In the constellation of man's problems down through the ages sexual problems have always played stellar roles. Sex, the very means by which life itself is created, creates many of life's most tormenting and emotion-shattering problems. Or perhaps we should, not say that sex creates problems for human beings, but rather that rather we mere beings create problems for sex.
By that last statement I mean that it is human attitudes-individually and personally, and socially and collectively. Sex itself can be viewed in a number of different ways, one of which in itself is problematical. Sex as the creator of life. Sex as a purely physical need of the body and nature we are endowed with. And, of course, far from being a phenomenon which generates problems, sex as the most fulfilling, joyful, ecstatic union of men and women seeking completeness and contentment.
It is ironic and poetically unjust that the very thing that can bring human beings their highest fulfillment and joy should also be what causes so many humans their deepest anguish and unhappiness. But when the thinking, supposedly rational part of man entwines with the natural human physical endowment of sexuality this poignant turnabout is what happens-all too often.
For down through the ages human attitudes toward sex, shaped by minds which are all too fallible, and institutions, societies and cultures which have been restrictively puritanic have succeeded, unfortunately, in making the activity of sex for many people a jungle of shame and guilt and twisted emotions.
In this series of timely case studies of human sexuality the focus is on exploring the shifting attitudes that may alter many of man's oldest sexual concepts. These provocative case studies of today's changing sexual patterns can aid the intelligent layman in understanding human sexuality and its problems-problems that cause so many people so much physical and emotional suffering. This, indeed, is the end of all efforts toward open, free, demythicizing sex education.
This work deals with a perennial problem that has haunted more than just few women-the inability of some women to cope with mature men on a mutually satisfactory sexual basis. The woman who, because of this ineffectiveness in relating, sexually and emotionally to a man in her own age group, turns her eyes to a much younger age group. "Women Who Lure Boys" is not just a phrase from an X-rated movie marquee-it is a human problem that is part of today's changing sexual patterns.
CASE HISTORY: "MADGE"
I never thought I'd get so damned hooked on young cock ... teenaged high school boys in their sexual prime. And I never thought I'd use my husband as my excuse for going wild in that scene.
Let me tell you, it was damned easy for me to get involved with all those kids, especially since my husband is a high school teacher. There's a couple of other things I should tell you about my husband. Paul never did satisfy me in bed, and he's a lush. He's a real closet drinker, getting bombed out of his mind, night after night, and then always straightening out in the morning in time for school. I didn't connect his drinking and the fact that he was such a lousy lovemaker together at first. I look back and I realize that by getting drunk late at night, he would have the excuse to not make love to me. Yeah, and I would feel sorry for him, hoping he would cut down on his boozing.
Hey, I can't put all the blame on my husband. I look back now and I realize that I never brought much to our lovemaking, either. We've been married almost five years now, no children, and I would have to admit that I never brought any great variety to our occasional lovemaking sprees. I never encouraged Paul to do more than touch my breasts in foreplay and I never used my mouth on any part of his body other than his lips. Straight and narrow, that was how we had our sex, and most of the time I wouldn't even experience an orgasm. It gets to be a routine something you figure you're supposed to do every so often simply because you are married.
Sexual fantasies ... I had them all the time, and they would drive me wild whenever I was alone. Yeah, a married woman, supposedly sophisticated and I really got my kicks masturbating like a school girl to the mental images of my far-out sexual fantasies. And I'll tell you what they were all about ... a summer when I was just a kid and I was spending it with my cousins at their beachhouse. One girl and two boys, they were so damned popular with all the other kids and we were forever having beach parties and campfires at night. Yeah, and we were balling like crazy, and I was learning to be sexually cool and free with a variety of young guys I had met.
My mother, straight and narrow and puritanically-bent, she only spent one day out at the beach and dragged me back home with her. That one day, she had spent it spying on me, constantly on guard that I shouldn't really enjoy myself. This may sound crazy, but it was as though my mother didn't even care to hear people laughing. My father always seemed miserable, and with a woman like that, it's easy to understand why. My Aunt Lydia was so different, it was as though she believed that young people should have fun. And I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was as though she actually understood that balling sexually was a very integral part of that young fun, and it just couldn't be denied.
My mother was another story, and I couldn't seem to enjoy myself that one day that they had come down to the beach from the city. I really dug one boy, a tall and lanky boy of sixteen, long sandy hair falling all over his face. He was unbelievably sun-bronzed and he always wore a pair of skintight swim trunks that really did a wild job of accentuating his thick cock and huge balls. And let me tell you, I know all about his equipment, because I had played around with it a number of nights at our campfire parties. We hadn't gone all the way, but we had sure as hell been leading up to that point. Like, I dug kicks, but I wasn't a real nympho.
I can still remember how my mother looked at that boy, her eyes almost bulging out as they traveled down to the snug swim trunks that really advertised the outline of his cock. He had come up to the beach house to ask me to go over to see some other kids, and he was just so natural about only wearing the brief swim trunks, walking into the cottage. My mother was a nervous wreck, that was so damned obvious, and her eyes were forever zooming in on the boy's crotch.
I left with him in a hurry, not even asking her permission to go. I just had to get out of there, I can remember that feeling, telling, myself how dirty my mother could make everything. Yeah, and I really remember how I had suddenly felt that my hot pants and matching halter were glued to my budding anatomy. I was really developing back then at fifteen, tall and "leggy and I could feel my knockers really hurting as they seemed to be continually growing. I distinctly remember that I had been barefooted and I wasn't wearing panties. I was so damned conscious of my two items of summerish clothing, the hot pants and matching halter, and my mother's eyes traveling from the boy's snug swim trunks to the highlights of my body.
She was drawing in her own dirty pictures, that seemed so obvious, and I remember that was the reason I had to get out of there with that boy. Yeah, and walking with him, I had that feeling of dirtiness just holding his hand.
Holding hands, that's all we were doing, walking down by the beach a little later in the night. All the other kids had not been where they were supposed to be and we had gone looking for them. Well, my mother made a big scene, accusing us of everything as she confronted us. She must have been following us, I realized, and it made me sick to my stomach to think how she had made something so filthy of it.
"You're coming home with us!" she snarled. "You're not going to stay out here and make a tramp of yourself!" She grabbed me by the ear, humiliating me horribly in front of that boy.
Now I'll have to tell you a crystal-clear image on my brain, because it must have something to do with how I got so damned hung up on the young stud-cocks. The moment my mother had yanked me by the ear to take me away from that boy, I remember my eyes going exactly where her eyes had centered-right at the snug crotch of his swim trunks. The boy's cock must have been almost totally hard and it was positioned straight upward in the tight confines of the black trunks, looming unbelievably large and seemingly breathing within the smooth material. And yeah, down below on each side of the perfectly shaped phallic symbol, hung the most beautiful balls. I mean, you could make out the perfect round shapes in the black stretch material of the swim trunks down there.
I remember that ... and I remember how dirty my mother had made it all. I especially remember the humiliation associated with that encounter, and after that I went through so much of my growing-up period dreading meeting young boys, fearful that my mother would follow us and again humiliate me.
The sexual fantasy ... that was my gratification outlet. Alone in my room, I would do my lovemaking before the mirror, stuffing and jamming fingers up my pussy, creating many young lovers before me and working fast and furious for orgasm. And, yeah, then telling myself that I would never again do it, always fearful of discovery by my mother and further humiliation.
I can now realize that I married an older, almost father-like image, Paul. He was in his first year of teaching when I met him, and we never really went together that long before getting married. We had sex before marriage exactly twice, and both occasions were on weekends that we'd gone away with other friends.It had been as though we were expected to be modern in our thoughts, to keep up with the others, and it had all been so mechanical and sexually functional.
I was anxious to marry Paul ... since he always gave me a feeling of security. I was running away from something, many hidden desires, but I never faced the v truth that they were the sexual fantasies stored up within me. Yeah, and they all had made a standstill when my eyes had hooked into the snug crotch of that lanky sixteen year old boy, his cock imprisoned so beautifully within the confines of the black stretch material.
I had grown up in years since that episode-but my sexual desires had remained at that youthful level. I had somehow imagined that marriage and regular sex with a mature male would automatically put an end to my masturbating. Let me tell you, I was deeply troubled when I found myself playing with myself even more after marriage.
The boys. . we lived not too far from the high school and a number of them would come over for special tutoring from my husband. He was good about that, and the students had a lot of faith in him. He seemed so fair to them all, boys or girls, and so totally professional about it all. I'll have to admit one thing about him, he wouldn't hit the bottle while he still had a student to tutor in the early evening or whenever he had an extra school function to attend to.
I can't quite understand it, but it was as though he was able to sublimate all his other shortcomings in life by throwing himself into his work, really giving a damned about the kids.
Like I said, he was a private drinker and he did all his brooding alone. Yeah, a part of that brooding was that he knew I didn't want any kids. I couldn't understand it, but I was afraid of having kids, of bringing up young people who would become teenagers ... really afraid....
The starting point, when my kick for boys really surfaced, would have to be centered about Mark. Mark is a beautiful boy of only sixteen, tall and lanky and sandy-haired. I couldn't realize it at first-since Mark wears his hair shoulder-length in the latest fashion-but he's so much like that boy I had been with when my old lady had humiliated me. And the craziest thing is that I can't remember that boy's name ... as though I don't want to confuse him with Mark. Yeah, this may sound far out, but it was as though Mark was an extension of that boy, and that all my sexual fantasies of young cocks merely bridged the long void.
I can still remember the first time I saw Mark ... in fact, the very moment my eyes riveted on the beautifully handsome youngster. Sneakers that accentuated his youthful look and skintight, faded dungarees that seemed to have been molded to his lean thighs. And then my eyes had zoomed upward, hooking right into a great V of imprisoned cock and balls. I had to bite down hard on my lower lip to take the full impact of visually tracing the hunk of meat running upward to his belly, a roundish outline beneath it all.
Up-up-upward-I had to force my eyes to move to take in the trim of his hips, the big black leather belt setting it off so fantastically. And I can still remember the impact of the large steel buckle and how my hands tingled to get at it, to feel it opening for me. I had to keep that smile fixed on my face, trying to mask my wild turn-on, grooving upward to the special tautness of his stomach and the muscular show of his chest accentuated in the colored T-shirt.
The boy's face ... that was the greatest turn-on of all. It was-a masculine face-and yet beautifully masculine. He had a haunting sensual quality to his' face, especially about the mouth. And then I had the feeling of soaring, just looking into his blue eyes and the tousled look of his hair.
Okay, so I finally gave the teenaged girl he had entered the house with a quick looking-over. Her name was Ella, and I had immediately disliked her giggle. I had sensed that she was playing up to Mark, and that she just had to be faster than he was. I had to admit that she had a fantastic set of knockers for a seventeen year old girl, and her mini-skirt revealed curvy thighs.
They had both come over to the house for special tutoring in English from my husband, and I was never so happy about that old saying Ladies before gentlemen! Ella went into my husband's study first, and I never even stopped to worry about my husband going ape over her tightly-sweatered young knockers or sneaking glances up her skirt to view glances up her panty-crotch. I was just so busy thinking about Mark being in the house, the very first time I had ever realized he even existed.
"I-I guess I'm early for my session," he finally spoke, nervously thudding a sneakered foot into the rug. "I could come back later, Ma'am-"
"No, please stay!" I blurted the words out all too fast, fearful that I was giving myself away. "I mean, you can visit with me, they shouldn't be too long...." And I could feel my body aching all over, my hands going wild to touch him. Yeah, just to touch him, to plant my hands all over his body. And, yeah, to be lucky enough to work a hand right up solidly on the snug crotch of his faded dungarees. That beautiful boy ... he made me hurt all over, actually forcing me to suffer as I kept my eyes on him.
I was making him nervous, I sensed it, and I was so afraid that he would leave and return later just in time for his tutoring session. He was so close to the door in the foyer and I had to keep him in the house, I had to have him close to me. Even if it couldn't be anything else, if I could only be near to him, able to look into that sensitive face of his that offered me so much of what I really needed.
"Would you like a coke?" I finally cleared my throat. "I'm about to head for the refrigerator for something cool-how about it? I was getting so damned anxious, a moist feeling starting at my pussy, seemingly making my panties feel glued right to me down there. "Let's share a coke," I beamed him a big smile, hoping I wasn't coming on too strong.
He nodded and shrugged his approval of sharing a coke with me and it brought an even more beautiful quality to him. he was a lonely boy, I was getting those definite vibrations that I could read inside him, fully understand him. He followed me into the kitchen and I motioned for him to be seated on a stool by the pantry.
I went to open the refrigerator and I actually felt dizzy as I looked over to where he had perched himself on the stool. I had to hang onto the door-handle of the refrigerator, looking over at him and creating the wildest sexual fantasy of that stool being a throne for the handsome blue-eyed, light-haired Prince. A handsome prince, that's what he was to me and I steered myself, so anxious to serve him.
I managed to get a trembling hand on a bottle of coke, unable to take my eyes off how he had spread his legs out so wide on that high kitchen stool He was sprawled out, adding so much to the young look of him. And there it was, at the V of his faded dungarees I could make out the form of imprisoned cock, and it all seemed so enormous. I could feel the moisture starting in my mouth, my tongue wanting to flick about to absorb it. I could tell that his cock had to be in the semi-hard state and I wondered just how great a show it would make imprisoned in those dungarees in the totally hard state.
My fantasy mechanism took over and while I absently opened his bottle of coke I was imagining him sitting on his throne of the kitchen stool in only those soiled white sneakers and his undershorts. Yeah, very boyish-looking snug jockey shorts, the pouch beautifully jam-packed, the hard jut of cock anxious to throb up through the snug waistband. I was so damned fearful of making sounds of want come from down deep in my throat, of making a damned fool of myself. I had to get a grip on myself, forcing myself to make small talk about school and finally managing to hand him the bottle of coke. I brought out a bowl of potato chips and then finally nervously asked him if he wanted a glass.
"The bottle's fine!" he beamed, putting the tip of it to his lips. And crazy, but it was such a sexual move, my eyes going to his throat as he took the first swallow. "How about you? he asked, and I could sense his eyes going to the lushness of my knockers in the summerish blouse that revealed the bra-cup. "Aren't you going to have something?
"Oh, yes...."And I was like a damn school girl getting another coke out of the refrigerator and somehow managing to open it. I was about to reach for the glass and pour into it, when I returned his smile and drank from the bottle as he did.
I went wild, my mouth on the lip of the bottle, my eyes zooming down to the wide V of his thighs up high on the makeshift throne of the kitchen stool. I was certain that the outline of imprisoned cock had grown enormously and I was having the wildest fantasy of something else at my lips instead of the bottle. I wanted to suck in hard, to take it all, I had all I could do to control myself.
Small talk ... the boy was shy and I had all I could do to keep it going. I wanted to know so much about him and there didn't seem to be much time. My husband wouldn't need much time to go over Ella's work in his study and then he would be calling for Mark. So little time alone with him, I had to make the most of the beautiful opportunity. He lived only a few blocks away from where we did, and his mother had ided when he was thirteen. His father had remarried and I sensed the boy clamming up on me at any talk of his stepmother. I didn't press it, sensing it as a sore spot for him. I told you I was getting vibrations about Mark, and sensed a loneliness that even that warm smile of his couldn't hide. And there was more to his shyness, it was a fear of not being able to compete, measure up with the other boys.
"I like swimming!" he beamed. "Why don't you come to our next meet?' Your husband's a great coach!"
I nodded that I would attend, and suddenly being aware of one of my husband's extra activities at the school, helping to coach the school swimming and diving team. I was a modern school building with an inside pool and Paul had mentioned to me that he was working with the swimming team. I had lost interest in so much of what he was doing-but I knew that I would really get interested in the remainder of the swimming season at school.
Yeah, I had my fantasy-apparatus in high gear again and as I continued with the small talk, mostly about school activities, I imagined Mark sitting on that stool just as he was-but wearing sleek black swimming trunks. Yeah, and really accentuating imprisoned cock and balls. I could really imagine him that way, even down to every muscle and sinew of his thighs and to his bare feet.
The thought of the boy's bare feet, that really drove me wild, and I just had to look down at his white sneakers. I couldn't erase the unbelievably perverse image of me right down on my knees to kiss his feet. I kept telling myself that would really show him how much I adored him, licking and lapping at his feet, grooving my eyes upward to the imagined swim trunks. Ella was through, and she appeared in the foyer as my husband popped his head out of his study. She was thanking Paul for helping her so much with her schoolwork and I had that bitchy feeling about her, telling myself that she had been lucky enough to have necked and petted with Mark. Maybe ... just maybe ... they might have gone further.
Mark bounced off the kitchen stool, bringing all my fantasies to an abrupt ending. But that outline of semi-hard cock was still obvious at the crotch of the faded dungarees, and the final glance of my anatomy told me that I had made quite an impression on him. He darted me that final shy look and he reminded me of the nest swimming meet, really stressing it.
Okay, I absently mouthed niceties to Ella as I let her out of the house, just as my husband took Mark into his study for his private tutoring session. I wasn't about to ask Ella to stay for a coke, selfishly telling myself that she would have loved to have waited for Mark's session to be over. I was being a smug bitch that I was separating them for the time being. Foolish, I know, but you can get that way when you get so hung up on something you want so desperately, something that seems so unobtainable.
I remember closing the door behind Ella and keeping a very sweaty hand on the doorknob, my line of sight drifting over to one side of the closed study door, thinking of Mark sitting alongside my husband's desk there, his thighs spread out so wide and boyishly beautiful. I'll tell you what was buzzing through my brain. Mark had stressed the next swim meet, repeating a number of times for me to attend. The message was coming through to me. He probably had not done it consciously, but he was inviting me to view his young body in only his sleek swim trunks. Just as much as I wanted to see him that way-he wanted to show himself off to me. I got the message, and I would damned sure be there, telling myself that I would fake a sudden interest in attending school activities with my husband.
I was smug walking back to the kitchen, telling myself how my husband's work was such a perfect cover to be close to the young studs. And in the kitchen, I got that weak feeling as my eyes moved to the stool Mark had sat on. Yeah, I had that moist feeling at my pussy and I just didn't give a shit, I rushed a hand right up underneath my skirt and halfslip and hurriedly tugged enough of the panty-crotch to one side to get a number of fingers up into the moist and aching pinkness that had to be calmed.
I had to bite down on my lower lip, jamming fingers in and out of my loveslit, realizing the danger of having my husband and Mark in the study, even with that distance between us and the study door closed. I couldn't quite silence all the little noises coming from down deep in my throat and so I finger-fucked myself all the faster and harder.
The mental image was coming in loud and clear-yeah, Mark's hard cock looming large, jutting proudly as he sat on that stool. No, not in the reality of his faded dungarees, or the fantasy of him in his swim trunks. I went all the way, imagining him totally nude on that stool as I jammed fingers to my cunt. And all the while, I was moving toward the stool as though it had hypnotized me. My legs felt so weak, and all the while I didn't let up on the pistoning of my fingers in and out of my snatch, advancing on that empty stool as I ached all over.
I was standing directly before it and I was having a wild fantasy that I had been bold enough to have advanced on it while Mark had actually been sitting on it. So close to orgasm at the wild thought, I imagined myself wanting to throw my pussy right at him. Then it happened, even though I sensed it to be a very perverse thing. I just couldn't stop myself, and I was bending right over, kissing the stool where he had sat his lean ass. I tongued it, working my tongue from place to place, telling myself that Mark had been on that stool. I worked fingers rougher and rougher into my snatch, going deeper and deeper-seemingly racing against the perverse madness, my mouth making wild love to the stool top where Mark had sat.
I couldn't hold it back, I erupted a heavy load of cream, feeling the first real gratification in a long time. I could feel globs of the thick semen sticking to my panties, some of it dripping down my thighs. I panicked, hearing sounds coming from the study down the foyer. I yanked my fingers out and smoothed my skirt out, feeling the moistness doing wild things to the filminess of my panties. I hurried to the sink, pretending to be rinsing out a dish, giving me the excuse to rinse my hands out.
"Thank you for the coke, Ma'am!" Mark's voice boomed loud and beautifully boyish from in the foyer, my husband standing behind him. "And don't forget to come to the swim-meet!"
"I won't...." And I edged over, getting that final glance of him, just as he was turning to leave. And then I was grooving on the rear view of him, right up to the time that my husband opened the door for his departure. I loved the way his lean buttocks jutted out, accentuated in the tightness of the dungarees, and the way my mouth and tongue were doing flip-flops, I knew damned well I could get down on my knees and salute him back there, proudly running my tongue up and down his asshole ... if only I had the chance ... if only....
"He seems like such a nice boy," I tried to sound casual to my husband.
"Very troubled boy," Paul responded. "There's hostility toward his stepmother ... that boy has problems, Madge."
"How do you know?" I was so damned curious to know anything and everything about the boy.
"I'm his school advisor, I thought you knew that." He headed for the bar in the living room, and I knew that he would be into his heavy drinking for the evening.
I went up to bed, sleeping in the nude, knowing my husband would not make it over to my twin-bed that night. Well, I wouldn't need him that night, my twin bed was crowded with all my sexual images of Mark, and I went to sleep with a hand planted firmly on my aching lovemound.
My interest in my husband's school activities perked right up, and Paul was really pleased about it. Yeah, I attended the swim-meet, getting a bleacher seat up close to the edge of the pool, playing it cool that I had a right to sit next to my husband, since he was the team coach.
I went wild, the very moment the swimming team dashed out of their locker room. All handsome boys in their teens, my eyes went instantly to Mark. And I knew that he had worked his eyes over very specially toward me. They had colorful sweatpants and jackets on and it made it all the more exciting. I mean, I grooved on the thought of watching them peel out of the jackets and pants and show their sleek bodies in only the swimwear.
The opposing team came out of the other locker room and my head was swimming all over the place, taking note of the handsome boys rushing out and moving all over the place. So many trim young bodies, so many handsome young faces, I was suddenly so damned confused, wondering what was taking hold inside me. One boy ... tall and ruggedly built, he had darted me a certain look, as though he had sensed I was looking him over. He seemed to have a mature male's way about him in the boyish form of a teenager.
It worried me, especially as I noted his hands rubbing up at the thighs of his sweatpants. It was all so seemingly casual, and yet I could tell it was directed at me. Even more so when he darted me a smile as I pulled my legs in tighter on the bleacher seat and nervously tugged down on the hemline of my mini-skirt.
I worked my line of sight back to Mark, telling myself that was okay, that I felt a real warmth for the boy, that it wasn't all so animal and physical. I grooved on the sight of Mark's smile and then I really got nervous as he darted over toward me.
"Glad you could make it, Ma'am!" he beamed and I longed to tell him to call me Madge. But I had to keep that certain distance, giving him a smile and wishing him luck. Mark returned the smile and I'll tell you something that might even sound immature of me. I actually imagined that he was intent on doing great just for me. Yeah, the old idea of the young athlete doing his best for his favorite lady. I happened to glance about up at the school section of the bleachers and I had a sick feeling thinking about all those pretty teenaged girls who could openly go after Mark-while I had to keep the restraints on. It was hurting, and I could feel that special ache coursing through my entire body, my knockers throbbing for the young action, my pussy getting so damned moist and ready.
A whistle blew and I thought I would be able to control myself as all the boys started tugging at their sweatshirts and pants. All about me, teenaged male anatomy being unveiled, sleek chest, slim hips and fantastic crotches and thighs. I could feel heavy beads of perspiration forming all over my body and I concentrated on only Mark, watching him angle over toward me as he tugged off first the sweatshirt.
Beautifully exciting, I had to bite down hard on my lower lip as his taut stomach and the muscular but very lean chest came into view. He still had much of the summer's suntan and I instantly thought of him as a beautifully handsome Greek Adonis ... an object of rare beauty, worthy of worship, right down on my knees.
I couldn't bear it, all of my body aching as Mark tugged down the sweatpants as he was positioned a slight distance away from me, his nylon swim trunks seeming unbelievably snug on the highlight of him. It was a perfect excuse to bare his young body to me, a chance to overcome his basic shyness, and he was taking advantage of it to the hilt. He leaned over to tug the sweatpants off and I went out of my mind at the bent-over exaggeration of his crotch, the outline of imprisoned cock and balls a beautiful sight to behold. He tugged them totally off and was actually posing for me-I could sense it, the vibrations were loud and clear.
The meeting of the eyes ... a generation apart ... and yet so very close ... we had our meeting of the eyes just as he had tugged upward on the waistband of the swim trunks, really accentuating all his imprisoned meat. He let go, and I knew that he had ready in the same meaning to our very special meeting of the eyes. I could sense that he was nervous about it for that brief moment, all the other swimmers moving about, the spectators on the bleachers getting restless and noisy. But I intensified my look at him, refusing to back off, and I sensed the very moment he felt safe about it, the moment he stopped thudding his toes into the tiled floor about the pool.
The smile was warm and sure, and then the moment another whistle went off he rushed to join his teammates. The: pact was sealed, and I knew it would only be a matter of time and the right opportunity until we could swing together.
