Geriatric H*es: I Bake Cookies for the Church Fundraiser, Then Strip at Night and Ride Boys Like They’re My Mixer

Pam (66)

I’m old enough to be his grandma and nasty enough to make him forget he ever had one. These folks at church know me for my cookies, but baby, I’ve been riding boys like blenders since the ‘70s and I didn’t slow down for retirement. When that young white thing came sniffin’ around my cookie table, I saw it in his eyes. Curiosity. Hunger. Need. I let him taste. Under the Lord’s roof. On my floor. On his knees. Now he’s hooked, leavin’ his lil girlfriend, beggin’ me for more, and I might just be carryin’ a scandal between these thighs.

Sixty-six. Still juicy. Still wreckin’ lives.

Adam (22)

She’s three times my age and got me ready to throw my whole life away for just one more night under her dress. Pam ain’t cute. She’s devastating. Brown skin, sharp tongue, heavy hands. She talks like she owns time. Moves like she owns me. I was just here for a church internship and ended up on my knees under a bake sale table with her legs on my shoulders and my future in her grip.

I left my girlfriend. My reputation’s trashed.

And I don’t give a damn.

I’m not addicted. I’m hers.