mature xxx

I was nineteen and back home from college. Not that I’d graduated, mind you; I was back home after fucking up royally. The problem was that while I’d been a good student in high school, when I got to college I discovered girls. I mean, sure, I dated a couple of girls in high school and even had a girlfriend for a while, but when I got to college I discovered S-E-X, sex! We’re talking Poontang with a capital P! I mean, it was sort of like getting out of high school had given these girls license to fuck like minks, and I was getting all the pussy I could while the getting was good.

Wall-to-wall partying with the college crowd sort of interfered with my studying, to say the least. My grades took a nosedive toward the end of my first year. I went back the next fall, promising my father to bring them up, but things just went to hell in a hand basket. I crashed and burned academically, and so here I was at home, moping around and feeling pretty worthless. My mother was upset and my father wanted to kill me when he thought about all the money he’d poured down the drain for my failed education.

On the third day back I went out to try to find a job. I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the whole affair. I mean, who looks forward to working at some fast food joint or stocking shelves, but these were my options. I mean, my alternatives were hanging around the house all day and spending my nights beating off, alone. Maybe I would run into one of the girls from my old High School and we could get something going.

After spending the better half of a day kicking around downtown, looking at the help wanted ads in the paper and making a few phone calls, I came home, hoping to postpone my inevitable fate by at least another twenty-four hours.

“Is that you, Sean?” my mother called from the dining room as I came in and hung up my coat.

“Yeah, Ma.” I tried not to sound to miserable and dejected, but it was pretty hard.

“Did you find a job, hon?”

I winced inwardly at this. “No, Ma.”

“Why don’t you come in here, Sean? There’s somebody who wants to say hello.” I was a bit mystified by this. I mean, I certainly didn’t want to see anybody at this low point in my life and I couldn’t imagine who would want to see me. All my friends were in college or in the military and here I was moping around, an absolute failure. I went into the dining room, wondering what my mom was talking about.

Seated at the table having a cup of tea with my mother was Mrs. Johanssen. Mrs. Johanssen was the Assistant Principal at my high school. Very popular with the students, she was a sort of den mother to the nth degree, always involved in all sorts of clubs and extra-curricular activities. I wasn’t surprised to see her at our home, she and my mother were friends.

“Mrs. Johanssen says that if you haven’t found a job yet, she’s got plenty of work for you to do around her place,” my mother began.

Mrs. Johanssen smiled that mysterious, charismatic smile of hers, a sort of a cross between Marlene Dietrich and the Mona Lisa. She was wearing a beige silk blouse with a couple of buttons left undone, displaying a healthy portion of her generous cleavage. The sun coming through the white drapes behind her brought out the auburn in her shoulder length hair. I didn’t know her age but guessed she was in her late forties, maybe her early fifties even. I do know that she filled out that silk blouse as well as she filled out any of the dresses I’d seen her in at school. Mrs. Johanssen had a very good figure; wide in the hips and a nice set of tits, but everything in proportion. A very good looking older lady. I smiled at the prospect of working around her property.

“I’m interested in helping you pick up where you left off in college, Sean,” she said. This burst my bubble a bit. I was a little ashamed to find out that Mrs. Johanssen knew about my piss-poor performance in college. “Why don’t you come around my place tomorrow morning and I’ll show you what needs doing? Then later perhaps we can talk about what happened. Or rather, what we can do now about getting you back on track.”

My mom was all smiles about the whole concept. “Mrs. Johanssen came over especially to see you about this, Sean,” she said. Given her reputation at school and in the community, this was quite an honor. “I think it’d be a good idea.”

My eyes ran over Mrs. Johanssen’s magnificent cleavage as I did a quick mental review of my options. Flipping burgers and serving fries, or doing chores for Mrs. Johanssen. “What time do you want me to show up, ma’am?” I asked.

That night in the sad, solitary darkness of my room the familiar visions came, beautiful blonde centerfold types in thigh-hi stockings; the usual fantasies that signaled the beginning of my nightly masturbation. My cock was hard; it was hard all the time, it seemed. I stroked to the mental images of beautiful naked young women, yet as I approached the point of no return I flashed on the memory of Mrs. Johanssen sitting in our living room that afternoon.

Try as I might to concentrate on my mental harem of willing young whores I could not shake the memory of Mrs. Johanssen, with the sunlight coming through the curtains from behind. Mrs. Johanssen, the beige silk blouse she wore, with perhaps one too many buttons undone. The view down the top of Mrs. Johanssen’s beige silk blouse.

As I stroked to this memory of Mrs. Johanssen’s bountiful breasts, my body shuddered and I began squirting hot goo all over my belly

Strange feelings of shame and confusion overcame me afterwards as I passed into a troubled sleep.