I knew then and there that I would no longer torture myself with sexual fantasies of him and the lonely outlet of masturbation. Time, just a matter of time-and then that certain dark-haired boy on the opposing team dashed by where I was sitting and he gave me that smug-all-knowing look, that he knew damned well I grooved on young stuff. He was reading me out, and I was frightened. I tried not to look, but I couldn't resist the sight of his bulging crotch, seemingly so much more prominent than Mark's. But I didn't care for that boy as a human being, I had instantly decided that. But sexually, I knew he could walk all over me, that he had only to snap his fingers to order me about. It frightened me and I finally worked my line of sight to the beauty and warmth of all I told myself Mark had to be.
Torture ... sheer torture ... that's what it was as I watched all those bodies grow taut in the starting lineup, especially when I concentrated on Mark ... and then when I couldn't help but be aware of that other boy ... sheer torture, and I somehow or another got over it. That night, I just couldn't masturbate to those wild images. I took a double shot of scotch and then tightened myself on my bed, sleeping with a nightgown on and keeping my hands away from any and all of my throbbing and badly aching anatomy. I would suffer until I could experience the very real joy of having Mark.
Call it what you will, but that very next morning I was mentally trying to bring Mark into my troubled world. I remember getting up so early and having to shower my sweaty body to cool it off. And then I had only put a bathrobe on over my nudity, wrapping it up tight at the collar and tying the sash until it actually hurt at my waist. I had gone through the motions of making coffee and pouring juice for my husband by rote, barely speaking to him. And yeah, watching him get ready to go to work I wanted to scream at him. I had to fight back the urge to kick and spit at him and cry out how miserable I was with him, that he could never sexually satisfy me. I wanted to loudly proclaim my love for Mark. For Mark ... I kept inwardly stressing to myself. I kept telling myself that my would-up emotions were only for the one boy, and not all the handsome teenaged boys I encountered day after day, glancing their physiques from a safe distance. I kept using the word love to myself, looking at my husband in silence, not wanting to admit to myself that so much of it was sheer animalism, the need to groove to the ultimate sexuality with the handsome youth.
I thought I would go wild waiting for my husband to leave that morning and I remember the feeling of relief the moment he was out of the house and I heard the car starting up out in the driveway. I felt even better as I looked out the front window and watched the car back out of the driveway and out into the street.
"Good riddance...." I inwardly murmured, foolishly telling myself that I wanted the entire house alone-alone with my beautiful thoughts of Mark.
Mark ... I was about to pull the curtain back when I spotted him moving along on the sidewalk up front, a few schoolbooks under his arm. He was wearing snug white denims and a shirt that really hugged his shoulders. And those soiled white sneakers ... the symbol of youth, I was instantly turned on.
He was slowing up, just as he was about to approach our front walk, and I had those beautiful flashbacks to the sight of him the night before in those various tense positions, the black swim-trunks accentuating the youthful masculinity of him. Those flashbacks were driving me wild, and I thought I would have to scream out for him, certain I was going out of my mind.
I reasoned rationally, telling myself that Mark was going out of his way from where he lived to get to school. And then, with all sorts of school kids walking together it seemed quite a coincidence that he was passing me all alone. And yeah, my husband's car had just pulled out, just as Mark must have come around a corner. And then I had a bout of wishful thinking, hoping that Mark had actually waited for my husband's car to pull away.
I hurried to the door and opened it wide, peering out to him just as he had approached the walk leading up to our porch. I smiled and I wanted to come up with a bright good morning, but I could only run my eyes up and down his young frame, my need for him shouting right through it all.
"I told you we'd win!" he finally managed the words, turning in slightly on our walk.
"Got time for a coke?" I asked, hoping none of my neighbors would notice me at the doorway in my bathrobe. "Or is it too early....
"I have study hall first period...." He nervously thudded a sneakered foot into the pavement, edging continually closer on the short walk up to the porch. "They don't really notice if you're there or not...."
That meeting of the eyes-easily bridging the so-called generation gap-we picked it up exactly where we had left it off that night before, all those other swimmers and the countless spectators crowding our beautiful moment. We had that meeting of the eyes all alone that morning and I found myself opening my front door wide to him and he hurried in. I was sweating as I closed the door behind us, shutting out the world-a world that might not understand what I had to do ... I had to do it, there was no other way out.
So close to him, it was so easy to take his hands in mine, rub them warmly. And then I could feel him tightening up and I wanted desperately to have him at ease. I didn't mean to, but my greedy eyes traveled downward to where he was showing a rockhard crotch that bulged unbelievably large.
"Do you like me, Mark?" my words were tense. "Really like me?" I kept moving my mouth closer to him, his hands still sweaty in mine.
"Yes-a real lot!" he flustered, moving nervously about. "From when I first talked to you...."
"I've been thinking about you...." I was honest, my mouth edging constantly closer to his. "Constantly...." And he closed some of the gap, my mouth moving the greatest distance and we were locked together, our lips pressing hard. I wanted to open my mouth and really soul-kiss him, but I didn't want to scare him off. I only held his hands, my lips pressed to his for the longest time. I finally found myself edging closer to him and I stopped short as I felt his bulging crotch rubbing up against my bathrobe, reminding me ever so painfully that I was totally nude beneath that one covering garment.
"Mark...." I moaned, finally backing my lips away from his. "Do you really like me? ... Like this...." And I pulled my sweaty hands from his and moved steadily to undo the sash of my bathrobe. I didn't hesitate for a moment, knowing that it had to be done as soon as humanly possible. I widened the front of the robe, letting his eyes pierce the nude front of me. I heard the painful groan coming from down deep in his throat, his eyes racing up and down from the flame-haired pussy to the rigid brownish-hued tips of my breasts.
"Do you really like me, Mark?" I arched my shoulders and worked the robe off. He could only nod how much he liked me, visibly trembling at the sight of me like that. "I've been thinking about you ... constantly...." I had to truthfully tell him, letting the robe fall to the floor, proud to be totally nude before him. "I really like you...." And I took one of his hands and placed it solidly on the high rise of one knocker, urging him to rub hard at it. And then I took the other hand and pushed it right up into my lovemound, spreading enough down there to encourage him to get a couple of fingers up into the ready moistness.
"I imagined this last night!" he spouted truthfully, and the pained look on his face told me that he had been forced to masturbate to the mental image.
"I like you, Mark." I had to keep repeating it, moving my mouth back to his, letting my tongue slither out to boldly soul-kiss him. And then I had to let the boldness really take over, working one hand down to rub hard at his bulging crotch, delighted at the feel of the instant hand-measurement. He was built bigger than my husband, I happily told myself, convinced that I wouldn't let anything get in the way of Mark becoming my young lover. I pressed harder and harder on the bulging crotch, until my groans of urgency mingled with his tense sounds and I knew I had to keep it rolling. He was the boy and I would have to do the initial seducing.
"You looked so terrific in your swimming trunks last night!" I told him, finally edging my mouth away from his. "So fantastic ... and now I can't wait to see you totally nude, Mark." And I tugged on his shirt, pulling it loose from the heavy belt of the white denim trousers. "I can't wait to really see and touch you." And I kept my fingers busy, unbuttoning his shirt, watching his muscled chest and taut stomach come into view. You remember the little things, like being pleased that he wasn't wearing an undershirt, getting my eyes to groove on the sight of him up there all the faster.
"Let me really see you." I peeled the shirt off his arms, tossing it over a chair. And only then did I realize that we were still in the foyer. I kept urging him closer and closer to the couch in the living room, anxious to unbuckle his belt and get his trousers off.
His youthful garb, I instantly realized that his sneakers would have to come off before he could get the tight trousers off his legs. He hurried to bend over to untie his sneakers but I found myself restraining him, and then I blurted out that I wanted to undress him.
"-As though you were really my boy." I bent down to the task of removing his sneakers. And then, the sneakers off, I found myself gliding all the way down on my knees, my eyes scorching up at the sight of his jam-packed crotch, so fantastic in the white denims.
"I want to undress you." I took off first one sweat sock and then the other. And then, holding his foot, I had to tell him how much I adored him, how lonely I was. I gambled, hoping he wouldn't think I was real sick and perverse, but I just had to kiss the handsome youth's feet. Yeah, back and forth, I flicked my mouth from one foot to the other, telling him how much I adored him and how lonely I was. I could sense his need to tell me of his loneliness, but he was uptight at the moment, that throbbing crotch seemingly ready to burst at the seams.
I had to free his masculine equipment, to let it swing free and easy. I edged up off my knees, getting up and instantly hooking my hands into the heavy belt buckle. I parted it, my hands tingling to get at it. And then, just before I was about to get at the button and the fly-zipper, I went ape over the sight of the jockey waistband protruding over the trousers, directly below his navel.
I had to torment myself, I had to suffer through it just a moment longer, flashing back to the very first moment I had set my greedy eyes on Mark, of all the sexually-saturated thoughts I'd had about him. I had to strain and imagine what that beautiful cock was like for a moment longer. And then just another moment of suffering in wild anticipation ... and finally I groaned that I was worthy of getting at the real thing, pledging to really give a damned about the boy.
"I've got to see you...." I murmured, my fingers trembling as they finally brought down the zipper and the white cotton front of his undershorts came into sight. "Really see you!" I hooked my hands anxiously into the waistband of the white denims, tugging down hard and fast and letting my eyes groove on the sight of him in only the snug jockey shorts, an even wilder sight than that of him in the black swim trunks. And that had-been at a distance-the jockey shorts were at a close-up. A real close-up, close enough for me to dart the jam-packed pouch a number of kisses as I tugged down on the trousers, finally getting them off his feet.
Only the jockey shorts ... that was all that remained between us both being totally nude. And I got right back down on my knees, where I told myself I belonged to the young Adonis, hooking my trembling fingers into the waistband of his sole remaining garment.
"You're so beautifully handsome!" I was pouring hot breath all over the jam-packed jockey pouch, watching up close as the thick cock throbbed and seemed to be begging to be freed of the tight confines of the snug underwear. "I've been dreaming about you!" I finally tugged down on the shorts.
"Oh, wow-" he tightened up on me. "I can't believe it's really happening to me!" He had to fix his hands on my shoulders.
"It's happening," I had to tell myself, grooving wildly on the sight of his light -haired pubic bush coming into sight. Wild, I know, but I smugly thought of all those spectators at the swim meet before, and I imagined them all watching as I yanked down on the jockey shorts, letting a lot of thick and long cock bob up at the most delightful angle. I tugged the shorts all the way down, letting him step out of them, watching the sway and bobbing of his cock and balls.
"I've been dreaming about this!" I went back to kiss first one foot and then the other, working my hands solidly back up his lean and trim thighs. "I adore you, Mark!" I had to try not to make those loud slobbering sounds as I raced my mouth back up his thighs, rushing from one to the other, working my mouth up into the inner reaches of him. I had to torture myself with a little more waiting, letting my hands bypass the sheer delight of his perfectly shaped cock to hook into his trim hips.
The boy's beautiful balls ... my mouth was right up underneath them, and I just had to tongue the low-slung scrotum, letting it dart all over him down there. I tortured myself all the more, angling my head up underneath in an awkward position, flicking my tongue really up into the inner reaches of his thighs, going as close up to the start of his asshole as I dared to.
I longed to run my tongue up and down his asshole, thinking of the many times I had stared at the rear of him in tight trousers that had sexually-accentuated his trim buttocks. But I didn't dare go all the way up there, not the very first time, not wanting to scare him off by showing him all my perverse desires.
The boy's only sixteen, I had to remind myself, telling myself that I could go further and further each time we made it together. And there would be many times, I was adamant on that score then and there, telling myself that I couldn't go on any other way.
"I want to make love to all of you!" I rushed my head back up, my hands instantly grasping at the proud jut of his cock. "Absolutely all of you, Mark, please try to understand!" And I rushed my lips down to the very tip of his swollen cock, pressing hard and feeling it throb back at me.
"That feels so good!" he gasped and his hands moved down from my shoulders to hook onto the hard jut of my knockers. That did it for me, giving me the courage I needed and I found myself running my tongue all over his cock, from the very tip of it all the way down to the base of it, getting the scent, taste and feel of it.
I widened my stance on my knees, getting the feel of totally worshipping him. I had to work one hand down to cup his fantastic balls, flicking them an occasional kiss, then rushing my tongue up and down the long length of cock. Up and down, and then in circular motions to get at the underside, I could feel the throbbing urgency of his tool.
I had to get my other hand around to his rear, fevering at his buttocks, gliding by the crack of his ass. I went wild at the feel of him back there and I realized that he was rubbing harder at my knockers as I edged fingers closer and closer to the crack of his ass.
I had never really worked my mouth totally over a cock. When I was young, that short span of freedom time I had spent with my cousins, I had learned to kiss a cock, to tongue it, but never all the way down. But I had always lived with a shadowy image of watching my cousin by a flickering campfire light going down on her boyfriend's cock. They had been off slightly to one side, by a clump of bushes, but I had edged over enough to make her out down on her knees and working her mouth up and down on the hard cock. I had been amazed at first, watching that long prick disappear so totally within her mouth, all those strange sounds coming from her.
That act-it had always been a part of my hidden sexual fantasies, always imagining myself working all of my mouth down on a boy's cock. All the way down ... I had to bridge the fantasy with reality and I opened my mouth wide and lunged down the limit on Mark's cock. All the way, I couldn't believe that I could work my mouth down so hard on it, feeling the very tip of it lodged tightly at the start of my throat. And still I was pressing downward, the saliva actually dripping out of the corner of my lips.
I had to hang on, unable to believe that it could be such a beautifully exciting feeling. I looked up into Mark's face, and he instantly let me know that he dug it, that it wasn't a perverse act. I brought love to it, slamming my mouth down all the more, getting the ache down there at the start of my throat. And yeah, I had to work my hands more intensely, tightening the one at his buttocks, fingers gliding to the asshole. I made love with his scrotum with the other hand, cradling it ever so gently, my fingers running about the huge balls repeatedly.
Up-up, all the way up, I grooved on the moistness I had created about the huge shaft, to the very tip of it, and then right back down, slamming my mouth hard for the real kick of the taste of young cock.
Young cock ... I had finally broken out of all my inhibitions, all the repressions I had ever endured. Sexually free, I had that feeling of floating as I drove my mouth up and down on the young cock as though it had to be the most natural act in the world.
I kept looking up into Mark's face, my mouth jam-packed with his hard cock. And he kept massaging hard on my knockers, letting out those steady groans to tell me how much he dug it. I wasn't ashamed of sucking his cock, I was actually proud of the act, as though I belonged down on my knees to him. I was so happy, running my mouth up and down the long shaft, continually urging him to spread his thighs wider and wider, thrusting his proud jut of hard cock into my mouth each and every time I slammed down on it.
I was grooving on it, happily planning the times and variations of future lovemaking, knowing for certain that I would have to have the victory of sucking his cock while he sat sprawled out on that high kitchen stool. Yeah, as though to celebrate that first time, how I had suffered through the sight of him fully clothed and sitting on it. I couldn't erase the thought of how I had gone wild licking and lapping at the stool seat where he had placed his fully clothed buttocks. I would just have to suck his cock while he sat on the throne of the kitchen stool.
My handsome young prince would drive me wild in a thousand ways, I told myself, and I would do anything and everything to sexually please him.
Fast and hard, it was too late to slow up as he let out a shrill groan of warning, his body starting to buckle and shudder. He was trying to tell me, but I couldn't let up on the wild mouth-action. I speeded it up, pressing my mouth harder and harder, taking the big gamble of whether or not I would be able to take his heavy cream. Just the very first taste of it and I knew I was totally hooked. It was an instant super turn-on, and I opened all the wider as it flooded my mouth and spurted right down my throat. All the way down, I was suctioning hard, right after the first and only doubt that I might gag on it. Then there was no stopping me, I pressed hard on the erupting shaft, my greedy mouth demanding every last drop of it. And still I clamped down hard on it, refusing to let the spent cock out of my mouth.
"Oh, wow...." he finally managed to moan, reminding me of his youth. "Real wild-" he tensed, holding himself tight into me, and I realized that his cock was still hard. Yeah, really hard and throbbing for more action.
Let it rest ... just a little ... I tried to calm myself. I worked my tongue about the base of it and I knew it wouldn't be long before he would be ready to go again. I was thrilled at the prospect, thinking back to how my husband's cock grew instantly limp after orgasm. This was still hard and throbbing and seemingly anxious to go again. And his hands on my breasts really told me how he was still right up there, right at his very peak.
That's what youth was all about, and I was all in favor of it, sexually floating to the top of the heap for the very first time in my life.
"Please-" he groaned, our eyes meeting, and he put across his need in a soft voice. "I want to do it to you-really do it to you." And he hovered downward to get his hands down about my lovemound, fingers pressing insistently at the loveslit.
"Oh, yes-yes, lover!" I widened all the more, really letting him get the feel of what I had to offer him. "Oh, yes-" And I wanted to be totally at his disposal, letting him work fingers deeper and deeper into my pussy, bent right over me.
"I've got to do it to you-" he was shuddering wildly. "I've been dreaming about it!"
I urged him up, his hands prying loose of my snatch. I moved my eyes over to the couch and he got the idea in a hurry. I was slightly ahead of him, positioning myself on my back, opening my legs wide to him. Wide-wider, and then even wider until it really ached. I worked my feet upward and opened my arms to him, greeting him the limit.
"Don't laugh at me," he whispered hoarsely, getting his knees on the couch, moving into the V of me. "I guess I'm kinda nervous about it-"
"I could never laugh at you, Mark," I reached out and aimed his cockhead to the start of my pussy. "I adore you-really adore you!"
"I can admit it to you." He seemed to have a compulsion to get something off his chest. "This is my first time-I mean, to really make it all the way-" .
"Oh, Mark, I'm so proud to be your first!"
"It almost happened with a girl once-but I got nervous and she started making fun of me!" He tightened and I could sense the boy's basic problem of insecurity. "Then I really couldn't do it after that-"
"I think you're a fantastic man!" I ran my hands up and down the hard shaft of cock. "A real man, and any woman should be proud to have you as her lover-really proud!" And I jutted my pussy right up there to the start of his cock, letting him know how anxious I was to have him give it to me.
"You're really something-" And he hooked his hands down about my waist, working himself into position at the wide V of my thighs, the cockhead making solid contact with my pried-apart pussy-lips. "I feel so good with you!"
"Oh, yes ... yes...." I writhed and twisted to the feel of the thick cockhead entering my vagina. "Make me feel good-really good, young lover! Oh yes, you're the greatest, absolutely the greatest!" I shrilled, and he thrusted the full length of his throbbing cock to me, slamming it solidly up until our stomachs touched and I could feel his low-slung balls bouncing into the inner reaches of my thighs, right up against the start of my asshole.
I could feel his hands really capturing me, sliding down to take hold of my buttocks, and he pressed all of his weight down against my frame, really letting me know that he was in charge of me. He worked his eyes down on mine and I could sense that he wanted to tell me something, but he was struggling to catch his breath, having used every ounce of energy in his initial cockthrust of my pussy. He didn't need any words, his eyes told it all, and his hands on my buttocks accentuated it all the more, and his cock jammed even more into the very core of my pussy, shouting how much he dug me.
I wanted to tell him how much I needed and wanted him, but it just wasn't the time or place for words. I pursed my lips and moved them up to him. He worked his mouth down on mine, open to let his tongue slither and twine mine. I could feel the hands tightening expertly at my buttocks and I gyrated my body upward to let him know what a terrific lover he was.
That was the signal he must have needed. He got up higher on his knees and started pistoning smooth cock in and out of my long love-trail, really driving me wild. I was alive, grooving to the feel of his mouth on mine, his chest pressing against my knockers, his hands clinging to my breasts-and yeah, most of all his young cock thundering my pussy.
It was really happening to me, I was soaring to the feel of a young stud, and it was as though I had waited all those years for the inevitable. A young stud to make love to me, I went wild letting him jam his open mouth down on mine, his cock riding expertly in and out of my pussy.
I was picking up where I had left off when I was a teenager, when my mother had humiliated me, dragging me off by the ear. I had been afraid of dates after that and I had wasted so much time. I had to twist and shove my body upward hard and fast, telling myself I had a lot of lost time to make up for.
I thought of how I had really liked that boy, when I was a teenager. Everything was soaring wildly about me, and I strained like crazy, and I could still remember that boy's anatomy, the feel of his hard cock whenever we had felt each other up. But the beads of perspiration were getting big like silver dollars on my forehead as I could not remember that boy's name. I just could not think of it and it suddenly seemed that I should remember his name, especially since I could vividly recall the feel of his hard cock the many times I had fevered it in my hands.
I threw myself wilder into the cock-to-cunt action, trying to respond to each and every thrust he shoved into me, grooving on the firm feel of his hands holding me right up to him. I was into it, all right, riding high sexually as I had never been able to do with my husband. Yeah, that perverse notion went through my head, the smug thought of my husband watching that sixteen year-old boy so expertly throw cock to me.
"That's what it's all about!" I fantasied myself telling my husband. "Just look at the handsome young stud make me happy-happy-happy, as I've never been with you!"
I had to put a clamp on my wild thoughts, concentrating on the very real and immediate joy of all that long and hard cock at its most youthful prime thundering me wildly, making me ache ever so beautifully. I realized that I owed the long and fantastically prolonged fucking spree to the fact that I had taken Mark's first load in my mouth. Young boys are eager and come too fast the first time around. But that second-time around can really be something! Let me tell you, once they settle down to the real lovemaking, there just can't be anything greater than a teenaged boy. I was happily finding out that fact of life then and there and it would stick right with me, only teenaged boys would be able to satisfy me after that, I kept telling myself.
Not boys ... I inwardly murmured, feeling Mark's cock pound at me all the harder. No ... just Mark ... just Mark ... because I love him so desperately! I had to gyrate and throw pussy up to him all the faster, convincing myself that I wasn't just a slut suddenly anxious to get a lot of teenaged cocks. It just had to happen with Mark, I was convincing myself. And I had to tell myself of the difference in age. There's a lot of years from sixteen to twenty-nine, I shuddered at the thought, forcing myself to think of the supposedly unlucky number. Thirteen years apart ... and I only breathed easier to think that I wasn't quite old enough to be his mother. But biologically, I could have produced him at thirteen, I had to admit to myself, and in reality I could be the boy's mother.
No ... I kept pounding away within myself, Mark pounding my cunt with fast and furious cock. No, I would be Mark's lover, and the fact that I could almost be his mother had nothing to do with it. We just happened to be two people who fell in love, and there just happened to be an age difference problem. I threw pussy wildly up to him, telling myself that I wouldn't let that problem get in the way of our making love together.
I felt the pang of sadness, enjoying the pistoning of his young cock, knowing that we could not openly swing together. I wouldn't be able to leave my husband to marry the boy, and people would laugh at him if they knew about his involvement with an older woman.
An older woman ... I had to try it out on myself, and the solid feel of his youthful frame pressing down on mine, the eager drive of his cock, all served to remind me of that term. I was the older woman involved with a boy. It wasn't anything new, but you can't really understand the situation until it's happening to you. Painful-so painful, and yet so joyful. You try to shut your mind off from thinking of all the problems involved, all the roadblocks people will put in your way. You try to concentrate on only the sheer job of having a young and trim teenager making love to you, pounding your body with all his virility.
Only Mark ... my young lover ... I had it echo through my brain, finding a need to work my nails at his back, trying to match the way he clung to my buttocks, the union so perfect, riding fast and hard, beads of sweat flying off the cock-to-cunt coupling.
Only Mark ... And I couldn't seem to erase the mental picture of all those boys in their swim trunks the very night before. No, not just Mark's teenaged teammates, but the opposing team. So much handsome youth all assembled, wearing only the sleek swim trunks to accentuate their youthful masculinity. No jockstraps under the trunks, that was for sure, I had made out outline after outline of young cock and balls.
That one certain boy ... the dark-haired one who seemed a year or so older than Mark ... that boy on the opposing team, that certain way he had looked at me. He had been wise to me, I had sensed it.
I found myself going really wild, throwing my aching pussy up at Mark and imagining myself tugging that dark -haired teenager's swim trunks down and jamming my mouth down hard on the proud jut of his cock. I could actually feel that boy placing his hands hard on my head and talking dirty to me, ordering me to eat his cock.
I panicked, telling myself to erase that perverse mental image from the blackboard of my brain. I really cared for Mark, and that was the prime reason I was letting him make love to me. But that mental image wouldn't leave my brain, and that smug boy was calling his teammates over, shouting for them to get in line. In my fantasy he was shouting to all the other swimmers that he had a terrific cocksucker who dug boys.
He was wise to me, he was trouble-he didn't have all the beautiful sensitivity of a Mark. I had to avoid that boy, I had to avoid all teenagers like that. I had to remain safe with Mark, I told myself, and I clung to him, working my hands all the harder at his back. He responded by slamming quicker cock to my pussy, and I had to dig my nails into the flesh of his back all the more.
