This story goes back a few years when I was in my early fifties. Through a website where hubbies posted pics of their wives I got chatting to Alan who... I later discovered, was in his mid-sixties. His wife Susan was in her early sixties and, certainly in my view, the perfect GILF. She had looked after herself and had a fabulous body for her age; UK size 10/12, sensational stems, a bum to die for, lovely natural breasts (I reckon a 36D) unusually firm for a sixty something and amazing super. Or maybe just a more observant one."Have you seen this?" she said, brandishing an e-mail print out."Umm, no, probably - I thought that was your job. The detail stuff, anyway..." My job, Dave, is to maximise my employer's shareholders' returns." I was impressed that she managed to keep a straight face. "Not", she went on, "to wipe your bloody arse!"OK, it was serious. I'd never seen Debbie lose her rag before. I stopped scrolling through CastList code and sat up facing her, looking for a clue as. I stand up and remove your jacket. Your hands caress my body and you cover my neck and shoulders with kisses. I waste no time and remove the rest of your clothing. You take my hand and lead me to the softness of the pillows. You lay me down. I can see the passion in your dark eyes and tremble with the knowledge of what is to come. I think if my heart beats any faster it will explode. You kneel beside me reaching down and pressing your hand onto my bushy mound slipping in between the swollen. I used to get pissed at her for “reading the paper to me”, but eventually we began to swap stories from the paper with a ‘Hey, did you hear this,...” Now her acting like Piper was comforting, but she wasn’t doing it because I asked her or told her about “our” little things, they were just happening. Earlier I said it was spooky, now it was becoming comforting. If Piper was orchestrating things beyond the grave, it was for that effect, comfort and eventually I’m sure if Melody and I stuck.