* * *

The sheer amount of work to be done at Mrs. Johanssen’s place amazed me. Mrs. Johanssen’s husband was an older guy, I guess he had a hard time trying to keep the place. The property showed the signs of several seasons of neglect. Their place was on a plot of land that must have been ten acres if it was an inch. Their white brick house was near the road, on a hill dotted with enormous walnut trees. Behind the house the land fell away for what seemed like a mile down to a creek bed. Along one side of the property was a huge thicket, an out of control hedgerow, I suppose, that served as a sort of a boundary from the folks next door. The thicket continued down along the creek bed, then it petered out where the land flattened out. White fences separated a few paddocks where the neighbors kept horses.

My first assignment was cutting back the brush in that thicket and hauling away all of the debris in Mr. Johanssen’s old Ford pickup. It was a big job, but I was being paid by the hour and it was healthy outdoor work. Anything was better than showing my face at the local greasy spoon. By the time I was done for the day I was dirty and sweaty and ready to go home. Mrs. Johanssen met me at the door to her back patio. She was wearing slacks and a white shirt; it looked like a man’s shirt with a button-down collar, with a blue scarf about her neck. I’d never seen her in pants before. Even though I tried not to stare too pensively I couldn’t help but observe how tight that pair of slacks seemed across her ass.

“Thank you, Sean,” she said, looking over the cleared land at the bottom of her property. “You did good. I’ll see you again tomorrow morning then?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next three days were more of the same. Mrs. Johanssen was working me like a dog, but I didn’t care. The hard work in the out-of-doors seemed to be what I needed. My mind was off my troubles and I was getting paid the same thing I’d be making if I were working at some kind of hateful real job. School was out that week for mid-semester break, so Mrs. Johanssen was home every day. At noon she would come out on her back porch with sandwiches and a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade and we’d enjoy a chat over lunch.

Try as I might, at times I couldn’t help but look upon at her, not as an authority figure from the days of my old high school, but as a beautiful woman with a magnificent body. I found myself regarding her in an almost sexual way. Mrs. Johanssen was an attractive woman, after all, and a time or two I’m sure she caught me dead to rights looking at the valley that formed where her tops of her two beautiful breasts met; it was like they were pressed together by the cups of her bra. Then I’d catch myself, thinking Watch it, boy! This is getting weird! She’s old enough to be your mother!

Despite the hard work, and as tired as I was at the end of my hard days, every night I still found enough energy to masturbate furiously. It troubled me at first that Mrs. Johanssen was invading my thoughts. But as she became a regular in my fantasy world I soon surrendered and allowed myself the mental image of my dick nestled between her wonderful mounds. When I came I imagined myself unloading bucket loads of sticky white goo all over Mrs. Johanssen’s glorious tits.

It was on the third day, after a morning’s work, that Mrs. Johanssen asked me to come inside. “Now it’s time to go over your situation, and what we’re going to do about it.” I was filthy so I hesitated, explaining that I didn’t want to track dirt over her carpets. Mrs. Johanssen inspected me for a minute, her lips tightening into a thoughtful frown, and then she said, “Well, you can use my bathroom, maybe shower up a bit, tidy yourself up as best as possible.”

I took off my work boots at the door and knocked off as much turf and cut grass from my jeans as possible before I walked across her carpet, following her to the bathroom down the hall. The hall was darkened and I could see that it led to her bedroom. She opened a door to the left. “Here’s the bathroom,” she said with a practical smile, then she turned to open a small closet to take some towels from a shelf.

After I cleaned up I didn’t have anything clean to change into. Mrs. Johanssen loaned me a clean white t-shirt, but I still wore my old blue jeans. When I got dressed she indicated that I sit at the table. She’d put together a quick meal and we ate. Afterward, the dishes cleared away, Mrs. Johanssen served coffee.

My heart skipped a beat when she put her hand over mine. I swallowed and waited for her to continue.

“Your education is important, Sean. Look around you.” She indicated the huge property, and the large, white brick house. “We like living out here in the country, we like the privacy a big place affords; I wouldn’t want to live in a smaller place, with neighbors close by. I like my swimming pool, nice cars.

“Your chance to get a head start in life, John, is an education. It takes a college degree to get a job that pays all the bills and keeps you in comfort and this kind of style.” Mrs. Johanssen paused and looked around at the fine scenery the porch afforded. Her magnificent pair swelled as she breathed deep in satisfaction.

Then she turned her large, pale blue eyes onto me and continued. “You’re at a crossroads in your life. An education is something nobody can ever take away from you, Sean. Take your choice. Menial work of the simplest kind for the rest of your life, or take the opportunity to make something of yourself.”