I could feel his mouth roaming all over me, from the lobe of my ear down to the flesh of my neck and I let out a string of guttural shrills, and he just couldn't be stopped after that. I couldn't be stopped, throwing my pussy up at him as though we were racing to the end of the world. Oh, all the way, grooving on the handsomely beautiful teenager, I erased all fantasy images of other teenaged boys.
My Mark ... my Mark ... my Mark ... I threw wild pussy at him to let him really know that he was my Mark.
"Now-now...." he groaned, so turned-on that he was close to sobbing. "It's now...." he shuddered and buckled, and I made it with him, erupting my heavy load only seconds after I felt the spurt of his semen deep within the very core of me.
"Together...." I managed the one word, clinging to him, helping his young frame finally come to a grinding halt on top of my body. It was beautifully together, we celebrated it with a final kiss, so soft and gentle. And then I waited, sensing him trying to catch his breath enough to speak.
"I have to get to school now...." he gasped, reminding me even more painfully of his youth. "The first period will be over-"
"Go to school, young lover!" I made light of it, urging him off me, enjoying the sight of him standing that way before me. "Learn...." And I told myself that I could teach him a million times more than any school could possibly teach him.
"When can I come back!" He grabbed for his shorts, putting them on in a hurry.
"Just as soon as you can!" I patted the jockey pouch, reaching over to flick it a warm kiss.
"But how about your husband?" He grabbed for his socks.
Yeah, I had to think about Paul. I realized that I had two problems going for me. It was bad enough to be involved with a teenaged boy-but I also had the eternal triangle going. I would have to be careful, no matter how much I felt like telling Paul off. I would need Paul, since he would make the most perfect cover, teaching at the high school.
"You can always come over and visit us both, Mark," I tried to get the message across. "My husband is your teacher and he can always help you with extra work. You can come and go as freely as you please."
He was nodding in agreement, hurrying into those white denim trousers that gave him that fantastic lean look, and I had put my message across: We had to play it cool, make it all look ever so natural.
Very natural ... and then we could make love every chance we had to rip out of our clothing and go at it.
"I really like you...." he finished buttoning his shirt. "You make me feel very important, Ma'am-" And he stopped short, not knowing exactly how to call me.
"I think you should call me Madge now." I edged over to him, taking his hand in mine. "And you make me feel very important, too, Mark." I planted a kiss on his lips. "Now hurry and get to school, before they miss you."
I watched him leave, grooving on the rear-scene of his lanky frame, anticipating all the wild lovemaking sessions we would have. And let me tell you, for the next few weeks, we really had them. And we were using my husband as the perfect excuse to be together so much of the time. That, and I would continually find extra jobs around the house to hire him to do.
"He's such a nice boy!" I would constantly tell my husband. "He seems to really like coming over here, since he doesn't get along with his stepmother!"
"Mark's a good boy," my husband would agree, not able to imagine us having such a swinging affair. "He's a lonely boy...." And then he would ponder it a moment and that would be as close as he would come to guessing anything: "He's changing lately."
Actually. Mark and I had really started to groove on taking more and more gambles together, making love at a moment's notice in the most dangerous of situations. It's difficult to explain, but it was as though we both had to break loose of the bonds people impose on you, all the straight and narrow rules they want you to live by. You could say that we were out to flaunt it before the world, almost hoping to be discovered.
Discovery ... I wouldn't have believed it at first, but that was what I really hoped for. And I know now that was what Mark hoped for. Of course, we would never have admitted it to each other or especially not to anyone else. The wild chances we took, making love at the dangerous places and moments, if we had been discovered by an outside straight-and-narrow world, they would have to accept the fact of our love. Then, just maybe ... then we would have the nerve to do something about it.
We had thought about running away together, finding a new place to live. But then we would always end up being practical about it. And just as long as we could make love, we were able to push aside all other major problems. I can't tell you how many times I would have to go an entire day without Mark and I would panic, telling myself that I had to run away with him, to be where I could spend every moment of my life with him.
Then I would see him, rushing into his arms, our mouths jammed together, rushing to get out of our clothes, and we would postpone any and all painful problems and decisions.
Like I said, my husband didn't represent a problem or a threat, but my jealousy aid. I was forever finding excuses to be around the school and if I so much as spotted Mark talking to a teenaged girl I'd go wild with jealousy. Yeah, and the most painful part was that I had to hold it within myself. I would find myself confronting Mark, but he would assure me that he cared only for me.
"But I have to be friendly with the kids," he'd frown, and I had to realize he had a problem on that score. "Some of the guys are forever asking me to go in groups, and I keep putting them off." And then he would look downward and thud a sneakered foot into the floor. "They're beginning to wonder if something's wrong with me, since I keep turning down girls...."
"My precious Mark," I'd be smothering him with kisses, working my hands down there to get him going, so anxious to please him in every way possible. "I shouldn't be jealous-"
"I wish I could tell them all!" He would really get worked up. "Everybody! Really tell them how much I love you, Madge! Even my father, and that bitchin woman...."
That bitchin' woman ... that was how Mark would refer to his stepmother, always getting so damned tense at the very thought of her. And it made me realize one thing. Though he always referred to me as his lover, I had the feeling that he thought of me so much of the time as a loving mother-figure. He had that special need and I found myself mothering him so much of the time. My favorite resting position with him was whenever I had his head cradled at my bare breasts. And I could sense that he always felt so very much at ease at the warmth of my milk-white flesh up there.
Mark's father and stepmother ... I had continually put off meeting them, the thought of it sending me into a state of sheer panic. But it had to happen, especially since Mark was forever bragging about me. He would try to talk of my husband as his teacher and then of me, to throw people off-but he would be singing my praises as a human being. I had to meet Mark's father and stepmother. It happened outside a soda fountain, where we were supposed to meet my husband. Mark and I had been like a couple of giddy kids coming out of the store and we ran right into his father and stepmother.
"-I think Mark has a crush on you!" Mark's father joked with me.
"He's such a good kid," I beamed, and I couldn't help but notice how Mark resembled the handsome and very mature man.
"He's forever talking about you," Mark's stepmother's voice was very pinched.
I had squared with the woman that one brief moment, and I sensed she was wise to us. You can fool the majority of people, but there's always the exception and I was starting to shake, certain she was wise to me. I tried to tell myself that it was merely envy on the woman's part, that she had never managed to win Mark over. But it wasn't just envy, she was damned hip about the way Mark kept looking at me. That woman had been around, and it was obvious that she could spot lovers-no matter how far apart in years they might be.
I was struck hard with one other glaring fact that really shook me up. That woman ... we looked so much alike. We were about the same age, both tall and both .natural redheads. The physical resemblance was most decidedly there and it confirmed my thoughts .about Mark thinking of me as a mother-image, that he needed an older woman to give a damned about him, and that our sex was a way of expressing it.
I had as little as possible to do with Mark's father and stepmother, being overly polite in the few exchanges we did have. I just didn't want to rock the boat and I tried once to explain to Mark that he shouldn't be forever bragging about me, telling everyone what a terrific human being I was, because they would only get the wrong impression. And the wrong impression was the precise truth we were trying to hide from everybody-that damned crummy world that would not accept our love affair.
Mark would really get uptight, unable to understand why he couldn't openly express how he felt about me, short of proclaiming our great lovemaking together. I would try to explain, but the moment I sensed it putting a damper on our affair, I would give up. Take it as it comes, I kept telling myself, and don't rock the boat.
The wild gambles persisted, and I had the opportunity to re-live that first night, the very first time that Mark had sent me reeling, just looking at him. Yeah, it worked out that Ella was over for a tutoring session with my husband when Mark had come over. With my husband and the teenaged girl in the study, I hurriedly urged Mark into the kitchen to sit with his thighs spread out wide on the high stool. And as luck would have it, he was wearing the same skintight, faded dungarees.
"I had the dream the first night I ever saw you...." I hurried down on my knees to him, anxiously unzipping his fly and tugging his cock out to jut at the most beautiful angle in the world. "A beautiful dream ... and I've got to really experience it!"
I didn't give a damned about my husband being in the house, the obvious danger of them coming out of the study and catching me down on my knees, my mouth racing wildly up and down on the boy's stud-prick. I had to have my dream come true, just as I had fantasied it the first time I had to suffer through merely looking at the fully clothed boy, the front of him bulging beautifully with imprisoned meat. I'd had to guess that first time, I'd had to strain to try to imagine what hi ck looked like, the shape and size of it.
The second time was all reality, my hands up snug to the very base of the enormous shaft, right where it protruded out of his fly. That second time that I had him on the special throne I had fantasied of the kitchen stool I mouth-measured his fantastic prick, racing wildly up and down on it.
I wanted to treat him like a prince, right down on my knees to really adore him. I didn't have to shove fingers up into the moistness of my pussy, that was acting up all by itself, going wild and churning up a storm as I shoved my mouth faster and harder on the long line of young cock, grooving on the special kick of danger. The very real danger that my husband might emerge from his tutoring session in the study. And I'll tell you how I added to the gamble-by slobbering loudly on the great taste of the teenaged cock.
"Now-now!" Mark whispered hoarsely, planting his hands solidly about the top of my head. "Oh, now...." And he flooded my mouth with the thick cream and my pussy started flooding all by itself. I scanned my blurry line of sight up and down in victory, grooving on his sprawled-out position on the stool. My prince-my fantastic young prince.
"They must be almost through-" Mark was getting nervous as I suctioned hard to get at the last drop.
He pushed back, getting off the stool and tugging his spent cock back in the tight confines of his undershorts and the dungarees. And with only a moment to spare, my husband and Ella coming out of the study and calling to us in the kitchen.
The big gambles, that's where it was really at. Like the one time that I had asked Mark to help me clean out the cellar. My husband was upstairs grading school papers and I went down to the cellar to show Mark where I wanted various items stored. I knew damned well why I had gone down there, and we were instantly at it.
"Oh, give it to me, young lover!" I had my buttocks up against the brick wall. "Oh, yes-yes!" I widened instantly, feeling so damned wobbly on my feet as the thick cockhead made the instant contact with my pussy-lips.
"Oh, wow-" And he slammed right into me, driving his young cock into me until I could feel myself pinned against the wall. He was so fantastic in the standing position, all of his lean frame seeming dynamite packed. So fantastic, I gave in to an urge, turning him around and positioning him against the wall, urging him to spread out wide. He was wearing a colored T-shirt, snug cut-off shorts and sneakers with no socks-the uniform of youth, really driving me wild. And, of course, we had the greatest addition to that uniform going for us. Yeah, his big, thick prick was jutting out of the fly of the snug shorts, just waiting for me to ram my pussy against it.
"Let me give it to you-" He was anxious to start pumping cock to my snatch.
"No, I want to service you, young lover!" I worked my hands down tightly on his trim hips, holding his midsection still. "Just watch me make love to you!" I shrilled, working countless kisses about his face, the lobe of his ear and right down to the flesh at the side of his neck. "Just watch me!" I boasted. "Oh, just watch me do my thing!"
I lived up to the boast, ramming my snatch forward, not stopping until I shoved my pried-apart pussy solidly over the steel-like jut of his cock. I slammed right up against him, pinning him against the musty wall. I had my hands hooked in low on his hips, holding him into position. I had to gasp for breath, sucking in on my breath. And at the soft of his neck, I used my teeth to gnash into him, leaving my mark, playfully intending to leave him with a hickey.
I started the action, thrusting my pussy back and forth, hard and fast, listening to the loud slams. Back and forth, I jammed pussy to cock, all the while realizing that my husband might come down the stairway. And let me tell you, we were making plenty of noise, only thinking of our immediate kicks. Kicks-fast kicks-I slammed it harder to him, giving the boy a great sample of a Female-Superior position.
"Make it with me!" I moaned, knowing when I couldn't restrain my eruption another moment. "Together-together...."
Another gamble, and we got away with it, and it seemed as though everything just had to go right for us, that we could go on forever in our secret affair. It might have all gone so smoothly, we could have made it ... but there was something within me, and it was forever trying to rear its ugly head and dominate me.
Yeah, the kick for a lot of young cock. I couldn't always convince myself that my sex-thing with Mark was purely out of love. There was love, but that was the excuse I needed to fling on young stuff. But the more I made it with him-the more I was aware of other teenaged boys.
They were constantly turning me on, my eyes roaming all over their young bodies, especially when they displayed their young manhood in tight jeans. It was happening to me, and I was getting frightened. I would be staring at a boy, and I could sense the uneasiness. Yeah, and then rush off, telling myself that I really loved only Mark.
I did love Mark-I really did ... but I had the insatiable appetite for young cocks, and it just couldn't be denied. It became an obsession, I couldn't rest until I had experienced another young boy. I told myself just one other handsome teenager, to convince myself that I didn't need another boy, that Mark would be able to fulfill all my needs and desires when it came to young stuff.
You con yourself with all sorts of rationalizations, and you manage to sell yourself a bill of goods. I at least convinced myself to not fool around and experiment too close to home. And especially not with any of the teenaged boys at the high school. I had two reasons for that-my husband and my young lover. A teacher and a student at the same high school, I had to force myself to be sensible about not fooling around there. But let me tell you, Mark had some handsome buddies that drove me out of my tree. I forever had the roughest time keeping my eyes off them, my hands forever tingling to touch, to get the feel of all the youth parading about me.
I schemed and plotted, convinced that I had to have at least one secret affair with another teenaged boy. I smugly told myself that it would be safe for me to go youth-cruising a distance from our small town. Not even the next town over, I had decided on the one beyond that one, especially since it was a little larger and no one would really know me.
Like a real bitch in heat, I found myself driving the twenty miles to the other town, where I could drive around in my car and look the teenaged boys over. I remember the first time I went over there in the late afternoon. I spotted kids getting out of school, handsome boy-studs with their girlfriends, and I couldn't possibly get close to them.
A group of five teenaged boys all walking together, no teenaged girls in sight ... I can still remember my fantasy-apparatus going wild, looking over the boys in their dungarees, snug denims and mod flaired trousers. .All so sexual, ranging from the slim sandy-haired type to the stocky football type with dark hair and features to match. And all with one thing in common-young cock that needed servicing. Yeah, watching those boys I thought of all the wasted jerking off among them, how I could just easily service their young needs. Those five boys, they represented the young male at the prime of sexual drive, and I had all I could do to keep one hand glued to the wheel as I drove slowly by, finding an excuse to stop and pretend I was looking for a certain address. I'll tell you where I had the other hand, right smack up my skirt, solidly into my panty-crotch, fingers clawing up the seam to get into the ready moistness.
I watched the boys horsing around among themselves and I fantasied myself down on my knees, sucking one boy's cock, hanging onto two more, the other two lined up and waiting their turns. I was going wild, but then the pang of sadness really hit me. I mean, I couldn't think of a way to approach them. I couldn't get myself to merely call them over and ask them if they wanted blowjobs. I just couldn't do that ... and I was beginning to really sweat it out, the sight of those five teenaged boys, possibly ranging in age from fourteen to seventeen, drove me wild to the point where I wanted to scream out how much I needed their young bodies.
It was a need-a very desperate need, and it was driving me out of my mind. A police car passed me by, and I trembled imagining the cop looking me over. I eased my hand out from under my skirt and pulled away from there, trying desperately to be calm and appear so very normal. I kept imagining that the entire town had been alerted to me: sick bitch prowling for teenaged boys!
I got out of town, back on the highway, telling myself that my plan just wouldn't work and that I had to stick with only Mark. Yeah, and that I didn't need any other boys. I was trying to sell myself the bill of goods and almost succeeding at it when I approached the next village on my way back home, the one closest to where we lived.
I suddenly went wild, stopping at a street corner, my eyes going solidly to an unbelievably beautiful boy peddling his newspapers from house to house. I pulled the car over to a curb, watching him intently, unable to believe my eyes. The delivery boy was a younger version of Mark. He had that same lanky look to him, the sandy hair and the sensitive face.
I dug his outfit of the young, making him out to be only thirteen or fourteen. He wore the soiled white sneakers, purple flaired trousers that hugged his lean thighs and bulged unbelievably at the perfect V of him. He wore a skintight colored T-shirt that he seemed to have grown out of, the waistband of his jockey shorts protruding over the belt of his trousers.
He caught me staring at him, and I just had to be close to him, to find an excuse to make the initial contact. He was coming by me on the sidewalk, right by where I had pulled over to the curb.
"Hello there," I started, actually trembling, and then I couldn't think of anything else to say, except to ask if he had an extra newspaper to sell me.
"Yeah, I have an extra." He came up to the window of the car, peering in, his eyes moving from my tightly sweatered knockers down to the hemline of my mini-skirt. He held the paper out to me through the opened window and that look of his had me really going. He was all boy, and yet he seemed to have the cunning know-how of a' more mature male. He was extending the paper to me with the one hand, when suddenly he used the other hand to brush down hard on his crotch, and I knew damned well it couldn't have been an accident.
"How much is it?" I. nervously asked, fumbling into my purse, unable to stop the upward hike of my skirt, the boy's eyes bulging fantastically on it. He told me a dime, but I had pulled out a half dollar piece and had told him to keep it before I realized what I was doing. He thanked me, and I was all the more flustered, finally taking the paper from his hand and putting it on the seat next to me.
"Is something wrong, Lady?" He peered in all the more, seemingly so close up to the heavy throbbing of my breasts.
"No-no-" And I tugged down nervously on my skirt, telling myself that I wasn't any good at that sort of pickup. It all seemed to work out so much better in my sexual fantasies. But in reality, I fell apart. "There's nothing wrong...." I told myself to hurry away from there.
"The way you're looking at me...." And that hand of his went down to his crotch again, really driving me wild. And I couldn't take my eyes off him and I knew damned well he was bulging continually there at the snug crotch of the purple trousers.
"How am I looking at you?" I forced a moment of boldness, darting him a smile.
"Oh, like a certain guy was looking at me a while back, when he stopped to talk to me...." He was purposely hesitating.
"What did he want?"
"He wanted to give me five dollars to fool around with me," and he made it crystal clear by spreading his lean thighs all the more, almost jutting the bulging crotch up at me. "But I told him I didn't want any damned queer fooling around with me and he took off!"
"You mean, he wanted to put your thing-" And I had my eyes fixed on the outline of imprisoned cock. "In his mouth?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"How about if a woman wanted to do that to you?"
"That would be different!" He rubbed on his crotch. "Like, that wouldn't be queer!" I was trembling, so damned anxious, and then the kid made it easy for me. "Is that what you're looking for, lady? You wanna blow me?!"
"Yes, I would-" I couldn't control myself, so damned anxious to reach out and feel his bulging crotch, having to watch that no one spotted us talking like that. "I'll do it real good!" I was about to start pleading.
"Watch where I go over to that barn," he gestured with his head. "Wait until I get inside, then when nobody's around, just go in that small side door!"
"Is it safe?"
"It's okay, just follow me!" He was rubbing hard at his crotch, and I was losing all self-restraint, the younger version of Mark driving me wild.
I watched him dart to one side of the block, and I tried to be casual about getting out of my car. I don't know why, but I took my purse with me and I didn't bother to lock the car. But at the last moment I did take the keys out and stuff them in the purse.
I followed the boy at a safe distance, waiting until he disappeared inside the barn. I waited, trembling, looking both ways and then finally darting in the side door. It took me a while to adjust to the dimness inside the barn and that musty odor. I looked about, wondering where the boy was.
"Over here, lady!" His head popped out from behind a number of bales of old burlap bags. "C'mon, hurry!" And I watched the boy undo his belt, the button and unzip his fly as I hurried over to him.
"Let me do that!" I groaned, hooking my hands into his trousers and tugging them downward. I went wild, the boy's jockey shorts seemingly two sizes two small for him, as though he had sprouted up suddenly and all his clothes were much too snug on him. I really flipped at the sight of the head of his cock sticking right up and out of the waistband of his shorts.
"You're so beautiful...." I had to compliment him, hooking my fingers eagerly into the waistband of the jockeys, flicking fast kisses to the jockey-pouch and then back and forth from one lean thigh to the other. "What's your name?"
"What's the difference?" he shot back and it became a totally animal thing. I had wanted to know his exact age, but settled at a guess that he had just about entered his fourteenth year. He had the sensitive look about him, just as Mark had it, but he was much more hip in sexual experience, that was for sure.
I tugged down fast on his undershorts, anxious to get my mouth on his cock. I tugged them down and left them where his trousers were bunched about his ankles.
"Wait a while!" He suddenly yanked off his sneakers and pulled off his trousers and undershorts. He sprawled back down on a bale of burlap bags, spreading his thighs the limit, his hard cock jutting right out there at the sensational V of him. His thighs were so unbelievably thin that his cock seemed almost as thick in comparison.
I had to suck young cock and bring absolutely no love to it. I opened my mouth wide, using one hand to cradle his balls, the other going to the underside of the throbbing prick. I had my eyes down solidly on how his pubic bush had so recently taken form, the ringlets of light hair so fantastic to view.
"I want to feel your cunt!" He bent over me, the very moment my head rushed downward, my mouth making the young cock totally disappear. "Oh, wow-the guys'll never believe me!" he roared, the very moment my bps slammed into the base of his swollen prick and the fingers of both of his hands jabbed into the moistness of my pussy.
So expertly, even though awkward due to his anxiousness, he had entered fingers up both sides of the seams of my panties and had made a straight drive deep into the pink moistness. I didn't waste a moment, rushing my face up and down, slobbering animal-like on the young cock. Fast and hard, almost to the tune of his fingers working my snatch. I didn't give a damned about the saliva openly dripping at the corner of my lips, running right down my chin. I raced, telling myself to get the treasured load of young semen and get away from there, back to the safety of a supposedly sane world. That barn and the young boy on that bale of burlap bags were symbolic of my sexual madness.
I was close, so damned close to getting him to orgasm, when he suddenly shoved my head off his cock, hooking his hands about me and flipping me over on the bale of burlap bags.
"I've got to fuck your cunt!" he roared, "that's what I really want to do," and he was moving into the spread-out V of my legs, aiming his cock right at the start of my pussy.
"Oh, give it to me!" I widened my thighs, throwing my legs upward. "Shove it hard to me!" I felt my ass on the edge of that bale of bags. And I let out a sheer animal groan and worked my hands up about his lean buttocks, directing his swollen prick into the very core of my pussy.
The boy went ape, wild sounds coming from down deep in his throat. Up on his knees, he thrusted hard and fast cock to my pried-apart pussy. A boy's body with a mansized cock-and all the expert thrust of a mature male. He was driving me wild, and I couldn't hold back my orgasm. He shuddered and buckled and spent a tremendous load within me.
I was hooked, I had to have more of him, my hands flaying wildly all about him, wanting to get my mouth back on that young cock of his.
"Oh, wow ... "
"Let me blow you now!" I dug his level of youthful animalism. "Please-"
"Let me go get a couple of my buddies!" he pleaded, pulling his spent cock out of my aching pussy. "One of 'em's got a ten inch cock! It's enormous!"
"I don't know...." I was trembling, wanting to use him again.
"Nobody comes here, honest, lady!" He reached for his trousers. "You wait here and I'll run and get them in just a few minutes!"
"Okay...." I had wild visions of that teenaged boy with a ten-inch cock. "Hurry-"
"I'll be right back!" And in his anxious fumbling to get dressed, his undershorts fell to the floor and he very realistically left them there and hurried into his trousers and sneakers. "I'll be right back," he repeated, hurrying out of the barn. "Just stay right here!"
I was trembling, inspecting my moist pussy, noting that the boy had ripped my panties as he had shoved them aside all the more to shove cock to my pussy. I had an urge and I gave in to it-ripping hard and yanking the torn panties right off my midsection. I felt so beautifully free and animal-like sitting on the edge of the bale of burlap bags, waiting for the boy to bring back more teenaged cocks.
Run ... a voice kept thundering within me. Run fast! I tried to tell myself to do the sensible thing, to get out of there as fast as I could. I had experienced my young cock, the comparison to Mark, and that was supposed to have been all I was after. I could sense trouble ahead of me, every second I remained there.
I got up, about to force myself to leave, but I spotted the boy's jockey shorts on the wooden floor. I bent over and picked them up, grooving on the sight of them, shoving the white cotton up to my mouth, kissing it. And yeah, then I really went wild, balling up the white cotton shorts and jamming it right up into my cunt. Wider and wider, I spread myself out until I fell back on the bale of bags, shoving the boy's balled-up undershorts into my pried-apart pussy. Deeper and deeper, I couldn't stop the madness-until I heard the anxious young male voices and I yanked the white cotton material out of my snatch. But then it was too late, those young studs coming at me. Two, three, four ... I trembled at the thought of how many other boys might show up.
"Hey, Eddie wasn't bullshitting us!" went up the cry, a lot of teenaged boys rubbing hard at their crotches. "It's a chick!"
"And she sucks cock like crazy!" the boy who should know let them all know.
