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Author Topic: disvirgined by a widow  (Read 6393 times)

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Offline Naughtyme

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disvirgined by a widow
« on: November 20, 2013, 11:04:02 AM »
I almost blurted
out something embarrassing; Laura was forty-
six years old. She was three years older than
my mother. That couldn't be. I looked at her
and she was already looking at me. I must
have looked a little bewildered because she
smiled and her eyes flashed. She was so
beautiful, I thought.
"Wow," was all I could offer. Then finally I
said, "You're a really great looking couple."
"Thank you," she said. "Here." she started to
reach for my face. "You're going to get hair
in your eye." She brushed my hair away from
my face. It fell back to where it had been as
soon as she pulled her hand away. She
laughed. I palpably felt something change
between us. For a faint moment, I thought
we were going to kiss. And then she turned
away.
Later that morning, while I was sitting on a
chair taking a break, she was clearing off a
shelf above her head with her back to me. I
had been watching her intently, and now
some of my late-night thoughts were coming
back to me. I caught myself admiring her
tightly wrapped, shapely bottom. I sighed.
What a great looking ass, I thought in my
own juvenile way. I started to focus on her
crotch and felt a stirring deep inside of me;
then I heard her voice.
"Kevin, could you give me a hand here?" She
was on her tiptoes, arms raised, trying to
prevent a box from tipping and falling to the
floor. I jumped up to assist. I stood behind
her and reached for the box. I had to reach
under her arm, and my whole body was
pressed against hers. The box was heavy.
"What is in here?" I asked, my lips close to
her ear.
"Medical Books."
"Here, let me..." and I tried to push up with
my legs to get the box to tip back. It was
then that I noticed my erection. I was in a
pair a fleece gym shorts, no underwear, and
I could feel the softness of her bottom and
the stretch of the fabric of her tight slacks as
I lifted and pressed against her. I had to try
again, and again there was the friction and
the pressing. She reached back and put a
hand on my hip to steady us, and then I could
have sworn she arched her back ever so
slightly, as if to offer herself for another rub.
"I think I've got it," I said as I pushed the
box back onto the shelf.
We didn't move for a second. I was still
pressed against her. Her hand was still on my
hip. I was certain she could feel my erection.

Post Merge: November 20, 2013, 11:07:59 AM
"Oh my," she sighed, "that was close."
She turned, swiping her bottom across my
turgid condition. I took one step back.
"Whew," she wiped her brow. "It's getting
hot out here. Maybe we should think about
calling it a day."
I must have looked like a deer in headlights.
She smiled, never taking her eyes from mine.
She leaned closer to me, until I could feel
her breath on my neck and chest. She pushed
my hair away from my face again.
There was a long silence that made me feel
awkward. When she spoke she startled me.
"Tell me something, Kevin, do you ever think
about me?"
Now she looked down. I was still sprung
below straight out I am sure. I was too
embarrassed to look.
"Yeah, sure."
"What do you think about?"
That was a loaded question considering my
recent thoughts.
"I think..." I stammered. She put a hand on
my chest and looked again in my eyes. "I
think you're beautiful," I said finally,
meaning it.
"Really?"
"Yes. I have always thought you were
beautiful."
"Thank you. I think about you, too, you
know?" she offered.
"What do you think about?"
"Same thing, mostly. How beautiful you are,
and how lucky you are." Again she pushed my
hair away from my face. This time, she
petted my head. "And I think about how
much I am going to miss you."
Again I had the surging sensation that I
wanted to kiss her.
"Do you ever think about..." now she was
grinning like she was about to laugh,
"...about kissing me?"
"I just was."
"You can, you know."
"What?" I was slow boy.
"Kiss me." She was more serious now.
We stood motionless. Finally she leaned in to
me and closed her eyes. Our lips met. Her
abdomen pressed against my erection,
pushing it to one side, and then, as we
moved, it adjusted between us. She had to
have been aware of it. The kiss was soft at
first, then firmer, then her tongue parted my
lips. She put her arms over my shoulders,
around my neck. I put my hands on the sides
of her waist.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered
as she took a breath.
"No?" I whispered back stupidly.
"Oh my," she sighed. She pulled me against
her. She pressed her mouth against my neck
and then under my ear, and I believe she was
tasting me more than kissing me. Her body
writhed against me. She was moving from
flatfeet to tiptoes rhythmically, rubbing up
against my erection, intentionally I was now
sure. She took her arms from my neck and
pushed my hands down over her behind. I
cupped her giving flesh, and then pulled her
into me as she continued to rub her body
against mine.
"Oh Kevin," she took a breath and put her
forehead to mine. "Forgive me."
"It's okay."
I kneaded her supple flesh. I wanted her to
rub against me again. I was pushing her up
against a hip-level workbench. She pushed
my hands away from her bottom. I was
devastated. I thought she was going to push
me away. Then she backed up and sat on to
the edge of the workbench. She wrapped her
legs around me and pulled me against her.
