love when that happens.

It was many minutes before I got any verbal feedback. The fact that she passed out might explain that. Her eyes opened somewhat, and she uttered, "Grnblg unh wha?" and went to sleep. We needed to work on her linguistic skills. That didn't sound like English at all.

I covered her with a quilt and let her sleep. When I sensed that she was reentering the world of the living, I began kissing everywhere -- except her lips. That was still Pretty Woman territory. She didn't bother to open her eyes. She smiled and hummed. Only when I reached her pussy did her eyes pop open. "Again?" she asked.

I nodded, took her clit between my lips, and sucked gently. Then I proceeded to give her the full experience. My fingers invaded her canal and found her G-spot. My tongue tripped back and forth through her lips and into the entrance that produced her yummy lubes. I treated that clit to a tongue alphabet, gentle teeth, and sucking. I paid attention to her signals and delivered more of what she enjoyed, moving on to something else when I sensed an area was desensitizing.

I didn't bother counting. I know I gave her a better workout than Jazzercise ever could. I hated to make her walk upstairs, but if we were going to spend another night in my bed, she would have to. There was no way I could carry her up those stairs at my age.

We were both fully nude as I pulled the sheets over us. Not that it mattered. Sam was out for the count. Nine hours later, she suddenly sat up. "I had the most erotic dream," she shouted. Then she pounced on me, mashing her breasts to my chest, and smothered my lips with hers. So much for Pretty Woman, I thought. It felt awfully good, so I went with it, allowing her tongue to play with mine. I felt her hand move between our bodies, seeking something that didn't exist. An erection.

"I warned you. Please be assured, the lack of an erection does not indicate a lack of excitement. The enjoyment I got out of last night's activities rivaled your own. Never feel that you've left me hanging."

"Isn't there something I can do? Surely a blowjob would be enjoyable."

"It would definitely be enjoyable, but unproductive. I masturbate regularly and after 30-45 minutes of hard work I eventually reach a climax, though nothing much comes out. The frustration just wouldn't be worth your time."

"I'm sorry, but let me be the judge of that. There is no way I can accept what you gave me without returning something. I will not allow you to eat me again until I have at least tried to make you feel good. We can start with me in the masseuse role. Deal?"

"Deal. You be the artist. I'll be the canvas. We do have to discuss what our relationship is going to be. If we can't figure out what it is, how will we explain it to our friends and family, who will eventually know something beyond friendship exists."

"Blah, blah, blah," she said just before my entire cock was in her mouth. She got me over the edge faster than I expected. "Wow," was all I could say.

"That was the most fun blowjob I have ever given. I loved that I didn't have a mouthful of cum to swallow when you finished. No muss, no fuss. You can have one of those for every ten of my orgasms."

"Sounds fair to me. Can I get started on your next decade?"

We eventually had deep discussions about our relationship. Marriage, cohabitation, and inclusion in wills were all off the table. We could love each other and enjoy each other and even kiss without all those impediments. We held hands and showed affection in public, but didn't bother explaining anything to anyone. That is the buddy code.