I was frightened, and yet I wanted to ball like crazy. I could see the first two boys unzipping their flys and tugging out their hard cocks-and that was all the incentive I needed. I lurched forward and grabbed for the first cock, grabbing for the other one right alongside it, fisting it tightly as I worked my mouth down the limit on the first one.
"Grab this one!" A tall and lanky dark-haired boy cried out, and he thrust a cock up close to me and I thought I would go wild, knowing that had to be the ten-inched prick.
I grabbed it with my other hand, running my fingers up and down on it. He was instantly working both of his hands up my skirt and he was delighted to find that I was minus panties. That boy with the biggest cock-he couldn't have been over fifteen years old, and there he was about to shove it to my eager cunt, all the other guys eagerly and awkwardly about to crawl all over my body.
"Let me shove it to her!" the boy with the ten-incher cried out, and I instantly let go of the cock in my mouth and threw myself back on the bale of bags, throwing my legs out wide and reaching out to aim that enormous cock into me. All the way, the other boys went wild watching the lanky kid shove all ten inches into the very core of my pussy.
My greedy cunt busy, I reached over again and took the other cock back in my mouth, servicing two more with my hands. And yeah, boyish hands were going wild all over my knockers, once they had tugged up my sweater and had ripped off my bra. I was into it, and I was about to groan and gyrate my pleasure in watching two more handsome teenaged boys entering the barn, hurrying up to the action.
That one boy ... the dark-haired boy of probably seventeen ... more mature than the others, yet so youthfully handsome ... I had seen him somewhere before and I could feel the panic mounting within me.
"Hey, it's that cunt!" the boy shouted to his buddies. "Her husband is the coach of the swimming team that beat us! Oh, wow-" And he unzipped his fly and tugged out a lot of hard and thick cock.
I went wild, thinking of Mark finding out, knowing how boys talk and spread the word. It would travel fast back to Mark. Mark ... I was thinking of him, and I didn't give a damned about my husband, my marriage or so-called respectability. I was only thinking of my young lover.
I tried to twist free, that enormous ten-inched cock thrusting hard and deep into me. I started shoving and kicking, knowing the madness had gone too far.
"Stay still, bitch!" And cock was shoved to me hard and fast, hands greedily snatching at my anatomy. That one boy, the one I recognized, pushed enough guys aside to aim his cock into my mouth, jamming his hands hard at the back of my head. I wanted to bite down hard on it, but I didn't dare, only twisting and turning and wanting to sob.
"Easy, bitch, I sensed you were a cocksucker from the first time I saw you!" he humiliated me, and I tightened all of my body, refusing to ball. "Get with it, baby, or we'll go to your place when we want you! We know where to find you-"
I went berserk at the thought of discovery, I bit down hard on his cock and gyrated wildly to free myself of them all. I started screaming and yelling, all the boys laughing at me. Laughing ... as my screeching turned to sobs.
I felt I could trust Mark but that I could never endure the humiliation of all those young studs in heat. I had to run wildly out of there, sobbing as they all laughed at me. I ran helter-skelter, forgetting my purse back there-the purse containing my car keys. I didn't know which way to turn, like an animal being hunted ... and it was suddenly over as the police car screeched to a halt in the driveway by the barn.
"What the hell...." the one local cop moaned to the other as they got out after me. "She's nude...."
It got back to my husband and to Mark ... in fact, it was in all the local papers. I'm leaving my husband and I know I can't ever see Mark again. I've got to go somewhere else for a fresh start ... somewhere I can get a new prospective ... but I can't kid myself ... wherever I go I'll encounter handsome young boys to drive me wild. A different town, different names, but they all have that one thing in common-that youthful sexuality at its very prime. And I'll always find those young boys displayed in their snug jeans and cut-off shorts and the outfits of the young.
The worship of youth ... you don't just cut it out of your system overnight ... I know I'll need a lot of help, telling my story has been the first step in a problem I might not ever be able to solve.
CASE HISTORY: "CAROL"
"Please, Carol, you've got to take care of Frankie for me!" Barbara pleaded. "I can do ninety days standing on my head if I know you're looking after the kid!"
That was how it all started, a new way of sexual life unfolding before me-only I didn't know it at that moment. Before I tell you more about young Frankie, I should fill you in on my friend Barbara. She's always had a heart of gold, always doing things for everybody else. And, yeah, a soft touch for guys. She could never believe the worse about anybody and people were forever taking advantage of her.
"Ninety days!" the judge had sentenced her on a bum check rap. She did it for a guy, and then he took off and left her stranded. I didn't know about it-since I had left the city to live the country-or I would have done anything in my power to cover it for her. She called me to look after her fifteen year old boy while she was away, explaining that with good behavior she'd be out in slightly over seventy days.
I couldn't refuse Barbara, we meant too damned much to each other. We had a number of common bonds, including the fact that we had shared an apartment when I had first gone to the city in search of work. She had barely known me, sensing that I had taken off from home, and she took me in with her.
We shared another common bond, quite intimately those three years we shared an apartment. Yeah, we swung both ways. We made wild love together, but we never held each other back from dates with men. Maybe it would have been better if I had tried to keep Barbara from men-especially the bums she did make it with. Like Frankie's father, the one guy she did marry. He lived off her for quite a few years, right after we shared a pad, and then he took off and left her with a pre-school aged boy.
Well, Barbara loved that kid and she wouldn't give him up. Believe me, she had to work hard and really struggle to make a go of it. It was just the two of them for quite a while. I had remained her friend, but somewhere along the line we had stopped swinging in bed together. Little Frankie always called me "Auntie Carol!" And I always had presents for him at Christmas, his birthday and all the occasions.
So I managed to get a little fouled up along the way, running around and getting my kicks. No need to go into it now, but I married a real bread 'n butter guy with a big house in the suburbs. I wanted kids, a real family, but it just didn't work out that way. I was never really in love with my husband, but I made up for that by trying to be a good wife and I never once cheated on him.
I should tell you one thing, because I'm sure it must have a bearing on the youth-kick that has just about destroyed me. I'm sure it has something to do with it ... the fact that my husband was almost double my age ... it just had to have something to do with it....
Well, my husband was a sick man and he passed away after a long illness. He left me the house in the suburbs all paid up and enough insurance and a few investments that I didn't really have to work. You've got to keep busy and I suddenly started balling like crazy, making the rounds of the cocktail lounges and really living it up. I had not cheated while I was married and I told myself that I had to make up for lost time. I didn't keep in touch with my friend Barbara during that time, because I felt that I had to work things out for myself.
I'll tell you what I had to work out for myself ... my need to pick up the young studs in the barrooms. No, not really young boys ... but guys in their very early twenties. I'm in my middle thirties-I hate to give my precise age-but I know I sure as hell don't look it. I've got what could be called a statuesque frame, blonde hair that doesn't need any help from a bottle and Nordic quality skin that shows no sag whatsoever. I stick out damned good up front and they're hard as rocks-and I've had plenty of guys compliment me on my ass.
The young studs ... it happened when I started making the rounds of the bars a few months after my husband's death. I told myself that I didn't want to get involved again and that the young studs were my best bet. Okay, I found myself looking at younger guys on the street, maybe down into their late teens, but I couldn't think of going to bed with them. I really dug the dark-haired guys in their early twenties.
Mark was made to order, dark -haired and matching features, ruggedly built and exactly twenty. There was something else I dug about him. He was a free-loader and I could have that feeling of owning him. He had a smooth bne of crap, and most of all-a stud-prick that just wouldn't stop. He knew how to make wild love to a woman, and I went through a period of time that I just couldn't get enough of him.
I'll tell you how Mark ties in with Barbara and Frankie. When Barbara got into trouble on the bum check rap, she swore that she didn't try to call me for help. I mean, I would have wanted to know. I would have wanted to help her in every way possible, and I didn't give a damned about the cost. It was just too late once she had received the ninety day jail term. I had flown down to Puerto Rico for a vacation in the sun during the time that she had been arrested. And yeah, I was so busy with my lover Mark-that I wasn't around if she had tried calling me. Needless to say, I had paid Mark's way on the fun-cruise.
I had the notion that Barbara did try calling me for help-but I wasn't at home and no one knew where I was. But Barbara was the type of person who wouldn't want me to feel bad and so she simply kept insisting that she didn't try to call me for help, that she didn't want to bother me.
"I'll take care of Frankie for you, don't worry, Barbara! The country will do him a lot of good!"
"I'll look after Frankie...."
Well, Frankie turned out to be quite a surprise for me. I couldn't get over it when I saw him. I hadn't seen him in three years, back when he was still twelve. Yeah, I had neglected a lot of things those last three years. I had become lazy to the point of mailing Frankie presents, never stopping to realize how he was growing up.
Let me tell you, I had trouble staying in my lane as we drove out to my house in the suburbs.
I had to keep straying my line of sight over to his masculine frame where he sat next to me. He had long, tousled black hair and an extremely sensitive face. He had those beautiful dark eyes, just like his mother. I thought I could make out every ripple of his muscled chest through the form-fitting T-shirt he wore. And then he seemed so powerful in the thick black belt and the massive steel buckle. Down-down, my eyes kept dancing downward as I tried desperately to keep up the Smalltalk.
Down ... until it really pained me and I had to keep tugging downward on the hemline of my mini-skirt. Yeah, and at fifteen, he knew how to secretly work his eyes over female anatomy. I had to bite down hard on my lower lip as I grooved on the extremely snug fit of his white denim trousers, so beautifully in contrast with his dark features.
The masculine bulge ... that was mansized, let me tell you, and he kept widening his thighs as he was sprawled out on the seat next to me and the perfect V of him was a delightful thing to behold. I had those moments of real panic, realizing that Frankie was all of five years younger than Mark, and yet he seemed just as sexually mature and exciting.
"I can't get over how you've grown, Frankie...." I must have repeated it so many times that he was tired of hearing it. "I hope you'll really enjoy staying with your Aunt Carol." I realized I was treating him like a little kid after I had said it. But when he was young, he had always hugged and kissed me and called me "Auntie Carol."
"Now that I'm big-" he started, moving his legs about, one thigh edging dangerously close to mine. "Couldn't I just call you Carol?" He was looking into my face, but as I stilled my hands on the wheel I caught his eyes really hooking into the contour of my tightly-sweatered knockers.
"I'd like that, Frankie...." I sneaked a delicious glance down at his bulging crotch. "You are big now-grownup," I added, getting as flustered as a damned school girl. "And I'll have to treat you as a grownup."
"I'm not a kid anymore...." He worked his head downward, pouting, and I could tell that the boy had troubles. I didn't want to bring it up, but I knew he would miss his mother, they had always been close.
"I'm going to like having you with me, Frankie, we'll do a lot of things together!" And I resolved then and there to not run around to the bars while Frankie was staying with me. No guys ... I needed a change of pace from the hectic pace I had been keeping.
Close to home, I was suddenly getting strange vibrations as I sneaked glances over at the handsome fifteen year-old boy. Frankie resembled his mother a great deal and my mind kept flashing back to the many nights we made love together. Barbara had always had that classic European look about her, the lustrous dark hair and the sensuous features. We were complete contrasts and that was probably why we had been originally attracted to one another.
Frankie ... and his mother ... I kept seeing so much of his mother in the boy and I was re-living the beautiful lovemaking we had shared. Barbara had been the sexual aggressor, and as I looked over to study Frankie's lips I thought of the many times that his mother had held me in her arms, pressing her lips to mine. I had to steel my hands on the wheel, imagining young Frankie kissing me as his mother used to kiss me, her mouth open, her tongue slithering and twining mine.
Beautiful lovemaking ... I didn't give a damned if people thought it might be perverse, I just knew that it seemed so right with Barbara. I vividly recalled how Barbara would undress me, making a loving ritual of the removal of my panties and bra, then starting her mouth at my breasts, racing back and forth from one brownish-hued tip to the other, her tongue flicking beautifully at the cleavage.
Frankie's eyes, they were bouncing off my knockers, just as Barbara used to look at them, making love to them. And then I tensed, trying not to look over at the boy as I recalled how his mother used to lovingly run her hands all the way down my lithe sides, her mouth open to flick tongue-kisses down the flat of my stomach, making it right down to my golden-haired snatch.
I had to stiffen my hands on the wheel and widen my thighs as I so vividly recalled how Barbara would work her hands up underneath my buttocks to raise my lovemound for her mouth-worship. I didn't have to look over at her fifteen year-old son, I could easily imagine the boy doing the same to me, his tongue gliding smoothly up and down the length of my loveslit. And each time, digging and probing deeper and deeper into the pink moistness. And then the straight up and down action, the tip of the tongue like a steel blade, the greatest tongue-fucking in the world.
My mini-skirt was riding upward, just as we turned off into the secondary road, knowing it was only one mile to the house. But what a long mile! I had never realized it could be such a torturous mile, unable to separate the memory of his mother making love to me ... so long ago ... and the potential of the boy so close to me.
Frankie was only fifteen and in his sudden growth, so damned close to six feet, he had that boyishly awkward quality about him, but in so many other ways he was so very mature. He was a strange mixture of boy and man, and it frightened me. I had truly loved his mother, before we had both gotten involved with various men, and I sensed that it would be all too easy to transfer that love to the handsome boy.
All too easy ... and I couldn't help drift my eyes over to his bulging crotch, certain it had been growing fantastically on the trip from the city. I found myself pressing my foot on the glad pedal to race out that last mile to get home, but I couldn't erase the beautiful image of his bulging crotch, so fantastically accentuated in the tight white denim trousers. I didn't have to keep my eyes on the male highlight of him-it was solidly fixed on my brain.
From Barbara to the boy, my mind kept confusing them, and I imagined the boy's fly unzipped and that very real cock yanked out to stand at attention. I thought of getting fucked by it, just as the boy's mother had always strapped on her dildo to satisfy me, to give me what she knew I needed the most.
I could feel my hands sweaty on the wheel, seemingly glued to it, my brain bringing in a crystal clear image of Barbara way back then, so young and sensually attractive with that life-like dildo strapped about her waist. I could see Frankie edging on the bed with his real cock so fantastically hard-seeming so much like his mother had.
I could feel the phallic symbol penetrating me, thrusting in and out of my aching pussy, and my troubled mind couldn't separate the two-Barbara with her strapped-on dildo ... Frankie his very real young stud-prick. I knew it had to be enormous-the bulge at his crotch was giving me a preview of that.
I found myself pulling into the driveway and I warned myself to stop thinking like that. I would really be a substitute mother for Frankie until Barbara got out of jail. And we would be visiting her together, every Sunday afternoon. Think straight and narrow, I warned myself, braking the car to a halt by the side entrance. Straight and narrow and definitely a mother-substitute.
"This is your home for now, Frankie." I turned in toward him, absently placing the flat of my hand on his thigh. I had it close to the bulge of his thigh, and there wasn't anything of the mother-substitute in the way I responded to the feel of him. It was young male and very exciting. I could tell the way he had tightened up on me and I reluctantly withdrew my hand.
I kept telling myself to play it straight and narrow and be a good mother-substitute to him-but my actions kept going against it. Yeah, I gave him the bedroom right across the hall from mine, our doors facing each other. I couldn't kid myself, I knew damned well that with the doors open, we could see each other in bed. That' how fast and dirty my mind was racing, so damned anxious to see him in bed.
"There's the shower, Frankie, and there's plenty of towels in that drawer," I motioned into the bathroom. And my sex-saturated brain was at it again. I had worked up an instant fantasy of him all soaped up for a shower and me standing by to lather more soap about his lean and awkwardly tall frame. Yeah, right down at his crotch, the low-slung balls and the proud jut of his hard cock. I imagined myself rubbing it into hardness, getting another hand back to the boy's ass.
I had to pull out of the fantasy, wondering what was happening to me. Frankie had that edgy look about him and I encouraged him to go out for a walk up the various paths on my property, especially up to the fishing pond. He nodded that he'd like that, and I remained up there, my eyes fixed on the boy's luggage, ready to put it all away for him.
I watched the boy go down the hallway, that lanky stride of his so beautiful from the rear. And I could feel my hands tingling to fever his trim buttocks. I dug the way those white denims accentuated the smoothness of him back there. I watched him disappear down the stairway, and I knew it would be a great summer ahead of us.
I opened the boy's luggage to put his clothing away in the drawers. The first item I picked up were his swimming trunks and I was still solidly into my sexually-saturated madness.
"So snug...." I picked up the black trunks, made of that nylon stretch material, and I took note of how the brief trunks would have to hug his midsection, especially down about the crotch and up into the crack of his ass.
I couldn't control myself, I had to put my nose and my lips up inside the swim trunks, recalling how Barbara had told Frankie how much he would enjoy swimming in my pool. I was never much for swimming, but I was ready to get into it, thinking of the various bikinis I had to wear.
I had to throw myself into the task of getting him unpacked, that moist feeling getting the best of my pussy until I thought I would have to masturbate. It had been a long time since I had been forced to get rid of my frustrations that way and I hated myself for even thinking about it.
I unpacked his various items of summer wear, enjoying the sight of his boyish dungarees and mod-flaired trousers. And then I was back into the sexual-thing again, unpacking a number of shorts that I could easily imagine clinging to his midsection, accentuating his youthful manhood.
That one pair of cut-off shorts, cut jagged from a pair of black denim trousers ... I couldn't wait to see Frankie in those. I held them up and I could easily imagine how fantastic he would look in them on a hot muggy day, barefooted and bare-chested. Just those black denim shorts hugging the middle of him, well below the navel and very snug at the thighs. I worked my eyes up close to the zipper of the cut-off shorts, making out the crotch-area where all his young cock and balls would be imprisoned.
"So beautiful...." I groaned, frightened that I could be so damned turned on by the thought of a boy of only fifteen. I had dug the young guys-but not boys! It i the association to Barbara, I repeatedly told myself, suddenly putting my mouth to the crotch area of the shorts and repeatedly kissing the material. It had to be that Barbara was Frankie's mother, and that the boy was very special.
I had to sneak one hand down underneath my mini skirt and halfslip, right up flush to my moist panty-crotch. I could feel the beads of perspiration forming as thick as silver dollars on my forehead, my mind flashing back to the Puerto Rican vacation I had taken with Mark. I could no longer deny how a certain Latin-type boy of only fourteen or fifteen had excited me on the beach. That boy ... that's all he was ... just a boy with a dark sun-bronzed frame in a pair of snug swim trunks ... but he had driven me wild, to the point where I had spent hours studying him, enjoying that flashing smile of his.
That beautiful dark-haired boy ... I had even gone out of my way to discover his name, to give him errands to do so that I could tip him heavily, my eyes having a ball down his lean young frame, the snug swim trunks of purple so beautiful a sight on him. Only a boy ... and I kept telling myself it was the boyish smile and charm and that it couldn't possibly have been a sexual thing.
My sex with Mark ... I was visibly trembling, one hand down on my crotch, holding Frankie's cut-off shorts close to my lips ... forcing myself to realize that I had imagined that young boy most of the time that Mark had been pounding steady cock to my snatch.
That one afternoon, when the sight of that handsome boy had really driven me wild, I had started fooling around with Mark, whispering in Mark's ear that I wanted to go back up to the room. I had instantly gone down on Mark, getting right down on my knees to tug down his swim trunks to watch his hard jut of cock bob up at attention at the most delightful angle for my mouth to do its sucking-thing.
I had closed my eyes the very moment I had opened my mouth wide to lunge down on the long line of throbbing cock. I had used Mark as a sexual-substitute, imagining myself servicing that young boy's cock ever so greedily with my mouth. Yeah, I had orgasmed without even touching my pussy twice while going down on what I had fantasied to be that young boy's cock. And that boy was surely even younger than Frankie ... that was what frightened me as I was standing there that way.
I had to hurry and finish unpacking Frankie's things. I put away all his shorts and shirts and then I was in pain again, my knockers visibly throbbing and that moist feeling down there about to cause my pussy to explode. I know you may think it's sick, but there I was a supposedly mature woman and I was going wild at the sight of the stack of the boy's white cotton jockey shorts.
"So beautiful...." I bent over and picked up the top pair, enjoying the threads of red in the elastic band I held up for my visual delight. "Oh, so wonderful...." I held them up so that the pouch was centered before my mouth. I strained and brought in a mental image of Frankie's cock and balls contained in the tight confines of the cotton pouch and I was unbelievably close to having an orgasm.
"So great...." And I worked my lips forward to flick fast kisses to the pouch-area and what I imagined it to be holding.
"Carol!" I heard Frankie's voice call out, his steps fast on the stairway. "Aunt Carol!" He used the term he had used when he was a boy. I had to hurriedly fold that pair of jockey shorts and put them back on the pile. I grabbed the entire stack of neatly folded jockey shorts and was just about to turn to put them in the drawer when Frankie appeared in the doorway, out of breath.
"Carol...." And his eyes went to my unpacking, especially to his undershorts in my hands.
"I thought I'd get you unpacked and settled, Frankie-"
"Wow!" he shrilled. "That's a real fantastic swimming pool you got out in the back yard! I didn't think it was that big! Would it be all right if I take a swim now?!"
"Oh, yes, Frankie!" I got so damn excited, putting his lean nude frame into those snug swim trunks. "Use the pool whenever you want ... for as long as you want...."
"Where'd you put them ... my trunks...."
I pointed to the opened drawer, but I wasn't quick about moving out of the room. He kept looking between me and the drawer, finally going over to it, pulling the black swim trunks out.
"Enjoy yourself, Frankie," I beamed him a smile, telling myself I had to get out of his room while he stripped out of his clothing and put on the swim trunks. I knew one thing, I'd be waiting for that first great view of him in only the snug swimwear. "Use the pool all you want
"Hey, swim with me, Carol!"
"I'm not very good, Frankie...." And then the scheming bitch in me took over and I exaggerated a point, just imagining him giving me swimming lessons, his arms and body necessarily all wrapped about me in the water. "In fact, I'm ashamed to say that I barely know how to swim-"
"I'll teach you!" he took the bait and I was really glowing in wild anticipation of the togetherness it would bring about. "C'mon, let's swim together!"
"Okay...." I started backing out of his room, my eyes going continually to the trunks in his hand. "I'll change into something...." I was like a damned schoolgirl about it.
I had left his bedroom door open and I nervously crossed over to my bedroom. I had my hand on the knob for the longest time, looking back at him in his room. I had to close my door, I couldn't just stand there, but I kept waiting and foolishly hoping ... I started cursing myself, finally closing my door just as he moved to close his door.
I don't think I ever remember throwing my clothes off in such wild anticipation. And something told me I shouldn't, but I picked out my skimpiest bikini, the halter barely able to control my wildly throbbing knockers. I checked and double-checked myself in the mirror, painfully asking myself if I still had my figure intact. It was-it was, and I knew I could stand up alongside any female ten years younger. Frankie would like me in the bikini, I had to tell myself, so damned nervous about it all.
A date ... it was suddenly like my very first date and the anticipation of a boy trying to make out with me. I was actually giddy as I studied myself in the mirror, running my hands up and down my lithe sides.
Up on the high rise of my tightly-haltered knockers ... I coursed my hands tightly down the flat of my stomach, finally hooking fingers into the waistband of the bikini bottoms, pulling myself in to accentuate my trim hips. I edged my hands down over my lovemound, fingers crawling inward on the stretch material of the bikini-bottom. I had to bite down hard on my lower lip as I continually checked my mirrored image, working my hands down my thighs. I could feel the moistening of my snatch and I hurriedly jammed my hands up into the inner reaches of my thighs, shoving fingers right up into the snug material covering my snatch.
"You ready, Carol?!" Frankie's eager voice right outside my door pulled me out of my tense self-sexual-confrontation. I straightened myself out, damned annoyed at my behavior and hurried to the door.
"Oh, wow...." Frankie blurted it out, his eyes hooking into my bikini-clad body. "I mean...." He got nervous. "You look real young-you are younger than my mother, aren't you, Carol?" He was nervously thudding a bare foot into the rug.
"A few years, Frankie...." I beamed him a smile and I was just as nervous about the encounter, my eyes zooming fast up and down his lean and angular frame clad in only the snug black swim trunks.
I had to make a slow and thorough inspection of his youthful male anatomy. I started up with his lustrous black hair so beautifully tousled and over his eyes. I really grooved on the warmth of his smile and the sensual look on his face. Right down ... the solid shoulders and the smooth, hairless chest ... right down to the tautness of his stomach, my tongue trying to dart about my lips at the sight of his navel. Down ... down ... enjoying the trimness of his hips and how fantastically he tapered in at the solid V of him.
I had arrived-my eye-trip completed at the very obvious outline of imprisoned cock and balls running up the pouch of the sleek swim trunks. That cock was most likely in the semi-hard state and my mind raced ahead to imagine it totally hard. Hard and very swollen and just begging to be touched.
I could sense Frankie's nervousness and I ran my eyes fast down his lean thighs and then back up to his face. One glance ... that's all it took and it was as though we had made a pact to put an end to our separate brands of lonebness. It was all there in that look, the very special need we had for each other.