My erection was pressed fully against the
soft expanse between her legs. I was rubbing
against her now.
We kissed hard and long. I could hear the
hiss of my fleece clad manhood against the
fabric that sheathed her soft, blood-engorged
flesh. She tasted of lipstick and salt and it
smelled of oil and wet earth and the heat of
the garage. I placed my hands on her
breasts. We rubbed against each other. She
started to tug at the waistband of my shorts.
I had never felt more desire before. I knew
we were going to make love right there, on
the dirty floor of the garage if we had to.
"Wait," she whispered, pushing away from
me gently. "Not like this. Not here."
I grimaced in agony. She eased off of the
workbench. She reached between us and
pushed her hand against my aching member.
"I am so sorry, Kevin, but not like this."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't breathe.
"Oh God, you're so hard," she panted,
steering me away from her, "but I have to
clean up at least that much. Give me
twenty minutes. Come up to the house."
"Okay," I said through clenched teeth.
"I wanted to make lunch for you. Let me do
that for you, first, and then... then we'll see
what happens, okay?"
"Yes," I sighed.
She ran her hands through my hair again. "It
will be all right, Kevin; I promise." Then she
kissed me delicately and left the garage.
I felt ridiculous about what happened next,
but I couldn't help myself. As soon as she
was out of sight, I took my cock in my hands
and begin to squeeze and manipulate it,
trying to wring the pain and frustration from
my body. I didn't want to masturbate. I was
fairly certain now that we were going to
make love, that I was finally going to lose
my virginity, and to a real women, not a girl.
I didn't want to mess that up, but she was
right I was SO HARD. I moved to a
secluded corner of the garage and pulled my
shorts down just enough to access my
swollen manhood.
*****
In my imagination, she says, "Not like this.
Not here." But then she says, "I will help
you, though," and grabbing my erection she
moves behind me, pushing down my shorts,
stroking my hot, bare penis with her tender
hand. I have to place my hands against the
shelves to steady myself. Faster and faster
she pumps, with perfect rhythm, like she is
reading my mind. I have to turn and lean
back against the wall, and now she is beside
me, stroking me, her mouth pressed against
my ear.
"Come on, Kevin, come for me," she talks
wetly into my ear.
I am trying vainly not to swear. My whole
body is convulsing.
"That's it, come on," she says softly,
pleadingly.
"Oh jeez!" I spew forth a rope of cum, and
then another, and yet more.
And then she is gone.
*****
I had almost collapsed on the floor in the
corner of the garage. I had erupted, and
when I regained my senses, I marveled at my
effort. A small puddle of my ejaculate lay at
least six feet from where I was standing, and
then three or four long gooey strings were
splattered on the oil-darkened garage floor. I
was sweating from every pore of my body. I
was dazed.
I found a clean rag and cleaned myself up,
and then I dabbed the floor. I threw the rag
away and sat down on a folding chair. I tried
to rest and recapture my breath. My T-shirt
was dirty. I had soiled my shorts a bit. My
hands were dirty, especially under my
fingernails. She was right not like this.
I found a small powder room on the main
floor of Laura's house. The air-conditioned
coolness was a greater relief than I had
expected. I washed up as best I could. I had
taken my shirt off to wipe down my chest
when Laura knocked on the door. I opened it.
"Here, try this," she said, handing me a T-
shirt. I was startled. She was wearing a
Japanese silk robe, jade with gold embroidery
it complimented her eyes. The hem brushed
just above her knees. Her legs were satiny
smooth. I smelled lemon and vanilla and
soap this time.
"It was my husband's, so it should fit you."
I held it open and finally turned my gaze
from hers. It was a dark-blue, extra-large T-
shirt with a gold "Cal" in script on the front.
"Thanks. Mine was kind of dirty."
"I know." She smiled. I put the shirt on.
"Great," I said. She appeared to be admiring
me.
She had me sit at the kitchen table. It was a
country farmhouse antique, nicked and
scraped, the white paint worn away in places.
Bread was baking in the oven, and the
soothing aroma filled the house. In front of
me there was a glass of ice water, an empty
white plate, and a small bowl containing
amber-green olive oil. In the middle of the
table was a bottle of red wine and two
glasses. She was peering into refrigerator, a
hand on her hip.
"Are you adventurous?" she asked without
looking at me.
"Sure."
"Good."
One by one, she adorned my plate delicacies
from white plastic containers: Roasted red
peppers; thinly sliced and delicately marbled
ham; black and green brine-cured olives; a
salad of chopped tomatoes and capers in
olive oil; and chunks of salami with a white,
powdery crust. After that, she set out a
wooden cutting board and placed small
triangles and rounds of cheeses on it:
Camembert, Gouda, Asiago, and fresh, wet
mozzarella. Then she set out the hot bread, a
round peasant loaf, and sat down.