There was a rustle as she pulled out some papers and put on a pair of half-rimmed reading glasses. “I’ve been over your college grades.” I winced inwardly at the thought of my embarrassing efforts to date. “You were a good student in high school, one of the best as I recall.” She smiled at me over her reading glasses as she said this. There was something incredibly sexy about her in those glasses. “You’ve obviously been goofing off.” I winced again when she said this.

“For me, Sean, college was incredibly easy. I practically fell asleep from boredom. I’m going to show you how I did it.”

“Your first year results are low, but at least you passed. And you were smart enough to pull out of college early this term, before you racked up any F’s. You’ve got a year of college out of the way. Now it’s up to us to see what we can salvage out of this, and see if we can move on.”

* * *

Mrs. Johanssen got me started on some correspondence courses, and over the next couple of afternoons at her place showed me how to review the courses I’d nearly failed. She intended for me to go back to school, if my Dad would let me, and to challenge the classes I’d pulled out of. This way I could get back in the groove and not miss out on that term of college I’d thrown to the wind.

I’m not exactly sure how or why things really got started. I had no way of knowing how far things were going to go . . .

We were in her husband’s old pickup truck; a sky blue 1969 Ford with a huge bench seat and the old “three on the tree” column shifting. We’d been out to the back end of her property, where the land sloped down to a creek bed. Mrs. Johanssen was showing me where she wanted the underbrush cleared. I worked up a preliminary sweat hacking with the hedge clippers she’d handed me back at the house, until it was obvious that clearing out this stuff was going to require some heavier equipment.

“Come on, Sean,” she called from the open door of the truck, “We’re going to have to get you a chainsaw or something.”

I got back in the front of the truck. Instead of firing up the engine she handed me a cold Coke from a small cooler on the floor of the truck. It was hot and my heart was beating; as much from the smell of her perfume, I think, as from the effort in the creek bed. I was sweating but I didn’t stink. The bright sunlight was filtered somewhat by the brush to the front of the truck.

Then Mrs. Johanssen said something that was totally out of the blue. “You know, my husband thinks we’re having an affair.”

“W-H-A-A-A-T-T-T-?-!-?” I sputtered, “Wh-a-a-a . . . . . . what did you tell him?”

What she said next was even more outrageous. “I simply told him that we were.”

Neither of us said a word for a while. I looked out at the sunlight, coming through the brush. I thought of her husband, then I flashed on my nightly visions of Mrs. Johanssen’s breasts; I was totally confused.

When I looked over at Mrs. Johanssen it was like she was reading my thoughts. She was leaning back, one arm draped over the steering wheel, the other toward me along the back of the seat. She was beautiful in her white shirt and silk scarf ensemble, and she was returning my look; there was no doubt. Her lips were slightly parted.

The man’s shirt she was wearing was open enough, somehow, unbuttoned just enough to show the tops of her breasts. Compressed by the tight cups of her push-up bra, they bulged upwards like they were offering themselves to me.

That’s when it occurred to me that I’d been thinking nonstop about what a beautiful woman Mrs. Johanssen was, and now it was probably time to do something about it.

There wasn’t a shred of resistance when I leaned toward her. I closed my eyes and kissed Mrs. Johanssen fully on the lips.

Mrs. Johanssen returned the kiss like it was the most natural and beautiful thing in the world to do. She took it a step further as she wrapped her arms about me and pulled me close and I felt her lovely mounds pressing against my chest. My hands went to her waist to hold on as she let my tongue explore her mouth.

That’s when it struck me; I’m making out with Mrs. Johanssen! The Assistant Principal! And she’s old enough to be my mom!

But none of that mattered somehow. It was obvious we had something going on that was beautiful and we were enjoying every minute of it.

It was an innocent make-out session; innocent enough, that is, given the constraints the cab of the truck and our clothing. I mean, I didn’t go to unhook her bra or anything; we simply weren’t there yet. We broke contact and both sat back to regard each other now that we’d broken through this barrier. The look of pure blissful pleasure on Mrs. Johanssen’s face let me know I’d done the right thing by making my move. I swear I was thinking purely innocent, naïve little thoughts like, So we kissed - that’s gonna be it, right? A simple little make-out aspect to our relationship.

Mrs. Johanssen scooted a little closer and put her hand on my chest. Her eyes were looking down to where her fingers toyed with the button on my shirt. “Uh, Mrs. Johanssen,” I croaked.

“You know Sean, I think you can call me by my first name from now on.”

“Julia,” I blurted. It was somehow uncomfortable to use her first name; all the years at school I’d known her as Mrs. Johanssen.

