Spent the afternoon helping my grandson with his woodworking project. The smell of sawdust, the sound of his hands working the wood… it sent a familiar heat straight to my pussy. There's something about watching a man's hands create something that makes me ache to feel them creating pleasure instead. I kept imagining those calloused fingers sliding under my dress, pushing my panties aside, and rubbing my swollen clit until I came against his palm. Not a gentle touch, but a firm, knowing one. A woman my age doesn't want tentative exploration; she wants to be taken with the confidence of a craftsman who knows exactly how to make her body sing. I'd let him use my mouth, my tits, my cunt—anywhere he wanted—just to feel that focused intensity turned on me. The best part of being old is having no shame left for these delicious, dirty thoughts.