"Wow," I complimented her. "This is
unbelievable."
"In Italy, they would call this antipasti the
first course. I think it makes a lovely lunch."
"I'd say," I said and laughed. "Aren't you
going to join me?"
"I'll have some wine and nibble. You eat.
Enjoy."
And I did. And she watched me the whole
time, sipping from her wine and occasionally
picking an olive or a piece of salami from my
plate and putting it on a crust of bread for
herself. I finished all the food on my plate
and half the cheese and bread. We finished
the bottle of wine together.
"That was great," I offered when I was full.
"I love to watch a man with a good appetite
eat," she said as she picked up my plate. She
set it in the sink. "It makes me feel..." she
turned from the sink to face me. Her robe
was open to her navel, just covering her
breasts. "Okay, it turns me on. There, I said
it."
"Did you do this for your husband?" I
shouldn't have asked.
"Yes."
"Do I remind you of your husband?" Why was
I asking this? Did I care? I got up and walked
towards her.
"No," she said matter-of-factly. She stepped
towards me. I put my arms on her shoulders.
She put her hands against my chest. "You
remind me of a feeling."
"What kind of feeling?"
"A very good feeling, one I haven't felt for a
long time." She smiled.
"What I am feeling right now is new to me,"
I said, almost sounding caviler despite my
electric nerves.
We kissed. I ran my hands up and down over
her back. She put her head against my
shoulder. "What kind of feeling is it?" she
asked.
"I don't know. I feel... like a man."
"That's a good thing." We kissed again,
lovingly, passionately, carefully. "A very good
thing," she exhaled.
I slipped my hand under her robe, ran my
fingers along her naked hips, brushed her
thighs with my palms, took a pliant cheek in
hand. My penis filled with blood and rose.
"Wait," she whispered. What now, I thought.
"There is something else I want to do for
you."
She led me by the hand through the living
room and down a hallway. We entered a
large bathroom with dark, hardwood flooring.
The windows were draped with creamy, gauzy
curtains. In one corner there was a large
pedestal sink and a mirrored medicine
cabinet.
"There is a new toothbrush in there, if you
would like to brush your teeth," she said
pointing at the cabinet. "I am going to run
you a bath."
She walked to the other corner where there
was a massive, claw-footed enamel and cast
iron tub with old-fashioned piping and brass
faucets. She placed a stopper in the tub and
turned on the water. I didn't know what to
do next. She stood in front of me.
"Here, give me your clothes."
I took off my shirt.
"Come on, shorts too. I'll throw your clothes
in the wash."
I took off my shorts and handed them to her.
She looked down at my erection, then looked
in my eyes and smiled. A pause.
"Thank you," she said finally.
"For...?" For what? For having an erection?
"For being here today." She turned and left
the room, my shorts and her dead husband's
T-shirt in hand.
I stood motionless for a moment. I felt good
comfortable and calm. I looked down at my
erection and smiled.
I brushed my teeth and got into the steamy
hot water. I was about to turn off the
faucets when there was a tap at the door.
"Can I come in?" she asked sweetly.
"Of course." It is your house, I thought.
She came over to the tub with a bottle and
poured a few capfuls of liquid into the
churning water.
"Bubble bath?" I asked
"Skin-So-Soft. You will like it. Trust me."
She turned off the faucets and gently swirled
her hand over the top of the water. She took
a stool from against the wall and set it
behind the tub.
"Here, I'll rub your shoulders and scrub your
back," she offered, settling in behind me.
The treated water made my skin slippery
smooth, something like oil, but clean, not
greasy at all. Her hands felt marvelous on my
shoulders and neck. She pushed me gently
forward and rubbed my back with a
washcloth. She took her time.
Just when I was completely relaxed, she
pulled me back and stroked my hair.
"Here, lean back your head and I will give
you a hot lather shave."
I did as I was told. I heard her run the water
in the sink, the clank of equipment being
removed from the cabinet. The shaving cream
was warm when she spread it on my face. I
closed my eyes. The straight razor was sharp
and it glided effortlessly over the contours of
my chin.
"A guy could get used to this kind of
treatment," I uttered through the soapy
lather, tasting it.
"Shhh," she whispered. "Just relax."
She wiped the razor on a towel after each
pass, and then she cleaned my face with a
piping hot washcloth.
"There," she exclaimed proudly running her
fingers over my cheek. "Softer than a baby's
bottom." She went to the front of the tub
and pulled the stopper.
"Am I through?" I started to whine.
"Not yet."
She turned on the hot water, stood up, and
without the slightest hesitation let her robe
fall to the floor. She faced me and my eyes
devoured her. A soft, downy triangle of
strawberry blonde pubic hair, her graceful
limbs, the perfect shape of her plump
breasts, her long, elegant neck: in that hazy,
curtain-filtered light she was a vision of
feminine beauty, and gazing at her, I felt like
a grateful and undeserving child.