"Ready to go?" he gestured toward the stairway.
"Lead the way," I gestured that he was the man and that I was more than willing to follow him anywhere. Yeah, and all the way to the pool, my hands were tingling as my eyes scorched his backside, especially the firm juts of his buttocks.
Frankie ran up on the diving board and posed for a dive, and I thought I would go wild. I wondered how I would be able to keep the skimpy halter from exploding right off my throbbing knockers. I watched him dive, a veritable poetry in motion. Youth at its finest ... and I knew I was hooked on it, that I just had to have it.
All of him, every last bit of his youthful frame, I wouldn't be satisfied with less. And I feasted my eyes on all of him, going from his face down to his feet, even enjoying the sight of each and every toe, knowing that I would adore and worship every part of him. All the way around him, I grooved on the rear of him, especially the strength stored in the rear of his thighs. And then I really went ape as I studied his ass in the snug black swim trunks, my hands tingling to run up and down the lean buttocks. Yeah, and to tug down the trunks to feel the right thing, my tongue happily darting up and down the crack of his ass.
Always ... no matter where and how I inspected him while he dove off the board and playfully cavorted about me ... my eyes would always have to return to the youthful male highlights of him, solidly at the V of his thighs. That was where it always started-and that was where it always ended. I would scorch my line of sight forward to make out that very definite outline of imprisoned cock and balls. And the more I looked at it, the larger it seemed to be. It was continually growing just for me. And then I really soared with my newly found happiness, telling myself I had the power to make the boy's cock grow by looking at it, by being totally in a trance over the greatest sight in the world.
Frankie would give me that big smile, whenever my eyes were about to dart down there, seemingly leading me on, tempting me to look harder and harder at the poetic V of his swim trunks. We both knew the great treasure he had there within the tight confines of the black nylon swim trunks, and we were playing a waiting game-waiting until I would totally adore and worship his youthful equipment.
"C'mon, I'll teach you!" He urged me into the water, and I didn't waste much time joining him. I let him work his lean frame at my back, taking my arms in his to teach me a stroke I already knew.
"You're strong, Frankie." I leaned solidly against him, digging the feel of his bulging crotch at my ass. "Really strong." I wiggled and twisted back into him, digging our privacy in my back yard, large trees covering us from the outside world.
"Like this-" And he took me with him through the water, and I could feel his arms suddenly holding me up, right about my stomach, up close to the start of my halter-imprisoned knockers. "You're doing fine!" he complimented me, then let jne go, swimming about to the front of me. "Don't let me go!" I gave it a double meaning and I reached out to him, my arms circling his back, his bulging crotch instantly locking into the front of my scanty bikini-bottom. "Hold me, Frankie!" And I could not stop my mouth from moving to his. I crashed my lips into his and I didn't really need all that water to be floating.
His need was great, and he jammed right into me, all of his lean frame pressing hard against mine, the water holding us up as though we were floating in air. I had to run my hands down his trim sides in the water, his hands hooking cautiously into the outer edges of my knockers. I coursed my hands right down to the waistband of his swim trunks, enjoying the trim feel of him down there. My body was pressed solidly to his, or I knew I would have rammed an anxious hand down over his throbbing crotch.
"Wow, Carol...." he finally gasped, his mouth edging back slightly. "It's different this time with you...." he uttered the understatement of the century. "I mean ... than like when you used to come and visit me when I was just a kid
"Yes, Frankie ... it is different for me, too...." I flicked quick kisses about his eyes and nose. "You're a young man now ... a very handsome young man-"
"No, I'm not ... not really ... "
"To me, you are! You really are!" And I found my fingers tightening into the waistband of his swim trunks, wanting to roll them down. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together, Frankie! Just the two of us...." And I wanted to tug down his swim trunks in the water. I could feel his hands going to the clasp of my halter, and I knew he had the same idea.
"Oh, Frankie! Take my suit off!" I shrilled and I started tugging down his trunks. "Let's swim and play nude! We don't need any clothes! We only need each other-"
I thought I'd go wild, my halter coming off and floating in the water. Frankie lifted upward and I was able to yank down his snug swim trunks, his long and thick cock bobbing up beautifully in the water. I let the trunks go, so damned anxious to get my hands about the firm jut of swollen prick. I had to wait a few seconds while he nervously tugged down my bikini-bottoms.
"Oh, free...." I moaned the very moment they were off me. "I feel so free!" And I worked a hand down to the swollen prick seemingly floating by itself in the water. I had both hands instantly about it, grooving on the enormous size of it, noting that he had more to offer than a lot of the more mature studs I had been swinging with. I couldn't believe how I could work both hands on it, knowing that he had to have all of ten inches of thick meat.
"Oh, Frankie!" I groaned, suddenly feeling a hand going flush to my lovemound in the water. "Oh, do it, Frankie-darling!" I encouraged a couple of fingers to crawl right up into my loveslit and work in and out like a cock.
"You feel so terrific!" He tightened his hands on me down there. "Oh, wow-" And those fingers were going wild, the water gushing all about them, causing big bubbles.
I had to get into my experimentation of him in the water, working one hand solidly on the swollen prick, knowing I couldn't bear to remove it. And then I sent the other hand exploring, first to his low-slung scrotum that seemed to be swimming all by itself. I worked my fingers carefully about to trace the enormous balls and then sent the hand down further into the inner reaches of his thighs. And then right up his asshole, a finger instantly tracing the crack of his ass, enjoying the tight feel of him back there.
"Frankie, I've been so lonely!" And I had to jam my mouth into his again, letting my tongue slither and twine his. He could only groan his need of me and we were slashing all about the water. It seemed forever until we could calm ourselves and then we were both looking over to the side of the pool, directly at a lounging couch. I nodded to him, spelling my need right out, and he responded by tugging me toward him, helping me to float over to that side of the pool.
I wanted to screech out how fantastic he looked as he pulled himself out of the water first, his bare ass before my eyes, his hard cock and his low-slung balls bouncing beautifully at the perfect angle. I loved the water-soaked look of him and then I really went wild as he turned toward me, widening his thighs in a show of young strength as he extended his hands down to help pull me out of the pool.
I offered him my hands, letting him do most of the work as my water-drenched nude frame came up above the water line. He pulled me over the edge of the pool, my knees settling down right there. I could have pushed upward to get on my feet, but my mouth was suddenly at a slight upward and over angle from the proud jut of his cock. I could watch it bobbing beautifully, the scrotum hanging loose and free.
"Oh, Frankie, you're such a terrific young man now...." I worked my hands out of his and started them at his trim hips. "You're a young man...." I was amazed at such an enormous stud-prick on a fifteen year old boy. "So terrific...." I trembled as I widened my stance on my knees, running my hands tightly down his thighs, realizing that the thinness of his frame and his legs made his proud cock seem all the thicker.
I couldn't bear to just look at that beautiful young body of his. I imagined what it would be like.
I was getting all the fears and doubts and frustrations right through the action, closing my eyes didn't quite cut it. I opened them wide and zoomed them down on his teenaged frame, noting the youthful lines, so close to changing into the more mature lines of manhood. I wanted to keep him like that forever and I scorched my eyes right down beyond his navel, right to where the bottom of his stomach flowed to his pubic push and base of his huge prick. Yeah, right to where I was wildly driving my pussy up and down on it, greedily possessing the boy. I tilted backward all the more, leaving a wide glide-path for my eyes as I drove my pussy up and down the long line of hard cock. I scorched my eyes right into the coupling, watching the steady pistoning, his thick cock disappearing as my greedy cunt covered it each time.
Up ... up ... up ... all that thick and swollen base of hard prick coming into sight, my eyes actually hurting as I concentrated on the boyish wonder of him. Hard and fast, I could drown out all the doubts and fears and frustrations as long as I was hypnotized by the beautiful coupling, my cunt slamming up and down on the proud jut of cock.
I could actually watch the beads of sweat shining. I shifted position and opened my mouth wide to offer him a new experience. I looked up at him for a brief moment, almost as though I wanted him to know that I was proud of what I was doing. I couldn't hold back my greedy sounds, and down I went, working my mouth furiously to the very base of the heavily swollen prick. All the way down, not content until I could feel my lips touching the very base of his stomach, up snug to the lustrous black pubic bush that had that newly grown look to it. "It feels so great!" he groaned, his hands, continually tightening at the back of my head. "Oh, wow ... "
The taste of young cock ... I was hooked the very moment I started my mouth traveling up and down the swollen shaft. It was so fantastically mansized and yet it had that special taste to it, new and unused, it made me feel like explorer. I worked my mouth up and down in long strokes, some of them fast and some very slow. I had to groove on the very special feel of his young body. I worked my hands from the start of his back, solidly down his buttocks, fingers pressed in toward his asshole. Right down the back of his thighs, I went wild on the solid but lean feel of him. I went all the way down his legs, moving my hands to the front of him. All the way down, never missing a mouth-stroke, until my fingers toyed with his toes, knowing that I would proudly kiss his feet.
"Let me do it to you," he moaned, his hands exploring every part of my body.
"Let me shove it to you!" he came more to the point, his hands tight as they edged down to the front of me to grasp the high rise of my knockers.
"Oh, yes, Frankie, yes!" I reluctantly edged my mouth off the swollen prick. "Oh, give it to me!" And I could sense him urging me over to the lounging couch. "Right here, Frankie, here and now!" And I flipped right over on my back at the edge of the pool, throwing my legs out wide for him to enter me.
"Oh, wow-" He got right down on his knees, aiming the swollen prick to my pried-apart pussy.
"Give it to me, lover, give it to me!" And I gyrated right up to him, helping him make the initial contact of cock to pussy. The touch of his cock to the pussy-lips sent off a string of shrill noises within him and he planted his hands solidly at my hips, thrusting his cock hard and fast to the very core of me, slamming into the base of me until I could feel the low-slung scrotum thudding up into the start of my asshole.
"I don't want to hurt you-" he groaned to the sound of my muffled cry of joy and mixed pain.
"Do-do...." I writhed and twisted, getting the feel of having my pussy jam-packed by so much boyish cock. "Please ... all you want...."
I went wild at the feel of the boyish frame over me, with more cock shoved to me than most mature men could offer. "All you want, Frankie!"
He pistoned smooth cock to me, fast and furious, getting right up on his knees to shove the limit into the very core of my pussy. Hard and fast, I had to hang on, grooving on the steady cock-slamming. I worked my nails into the firm flesh of his back, urging him to work his hands right up underneath at my buttocks. I loved the feel of being lifted each time, of being thrown up into his surging cockthrusts.
"I can't hold it-" he almost sobbed, as though I had expected him to last forever. "I can't-"
"Together, Frankie!" I gyrated wildly, twisting and turning all of my anatomy down there. "Oh, take me with you-" And I exploded only seconds after I felt the flood of his heavy semen gushing all of my loveslit.
"Together...." I buckled and shuddered to a stop, urging him to come down heavy on me, to plant all of his wirey frame over my spent body. "It was beautiful, together...." I wanted to shout out my newly found joy.
"Was I good enough?" Frankie whispered hoarsely, nervously moving about on top of me, his spent cock still seemingly hard deep within my loveslit. "I mean ... was I okay?"
"Oh, yes, Frankie-darling"" I worked fast and wet kisses all over his face, up to the lobe of one ear and then the other. And then I had to race my mouth down to one side of his neck and then the other, gnashing my teeth into the firm flesh of him. "You're a terrific lover!"
"You got me so excited," he confessed. "From the very moment we got in the car!"
"My terrific young lover-oh, my handsome boy!" I shrilled and I knew I had found a new plateau of sexual excitement, all my stress on making love with a boy. I twisted and turned and worked my vagina walls on his spent cock, feeling it throb back to life, hard and ready to go. I smugly told myself that I was tired of men. I was even tired of the young studs in their early twenties.
Boy-loving . .,. that's where it had to be at, and I had to run my hands up and down his firm back, loving that teenaged feel of him, right down to the trim buttocks and the feel of his tight asshole.
Boy-worship . .,. that would be my big sexual-thing, and I would have Frankie all to myself, like a young husband.
My boy-husband ... I tried the exciting thought on for size and it made me throb all the harder, gyrating my body up into his young frame planted solidly on top of me. I anticipated days and nights of him, planning ahead to share one bed. My boy-husband....
"It's my turn to do it to you, Frankie!" I urged him to spin around, flat on his back, as I worked into position over him, his rockhard cock never leaving my pussy. "Just lie back with your legs spread out wide and watch me do it to you!"
I worked myself into the perfect Female-Superior position, working my hands down on his trim hips for support. I had my pussy-lips pried apart the limit as my thighs straddled his lean and boyish frame the limit. I worked my line of sight to his dark eyes and the sensual look of his face, enjoying the sight of his long, water-soaked hair falling all over his forehead. I grooved all the more on the muscled chest, slamming my snatch all the harder over the perfect jut of his cock. I went wild at the taut look of his stomach and I slammed down harder as though I was trying to tear myself apart on that swollen shaft of prick.
"I want to please you, Frankie ... really please you-" And I lifted upward, driving my aching pussy upward on the long line of hard cock. All the way up, to the very tip of it. And then I got the pussy-to-cock action in high gear, thrusting fast and hard, making all of me really hurt down there as I made it in the Female-Superior position.
He was groaning his pleasure, as though he didn't have enough left over to waste on words. We were making it on the edge of the pool and I was soaring in my position of being the sexual aggressor. I drove down harder and faster, seemingly ready to tear myself apart to please my teenaged lover-my boy-husband.
"Stay with me...." I inwardly groaned, going wild at the thought of Frankie as my boy-husband. And then slamming pussy to cock, the beads of perspiration bouncing wildly off the sexual coupling, I thought of Barbara. The boy's mother ... my best friend ... the woman I had made love with so many years back....I could feel my frustration suddenly mounting. I could distinctly recall the jail sentence: "Ninety days!" And with good behavior, Barbara would be out before that. And then she would want her Frankie back. I would be able to see him, but then he wouldn't be totally mine, every moment of the day and night.
I found myself digging my hands more fanatically about his hips, pressing down and driving myself harder and harder into the proud jut of his swollen prick. I couldn't stop myself and I hated myself for it. I was already being the possessive bitch, not even wanting to give the boy back to his mother-my best friend.
Mine ... I shuddered and drove my aching pussy continually down on his hard cock. I had to have Frankie as mine, all mine, not to be shared with his mother or anybody else. And then I was grabbing at his hips and thrusting pussy even harder over his swollen shaft of prick as I thought of girls his own age. I knew damned well the young bitches wouldn't leave a boy as handsome as Frankie alone.
I almost wanted to know then and there if he had a special girl. I was in instant fear that there was-or would be-a girl his age, just as my need for him would continue to mount. I had to work out all my frustrations and anxieties and I didn't want to think too far ahead. I especially wanted to shut out the thought of the first visit to Frankie's mother in jail. I wondered if I would be able to face Barbara.
Only the sexual ecstasy-that was all I wanted to experience at that fantastic moment and I tried closing my eyes and thrusting pussy to cock all the harder, my hands down tight on his waist.
I was getting all the fears and doubts and frustrations right through the action, closing my eyes didn't quite cut it. I opened them wide and zoomed them down on his teenaged frame, noting the youthful lines, so close to changing into the more mature lines of manhood. I wanted to keep him like that forever and I scorched my eyes right down beyond his navel, right to where the bottom of his stomach flowed to his pubic bush and base of his huge prick. Yeah, right to where I was wildly driving my pussy up and down on it, greedily possessing the boy. I tilted backward all the more, leaving a wide glide-path for my eyes as I drove my pussy up and down the long line of hard cock. I scorched my eyes right into the coupling, watching the steady pistoning, his thick cock disappearing as my greedy cunt covered it each time.
Up....up ... up ... all that thick and swollen base of hard prick coming into sight, my eyes actually hurting as I concentrated on the boyish wonder of him. Hard and fast, I could drown out all the doubts and fears and frustrations as long as I was hypnotized by the beautiful coupling, my cunt slamming up and down on the proud jut of cock.
I could actually watch the beads of sweat bounce off the union, every time I rammed myself down on it, all of my body trembling in the thunder of the action. Hard and fast and long, since the boy was able to hold out so much longer the second-time-around. But I couldn't, I had to slow up to buckle and shudder and spend one load, and then get right back into it to take him with me.
"Now-" he finally groaned, pinned down beneath in my Female-Superior position. "Oh, now...." he spent his load and the upward gush of it felt fantastic. Only a matter of seconds and I was spending again as I rammed myself all the way down on him, that enormous prod of cock seemingly ready to tear me apart.
We were resting beautifully together, when a plane flying overhead suddenly reminded us of the outside world. I had that smug feeling-if only the world could see me now, making love to a handsome boy of fifteen! I kissed him a number of times and separated slightly from him, realizing dusk was starting to set in.
"Are you hungry, Frankie?"
"I'm starving!"
"Oh, my handsome boy-husband...." I had to stress my thoughts aloud, flicking kisses all over the side of his neck as we both got up. "Will you be my boy-husband this summer?" He nodded that he would and I playfully slapped his ass and told him to dive in the pool to retrieve our bathing suits, while I'd fix us some dinner.
That night ... I can never forget our first night in bed together. He had earlier hinted that he enjoyed seeing me in only bikini panties and a bra, and I wore my finest for him. I had put it across that I grooved on the sight of him in only his jockey shorts, up snug about the crotch. I'd wanted to serve him and when I went to get him a pair of undershorts I noted that one pair was two sizes smaller than the others.
"They're too tight," he had told me, I should get rid of them-"
"Wear them just for me," I got all worked up. "Real tight, that's how I want to see them on you!" I was about to hand him the shorts, but I had the wildest urge to put them on him myself. "Let me put your shorts on," I playfully urged him to lift up a foot as I got down on my knees.
"If I can take off your panties and bra later," he laughed and I knew I had gotten him to really loosen up. It was all so sexually free and easy between us and I loved being down on my knees to put his undershorts on. "I love to take care of you," I murmured, wanting to mother him so much in a far-out sexual manner. "Really adore you-" I slipped the shorts on first over one foot and then the other. I was about to start tugging up on the very brief undershorts, but I paused, looking up at him first. "Every last part of your body is wonderful to me, Frankie!" I proudly announced, and I worked my mouth right down to the floor to kiss his feet, going boldly back and forth. And then each toe, I worked my pressed lips to each toe, going from one foot to the other.
"Oh, far out!" He worked his hands eagerly on my bra-cups, snapping at the stretch material. "Wild-" And he tightened as I worked the undershorts up his legs and thighs, flicking my lips behind my action.
"I love to look up to you," I stressed, restraining the upward movement of the undershorts as it came to the edge of his balls. "Oh, how am I going to get all that hard cock in these little shorts!" I shrilled in joy. "It's going to bulge like crazy! And I'll just adore it!"
I worked my mouth up to the tip of his cock, saluting it with a number of fast and wet kisses, wanting the taste of it before I covered it with the snug briefs. It was a wild bit, really turning me on. Fully clothed, he had frustrated me until I had him totally nude. But totally nude, I could play games with him, covering up the highlight area of him with the snug briefs. I moistened his cock thoroughly, working my tongue fast all over it, even to the underside of the swollen shaft.
"Let me cover it-" I feigned sadness, tugging the jockeys up tight over his midsection, really struggling to get the white cotton pouch front over his tremendous jut of hard cock.
"They're too small-" he giggled.
"Your cock is too big!" I cut in, sucking in hard on my breath as I patted the cotton material down over the bulge of hard cock. and then I moaned my delight at working the one hand around to his rear. I had to get a taste of him back there and I hoped he didn't think it was too perverse of me.
"I groove on all of you, Frankie." I crawled around to the rear of him, tugging the waistband down enough to get my tongue in at the crack of his ass. "All of you-" And I tugged down more on the back of the shorts, racing the very tip of my tongue up and down fast, each time digging and probing into the asshole, seemingly in search of his shit.
"Let's get in bed now!" he moaned. "Like real married people!" he added, and I loved the sound of it.
I got up on my feet and was about to walk out to go over to my room, grabbing his hand for him to follow me. All he did was hold me back and look over at his bed. We were so damned close to his bed and it was as though he had to assert himself as the man-even the young man of only fifteen.
"Your bed-" I stressed, letting him tug me over to it, giving him the feeling of calling the shots for us. I bounced down on the bed, secretly telling myself that I enjoyed the fact that it was much smaller than my bed, that we had less room to sexually-operate on it.
"I want to do things for you," was his way of telling me that he wanted to be the sexual aggressor. "So that I can really be sure of myself." And he was spreading me out wide, moving into the V of my pried apart thighs.
"Oh, yes, Frankie!" I zoomed my eyes in on the tremendous bulge of the jockey shorts I had put on him, noting that the tip of his long cock was starting to edge out of the waistband at the dead center of his stomach, directly below his navel. "Make love to me, Frankie!" I remained still, not even giving in to my urge to grab for his jockey-pouch.
"You feel so good!" He hovered over me, seemingly getting it all together, his hands pressing down hard on the bra-cups. He seemed obsessed with playing with my bra, even more than my knockers. And then finally, he worked his fingers to the clasp and undid it, hurriedly
"Oh, Yes, Frankie!.. I encouraged him, arching upward as my mouth clamped down hard on one one brownish-hued tip, his hand taking care of the other. "Oh, do it-do it!" And I could feel his teeth gnashing into the milk-white flesh of me up there.
He stopped, just as suddenly as he had started making love to my knockers, and he got up higher on his knees again, solidly into the wide V of my pried-apart thighs. And then he hovered right over me down there, hooking his hands into the low-slung waistband of my filmy panties, his breath scorching eagerly through the sheer crotch.
I wanted to throw my snatch area wildly up to him, to screech and shout for him to put his mouth right down on me. I wanted to tell him to rip my panties right off me ... but I contained myself, sensing that he had a tremendous need at that time to be the sexual aggressor and work out his own actions. He was only a boy-with a tremendous need to be a man to me.
I tightened, feeling his fingers gripping in harder and harder on the waistband of my panties, and then I felt his mouth pressing up tight to the filmy panty-crotch, his tongue moistening it all, right through it to trace my loveslit.
I had to let out a string of gutteral sounds of sheer delight, writhing to the feel of his tongue through the filmy material. And then he seemed angry, anxious to prove that he could do something, and he tugged down my panties very hard and instantly had his face flush to my lovemound as he tugged down all the way on my panties.
All the way, until I could kick and shove my feet until I flung them off me. Frankie was already too busy, his hands going back to clamp up hard around my buttocks, his face buried deep into my lovemound. I wanted desperately to instruct him in how to eat me out down there, but I didn't. I sensed that it was his first time for oral-lovemaking and I had to let him make the discovery on his own.
I helped him silently, widening myself all the more and positioning myself upward and making a certain click come from down deep in my throat the very moment the tip of his tongue touched my sensitive clitoris. He got the idea and tongue-tickled it like a pro, really driving me wild.
"This is the first time I ever did that!" he proudly informed me, gasping for breath as he pulled his face slightly back from me down there. And I sensed that he knew he had done a great job of it, that otherwise he wouldn't have told me.
"You were just great!" I remained still for him, trying to figure his need to continually prove himself. "You're a terrific lover, Frankie!"
"I'm gonna really do it to you now!" He gave me little warning, aiming the thick cockhead to my pussy and thrusting it right to me. "I feel real sure of myself with you, Carol, real sure!" And he made me soar, the body of a boy, the sexual actions of a man-the greatest combination on the face of the earth.
We made it, over and over that night, and I let him take the sexual lead, dominating me, rolling me over and giving it to me whenever he had it hard and ready. All night long ... fantastically grooving with him in command-half boy, half man ... all of him a terrific lover.
That morning ... the sunshine beaming through the blinds, that was a different matter. He rolled over and curled up to the cleavage of my bare breasts. He looked up at me with sleep-filled eyes, and he didn't have to tell me, his eyes said it all: He wanted me to dominate him, to protect him and in a sexually perverse manner to mother him. The need was there, and I cuddled him up into the warm of me, working one hand into his tousled hair, the other edging down the flat of his stomach to toy with his semi-hard cock.
Believe me, the fact that it was even semi-hard was a tribute to his youth, after all the times we had made it through the night. No rush, he seemed to enjoy being held by me like that, having a need to brush the side of his face continually up against the lushness of my breasts.
My boy ... I wanted him to be my very young boy, playing a game of pretending that he was even younger than fifteen. I held him to me, and I knew that I was no longer lonely. Yeah, while I had been swinging from one cocktail lounge to the other, making it with the young studs in their early twenties, I was constantly lonely. And my need for the vacation with Mark, that had only been a need to escape. I didn't have to escape from myself while I held Frankie in my arms and inwardly murmured that he was my precious boy.
