A perverted old man

Baxter Trows never had the best of lives. He had been shy and quiet as a kid, that turned into timid, submissive and lazy for the rest of his life. And now here he was. Seventy-six, single, only semi retired, working as a janitor for a local custodial service and only been with two women in his life. He'd never been a particularly ambitious person, but even he thought this was about as close to rock bottom as you could get without actually being there. Where did he go wrong? He'd always been nice, considerate, humble and honest. Often to his own detriment. Nowadays he entertained himself with DVDs and books he'd almost worn out from how often he'd used them and a computer with an internet connection that at least let him explore mentally, if not physically.

But it still sucked.

Little did he know exactly how drastically his life was about to change.

Baxter had just sat down in his beat up, dusty recliner in his cluttered, sad old-bachelor pad when all of a sudden, an unearthly radiance filled his apartment and everything started to glow! Then a voice neither male nor female, young nor old, soft nor loud seemed to come from nowhere, yet everywhere.

"BAXTER TROWS, YOU ARE NEXT"

Frankly the old timer thought he was about to shit himself with terror. Was this what it was like to die? Did he fall asleep and now he was having the final dream? In a trembling voice he asked "I-is i-i-t t-t-t-ime to g-g-go?"

"WHAT? NO YOU DUNDERHEAD. YOU ARE THE NEXT GOD."

Understandably, Baxter was a little confused. "How? I'm not special, I don't have any powers, and I'm definitely mortal."

The radiance shimmered as he heard a sound that made him think of laughter. "NOT ANYMORE. YOU ARE THE SOLE ARBITER OF REALITY. THE ONE WHO IS SUPREME. ALL OF CREATION BOWS TO YOUR WILL. BEING AND NOTHINGNESS ARE CLAY TO BE MOLDED WITH LESS THAN A THOUGHT. YOU ALONE DECIDE."

"Are you sure I'm not dying?"

"ALL THAT YOU WILL, WILL BE. FAREWELL."

With that, the radiance faded away and Baxter was left bewildered and shaking in his chair. Something felt different though. Not that he felt he had changed, but everything beyond him felt...lighter. More ephemeral. The old man decided he needed a drink and hauled himself with a groan to a stand. He didn't work out or stay nearly as spry as he had when he was younger. Not that he was an athlete before. Frankly, he had always been an awkward, sorta creepy geek. But everything didn't used to be so sore and painful. No sooner did he think he'd like to be without the pain when it stopped. He felt fine. He's been living with a constant ache in his life for so long that he'd practically forgotten what it felt like to not feel pain.

"Could it be? Am I really...?" he talked out loud. Then shook his head. "Nah." He glanced at himself in the mirror. He still had his thinning, nearly bald head of hair. Still looked somewhat wrinkled and his age.

'God can do anything.' he thought to himself. 'Supposedly. There's no way I have infinite power now.' But the more he mused about it, the more he felt like anything could change. It would only take a thought. So naturally being a male, he let his dick make the decision for him. He'd always been a bit of a pervert. And age had only meant he'd become a secretly dirty old man. So he figured 'Why not? I still can get it up enough to jerk off now and again. What's the harm in a little thought experiment? worse come to worse, nothing happens. If it's true...' he let the thought fester and he already felt himself stiffen like he hadn't in years.

So Baxter thought of one of his 'dream girls'. A purely fictional woman he imagined when he wanted a lust object or some imaginary spank material. He may have been an old latino, but he'd always had a fetish for black girls. And at 5'6", he'd also developed a bit of a thing for taller girls. He pictured her walking through his door now, 6'2" or so. Skin like dark chocolate, silky smooth that practically glowed with health. Very early twenties. A playful, young face but her presence fairly sizzled with sexual energy. Straight, raven black hair with a few dark blue streaks in it to give her a slightly 'alternative' vibe. She'd have a body that was built for fucking and made the most gorgeous strippers feel like hags. DD tits that were so perky teenage girls were jealous and a thick, but toned ass you could bounce a quarter off of it and make it jiggle mouth-wateringly. Last of all, she'd be nearly nymphomaniac in how hot she was for him and how natural she found it to make his life easier. A truly devoted, eager, perfect and obviously imaginary fantasy. He used to call her 'Holly' in his head. He pictured her like he always did. In a tiny thong bikini that barely held her tits in and neatly bisected her ass cheeks. Her open toed heels only making her taller.

He'd barely finished remembering her before he heard a soft, pleasant, and young voice from his kitchen.

"Baxter, baby, are you all right?" He wheeled about and his heart stopped at the sight emerging from his small kitchenette. There she was. Exactly as he'd pictured her a moment before. She was wearing an expression of tender concern and not much else beyond her bikini and heels. "Baby, you look stressed." she said, voice filled with solicitude for his being. As she came up to him and placed one hand on his wrinkled forehead and the other wrapped tenderly around his neck, Baxter found himself being pulled face first into her spectacular cleavage. She had a dancer's posture and walked with her chest proudly upthrust.

"You feel kinda clammy. Come here." she stated as she took his hand and led him back to ease him into his old recliner.

"Holly?" Baxter managed to get out finally.

"That's me," she smiled with perfect teeth. Her expression quickly returned to concern though as Baxter sat down. "but what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." The surprises kept on coming though as once the old man had settled into his chair, the gorgeous, black beauty gracefully straddled him and leaned forward to return his face to her cleavage. Without a word from him, Holly had already reached behind her neck and back to undo the knots holding her bikini top in place. Flawless, massive tits with tight nipples slightly darker than her own skin bounced provocatively into view and it was very obvious she didn't need a bra. Ever.

"I know!" she announced brightly. Sitting up a little straighter in his lap and grinning eagerly.

"What?" Baxter asked, still reeling from his imaginary goddess seemingly brought to life with nothing but a thought.

The busty girl's grin went from eager to even more eager. "I know how to make you feel better."

"How?" he asked even as he felt himself stiffen to the point there was no way she didn't feel it.

"Wanna fuck?" she asked cheerfully.

"Huh!?"

"Fuck. Do you wanna fuck? Pick one of my holes and stuff your cock in there until you fill me with cream! Ass, pussy, mouth? Between my tits?" Holly shook her chest a little like he'd some some strippers do on stage back in the day. "Fucking use me!" she nearly cheered. Her expression turned to soft and loving. "But if you're tired Baxter, don't worry. Just tell me want you want, then lay back and let me do all the work." She pouted and said in a breathy murmur. "Holly likes taking care of her man."