"Okay, make some room for me."
I lifted up my legs and spread them against
the sides of the tub. She re-stopped the tub.
She turned and stepped in, her smooth, well-
rounded bottom a wonder before my eyes.
She settled in front of me, her back against
my chest, with no effort, and I sensed she
had done this before. She rested the back of
her head against my shoulder and closed her
eyes. She turned off the hot water with her
right big toe, her foot pointed like a
ballerina.
I had gone soft in all the hot water, but now
I felt my organ growing again, nuzzling in
against the small of her back. She took my
hands and placed them on her tummy, and
then, with her hands on top of mine, she
guided me on a tour of her soft, wet flesh. I
massaged her breast with one hand, her
abdomen and hips and sides with the other.
"This is nice," she sighed luxuriantly.
The air conditioner came on, rustling the
curtains, cooling our skin. I rested my head
against hers and breathed in the scent of her
hair butter and wheat and the remnants of
a fragrant herbal shampoo. Under the water
now, my hand brushed across her pubic
mound, my fingers sifted through the fine,
soft hair floating there. She sighed and
pushed up against me. Her legs spread ever
so slightly, inviting my fingers to explore the
soft folds of skin between her legs. I gently
massaged her clitoris, and I could feel it
harden between my fingers.
"That feels good," she purred. Her head was
beside mine now, and she turned her face
towards mine, beckoning me to kiss her. As
we kissed, she began to writhe, her smooth
wet skin against mine, my now throbbing
penis caught between us. She became bolder.
She threw one leg over the edge of the tub,
giving me full access to her intimate area. I,
in turn, took her cue and began to rub more
vigorously, with the whole of my hand, my
palm pressed against her clit, my fingers
rifling her labia and massaging the entrance
to her sanctum.
She pulled her lips from mine.
"Oh, I like that. Oh Kevin."
She shuddered. Her breathing was shallower.
I quickened my motion. I think she came. She
brought her leg back into the tub and
squeezed my hand between her thighs. She
turned to her side, like she was cuddling
against me.
"Oh, that was..."
She didn't finish her thought. She rolled on
top of me, her moist, tender breasts pressed
against my chest. She raised herself up on a
knee and rode her hand over my stiff and
now silky smooth shaft. She kissed me as she
squeezed and stroked me.
"You feel so good," she whispered into my
mouth. "So strong, so wonderful."
She let go of me and stepped out of the tub.
She took a giant white terrycloth towel from
a wicker stand. I started to get up and she
motioned for me to wait. She stood on a
brightly colored Mexican throw rug next to
the tub, and she began to work the towel
over her damp body. I watched as she slowly
and tenderly dried herself. I took the liberty
of tugging at myself as I watched her. I felt
relaxed and anxious at the same time.
She tossed the towel into a hamper near the
sink. She took another towel and stood
beside the tub and held it open.
"Here, I will dry you."
I got out of the tub. She positioned me on
the throw rug, and just as slowly and
tenderly, she dried my wet body, paying
particular attention, I noted, to my
stimulated genitalia.
She tossed the towel aside and stood naked
before me. She pulled the band that was
holding her hair back and shook her head,
and the curls cascaded around her face,
brushing her shoulders. There she was, Mrs.
Hollander, Laura, my neighbor, a friend of my
mother beautiful and mysterious. And then
I detected a profound melancholy in her eyes.
"Maybe I shouldn't have done this," she said
softly.
"Why," I said, stepping towards her.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." She
looked at the floor.
I knew I had to say something. I was scared
she would send me away.
"Please don't say that," I said touching her
cheek.
"It's not right."
"We've come too far." Yes too far to turn
back now I wanted to say, but didn't. I put
my arms around her. "Look, there is nowhere
in the whole world I would rather be than
right here with you."
She rested her head on my shoulder. My
erection pressed into her lower abdomen, but
it meant nothing to me at the moment. I had
to convince her to finish what we had
started.
"You're so young." She looked at me, put her
hands on my chest. I put my forehead against
hers.
"That's not fair. I could love you."
"I suppose you could, if only for a moment,"
she said touching my lower lip with the tip of
her finger.
"What?"
She tilted her head. "Do you think it is
possible for two people to love one another
for just one moment, for one brief period of
time?"
"For one afternoon...?"
She smiled broadly. "Yes, one brief,
impossible afternoon."
"Yes, I believe it's possible." I so much
wanted to believe it was possible.
"Good. So do I." She laughed. "Okay then..."
She seemed to have resolved the issue. The
sadness was gone from her eyes. "You have
to promise me you will never..."
"Tell anyone, ever. I promise."
I was not expecting what happened next. She
kissed my lips playfully, and then my neck,
and then my chest, and then she lowered
herself until she was kneeling in front of me,
whereupon she took my straining manhood in
her mouth, lovingly, slowly, caressing it with
her lips and tongue.