The meeting of the eyes ... a generation apart ... and yet so very close ... we had our meeting of the eyes just as he had tugged upward on the waistband of the swim trunks, really accentuating all his imprisoned meat.-He let go, and I knew that he had read in the same meaning to our very special meeting of the eyes. I could sense that he was nervous about it for that brief moment, all the other swimmers moving about, spectators on the bleachers getting restless and noisy. But I intensified my look at him, refusing to back off, and I sensed the very moment he felt safe about it, the moment he stopped thudding his toes into the tiled floor about the pool.
His smile was warm and sure. Then the whistle blew and he rushed off to join his teammates.
My precious boy ... my precious boy-lover ... and I held him tenderly to me, sensing that he was still sleepy from having thundered me so many times during the night. He was falling off to sleep and I encouraged it, knowing that we had the entire house to ourselves until late in the morning when my housekeeper came in for a few hours. I wanted him to rest, to be in shape for more wild flinging together.
My turn, I told myself, knowing that the roles were reversed and that I would be making wild love to his young frame. I wanted him to be in restful slumber, and I tried to calm his restless moving about, his groaning sounds, as though he were having troubled dreams.
"Mommy ... Mommy...." he moaned in his half-sleep, clutching at my breasts, trying to bury himself up close to me, his knees jabbing in toward my bare lovemound. "Let me stay with you, Mommy!" he gave away his closeness to his mother.
I had a very trying moment, wondering if he would only be using me as a sexual substitute for his desires for his mother. I calmed myself, knowing that I had to take whatever was offered me on his terms. And maybe I was doing the boy a good thing, giving him a sexual-substitute for his mother.
I let him sleep and I held him close to the cleavage of my breasts, the warm spot where a boy could sublimate his mother-need. I worked the one hand through his tousled hair, letting the other hand toy about his navel, grooving on the sight of his throbbing semi-hard cock.
"Good morning...." he smiled, and I held him even closer to my breasts.
"Make love to my breasts!" I shrilled, making it easy for him to practice his need. "I love it when you hug and squeeze my breasts and kiss them all over! Oh, yes, Frankie, that's how I love it!" And I went down to my need, fisting my hands tightly about his rapidly hardening cock.
He was clinging to me up there and I rolled him right over, letting my lush breasts almost smother him as I widened my snatch and lowered it over his hard cock. I gyrated and shoved myself to him two ways; throwing him first my breasts, and then my pussy over his swollen prick.
I worked him furiously, showering all my love and attention on him, keeping right at it until I could sense his explosion about to happen. I only had to work my sounds up higher and he got the message, holding himself right up there to me until we exploded together.
"I need a shower," he finally gasped, getting it all together again as I rolled off his body, my pussy aching as it withdrew from his spent cock. "You wanna scrub my back, Carol?"
"Yeah, I'll scrub all of you!" And that was exactly what I did, working rich lather into every muscle and sinew of his young body. It was almost my way of thanking him, of getting into the shower with him and working the soapy lather over every last inch of his anatomy. Almost ritual-like, I even soaped up every toe and the cracks in-between. All of him, right up his asshole, kneeling to him back there. Yeah, and then letting the heavy spray of water cleanse the soap off, followed by my very eager tongue.
No sex act ... we didn't need it, the showering together, soaping him up, that was the sex act to us, and we were both grooving on it. We even dried each other off with big towels, concentrating on the highlights of our bodies, pressing warmly wherever it was a turn-on.
I wanted to serve him, and I had just started his breakfast, telling myself that he would need an enormous amount of food to make up for all the energy he had burned up, and how much more energy I hoped he would burn up during the day. I was preparing breakfast, so damned happy, when the sudden knock at the back door came.
My part time housekeeper, an elderly lady who always attempted to fill me in on the small community gossip, even though I never seemed interested in hearing it ... I hurried to the kitchen door, opening it and planning to tell her that she wouldn't have to bother to clean the house that day. I suddenly didn't want any part of the outside world to mar my joy with Frankie. I wanted him all to myself and the rest of the world be damned.
I had managed to open the door for her, but she started talking first, not giving me the opportunity to tell her that I wouldn't need her that day. And then Frankie loudly entered the kitchen, looking so beautifully scrubbed. He thudded to a stop as he saw my housekeeper.
"Oops, I'm sorry!" Frankie turned red, and I noticed that he had his belt unbuckled yet, and his fly was unzipped. He had been tugging on his blue denim cut-off shorts as he had been entering the kitchen. He turned his back on us and he was so obviously zipping up his fly.
That rear-end of his ... those unbelievably snug blue denim shorts hugged his buttocks beautifully, advertising the crack of his ass. They were so damned tight that I could easily make out the hemline of his jockey shorts. I looked over at my housekeeper, and she seemed glued to the sight of the handsome boy.
"Martha...." I gestured weakly, annoyed that the outside world had entered our sexual Utopia. Frankie turned around and smiled at the elderly lady, smoothing out his crotch-area with one hand as he did.
"Martha...." I started over again to introduce the boy to her. "This is Frankie...." And then I don't know why, but I was getting nervous and I blurted out: "He's my nephew! He's going to be staying with me this summer...." And I realized that I did not have to explain a damned thing to anyone. But I had, and Frankie was looking over at me.
The cover-up ... the excuses to cover the real truth ... I had started in that ugly direction on the very first outsider we had encountered. I had to try to explain to Frankie, but I couldn't very well do it then and there. I went through the motions of being pleasant as my housekeeper told Frankie how nice it would be to have him around for the summer.
I had an urge to rudely cut her off, to instantly tell her that I wouldn't need her housekeeping duties for the remainder of the summer. But I didn't dare, realizing that she might suspect something if I did take that course of action. I was really annoyed for that present moment, since I had wanted to fuss and make Frankie a big breakfast. I just wanted to get away from her, it was as though I didn't want to share Frankie with anyone else-not even in seemingly harmless conversation with an elderly lady.
"We'll get out of your way so that you can clean up, Martha," I cut in. "I'm treating Frankie at that new pancake house down the road."
"Well, enjoy yourselves, I'll be through in a couple of hours, got the bathroom to do today," she jabbered on, and then she turned back to Frankie with a big smile. "You'll have to meet my grandson, Frankie! They live a little way down the road and he's just about your age-and I'm sure you'll like playing with his friends."
"We'll see you later." I was motioning for Frankie to cross the kitchen, and I had a hurting pang of fear, not wanting the boy to mingle with the outside world while he was staying with me. Those boys ... I didn't want him to be a part of that teenaged group, and especially not since I always noticed them hanging around the teenaged girls whenever I went to the main part of town to do my shopping.
Frankie managed to get past Martha, giving her forced smiles all the way. He followed me out of the kitchen and I'm sure he was aware of our sudden change in breakfast plans. Yeah, that and the fact that I had found it necessary to tell her that he was my nephew.
"It's best that way," I finally explained to Frankie, driving along. "People just don't mind their own business ... and you are like a very special type of nephew to me. And I can still remember how we were pulling up to a traffic light and I had placed a hand on his thigh. Another car had pulled up alongside us, two guys in their early twenties sitting up front. I hurriedly withdrew my hand from Frankie, so damned frightened by the outside world and how it could come between me and my new young lover.
We couldn't shut off the outside world, no matter how we tried, and during the next few days we made the most of it, settling for the time we could be together. That made all the rest bearable, and I could live the string of white lies you have to keep going to put up that front of normalcy for the outside world.
Frankie had to have friends his own age, it was inevitable. I couldn't keep him to myself forever. My housekeeper brought her grandson over one morning and introduced him to Frankie. His name was Harold and I was instantly grooving on the good looking boy. I found myself sneaking glances over at his wirey frame clad so fantastically in the dungarees and T-shirts. He was wearing boots that gave him a taller more rugged look.
That boy ... I must have stared at him once too often, because I was trembling certain that he was wise to me. But then I told myself that he couldn't possibly know about my making love to Frankie. And then I really had trouble composing myself, realizing that I couldn't seem to hide how I dug the young stuff. I instantly tried to tell myself that I felt that way only about Frankie, but I couldn't get away with it.
Martha was rattling on, telling Frankie how much he would enjoy playing with Harold and his friends. She was talking to them as though they were children. But me, I was sneaking glances from Frankie to Harold and looking at them as sexually-ready males in their prime. My housekeeper was talking, but I wasn't really listening, I was too damned busy studying the two highly sexual objects before me.
That teenaged garb ... it did so much for their young anatomy, broadcasting the trim and wirey bodies, the sleek look at the hips and especially the solid fronts of them. I was so damned turned-on and I told myself that I shouldn't have worn the hot pants and halter. I shouldn't have worn it because it only reminded me of my aching pussy and my throbbing knockers all the more, and because Harold was greedily working his eyes all over me, from the high rise of my breasts, right down into the inner reaches of my thighs.
I wasn't really listening to them talking, except to take in the fact that Harold was two months younger than Frankie and I got a big kick anticipating what his body might be like, so damned anxious to go downward in days, weeks, months and years on my sudden boy-kick.
A boy-kick ... I was sweating, trying to contain myself. I was on a boy-kick and I had to admit how I had been noticing more and more of the boys around town. I had to face the fact that I had tried to hide myself for two days. An extremely young boy, thirteen at the most, had turned me on at the super market. And the sandy-haired boy had been with his mother. I had been shopping with Frankie and finding excuse after excuse to push my cart in the aisles where the mother had been shopping with her young boy. That boy's flashing smile and his sensual face ... that had hooked me in the start. And then my eyes had floated down his extremely thin frame, noting how his gaily-colored shirt was opened down the front of him, his lean and taut chest and stomach beautifully sun-bronzed. And then I had not been able to unhook my eyes from the boy's snug walking shorts.
I had that funny feeling that the boy's mother sensed something wrong, as though her protective antennae had gone out as I kept my eyes scorching all over that beautifully handsome young boy. I had stressed my being with Frankie, almost pretending he was my son as a cover-up. And I had been so damned nervous about it all, until they had checked out and left the super market.
I had wondered if Frankie was wise to it, how hung-up I had been while grooving on that beautiful boy. I tried to pull out of the thoughts of how various neighborhood boys had attracted me, but I had to admit that I was hooked on the boy-kick.
Frankie and Harold were getting to be friends, talking with my housekeeper, and I could tell by the way Harold sneaked glances at me that he was a hip kid. I couldn't help myself, I was right at it, working my eyes all over Harold's anatomy, certain I was watching the gradual bulging of his tight crotch. And then I was looking at Frankie in a new light, wondering if he sensed what was going on.
Frankie and Harold ... two teenaged boys for me to groove on ... I had a sexual fantasy instantly going, and I imagined myself right down on my knees to them, rubbing hands both ways hard on jockey-pouches. I played out my make-believe of comparing length and thickness and shape. I played out using one hand each way to tug down the snug jockey shorts and watch young cocks bob up at attention. I got wobbly, the make-believe getting the best of me. Yeah, right to the point where I thought I could actually taste cock as I imagined my mouth running back and forth, my tongue flicking wildly from one teenaged cock to the other.
"Aunt Carol!" Frankie tugged at my arm, and as I glanced over at him I realized that he suddenly had the need for the cover, once he was with someone his own age. "I'm going with Harold to meet some of the other guys!"
"Okay, Frankie...." I tried to play it straight, warning myself to not give it all away by being the possessive bitch. "You have a good time
"Could I bring the guys over this afternoon to use the swimming pool?" He was looking right into my face.
"Sure, Frankie, whatever you like...."
I can still remember how I watched Frankie and Harold making their exit from the kitchen. I was sexually grooving on the rears of them, my hands tingled at the sight of how their snug pants hugged their buttocks. Boys ... young and beautiful ... and at their sexual prime ... so ready to be exploited by a scheming bitch like me.
I couldn't bear to be with the housekeeper, all of my body trembling as I faced my new hangup squarely for the first time. I needed a drink, but I had to wait until the housekeeper went to clean upstairs. I hurried to the bar in my sunken living room and sneaked a double. I hated myself for trying to put up a front before that woman-it was my house and if I wanted to take a drink that was my damned business.
I had to have another double, and then another quick double. I was about to pour still another and I had the need to talk to myself, suddenly feeling so lost and alone. I had to tell myself that I didn't need another drink, that I was feeling wobbly on what I already had.
I knew what I needed, I had to tightly fist my hand. I knew damned well what I needed and I angrily slapped my fisted hands against my face, angry that I was hooked on the boy-kick. And still I thought I could bluff my way out. I rushed to the phone to call Mark, annoyed that I had been avoiding him, turning him down on the phone.
A mature guy ... but still young ... Mark was twenty years old, and could take a woman to bars and out to places. That was what I needed, and not those early-teeners in their damned tight dungarees and soiled white sneakers. I picked up the receiver and couldn't remember Mark's phone number. I put the receiver down again, realizing that I didn't want to remember his number.
I knew what I wanted to do, I had to tightly fist my hands again, that moist feeling getting the best of me down there, my panties glued right up to my throbbing, honey-hued snatch. I knew damned well what I wanted and that was the sight and sound and feel of the boys.
Beautiful boys ... I inwardly murmured, and then I heard my housekeeper coming back down the stairs. I had to get out of the house, I just didn't want to see her or talk to her. I had to be with my own thoughts, right or wrong, I had to face solidly up to it.
I rushed out of the house through the kitchen door. I was about to hurry to my car, telling myself that I needed a ride in the country air.
"You damned liar!" I screeched at myself, knowing that I wanted to go into town and hang around the shopping area, hoping to view a lot of teenaged boys, especially that really young sandy-haired boy ... hoping that he wouldn't be with his mother. "You bitchin' liar...." I hated myself, turning and running back toward the heavily-shaded area behind my house.
The swimming pool ... I thudded to a stop right by it and I wanted to sob. I had to bite down hard on my lower lip and hold my hands so tightly fisted that they were actually aching me. I knew I had to be going mad, my imagination running wild to the point of actually viewing a variety of teenaged boys that Frankie and Harold would be bringing over. The preview of the coming attraction, my imagination gone wild, was just too much to take. I was trembling by the poolside, imagining boy after boy, snug swim trunks accentuating their youthful male equipment. I was imagining all sorts of swim trunks and all sorts of exciting crotches of semi-hard and rockhard cock-outlines.
All those beautiful boys ... I thought I could really see them. And then, that sandy-haired boy ... the one who had driven me wild at the super market ... I imagined he was among the boys, looking so beautifully handsome in a boyish bikini swimsuit.
"No ... no ... no!" And I screamed loud, knowing that I would never be able to actually take the real thing that afternoon, when all those boys were coming over to use my pool. "Help me! Somebody help me!"
I fell in the pool, and I don't remember much after that, for the rest of that day. Maybe it was best that way, because now I can start to work on my problem ... all alone ... it's so hard to share it with anyone else. Maybe that was why I was so anxious to give you my taped interview. Maybe I should play it over and over again, maybe I'll find the threads to a new start. But how can you deny beautiful youth ... those boys ... they're all about us ... wherever you go ... all about us....
CASE HISTORY: "BRENDA"
It had been building up, my big-thing for young stuff, but I had managed to keep it under wraps for the first few weeks of my marriage. Crazy, I know ... but I had thought that marriage was the answer, that I would settle down, content to have sex with one man my own age.
It wasn't working that way at all, and instead of getting hung-up on eighteen and nineteen year-old studs at their sexual prime, I suddenly had greedy eyes for the boys in their early teens.
Hey, I'm not an old bag, I'm only twenty-four, but for me the urge for young stuff came damned young. I know it's usually older women in their forties and fifties who dig the very young boys, but it took a hold on me from the time I turned twenty. I was always going out with younger guys, grooving on the fact that I was more experienced and that I could show them a thing or two.
I was balling like crazy back in my home town, making it with all the guys in their late teens and a few in their early twenties. The young guys ball you, spreading you out to all their buddies, and then they talk about you, giving you a bad reputation.
I had a bad reputation, all right, even scrawled on walls and sidewalks: Brenda digs the young cock!
Okay, you get to hate yourself and you'll do anything to change your ways. So when I met Pete at work in the city, I thought for sure he was my way out. He seemed like such a great guy and only two years older than me. He's a good looking guy, all right, and I knew he would treat me right.
Easy-going-that would be the best way to describe Pete, and he asked me to marry him only a few weeks after he had known me. Of course, he didn't know about my reputation back in my home town. I should explain, I drove to work in the city, about twenty miles every day. Another thing, I wouldn't let Pete screw me when he dated me and he really figured me for a good girl, straight and narrow. What he didn't know was that I just wasn't sure about having sex with a mature male, since I really only craved the young studs.
He kept asking me to marry him, and a perfect way out of my hangup seemed inevitable. The beauty of it all was that he lived in another small town on the other side of the city, far enough away from my hometown and my cruddy reputation. And when he took me to his home town, the setup was perfect. Pete's mother had been a widow, and when she had died a year back, he had been left a large house, all furnished and no one to take care of it.
It was a fair exchange, I told myself, convinced that I would make Pete a good wife. And once married, I would force myself to really get into satisfying lovemaking with him, since he would be my husband.
Well, we made it together, but it was nothing to brag about, just plain screwing, and Pete didn't seem to need much to satisfy his sexual needs. Hey, some guys are like that. I'll tell you what was happening to me, once I no longer went to work and had the entire day to be a housewife. I had my eyes on all the handsome young schoolboys in the neighborhood, and I would create all sorts of wild fantasies of servicing them all.
I wanted the marriage to work, and I guess I didn't dare look at the eighteen and nineteen year old studs I was so painfully aware of in my new village surroundings. I had really cut my old home town out of my life, not ever wanting to go back there, and since I didn't give a damned about my parents that was quite easy to do.
My new life ... a housewife in a new village ... I really tried to fit into the mold. Hell, I even became friendly with the other housewives, getting together for coffee and card games, shopping together and that whole suburban routine. Anything and everything to keep my mind busy and try to be a good wife to Pete. It was a fair deal, I kept telling myself, and I owed him that much.
Okay, so I fooled myself into believing that all the sexual fantasies of the younger teenaged boys were harmless, that I could keep my desires under the proper restraints. But when you've got a big hangup, you get to be so damned cunning about getting what . you want. I was a neighborhood housewife and I had a right to be friendly with the children who lived close to us. I tried to show my friendliness to boys and girls of various ages, but it was only my cover-up to get closer to a really handsome boy who might have turned me on. And let me tell you, if they were from thirteen to sixteen and they had lanky bodies with that sensual look-I would damned sure get turned on. And when they were dressed in the really exciting young garb, all the tight pants accentuating those young crotches I would lose control of my senses.
You can't describe it unless you've ever really had a hangup. I mean, when you see what you know you've just got to have, all reason and sane logic goes right out the window. You can only operate on one level, what's driving you crazy and what you're going to do about it.
There's a safety valve, hurrying to lock yourself up to masturbate to the fantasy of what's turned you on. Let me tell you, I couldn't start to count the many times I've had to finger-fuck my pussy, straining to bring in a crystal-clear fantasy of a teenaged boy yanking down his jockey shorts to let that young cock bob up close to my mouth. It works on a temporary basis, until you see the same boy again or another one that excites you even more. And sometimes, the same boy will be wearing a different outfit-snug cutoff shorts or a different pair of tight denims-and you're right back into the same old torment with a painful addition.
So as I was telling you, only a few weeks of married life and the early Fall was beginning to set in, and I discovered that my husband lived only for the professional football season. Every weekend he was glued to the TV set, making trips to the refrigerator for cans of beer during the commercials. I was suddenly so alone, spending more time out on the porch, watching those handsome young boys playing about in the neighborhood.
It was a hot and muggy Fall and all the boys seemed to be living in those snug cut-off shorts, really tapered at the crotch. You know, when they take old trousers and cut the legs off jagged to make them into what could really be called boyish hot pants. And they all seemed to be running about in only sneakers and no socks, and that always drives me wild. Yeah, and the shirts wide open, revealing the waistbands of their jockey shorts. I really go ape at the thought of boys' equipment contained in exceptionally tight jockey shorts.
Crazy ... I know I need help ... I should have realized it a long time ago . ... but in department stores I've often found myself looking at and feeling the underwear in the boys' department, pretending to be considering purchasing it, like any mother of youngsters might do. And I would really go all the way down into the small sizes, thinking of young cocks standing at attention, the pubic bush barely starting to grow. Sick ... perverse ... or what ... I would keep it all within myself and then masturbate like crazy to the various fantasies of the young boys.
That lonely Fall . ... Pete either at work or glued to the TV set, watching football and getting half-bombed on so damned much beer. Yeah, and then not being in shape to at least throw me a straight and narrow fuck. I was getting bugged and I was starting arguments with Pete, using any flimsy excuse to get back at him for neglecting me for his TV football games.
That one Saturday afternoon ... I really had a reason to yell at him, and I did it right at the start of a football game.
"The lawn needs mowing!" I yelled at him. "I have enough to do in the house! It's been so hot out, the lawn keeps growing!" I wouldn't let up on him. "And you've been promising to help me straighten out the garage and the cellar!"
I wasn't getting very far with him, not until the first commercial. Then he told me to cool it, going to the phone and making a call. I wasn't really paying attention to his call, and the moment he was off the phone I was nagging him about the lawn mowing and the other outside jobs.
"Cool it!" he bellowed back. "I work hard all week-"
"It has to be done-"
"I just called Greg! He'll be over in a few minutes, he'll help you with everything! So I'll give him a few bucks-so just don't bug me!"
"Greg?...."
"Ed's kid!" he roared back impatiently. "From down the block! He's a good kid and he'll do the lawn and everything else!" And he rushed back to his TV set, a couple of cans of beer in his hands.
I was floating, moving out into the kitchen and out the door where I had the lawnmower ready, right by the start of the lawn. I mean I was really soaring, wildly anticipating my young helper that Pete had conveniently arranged for me.
"Greg...." I had to inwardly murmur the boy's name, getting that very instant moist feeling at the start of my pussy by just thinking about the fourteen year-old boy who was actually only a half inch short of six feet. I had listened to his mother boast that he would surely be six feet tall by the time he turned fifteen in December.
"Greg...." I waited impatiently for him to arrive, creating my own mental image of the handsome, dark-haired boy with the slim build. The last time I had seen the boy I was with Pete and the boy's parents were there by their lawn. I was almost in a state of shock trying not to give myself away as I couldn't take my eyes off him. He had been bareback, his chest beautifully sun-bronzed and the youthful tautness of his stomach was a beautiful thing to behold. He was wearing Bermuda shorts that really clung to him, especially at the crotch where I had noted a bulge forming to one side. And barefooted ... the most beautiful sight in the neighborhood.
I had not tried to talk to Greg alone, since he really frightened me. I can't quite explain it, but it was as though he had read my mind during that first meeting of our eyes. I sensed that he was a boy of many needs and that he wasn't totally understood by his parents. He had a certain bravado about him, especially when I noticed him playing with the other kids in the neighborhood, but much of it had to be a cover-up for his youthful insecurities.
Yeah, I had finger-fucked my pussy a number of times in the short span of a few days since I had first been aware of him. And one time, I had a feeling of actual jealousy as I watched him walking with a teenaged girl, just horsing around with her. I had wanted to be in that lucky young girl's place, and I would have known how to rub around and get some terrific feels of that exciting crotch of his.
I could feel my hot pants sticking right to my midsection, and I wished I had worn panties. I suddenly took stock of my outfit, noting the skimpy halter that matched the hot pants. I could feel my knockers throbbing to the point where I thought they would pop right through the halter, sending it flying into space. It may sound like bragging, but I've got rockhard breasts that really jut right out there.
I looked down to my loafers, and since it was so hot and muggy I had not bothered with stockings. I thought of hurrying in to put something else on, something less revealing ... and then I smugly told myself that I had the right outfit on for Greg's arrival.
I had to bite down hard on my lower lip, the moment I noticed him hurrying over to our house. He had grown so fast that he was on the awkward side, but it only added to his boyish charm. I went wild, not certain whether to start my inspection of his lean frame from top to bottom or vice-versa. He was terrific either way, especially at dead center.
Those penny-loafers, beautifully worn-out in boyish wear, looking even greater without any socks. I watched him advancing up our driveway, working my line of sight up his well-muscled thighs. Yeah, beautifully bare thighs, since he was wearing a pair of extremely snug cut-off shorts of white denim material.
I really went wild at how the white denim exaggerated the front of him, that bulge really sticking out at the V of his thighs. And the white denims seemed glued to the trim hips, set off by the large black leather belt and the big silver buckle.
He was wearing a shirt, but it was unbuttoned and out of his shorts, showing me his sun-bronzed chest and taut stomach. And, yeah, I thought I would orgasm on the spot as I hooked my eyes into the waistband of his undershorts so beautifully protruding over the black leather belt. He was moving closer and closer and I moved my line of sight up those fine lines of his stomach and the rippled muscles of his chest to take in that fantastic face, the warm smile and those big dark eyes of his.
I couldn't control myself, going wild inside myself as he beamed a big boyish "Hi!" to me, telling me what I already knew, that my husband had hired him to mow the lawn and help me with the other odd jobs.