"Oh my," I sighed. Thank you God is what I
wanted to say. I petted her head. I closed my
eyes.
To this day, I don't know what she did or
how she did it, but what I felt in her mouth
over the next few minutes was the most
exquisite sensation my genitals have ever
experienced. With my eyes closed, I could
imagine my penis lodged inside a wonderfully
magic place. Just when I thought she couldn't
possibly take anymore of me, she did. No
teeth, no uncomfortable bending, just
perfect, warm, moist passion surrounding me,
kneading my fleshy organ. She would hold me
there, her forehead pressed against my
abdomen, and then... I don't know if she was
swallowing or ever so gently opening and
closing her mouth, but it was like she could
reach a place deep within me, summoning
some erotic core to open in the warm center
of my being. It wasn't that I wanted to
come. It was more spiritual than that. I
wanted to grab her head and pull her into
me, and I was in such a state I feared I
might do just that.

Post Merge: November 20, 2013, 11:08:14 AM
"Oh my," she sighed, "that was close."
She turned, swiping her bottom across my
turgid condition. I took one step back.
"Whew," she wiped her brow. "It's getting
hot out here. Maybe we should think about
calling it a day."
I must have looked like a deer in headlights.
She smiled, never taking her eyes from mine.
She leaned closer to me, until I could feel
her breath on my neck and chest. She pushed
my hair away from my face again.
There was a long silence that made me feel
awkward. When she spoke she startled me.
"Tell me something, Kevin, do you ever think
about me?"
Now she looked down. I was still sprung
below straight out I am sure. I was too
embarrassed to look.
"Yeah, sure."
"What do you think about?"
That was a loaded question considering my
recent thoughts.
"I think..." I stammered. She put a hand on
my chest and looked again in my eyes. "I
think you're beautiful," I said finally,
meaning it.
"Really?"
"Yes. I have always thought you were
beautiful."
"Thank you. I think about you, too, you
know?" she offered.
"What do you think about?"
"Same thing, mostly. How beautiful you are,
and how lucky you are." Again she pushed my
hair away from my face. This time, she
petted my head. "And I think about how
much I am going to miss you."
Again I had the surging sensation that I
wanted to kiss her.
"Do you ever think about..." now she was
grinning like she was about to laugh,
"...about kissing me?"
"I just was."
"You can, you know."
"What?" I was slow boy.
"Kiss me." She was more serious now.
We stood motionless. Finally she leaned in to
me and closed her eyes. Our lips met. Her
abdomen pressed against my erection,
pushing it to one side, and then, as we
moved, it adjusted between us. She had to
have been aware of it. The kiss was soft at
first, then firmer, then her tongue parted my
lips. She put her arms over my shoulders,
around my neck. I put my hands on the sides
of her waist.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered
as she took a breath.
"No?" I whispered back stupidly.
"Oh my," she sighed. She pulled me against
her. She pressed her mouth against my neck
and then under my ear, and I believe she was
tasting me more than kissing me. Her body
writhed against me. She was moving from
flatfeet to tiptoes rhythmically, rubbing up
against my erection, intentionally I was now
sure. She took her arms from my neck and
pushed my hands down over her behind. I
cupped her giving flesh, and then pulled her
into me as she continued to rub her body
against mine.
"Oh Kevin," she took a breath and put her
forehead to mine. "Forgive me."
"It's okay."
I kneaded her supple flesh. I wanted her to
rub against me again. I was pushing her up
against a hip-level workbench. She pushed
my hands away from her bottom. I was
devastated. I thought she was going to push
me away. Then she backed up and sat on to
the edge of the workbench. She wrapped her
legs around me and pulled me against her.
My erection was pressed fully against the
soft expanse between her legs. I was rubbing
against her now.
We kissed hard and long. I could hear the
hiss of my fleece clad manhood against the
fabric that sheathed her soft, blood-engorged
flesh. She tasted of lipstick and salt and it
smelled of oil and wet earth and the heat of
the garage. I placed my hands on her
breasts. We rubbed against each other. She
started to tug at the waistband of my shorts.
I had never felt more desire before. I knew
we were going to make love right there, on
the dirty floor of the garage if we had to.
"Wait," she whispered, pushing away from
me gently. "Not like this. Not here."
I grimaced in agony. She eased off of the
workbench. She reached between us and
pushed her hand against my aching member.
"I am so sorry, Kevin, but not like this."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't breathe.
"Oh God, you're so hard," she panted,
steering me away from her, "but I have to
clean up at least that much. Give me
twenty minutes. Come up to the house."
"Okay," I said through clenched teeth.
"I wanted to make lunch for you. Let me do
that for you, first, and then... then we'll see
what happens, okay?"
"Yes," I sighed.
She ran her hands through my hair again. "It
will be all right, Kevin; I promise." Then she
kissed me delicately and left the garage.
I felt ridiculous about what happened next,
but I couldn't help myself. As soon as she
was out of sight, I took my cock in my hands
and begin to squeeze and manipulate it,
trying to wring the pain and frustration from
my body. I didn't want to masturbate. I was
fairly certain now that we were going to
make love, that I was finally going to lose
my virginity, and to a real women, not a girl.
I didn't want to mess that up, but she was
right I was SO HARD. I moved to a
secluded corner of the garage and pulled my
shorts down just enough to access my
swollen manhood.
*****
In my imagination, she says, "Not like this.
Not here." But then she says, "I will help
you, though," and grabbing my erection she
moves behind me, pushing down my shorts,
stroking my hot, bare penis with her tender
hand. I have to place my hands against the
shelves to steady myself. Faster and faster
she pumps, with perfect rhythm, like she is
reading my mind. I have to turn and lean
back against the wall, and now she is beside
me, stroking me, her mouth pressed against
my ear.
"Come on, Kevin, come for me," she talks
wetly into my ear.
I am trying vainly not to swear. My whole
body is convulsing.
"That's it, come on," she says softly,
pleadingly.
"Oh jeez!" I spew forth a rope of cum, and
then another, and yet more.
And then she is gone.
*****
I had almost collapsed on the floor in the
corner of the garage. I had erupted, and
when I regained my senses, I marveled at my
effort. A small puddle of my ejaculate lay at
least six feet from where I was standing, and
then three or four long gooey strings were
splattered on the oil-darkened garage floor. I
was sweating from every pore of my body. I
was dazed.
I found a clean rag and cleaned myself up,
and then I dabbed the floor. I threw the rag
away and sat down on a folding chair. I tried
to rest and recapture my breath. My T-shirt
was dirty. I had soiled my shorts a bit. My
hands were dirty, especially under my
fingernails. She was right not like this.
I found a small powder room on the main
floor of Laura's house. The air-conditioned
coolness was a greater relief than I had
expected. I washed up as best I could. I had
taken my shirt off to wipe down my chest
when Laura knocked on the door. I opened it.
"Here, try this," she said, handing me a T-
shirt. I was startled. She was wearing a
Japanese silk robe, jade with gold embroidery
it complimented her eyes. The hem brushed
just above her knees. Her legs were satiny
smooth. I smelled lemon and vanilla and
soap this time.
"It was my husband's, so it should fit you."
I held it open and finally turned my gaze
from hers. It was a dark-blue, extra-large T-
shirt with a gold "Cal" in script on the front.
"Thanks. Mine was kind of dirty."
"I know." She smiled. I put the shirt on.
"Great," I said. She appeared to be admiring
me.
She had me sit at the kitchen table. It was a
country farmhouse antique, nicked and
scraped, the white paint worn away in places.
Bread was baking in the oven, and the
soothing aroma filled the house. In front of
me there was a glass of ice water, an empty
white plate, and a small bowl containing
amber-green olive oil. In the middle of the
table was a bottle of red wine and two
glasses. She was peering into refrigerator, a
hand on her hip.
"Are you adventurous?" she asked without
looking at me.
"Sure."
"Good."
One by one, she adorned my plate delicacies
from white plastic containers: Roasted red
peppers; thinly sliced and delicately marbled
ham; black and green brine-cured olives; a
salad of chopped tomatoes and capers in
olive oil; and chunks of salami with a white,
powdery crust. After that, she set out a
wooden cutting board and placed small
triangles and rounds of cheeses on it:
Camembert, Gouda, Asiago, and fresh, wet
mozzarella. Then she set out the hot bread, a
round peasant loaf, and sat down.
"Wow," I complimented her. "This is
unbelievable."
"In Italy, they would call this antipasti the
first course. I think it makes a lovely lunch."
"I'd say," I said and laughed. "Aren't you
going to join me?"
"I'll have some wine and nibble. You eat.
Enjoy."
And I did. And she watched me the whole
time, sipping from her wine and occasionally
picking an olive or a piece of salami from my
plate and putting it on a crust of bread for
herself. I finished all the food on my plate
and half the cheese and bread. We finished
the bottle of wine together.
"That was great," I offered when I was full.
"I love to watch a man with a good appetite
eat," she said as she picked up my plate. She
set it in the sink. "It makes me feel..." she
turned from the sink to face me. Her robe
was open to her navel, just covering her
breasts. "Okay, it turns me on. There, I said
it."
"Did you do this for your husband?" I
shouldn't have asked.
"Yes."
"Do I remind you of your husband?" Why was
I asking this? Did I care? I got up and walked
towards her.
"No," she said matter-of-factly. She stepped
towards me. I put my arms on her shoulders.
She put her hands against my chest. "You
remind me of a feeling."
"What kind of feeling?"
"A very good feeling, one I haven't felt for a
long time." She smiled.
"What I am feeling right now is new to me,"
I said, almost sounding caviler despite my
electric nerves.