I couldn't think of much to say and I only watched as he started mowing the lawn. I felt like such a damned fool, finding all sorts of excuses to be puttering about, watching the taut flow of his lean frame as he worked the lawnmower about the grass. And each time he approached me, I would sneak a glance down at his muscular thighs and then the crotch of his white denim shorts, convinced that I was watching the growth of him down there.
I would smile and then get so damned nervous about it all, just like a damned school girl. He would return the smile or give me a seemingly nervous glance. I was shaking, certain he was wise to me. I could fool so many of the other kids in the neighborhood, but not Greg ... he had me pegged, I sensed it.
So damned nervous, I just couldn't take much more of it, each time he came around with the mower I had to sneak glances at his crotch and up to the waistband of his shorts and the tautness of his stomach. Yeah, and then when he would push the mower past me I would concentrate on the back of his thighs and on up to the firm jut of his trim buttocks. I could feel my mouth watering, unable to stop the perverse desire to actually lick out his asshole.
I had the wildest fantasy going, of crawling around on that lawn, chasing after him. Only in my mental creation Greg was totally nude and his hard cock was jutting right out there, the balls dangling fantastically. I couldn't erase it, and it had reached the point where I couldn't stand it another moment. And I especially couldn't take another turn as he was approaching me. I had to do something, the panic button was sounding loud and crystal clear-danger ahead.
I ran, trying not to look too obvious as I hurried back into the house. Yeah, I was ready to lock myself in the bathroom and take the safety valve way out of masturbation. I struggled to catch my breath, glancing back out the kitchen window, that tall young Adonis driving me mad. I had to jam a hand hard up to the crotch of my hot pants, so damned wobbly on my feet.
Then it happened, I heard the cheering and noise of the football game, my husband was watching on TV in the living room. It was trailing into me, almost taunting me. It was as though it was mocking me that my husband didn't have time to take care of my sexual needs. I can't tell you how alone I felt at that very moment of my special need. I needed a mental out, and I was ready to blame much of it on my husband. Yeah, it was my big hangup, how I dug looking at teenaged boys, but if my husband had turned out to be a terrific husband maybe-just maybe-I might have gotten off the youth-kick.
I pulled away from the sounds of the TV coming from the living room, knowing my husband was glued to the football game in progress. I again concentrated on that beautifully handsome boy out there, aching all over at the thought of all that mansized anatomy on a boy of fourteen. It was almost miraculous and I wanted the miracle to touch me. I suddenly thought of the irony of a woman having to masturbate, to shove her own fingers into her own aching pussy while she was between a grown man she was married to, and a boy at the height of his sexual prime. Right in the middle, and I concentrated on the boy mowing the lawn, knowing that was the sex-fix I needed so desperately.
I faced a moment of truth-masturbation would only solve my problem for a damned short time, and then I would be hurting even more. I would see Greg, possibly playing around with other handsome .teenaged boys, and that old problem would be right back to haunt me-yeah, to send me masturbating again and again. I was tired of that frustrating route, I had to bring a change into it, and Greg mowing the lawn out there would be my first new step toward sexual liberation.
I had to have total sexual liberation, and that could only come from getting my sex-kicks as I needed them, and not how the straight and narrow world dictated. I made the decision, and I was determined to go through with it. Yeah, and I would get not only Greg, but all the young stuff I needed to keep going. I was a youth-addict, I told myself, and I had to get my fix.
Cunning ... play it smart ... and I felt so damned elated that I wasn't headed for the bathroom to masturbate. Instead, I opened the refrigerator and got out a coke-no, two cokes, since I had decided to join Greg in the pause that refreshes.
"Take a break, Greg!" I bounced right back out there. "It's too hot and muggy!" And I extended the awkwardly tall boy of fourteen a bottle of soda, my eyes continually bouncing down at the bulge of his white denim shorts.
"Thanks!" he stopped and wiped his brow with one hand, the other hand taking the coke from mine. "I'll be done pretty soon, Ma'am!"
"You don't need a glass, do you?" I asked, watching him take the coke in one hand, the other rubbing down one thigh. "Don't you kids like to drink out of the bottle?"
"Yeah...." And I could see his eyes hooking into my halter-imprisoned knockers, right into the lush cleavage. "That's the best way...." He absently brought the bottle to his bps to take the first sip.
"Like this-" I beamed a smile, arching my body for him and purposely posing whatever I had to offer. And let me tell you, gripping that bottle, the mouth of it inside my lips, I could only think phallic, my eyes going in solidly to the boy's crotch for a full concentration of the outline of imprisoned cock and balls.
"You're really young!" he beamed, thudding a foot into the grass. "What I mean is...." he flustered, his eyes roaming from my breasts down to the snugness of my hot pants. "You're not as old as my mother!"
"No, I guess not...." And I was standing continually closer to the boy, and I knew it just had to happen. You get the right vibrations, and I knew he was ready for me. And I reasoned that I could trust Greg. I had to keep it moving, before he finished the bottle of soda and returned to mowing the lawn. I just couldn't wait another moment, feeling my knockers throbbing like crazy, my pussy getting moist and the hot pants sticking right to me, right up the crack of my ass.
"You can leave the lawn for a while, Greg, I want to show you some things we have to move in the garage."
He beamed his willingness to help, and I sensed that he detected a possible adventure in it. He followed me quickly and I had the one moment of fear and doubt when we had both entered the garage through the small side door. The main overhead door up front was down and it was musty and cool in there. I instantly looked over to the short flight of stairs leading to the storage attic and I knew the place for possible action, yeah-right in a corner up there on some bales of old clothing and a wrapped-up mattress.
"Upstairs-" I tried to sound nonchalant, and I started up the rickety stairs first, forcing my steps to be sure, bringing it all together. Okay, call it what you will, but I could feel Greg's eyes all over my rear-end as he walked up the stairway behind me. I could feel those dark eyes of him edging right up the back of my thighs and scroching right through my hot pants. I had that wild tingling sensation coursing right through the crack of my ass-the kind of feeling that can only be stopped by a lot of hard cock.
"I want to get rid of most of this junk, Greg," I headed directly to that corner at the rear of the garage-attic. "Let's look it over-"
Luck was with me, let me tell you. I spun around to talk to him and he had moved right in and the back of my hand had thudded fantastically on the bulge of his crotch. A perfect hit, I could actually feel the throbbing hardness. I looked from his crotch up into his eyes, noting his frustration. I had to keep it going, the moment had to come about before either one of us might panic and find a way out.
"You're so tall...." I looked up into his face, edging continually up to him. "How tall are you?" I asked, already knowing. "Just a little under six feet tall-"
"Look how you tower over me!" And I pretended to stand against him for a comparison. But I'll tell you what I was doing, and that was to put the flat of my hand right up there to his crotch, actually feeling the bulging delight.
"I'm still growing!" he beamed and I took it in more ways than one, grooving on the feel of him down there. "I mean...." He flustered and moved about and his hand was down about the crotch of my hot pants, his shoulder edging to the start of a knocker.
"You're a good looking boy." I pushed into him, encouraging his hand all the more down about my hot pants. "I think of you as real grownup, Greg." I edged in closer and closer to him.
"I feel real big...." And he was beautifully blushing and I had to smile at the beautifully awkward boy.
"Are you laughing at me-" The smile was instantly wiped off his face.
"Oh, no, Greg!" I reached out and took his hand in mine. "I couldn't do that...." And my mouth was closer and closer to his. "Greg, I want you to try to understand something...." And I boldly shoved the other hand solidly to his bulging crotch, outlining his rockhard, imprisoned cock. "I really need you! I've been watching you, how young and handsome you are-"
"You're beautiful!" he blurted out, and I just had to move my lips up to his, pressing in a firm kiss. I backed that action up by really working my hand all over his crotch. I waited, finally getting those steady clicks from down deep in his throat and his hand went wild all over the crotch of my hot pants.
"I really need you." I finally edged my lips from his, taking his other hand and placing it on the high rise of my knockers. Let me tell you, the moment he had that big and bony hand up there, I thought my skimpy halter would pop right off the living, breathing mounds.
"This will have to be our secret, Greg. Promise me ... just our secret." And I worked a hand fast to undo my halter, letting the lushness tumble into his big hand, while his other hand worked all the faster down about my hot pants.
"I promise!" he groaned. "Promise you won't laugh if I tell you something!"
"I won't laugh, Greg, I promise!" I thought my hand would scorch right through his crotch down there.
"I haven't really had a girl yet! I mean, other than some kissing and a little fooling around one time-but she was just a dumb kid!" He bowed his head a little, slowing the actions of his hands up and down. "So I might not really know how to do everything....
"I'll show you, Greg!" I anxiously unzipped his fly. "I'll teach you!" And that idea really turned me on. "Like a very special teacher, Greg!" I worked a hand into his unzipped fly, grooving on the feel of the jam-packed jockey-pouch.
"Oh, wow!" he moaned and I could feel his breath coming hot all over my knockers.
"That's right," I was ready to teach him. "Put your mouth all over my breasts! Oh, yes! Right on the tips! First one and then the other-oh, wonderful!"
I had to rub my hand harder at the pouch of his jockeys, getting the feel of the hard cock throbbing to be freed. I worked the other hand to his rear, enjoying the feel of his trim buttocks. I could feel his teeth starting to gnash into the tips of my breasts and it was really making me soar. That other hand of his was getting anxious down about the crotch of my hot pants and I knew damned well he was anxious to touch the very real thing.
He was hanging right over me, since he was quite a bit taller, so anxious to try everything at once. I knew I would have to pace the action, get him acquainted with one step of lovemaking at a time.
"Let me show you, Greg-" And I backed up enough to hurriedly undo the button and the short zipper to loosen my hot pants. "Stick your hand right in here-" And I thought I'd go out of my mind as his bony fingers crawled down my pubic bush to crawl about my loveslit. He let out a groan of delight and I widened my stance and encouraged him to get a finger gliding up and down right into the moistness.
"It feels so great!" he tightened, that finger of his seemingly never-ending as it dug down into the pink moistness. I widened and moaned my delight and whispered into his ear to shove two fingers into the loveslit. And then we were both soaring and he seemed to be continually widening me.
"You're a real man, Greg!" I moaned, backing off and damned anxious to get his white denim shorts off. "I've just got to really see you!" And I undid the heavy buckle, the top button and anxiously tugged down on the shorts. "You're so fantastic, like a real man!" I was trying to bridge the gap in our ages. "A real man-" I thought the saliva was about to start dripping at the side of my lips, my eyes aching at the sight of the bulging white cotton shorts from the delightful close-up.
"I can feel your breath down there-" he tightened all the more in wild anticipation.
"You're really something, Greg!" I tugged the shorts all the way down, encouraging him to step right out of them. As he did, the worn loafers slipped off his feet and I was grooving on the sight of his feet. I rubbed my hands all over the toes, tilting my head upward for the long fine view of his thin and muscular thighs, right up to the bulging crotch of his jockeys.
That was where it was really at, and I told myself that I had to suffer my way up to it. I had to torture myself, playing out the waiting to get at that cock, to remind myself of how long I had waited to really let myself go. I was right down on my knees, grooving upward on the sight of the boy in his snug jockey shorts and the opened shirt.
"My young lover...." I started my mouth upward, flicking my tongue back and forth, deep into the inner reaches of his thighs. "My secret young lover!" And I jabbed my tongue all the way up into the start of his undershorts, flicking kisses where I thought the balls rested and then further back to the start of his asshole, straining for the taste right through the white cotton material.
"I'm going to really worship and adore you, Greg!" I hooked trembling fingers of both hands into the waistband of his shorts. I couldn't get over how small his underwear was. The boy had been growing so fast and it had to be all of two sizes too small for him. So beautifully snug, I started tugging down on the undershorts, grooving on the wonderful job of joy.
"You make me feel so great!" He had to work his hands on my shoulders to support his tall and lanky frame. And as he did, it brought a beautifully new stress to his male equipment about to be freed from the underwear. "I've dreamed about this!" It came out in a boyish shrill, and he automatically shifted his hands up to the back of my head.
The natural stance for the male waiting to have his cock mouth-worshipped. It had happened by instinct, and then I could feel his fingers pressing out the message of urgency, working my mouth continually closer to where I was slowly unveiling his male equipment.
"You're so great!" I had to compliment the boy, tugging down on the snug undershorts to view his pubic bush come into sight. It had that freshly grown look to it, shaped so perfectly about the massive base of his swollen prick. I was grooving on the perfect ringlets of lustrous dark hair, telling myself that I would have to mouth them, get the taste of his hairs.
"All of you is to be adored," I moaned and I stopped the shorts just before the swollen prick was about to pop out free, bringing my tongue down to moisten his pubic bush. I had to look upward at the tautness of his stomach and the trim chest, loving the smooth, hairless look of him, so fantastically boyish-making the small pubic bush look all the more exciting.
The comparison with the mature and hairy male ... you're just not as aware of the excitement of the pubic bush when the stomach hair blends right into it, going almost up to the navel. Greg had less than an inch of pubic hair about the base of his prick and I just had to keep saluting it with my tongue. I dug tormenting myself by waiting to get at the real prize of him-but those groans of his were growing and his hands kept tightening in urgency about the back of my head.
"Let rne really see it!" I shrilled, backing my head slightly and tugging down fast and hard on the undershorts, a massive prick bobbing up at attention. "It's so big-so very big!" I had to suck in greedily on my breath.
"Is it really big?" he wanted to know. "I mean ... as big as it should be?!"
"Oh, yes-yes!" I hurriedly tugged the undershorts down to his feet, urging him to step out of the garment. I had to have him so that he could spread those lean thighs wide apart, so that it would really accentuate his thick and long cock that I estimated to be close to ten inches. "It's so very big and mansized!" I hurried my hands back up to grasp at the thick base of the boy's swollen prick. "It's so terrific!" I moved in enough to groove on the sight and scent of it.
"Is it as big as your husband's?!" he blurted out in boyish fashion, and then he really got nervous. "I'm sorry, Ma'am ... I shouldn't have asked that...."
"You're my young man now, Greg, you can ask me anything! And since you're like a man to me, I want you to call me Brenda-please, you must call me Brenda!"
"Okay, Brenda...." he tried it on for size, his hands really tightening at the back of my head, his thighs widening all the time to really shove the thick cockhead up to the start of my lips.
"Greg, your tool-" I stopped short, hating using a word like that. I grasped it all the harder and told it like it was. "Your cock, Greg! Your beautiful cock-that's what it is!" And I flicked the very tip of it a fast kiss. "Your cock is much bigger than my husband's!" I was happy to tell him, hanging on to the treasure. "And Greg....
My husband doesn't satisfy me ... that might be hard for you to understand ... but he just doesn't ... so I want you to be my young lover!"
"I want to do it to you! Really do it to you!" He jammed his lean frame right up into me.
"Let me get the taste of you first," I moaned, running my mouth all over his cock, starting my tongue at the very tip of it and flicking it down to the base, working back up the underside. "The wonderful taste of you," I moaned, so damned anxious to work my tongue over every bit of the long and thick shaft. I can't describe the wonderful sensation, except to give you the old saying: to have your cake and eat it, too. I had a delightful boyish frame before me-and yet it had a real mansized cock attached to it. It was long and thick and very swollen, but still it had that boyishly smooth quality to it.
I wanted to open my mouth wide and lunge right down on the full length of hard prick, but I told myself that would wait for another spree, when Greg wouldn't judge me too harshly. He had a tremendous need to screw me that first time, I realized that by how he hovered over me and how he had stressed that he had never gone all the way with a girl.
"All the way, Greg!" I yanked my face upward. "I want you to really go all the way with me!" And I got up on wobbly feet to yank down my hot pants.
"Oh, wow! You're really beautiful!" His eyes never left my blond snatch. "You're really something!" And he was hovering over me again as I worked my ass back on a bale of old clothing, instantly spreading my thighs out to him.
"Move right into me, young lover," I instructed him. "Stay calm and ready to take over." I hooked my hands into his trim hips, urging him to get his knees up high on the edge of the bale. "Oh, that's perfect, Greg!" I drew him right into me, the very tip of his cock about to touch my pussy lips. "Now guide it right in, make me real happy!"
"Like this?" he tightened, working a hand to the underside of his swollen prick. "I want to do it right to you-"
"You will-you will-" And I threw my snatch upward, making the magic coupling really work, the thick cockhead throbbing into the start of my loveslit. "Oh, you most certainly will!" I was ready to shout my joy. "Now come right down on me, Greg-lover! Oh, that's great! Keep your angle, so that you can really drive it into me!"
"I don't want to hurt you!" His voice came thick, his hands tightening down low on my hips, seemingly aiming for my buttocks.
"I'll hurt for you, Greg! Anything for you!" I gyrated my buttocks off the bale, urging his hands to glide downward and capture them, just as his full length of hard prick slammed the distance into my pussy. "Oh, I'm hurting beautifully for you, Greg-lover!" And then I had to strain to find the strength but I had a need to repeat that he was my young lover, my very terrific young lover.
"This is great!" he groaned, his bony fingers tightening on my buttocks. "Fantastic-" And he didn't have to be told to start the greatest motion in the world, what really makes it all go around and around. That came so beautifully natural and the fourteen year old boy was thrusting cock in and out of my pussy as though he had been doing it for centuries. Fast and hard, long strokes and then short strokes, working a variety to drive me wild.
"Oh, lover-lover!" I had to echo wildly. "Young lover!" and I had to twist and writhe, really alive for the first time in my life. I knew I could never thrill to my husband's lovemaking again and that I would have to continually have the boy in a thousand different ways. I was repeating that he was to be my young lover, thinking of all the different ways I wanted to experience lovemaking with him.
Yeah, I recalled where I had left off using my mouth on him, knowing that I would want a completion that way, ramming my mouth down totally on the stud-prick until it erupted down deep in my throat. And then with his fingers edging closer and closer to the crack of my ass I could anticipate having the boy fucking me back there. Oh, so many ways for him to have me-and for me to have him.
I threw pussy up to cock, soaring continually, feeling on top of the world. I was so damned smug about being up in that garage-attic, telling myself that it had to be the highest point in the world. And that bale of old clothing was in reality a royal bed for the greatest lovers in the world.
The world down there could go screw itself, I inwardly told myself, taking all that steady cock-to-cunt action from the fourteen year-old boy. Especially my husband and all his TV football. He could have a long pro football season to watch glued to the damned TV set, I no longer gave a damned. I would even buy extra six-packs of beer to keep my husband half-bombed watching TV football. Yeah, so I could be free to make love to my handsome boy. I had that smug feeling going for myself, throwing my pussy wildly up to the never-ending thrust of his young cock. And I felt so damned superior to all the people in the neighborhood, that I would have my own secret going.
It had to be a secret-our secret ... I felt instant beads of perspiration forming at my forehead. I would be ruined in the neighborhood if Greg started telling all the other boys, and they in turn spread the word out on me to all the grownups. It had to be a secret ... I could suddenly feel the hard pounding of Greg's cock shoving me back down on the bale of old clothes, his hands clamping continually harder on my buttocks, his fingers edging right up into my asshole.
No secret ... I thought of Greg telling all his buddies about my lovemaking, inviting them all to come over and ball with me. I went wild, gyrating my snatch all over the place as I thought of turning the garage into a paradise of young cocks, all the young boys coming over to let me handle their sex-kicks. I was shoving my pussy up to the reality of Greg's young cock and going wild imagining all the neighborhood boys from thirteen to seventeen that had turned me on at one time or another.
Beautiful boys ... all clamoring to get at me, my eyes bulging at the sight of them all tugging down on their tight dungarees and denims, and then their even tighter jockey shorts. I thought of how wild it would be to service them all, my hands and mouth working as hard as my pussy and asshole. Wild ... really wild....
I stiffened, pulling myself together and then I could really feel the boy's mansized cock hurting me, making the walls of my pussy ache. I inwardly called myself a string of dirty names, warning myself to stay in line. I had a flashback to my hometown, not so very far away, and how I had ruined my name back there. I reminded myself of one of the prime reasons I had married Pete. I couldn't ruin my name again, I just couldn't....
Greg ... he had to be the answer, my salvation for my special need for young anatomy. He would have to be my only young lover, a very secret young lover.
"My young lover-" I clung desperately to him, thrusting upward, gyrating pussy wildly. "I need you so very much," I groaned and I was caught up in his instant speedup, his hands getting fierce on my buttocks. "Secret lover
"I can't hold it any longer." His voice was sad, as though it were the end of the world. "I can't hold back-"
"Oh, let me have it, together-together!" I tightened my hands at his back, my nails clawing at the flesh, making it all come together perfectly. I made it a joyous thing, spurting our loads together, letting him know there would be many more times to make it together.
I sunk back on the bale of old clothing, suddenly aware of the mustiness of the garage attic, hearing sounds of cars and life out there in our neighborhood. I had to face the reality of a very normal world out there-a supposedly normal world that would not tolerate a supposedly mature married female having a secret tryst with a fourteen year-old boy.
He was trying to talk to me, still awkwardly struggling to catch his breath and gain his composure. He had come down totally on me, his lean and muscle-rippled chest pressing down hard on my lush mounds. He was so tall and thin and he seemed to be all over me, his thighs pressed in together to still fever at the inner reaches of my sweaty thighs. I loved the feel of him , that beautifully youthful body of his.
I loved the feel of the trembling boy-the boy changing rapidly into young man-and I ram my eager hands up and down his lean frame, determined to have him always, to really possess him. And that thought really panicked me and I could feel the beads of perspiration forming as big as silver dollars on my forehead. I had to face the reality that a fourteen year-old boy belongs to his parents, and I thought of the few times I had met them. They were my husband's best friends and I would have to face them again. I was really sweating, wondering if I would give myself away.
"Greg...." I finally managed in a hoarse whisper. "This has to be our secret-no one else would understand ... you mustn't tell a single soul!" And I didn't dare add my next burning thought: especially not your parents. I clung to him, waiting for him to pledge that it would be our secret. And there again, I had to face the problem of the other boys in the neighborhood finding out, knowing how young boys brag and spread the word around. I wanted to remain there, the thought of having to run again really frightened me.
"Promise me, Greg ... our secret...." And I flicked a lot of soft kisses to his lips, over to the lobe of one ear and then down to the side of his neck. "Our secret!"
"I promise...." He edged up higher on his knees, looking down into my face, his cock feeling rockhard again. "I want to tell you something, if you won't laugh at me-"
"I could never laugh at you," I cut in, feeling my vagina walls opening and closing on his throbbing cock, seemingly begging for a second-time around.
"I-I love you!" he blurted out the words.
"Really love you!
"And I love you," I flicked more kisses at the soft of his neck. "But we have to keep it secret, Greg, you have to promise me that!"
"I promise!"
"Now make love to me again." I spread myself out, my back fully on the musty bale of old clothing, my thighs spreading out the limit. "I'm just going to lie back and let you do everything. Give it to me fast and hard, young lover!"
Fast and hard, that was how I got it that second-time-around. And also very determined, and a number of times, especially at the orgasm, he whispered into my ear that he loved me. The resting after the second time around was fantastic, especially since we didn't have to talk, since we had worked everything out before.
So beautiful-but we both jumped, hearing a lot of young voices downward and at a distance, but definitely approaching us. I peeked out the back window, noting a gang of the neighborhood boys crossing a number of back lots obviously on their way to play.
"Hurry, Greg! Get dressed and get back to mowing the lawn! We have to be careful!"
I reached for my hot pants and halter, starting to get into them, but I was torn between the sight of my young lover hurriedly tugging his jockey shorts back on, patting the spent prick into place within the confines of the white cotton-and that band of teenaged boys down there loudly crossing back lots. I was counting the young army, breathing heavily at the thought of all seven of them, a terrifically lucky number.
I was putting my halter on, but couldn't stop the heavy throbbing of my knockers. I worked my eyes over to Greg pulling on his white denim cut-off shorts, telling myself that my secret lover would be all I ever needed. My eyes went back to the small window at the triangle of the garage-attic, and those boys looked so fantastic down there in their various boyish outfits.
I recognized them all-all seven of them-and I could think of most of their names. The youngest was only thirteen and the oldest was sixteen. I grooved on the variety of types of young boys, from the stockiest one to the thinnest boy; from the one with the lightest hair to the one with the darkest hair and then over to the red-haired boy.
"I'd better get down there," Greg pulled me away from my inspection of the boys. "You coming down-"
"In just a minute," I nervously started tugging my hot pants back on. "Just act natural, Greg. Start mowing the lawn again as though we had been moving things around in here!"
"I'll be careful-" And he was about to hurry down the short stairway.
"Greg!" I was suddenly frightened, my eyes zigzagging from him to the seven boys out back.
"Come here-" And I urged him over for a farewell kiss, pressing my mouth hard to his. I longed to plant my hand again at the crotch of his white denim shorts, but I didn't dare get him worked up again. "Just act natural about it all, young lover!" I managed to pry my mouth away from his.
"When can we be together again-"
"Soon," I nervously cut in. "Now go down there and be careful!" I urged him away from me.