We kissed. I ran my hands up and down over
her back. She put her head against my
shoulder. "What kind of feeling is it?" she
asked.
"I don't know. I feel... like a man."
"That's a good thing." We kissed again,
lovingly, passionately, carefully. "A very good
thing," she exhaled.
I slipped my hand under her robe, ran my
fingers along her naked hips, brushed her
thighs with my palms, took a pliant cheek in
hand. My penis filled with blood and rose.
"Wait," she whispered. What now, I thought.
"There is something else I want to do for
you."
She led me by the hand through the living
room and down a hallway. We entered a
large bathroom with dark, hardwood flooring.
The windows were draped with creamy, gauzy
curtains. In one corner there was a large
pedestal sink and a mirrored medicine
cabinet.
"There is a new toothbrush in there, if you
would like to brush your teeth," she said
pointing at the cabinet. "I am going to run
you a bath."
She walked to the other corner where there
was a massive, claw-footed enamel and cast
iron tub with old-fashioned piping and brass
faucets. She placed a stopper in the tub and
turned on the water. I didn't know what to
do next. She stood in front of me.
"Here, give me your clothes."
I took off my shirt.
"Come on, shorts too. I'll throw your clothes
in the wash."
I took off my shorts and handed them to her.
She looked down at my erection, then looked
in my eyes and smiled. A pause.
"Thank you," she said finally.
"For...?" For what? For having an erection?
"For being here today." She turned and left
the room, my shorts and her dead husband's
T-shirt in hand.
I stood motionless for a moment. I felt good
comfortable and calm. I looked down at my
erection and smiled.
I brushed my teeth and got into the steamy
hot water. I was about to turn off the
faucets when there was a tap at the door.
"Can I come in?" she asked sweetly.
"Of course." It is your house, I thought.
She came over to the tub with a bottle and
poured a few capfuls of liquid into the
churning water.
"Bubble bath?" I asked
"Skin-So-Soft. You will like it. Trust me."
She turned off the faucets and gently swirled
her hand over the top of the water. She took
a stool from against the wall and set it
behind the tub.
"Here, I'll rub your shoulders and scrub your
back," she offered, settling in behind me.
The treated water made my skin slippery
smooth, something like oil, but clean, not
greasy at all. Her hands felt marvelous on my
shoulders and neck. She pushed me gently
forward and rubbed my back with a
washcloth. She took her time.
Just when I was completely relaxed, she
pulled me back and stroked my hair.
"Here, lean back your head and I will give
you a hot lather shave."
I did as I was told. I heard her run the water
in the sink, the clank of equipment being
removed from the cabinet. The shaving cream
was warm when she spread it on my face. I
closed my eyes. The straight razor was sharp
and it glided effortlessly over the contours of
my chin.
"A guy could get used to this kind of
treatment," I uttered through the soapy
lather, tasting it.
"Shhh," she whispered. "Just relax."
She wiped the razor on a towel after each
pass, and then she cleaned my face with a
piping hot washcloth.
"There," she exclaimed proudly running her
fingers over my cheek. "Softer than a baby's
bottom." She went to the front of the tub
and pulled the stopper.
"Am I through?" I started to whine.
"Not yet."
She turned on the hot water, stood up, and
without the slightest hesitation let her robe
fall to the floor. She faced me and my eyes
devoured her. A soft, downy triangle of
strawberry blonde pubic hair, her graceful
limbs, the perfect shape of her plump
breasts, her long, elegant neck: in that hazy,
curtain-filtered light she was a vision of
feminine beauty, and gazing at her, I felt like
a grateful and undeserving child.
"Okay, make some room for me."
I lifted up my legs and spread them against
the sides of the tub. She re-stopped the tub.
She turned and stepped in, her smooth, well-
rounded bottom a wonder before my eyes.
She settled in front of me, her back against
my chest, with no effort, and I sensed she
had done this before. She rested the back of
her head against my shoulder and closed her
eyes. She turned off the hot water with her
right big toe, her foot pointed like a
ballerina.
I had gone soft in all the hot water, but now
I felt my organ growing again, nuzzling in
against the small of her back. She took my
hands and placed them on her tummy, and
then, with her hands on top of mine, she
guided me on a tour of her soft, wet flesh. I
massaged her breast with one hand, her
abdomen and hips and sides with the other.
"This is nice," she sighed luxuriantly.
The air conditioner came on, rustling the
curtains, cooling our skin. I rested my head
against hers and breathed in the scent of her
hair butter and wheat and the remnants of
a fragrant herbal shampoo. Under the water
now, my hand brushed across her pubic
mound, my fingers sifted through the fine,
soft hair floating there. She sighed and
pushed up against me. Her legs spread ever
so slightly, inviting my fingers to explore the
soft folds of skin between her legs. I gently
massaged her clitoris, and I could feel it
harden between my fingers.
"That feels good," she purred. Her head was
beside mine now, and she turned her face
towards mine, beckoning me to kiss her. As
we kissed, she began to writhe, her smooth
wet skin against mine, my now throbbing
penis caught between us. She became bolder.
She threw one leg over the edge of the tub,
giving me full access to her intimate area. I,
in turn, took her cue and began to rub more
vigorously, with the whole of my hand, my
palm pressed against her clit, my fingers
rifling her labia and massaging the entrance
to her sanctum.
She pulled her lips from mine.
"Oh, I like that. Oh Kevin."
She shuddered. Her breathing was shallower.
I quickened my motion. I think she came. She
brought her leg back into the tub and
squeezed my hand between her thighs. She
turned to her side, like she was cuddling
against me.
"Oh, that was..."
She didn't finish her thought. She rolled on
top of me, her moist, tender breasts pressed
against my chest. She raised herself up on a
knee and rode her hand over my stiff and
now silky smooth shaft. She kissed me as she
squeezed and stroked me.
"You feel so good," she whispered into my
mouth. "So strong, so wonderful."
She let go of me and stepped out of the tub.
She took a giant white terrycloth towel from
a wicker stand. I started to get up and she
motioned for me to wait. She stood on a
brightly colored Mexican throw rug next to
the tub, and she began to work the towel
over her damp body. I watched as she slowly
and tenderly dried herself. I took the liberty
of tugging at myself as I watched her. I felt
relaxed and anxious at the same time.
She tossed the towel into a hamper near the
sink. She took another towel and stood
beside the tub and held it open.
"Here, I will dry you."
I got out of the tub. She positioned me on
the throw rug, and just as slowly and
tenderly, she dried my wet body, paying
particular attention, I noted, to my
stimulated genitalia.
She tossed the towel aside and stood naked
before me. She pulled the band that was
holding her hair back and shook her head,
and the curls cascaded around her face,
brushing her shoulders. There she was, Mrs.
Hollander, Laura, my neighbor, a friend of my
mother beautiful and mysterious. And then
I detected a profound melancholy in her eyes.
"Maybe I shouldn't have done this," she said
softly.
"Why," I said, stepping towards her.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." She
looked at the floor.
I knew I had to say something. I was scared
she would send me away.
"Please don't say that," I said touching her
cheek.
"It's not right."
"We've come too far." Yes too far to turn
back now I wanted to say, but didn't. I put
my arms around her. "Look, there is nowhere
in the whole world I would rather be than
right here with you."
She rested her head on my shoulder. My
erection pressed into her lower abdomen, but
it meant nothing to me at the moment. I had
to convince her to finish what we had
started.
"You're so young." She looked at me, put her
hands on my chest. I put my forehead against
hers.
"That's not fair. I could love you."
"I suppose you could, if only for a moment,"
she said touching my lower lip with the tip of
her finger.
"What?"
She tilted her head. "Do you think it is
possible for two people to love one another
for just one moment, for one brief period of
time?"
"For one afternoon...?"
She smiled broadly. "Yes, one brief,
impossible afternoon."
"Yes, I believe it's possible." I so much
wanted to believe it was possible.
"Good. So do I." She laughed. "Okay then..."
She seemed to have resolved the issue. The
sadness was gone from her eyes. "You have
to promise me you will never..."
"Tell anyone, ever. I promise."
I was not expecting what happened next. She
kissed my lips playfully, and then my neck,
and then my chest, and then she lowered
herself until she was kneeling in front of me,
whereupon she took my straining manhood in
her mouth, lovingly, slowly, caressing it with
her lips and tongue.
"Oh my," I sighed. Thank you God is what I
wanted to say. I petted her head. I closed my
eyes.
To this day, I don't know what she did or
how she did it, but what I felt in her mouth
over the next few minutes was the most
exquisite sensation my genitals have ever
experienced. With my eyes closed, I could
imagine my penis lodged inside a wonderfully
magic place. Just when I thought she couldn't
possibly take anymore of me, she did. No
teeth, no uncomfortable bending, just
perfect, warm, moist passion surrounding me,
kneading my fleshy organ. She would hold me
there, her forehead pressed against my
abdomen, and then... I don't know if she was
swallowing or ever so gently opening and
closing her mouth, but it was like she could
reach a place deep within me, summoning
some erotic core to open in the warm center
of my being. It wasn't that I wanted to
come. It was more spiritual than that. I
wanted to grab her head and pull her into
me, and I was in such a state I feared I
might do just that.
« Last Edit: November 20, 2013, 11:08:14 AM by Naughtyme »

NIGERIAN ADULT FORUM . NAF

disvirgined by a widow
« on: November 20, 2013, 11:04:02 AM »

Offline NATH48

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Re: disvirgined by a widow
« Reply #1 on: November 29, 2013, 07:35:47 AM »
Good story it but there is repetition in postings.