I had my hot pants on but not buttoned or zippered and I couldn't help but jam a hand inside to the warmth of my spent pussy. I worked my eyes downward as Greg moved down the steps, noting those trim buttocks accentuated by the white denim walking shorts. He was out of sight and I jammed my hand even harder to my lovemound, trying to avoid fingers working the loveslit. Just one moment like that was all I needed I told myself. I had to catch hold of my senses.
The boys out back, their sounds of wrestling and boyish fooling around got to me and I had to sneak another glance out that small back window. I couldn't help it, I had to shove a finger up into the moistness, my eyes hooking into the ruggedly built sixteen year old boy down there, his purple flaired trousers fitting him so fantastically. And then I had to work another finger into my aching snatch as my eyes zoomed to the youngest boy in the pack, grooving on his sandy hair falling all over his eyes.
That youngest boy ... He was barely thirteen and yet he was really developing and he looked so fantastic in dungarees that seemed two sizes too small for him. And he was forever running his hands down his thighs, edging down into his crotch-area.
I had to shove the fingers deeper and deeper into my aching snatch to salute that young boy. And then I had to ram them in all the more to salute the sixteen year old boy. But then the other boys were driving me wild and my imagination brought them all in for a close-up, where I could work my hands out to feel all those snug crotches. Boyish cocks that always seemed to remain semi-hard-that only needed the slightest touch to become rockhard ... I was trembling, almost wanting to screech out my special needs.
Be careful, Brenda ... I warned myself, telling myself what a beautiful thing I had started with Greg. Greg could keep his mouth shut, I told myself, and I knew damned well that pack of boys down there couldn't.
I felt the danger, watching those boys down there, and I started to yank my hand away from my snatch, angrily telling myself to not be a greedy bitch. I had the most fantastic lovemaking with Greg, two times around, and that should have been enough for me. I didn't need anyone else but Greg-and I especially didn't need all the trouble that pack of boys spelled out loud and clear.
I almost had my hand out of my hot pants, slightly away from my honey-hued pubic bush and loveslit. Almost ... I was only seconds away from turning around and getting away from that small rear window. But not quite fast enough and I thought my eyes would bulge right out as the sixteen year-old, the obvious leader of the youthful pack unzipped his fly and tugged out his cock. He was laughing and showing off and aiming it toward a tree trunk. They were all away from the view of any of the houses back there and they certainly had no way of knowing I was looking out my upper garage window.
I had to shove my hand back down on my lovemound, the very moment I could make him out splattering piss all over the tree trunk. And then laughing and shouting, all the other boys tugged out there cocks and started pissing on the tree. I had an unbelievably great angle up there and I could make out almost all their cocks gushing out piss. I just didn't know how to control my eyes going from one sight to another, greedily wanting zoom-ins on certain pissing cocks, and yet wanting all of the boys in one big picture. I just couldn't have it both ways and my frustration mounted, cramming all of my fingers up into my pulsating pussy.
That red-haired boy down there ... I sensed that his cock was probably the largest and it was in a fantastic semi-hard condition. He was shaking it like crazy, but he couldn't seem to piss, and all the other boys were kidding him about it. I wanted to watch him shake his cock, wanting to watch his piss gush out, but I was distracted by two other boys having a contest to see who could piss the furthest. And they had turned my way to have the contest and in the excitement I had shoved my entire fisted hand right up into my cunt, grooving on the excruciating pain.
Piss on me ... I inwardly murmured, straining to actually imagine every last drop of hot piss splashing all over my body, even in my open mouth and down my throat.
"Oh, piss on me...." I found myself whispering the words, my throat so dry, my cunt about to split apart from my entire fisted hand jammed up into it. "Piss on my no-good body...." I trembled, my eyes glued to the corner of the small window.
I was hurting and trembling from the perverse want to the point of wanting to sob. And then I really exploded, just as all the other boys ran out of hot piss, the red-haired boy started gushing an enormous stream of piss against the tree trunk.
He was positioned just for me, so that I could really watch him hang on to his reel of cock and let the piss gush out of it. And all the other boys were gathered about, laughing and joking about it. I couldn't stand it, I thought I would go out of my mind. And then I was really sweating at how I had actually shoved my entire fisted hand up into my snatch. I only had to turn my hand once and the heavy cream gushed and rushed about my hand, lubricating it and sending me in a steady convulsion.
The red-haired boy shaked the last drop of piss out and the boys were all tugging their cocks back into their trousers. And one by one I watched the flys being zippered up and I had that empty and very sick feeling at the pit of my stomach. I managed to get my fisted hand out of my snatch and wiped it dry on the old clothing in the bale.
"Get a hold of yourself," I scolded myself, tugging up the limit on my hot pants and doing the button and zipper. "Cool it...." And the boys out there were running off, allowing me to return to a state of normalcy.
"You bitch...." I angrily bit down on my lower lip, straightening my hot pants, halter and my hair to go back down to the lawn and the outside world that I feared.
"Only Greg...." I repeated on every step. "Only Greg...." I told myself to play it safe. And then, as I approached the car in the garage I thought of running away from my young lover. Running away somewhere-anywhere ... but that wasn't the answer and I put on a false face and went out there to where Greg was about to wind up mowing the lawn.
We had the meeting of the eyes ... bridging the impossible years and I was determined to make our illicit love affair work. I could trust Greg, I sensed that in the way he had looked at me. There's always that one young person you can trust, who has a desperate need for an older woman, and I knew I had luckily found it in Greg.
You have a lot of trying moments in keeping an affair like that a secret matter and my first one came that very same afternoon. The game was finally over and Greg had not only finished mowing the lawn but had helped me move things around in the garage. Yeah, we would pause to kiss and feel each other up, but we were determined to be careful that first day, making plans for future trysts. Okay, so all the work was done, my husband's football game was over on TV and he came out to pay Greg.
"Should I give him three or four dollars?" my husband asked me in a lower voice to one side, while Greg was wiping off the mower blade. "Or should I give him a five dollar bill, Brenda?" He had his wallet out and I could tell that he'd already had too much beer.
"He really worked great!" I almost choked on the double entendre. "He was worth every bit of the five dollars!" My guilty conscience was getting the best of me for a brief moment, and my eyes were darting from Greg kneeling over the mower and then back to my husband, a very frightening triangle. I pulled it all together, realizing that if I played it cool I could get away with plenty. I remembered an old saying-the best defense is an offense.
"He's such a terrific boy!" I beamed to my husband. "We should hire him for all the odd jobs-you do work hard enough at your job," I added a thoughtful touch to it.
"Greg's okay," my husband agreed in what had to be the understatement of the year to me. "He's a fine boy!"
I sneaked a glance down at Greg, his thigh muscles drawn beautifully tight as he bent over to the work of cleaning off that blade. And, yeah, I hooked my eyes in at his rear, the white denims really accentuating the firm buttocks and inwardly proclaimed how really fine a boy Greg was.
That certain close moment came when my husband went to hand Greg the five dollar bill, telling him what a fine job he had done helping me.
"You don't really have to pay me!" Greg blurted out to the surprise of my husband. And I happened to notice the boy's bulge at his crotch, the outline of semi-hard cock still prominent.
"Take it!" my husband pressed it over to his hand. "You worked hard-"
"Well, okay...." Greg flustered, finally taking the five dollar bill, nervously glancing from my husband to me. "Be seeing you!" he looked nervously over at me, giving that certain glance that seemed to be double-checking our next date. "I've got to get home-" he looked over at my husband and then darted away, giving me a poetic view of his rear in motion until he disappeared out of sight.
"How about that kid!" my husband shrugged. "Just because we're such good friends-he didn't want to take any money! He's a great kid, Brenda!"
"I really like him...." I murmured, thinking ahead to my next sexual spree. And then I was rudely jarred out of my pleasant thoughts, watching those same seven boys rushing along on the sidewalk, slowing up as they approached our lawn.
I was so damned nervous, vividly recalling them all pissing against that tree in the back. I counted them over quickly, noting that they had picked up an eighth boy along the way, a thin boy of fourteen or fifteen with an extremely sensitive, almost girlish face. I couldn't recall having seen that boy before and I was annoyed that he was turning me on. He had long shoulder-length brown hair and that tousled look up front. He was wearing mod flaired trousers that did wonders for his lean thighs and the snugness of his crotch-area.
I was trembling, trying not to run my eyes about their young frames, telling myself that they were wise to me, that they had somehow known I had been watching them piss against the tree trunk. I wanted to rush away from there, but I didn't dare, and I kept getting a perverse image of those boys openly unzipping their flys and yanking out their cocks to piss all over me. Yeah, I had the most sickening mental fantasy of them spreading me out on the lawn and pissing all over me, forcing my husband to watch the perverse act.
That oldest boy ... the sixteen year-old named Denny ... I could tell the way he was running his eyes up and down my trembling frame clad in only the hot pants and matching halter ... he was so sexually aware of me. He was the leader of the pack and I trembled at the thought of him lining up all those boys and forcing me to sexually satisfy them all.
A wild kick-really going out of my mind, experiencing young cock after young cock, and I was getting confused as they slowed to a crawl by our driveway. And then my eyes zoomed in at that red-haired boy and even at the distance I could make out the outline of his imprisoned cock. I thought I would have to scream out and yell for them to all start wearing loose trousers. Every damned one of those boys wore extremely tight trousers or shorts that really accentuated the parade of youthful anatomy.
"Hi, boys!" Pete beamed to them and I breathed a sigh of relief as they all started trading football comments with my husband. I could sense their youthful pride in my husband's vast knowledge about pro football and the various players. I wanted to cut right into the quick spurts of football talk, and tell them all how lousy my husband was at lovemaking. I bit down hard on my lower lip, using the occasion as the boys moved in closer on the driveway to inspect jam-packed crotches up close.
I made a delightful game of it, trying to recall how I had viewed them pissing at a distance, grooving on the close-up of each crotch, watching them excitedly rub their hands all over themselves as they anxiously discussed football with my husband.
"Hey, where's Greg?!" Denny suddenly shouted and I tightened right up, my guilty conscience getting the best of me for a brief moment. "Wasn't he mowing your lawn?"
"He went home," I managed with a smile, damned smug that I'd had the best of him before he went home.
"Be seeing you!" the cry went up in various boyish terms and they all took off and I treated myself to some beautifully boyish rear-ends in motion. Bun-watching, you could call it, and it gave me that instant moist feeling at the start of my pussy. Yeah, I could really imagine myself down on my knees and moving from one bare rear-end to the other, tracing the outline of firm buttocks and fingering assholes.
"They're all fine boys!" my husband beamed, pulling me out of my sexual fantasy. "Good kids in this neighborhood!"
"Yes, tbey are...." I watched the last of the trim rears rush out of view, and I reabzed how easy my husband was making it for me. I had the most terrific excuse to be friendly with them, since they all talked to my husband.
I would have to be careful, weed out the ones who would talk and single out the ones who could keep quiet. That sensitive boy ... the one who had not been out back earber ... he intrigued me, especially that warm glow on his face. But then I thought of one other boy who could be made, and then the other, and I had to put a stop to my madness.
Only Greg ... I inwardly reminded myself, not really listening to my husband ramble on. I found myself absently following him into the house, repeatedly reminding myself that I couldn't get greedy with the neighborhood youth parade, that it might really spell out trouble for me. And even if I could single out a boy here and a boy there, I remembered how Greg told me that he loved me. Any male in love-fourteen or forty-has a way of getting possessive with his female, constantly on guard, wanting to keep her all to himself.
Cool it ... I let the words echo through my brain. Just cool it, Brenda....
That very evening, my husband got glued to a night game on TV and I tried to keep busy with various household activities. But I couldn't erase the mental images of that beautiful afternoon with Greg. And as much as I tried not to, I couldn't help but recall the perverse sight of all those boys pissing and horsing around. Their actions weren't perverse-only the way I had reacted to it.
Hot piss ... I wondered if I could actually let a lot of young studs piss all over my body, even let it flow into my mouth and down my throat. It would be a really different kick to add to what I had already experienced. I had always thought it wild to lick a guy's balls and work a tongue up the crack of his ass, really grooving on the scent and taste of him-but the steady gushing of hot piss would really be something far out and wild.
Far out ... I sensed my need for the really far out and I was getting turned on just thinking about all those boys gushing hot piss all over my body. Yeah, it was getting too much to take and I had hurried to the bathroom to finger myself back to a calmness. Only it went right. I had yanked down my panties and was about to shove fingers to it, when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. I moved over closer and closer to the mirror, my panties hanging about my thighs.
"You bitch...." I had to tighten at what I saw. "You greedy bitch, you'd better shape up!" And I couldn't control myself, I had to slap my face a number of times. Hard and fast, it took a while before I could stop doing it. And then I told myself that I couldn't masturbate, that I had a husband and a young teenaged lover-one of each and that should be enough for any female.
"Greedy cunt!" I slapped my lovemound hard and yanked up my panties, shoving them up tight until it hurt at my loveslit and right up the crack of my ass. I wanted to call myself a whole string of names, reminding myself how I had ruined my reputation in my home town and that I couldn't let it happen to me again. I had a good thing going for me, and a really terrific cover as a newly wed, simply being friendly to the neighborhood boys, getting those close-ups of bulging baskets and exciting buns.
The young girls ... I reminded myself to be at least friendly with the teenaged girls, to prove that I merely liked all the neighborhood kids. I headed out of the bathroom reminding myself how much I hated those teenaged twats, since I was jealous that they could be openly seen with the boys I adored. I would go out of my mind when I would watch a favorite neighborhood boy with his arm about a young girl, fingers edging upward toward her knockers.
Greg ... I suddenly told myself that I wouldn't know what I would do if I ever saw my young lover with a young girl. I'd probably make a damned fool of myself, I shuddered.
Those lucky young boys and girls, necking and petting and making out in parked cars and just about anywhere ... I tightened as I was so damned jealous of them all. And then, I couldn't help but recall my sexually deprived early teen years.
I was afraid of boys, so damned afraid of them and it was due to the stories my straight and narrow mother had planted in my mind. She was one of those puritanically-bent women who feels that every boy is trying to get her daughter in trouble. I lived with the constant fear of getting knocked-up, or as my old lady put it-"in the family way."
I broke out of my fears of boys much too late, when I was nineteen, damned close to turning twenty. Yeah, so maybe I took after the slightly younger boys to make up for what I had missed out. And then in my early twenties, I wanted slightly younger boys ... and then even younger ... solidly into my youth-kick and no way out in sight.
I made another study of the back of Pete's head over the back of his easy chair in the living room. He was suddenly yelling at the players on screen, offering them all sorts of expert advice and calling some of them idiots and damned fools. I suddenly realized what Greg meant and I saw how we could get away with so much while the others were so damned involved in their own selfish things. Well, we could be totally involved in our own selfish thing, no matter what the age spread might be-and our burning thing was sex, really fantastic sex. Spelled right out that was fun-fucking-and-sucking and generally balling!
"Where are you right now, Greg?" I was curious to know.
"On the extension in my bedroom-"
"There's two other extensions." I was worrying again, recalling the ones in the living room and the kitchen on the one time Pete and I had gone inside their house. "They could pick one up and-"
"Don't worry," he cut in. "They're too damned busy!"
"I guess so...." I gave in, watching Pete go wild over a certain football play on the TV set. "You're in your bedroom," I repeated his words, getting wild images of him alone up there, telling myself how much I longed to be there with him. "What are you doing right now, Greg...." I was damned suggestive. "I mean, besides talking to me on the phone...."
"Can I really tell you?"
"Please, let's always be honest with each other and don't hold anything back." And I had to lean against the wall, feeling so damned wobbly as that moist feeling was getting the best of my pussy. "Tell me, Greg."
"I got so excited, just hearing your voice, that I had to grab my tool...." He hesitated, then boldly told it as it was. "-My cock! I had to grab it and I'm fisting it real tightly!"
"What are you wearing, Greg!" I had the perverse desire to play out the telephoned sex game. "Tell me exactly what you're wearing!"
"Only a bathtowel knotted about my waist," he shot right back. "I just took a shower and my hair's kinda wet yet ... and wow, it feels so good to hold my cock like this and talk to you!"
"How does the towel cover you, Greg!" I had to work one hand over my crotch-area, getting so damned wobbly. I also tried to keep my voice down, but my husband was so damned engrossed in the game that he never once turned around. "Tell me how you're positioned on the bed and everything!" I groaned, really turned on. "Drive me wild, young lover!"
"It's just a big white towel and it's real wet and sorta clings to my waist and especially about my ass. I'm stretched out the long way on my back and I'm making the front of the towel go up and down by jerking off!"
Fast and furious, that was how I wanted Denny to shove cock to me and I had somehow imagined his hands rough on my knockers and all about my body. I had not thought ahead to any foreplay and especially not any kissing. I had told myself that it would be the extreme opposite of what I enjoyed with Greg. With Greg it had always been the closeness, running our lips all over each other, the close sexual foreplay. The actual sexual explosions would always be the windup after the many ways that we would experiment in being sexually close to one another.
I Went to that abandoned house seeking only sheer animalism from Denny, the complete contrast from what I had with Greg. It's a wild thing to try to explain, but even though Denny was only a sixteen year-old boy, I had expected him to take me rough and fast, typical mature male style in heat for a bitch.
I was starting to tremble on that side porch, about to head for the door, sensing it was partially open. I could feel a slight breeze stirring, blowing right up my mini-skirt to tickle my pantyless snatch. I felt so totally animal, knowing that I could match whatever that boy had to offer me and I arched my shoulder and moved toward the door. All my fantasies of Denny would soon be behind me, I smugly told myself, and it became something that just had to be done. Yeah, I had to have that young cock thunder me and I moved all the faster, opening the door-making the really big move.
"Over here!" I heard Denny's voice, and I peered through the semi-darkness of the musty house. "Here, in the next room," I finally made him out, just as he took my hand in his. "Right in here-" And we were barely into the next room when he pulled me into his arms and rammed his open mouth on mine.
I had to gasp for air, but forced myself to get used to it, really going wild at the feel of my knockers pressed against the firmness of his chest. He was only wearing a T-shirt, and he felt so terrific up there. And down lower, I jammed my snatch-area right up to the fantastic bulge of him, getting up higher on the tip of my toes to really get the bulge lined up with my aching lovemound.
I was getting a string of wild sounds out of him, his hands racing down my back, over my buttocks and then jamming right up underneath my skirt. He let out a very special shrill when he came in contact with flesh there instead of my panties.
"You're really something!" he backed his mouth away from mine, his hands fevering from my buttocks around to my lovemound. "Oh, wow-" he hovered over me, the fingers of both hands gliding right into the moistness of my pussy. "Don't you ever wear panties?"
"Not when I go for action!" I had a need to get right to the point. "So let's see what you've got here." And I unzipped his fly and had to tug into the fly of his shorts to get at the swollen prick that seemed ready to explode. "Oh, I dig this-" I had to suck in hard on my breath.
"You really dig young cock, don't you?!"
"I love it!" I fisted my hand over it tightly, lovingly running it up and down. "I just adore it!" And I bent over to work my tongue all over it.
"That feels great-"
"I want you to shove it to my pussy!" I shot right back, wanting it to be over with fast, to get out of my animal status and try once again to be a normal human being. "Isn't that what you want to do, Denny? Don't you want to fuck me?!"
"Oh, yeah-" And I could make him out unbuckling his belt and yanking down his pants and undershorts in the semi-darkness of the room. "Shit, I thought I had you figured out for quite some time!"
"Play it smart, Denny, and you can always swing with me-but you can't let those other kids know-"
"I've got a mattress on the floor!" he impatiently cut in, urging me over to it. "Get right down on it!"
"Oh, yes!" And I tightly fisted his swollen prick as we got right down on the mattress. I had my back solidly on it, my thighs instantly widening, my toes pointed upward. "Oh, shove it to me, Denny! Young cock-young cock...." I had to shrill my very special need, the thick cockhead making contact with the inside of my pussy-lips. I widened all the more, helping him to glide the thick cockhead solidly into me.
"Oh, young cock!" I roared, the full length of his hard cock jammed solidly into me, and I thought I would soar at the thought of a sixteen year-old boy shoving cock to me more expertly than any supposedly mature male. "I love it-I love young cock!" He had brought out the lewdness in me. "Oh, young cock!"
"Watch me fuck!" he shouted. "Just watch me fuck the hot cunt!" And as the fast and furious cock thrusting started, I sensed that he wasn't talking only to me.
I blinked, unable to take the full blare of the flashlight suddenly turned on and shoved close to my eyes. I wanted to yell out, but it was all choked up within me, and I watched helplessly as still another flashlight concentrated on where Denny was wildly thrusting cock in and out of my pussy.
"Watch them fuck!" I recognized one of the neighborhood boys and then another, and then still another. "Shove it to her!" went up the cry, and matches were being suddenly struck and candles were being lit all about us.
"I get her next!" a cry went out, and hands were suddenly all over me, mauling and squeezing at my knockers and all over me.
"I fuck her next!" Another boy's voice was urgent.
"Why wait for her pussy?!" Another voice shrilled, and the boy go down on his knees right over my face and forced my mouth open, ramming his hard cock right down to my throat.
The madness was engulfing me, boys all around me in various stages of undress. A part of me wanted to get up and run, to struggle and try to break loose of them all-but another part of me wanted to give in totally to the sight of all that teenaged anatomy, cocks and balls swaying all over the place, snug jockey shorts displaying a lot more to come.
I couldn't count them all, and it didn't really matter, I was twisting and turning, one cock working my pussy, the other jabbing in and out of my mouth. The youthful madness was all about me and it had been a long time in the making. I had brought it on myself, and so I weakly told myself to give in to it.
I gave in to it, reaching out for young cocks, feeling everything in sight, greedily sucking off the cock in my mouth to anxiously get to the next one. I was balling, going wild, one cock spending up my pussy, another one instantly entering me. And finger clawing and hurting up my asshole.
"Young cocks ... young cocks...." I moaned, then choked off by another cock being jammed in my mouth. And I was drowning in a sea of young cocks and balls and beautiful buns. Yeah, assholes that needed sucking out, whenever I could get at a boyish ass, whenever someone wasn't shoving a cock in my mouth.
Young cocks ... I had to go berserk on them, and then I realized that most of the young boys were the ones I had watched pissing on that tree stump. I had finger-fucked myself so many times to the mental image of those boys pissing all over that tree stump.
"Piss on me!" I suddenly roared. "C'mon, all of you, piss all over my fuckin' no-good body!"
They laughed and mocked me, gathering about and gushing hot piss all over my body, even in my mouth. I went wild, shouting for more and more.
A police siren sounded outside, neighbors came in complaining and the boys scattered all over the place as the local cops threw a blanket around me and took me away to the hospital.
I spent a week in the hospital, and I'm only now starting psychiatric care ... telling my story ... it's only the start.
The youth-kick ... it can destroy you.
SUMMARY
The foregoing case histories give us pause to consider many provocative ideas that may shed light not only on the specific sexual problems under scrutiny, but also on the general problems of the conflicts between man's sexual nature and his psychological and emotional attitudes.
What are we to make of physically mature females-who may range anywhere in age from mid-twenties to early fifties (and beyond)-whose emotions impel them to sexually seek teenaged boys in tight dungarees? Is there a typical "woman who lures boys"? We see that such women may come from any kind of background-socially, economically and philosophically they cut across all walks of life. In fact, it is not uncommon for a woman with such sexual inclinations who lives in what could be considered a higher social level to seek out the tough teenaged boy from "across the tracks."
Perhaps we can find some common denominators for sketching the "typical" physically mature woman who is attracted to boys in the psychological and emotional areas of her life. She finds herself unable to cope with the mature man of her general age level, whether it be a husband, a fiance or a date. Down deep she may feel that she will be unable to "give" the man enough to satisfy him. And, of course, we are not just talking about physical sex itself-we are including all the emotional and mental contributions that should go along with any sexual union if it is to be fulfilling and meaningful. For even in the most fleeting, "one night stand" sexual encounter there must be some mutuality and equality in the emotions of the man and the woman to underpin the physical need which brings them together.
It would seem that some women feel lacking in this emotional underpinning. If they lack confidence in their ability to satisfy a man they may turn their thoughts to a boy. The' boy usually has less, perhaps no, sexual experience. She may not feel pressure in a sexual situation with a boy-she knows she will satisfy him. She feels confident in this context. And so often, as we have seen, the woman who cannot unlock her sexuality with a mature man, can go to the opposite end of the spectrum with a boy-she becomes a veritable sexual dynamo and sometimes reaches nymphomaniacal heights.
Then there are the older women who may be seeking to regain a lost youth through sex with an adolescent, even virginal, male. She is seeking a fountain of sexual youth to rekindle her own waning sensual prowess.
There are many different motives and emotional problems that evidently impel physically mature women to seek young boys with whom to work out their sexual desires. It is a growing phenomenon-one of the many in the spectrum of today's changing sexual patterns.