At that moment she put her lips on mine, almost as if she wanted to tell me to shut up. At the same time she put her hand on my jeans, right on top of my dick. At that point I lost any kind of capability for logical thinking.

Mrs. Johanssen kissed me hard this time, she put her tongue in my mouth. I leaned back as far as the cab of the truck would let me - in that old Ford that was quite a ways - and Mrs. Johanssen rewarded my surrender by slowly unbuttoning my shirt and running her hands all over my chest. This was very nice and I quickly developed a raging hard-on to show my appreciation.

With one hand Mrs. Johanssen skillfully undid my belt and unbuttoned my pants. She broke the kiss to look down where my knob was straining against my underwear, then looked back at me. We were obviously at another threshold. I watched in disbelief as Mrs. Johanssen pulled down the waistband of my shorts and freed my erect penis from the constraints of my underwear. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or mortified as my impudent cock poked straight up in the air.

There it was, then. Mrs. Johanssen seemed to go into some sort of trance at the sight of my fully engorged member. As hard as a rock, my cock visibly twitched as if it had a life of its own. She took my shaft in her hands, looked up at me with lips slightly parted, then she lowered her head and took my length into her warm, wet mouth.

I leaned back as far as the front bench seat of that truck would allow, right back to the armrest on the door. My eyes rolled up in their sockets; I was totally overcome by the totally surreal nature of what was happening. She’s sucking my cock! Julia, Mrs. Johanssen, is sucking my cock! The Assistant Principal is sucking me off! She’s sucking my cock!

I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d never had my dick sucked before. I’d had a couple of girlfriends in high school and oral sex was as far as it went because we were being careful, and the girls in college all sucked dick almost as if it was required or something. But this was completely different; Mrs. Johanssen was old enough to be my mom. She was, in fact, friends with my mom! This made the whole episode even more unbelievable; I mean, I’d always assumed that the women of Mom’s generation never did anything like that.

At one point, when she released me from her mouth to give herself a little jaw relief, I croaked, “Mrs., uh, Julia.”

“Shhh,” she whispered, her eyes looking up and meeting mine as she ran her tongue lovingly up and down the sides of my rod, “I want to pleasure you.” With that Mrs. Johanssen parted her lips and sucked my pole into her mouth once more.

As she sucked her two hands fluttered about my pole. Mrs. Johanssen had a certain touch, an expertise I’d never experienced with any of the much younger women I’d been with; a delectable stimulation that almost deprived me of my senses. Her hands had a soft yet supple firmness on my cock. As she stroked my rod into her mouth she varied her rhythm, changing her hand grip from going up and down my entire length to the lightest touch about the rim as she tickled and teased my cockhead with her lips and tongue.

Watching Mrs. Johanssen’s ruby red lips wrapped around my hard cock while the rounded tops of her full breasts heaved gave me an incredible pleasure, and it wasn’t long at all until I reached my point of no return. I cried out, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” and hot semen exploded out the head of my cock.
To my utter amazement Mrs. Johanssen kept her lips around my shaft and continued stroking me into her mouth as I came; it was like she wouldn’t let up until I was totally satisfied, and she seemed to swallow most of it.

When I finally finished spurting she kept me in her mouth for a while, sucking me clean. At long last Mrs. Johanssen sat up and leaned back. In a gesture that was both crude yet at the same time strangely lovely she gently wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and said, “I just wanted to do that for the longest time!”

I must have come a lot; her slightly parted lips were visibly splattered with goo, and a line of the shiny thick white stuff was splattered across the side of her cheek. Up until that point I’d never had a woman swallow my cum. It seemed the right thing to do to express some kind of gratitude for this nice service so I leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

I never had any desire to taste my own cum before but at this stage of the game it seemed like sharing her wet mouthful was the right thing to do. We kissed, my tongue went into her mouth, and the musty taste and smell of my clammy liquid was smeared all over between our lips.

When we finally broke our kiss. I was in some kind of state of disbelief, of course. I just sat there. Mrs. Johanssen reached back down into the cooler on the floor of the truck and said, “You want another cold Coke?”

The two of us just sat there in the front of the truck for a while, enjoying our cold Cokes and looking out at the sunlight coming through the trees by the creek. The front of Mrs. Johanssen’s shirt was still unbuttoned low enough to offer a good view of her round tits, encased in the lace-edged cups of her bra, and her hair was a bit disheveled. I’d pulled up my jeans after she’d finished doing me, but my belt was still undone and my fly was wide open. I looked at her and she looked at me and we laughed like a couple of kids over what had gone down, then we kissed again, long, slow and lovingly.

Mrs. Johanssen finally broke the kiss and said, “We’d better get back to the house. It’s getting late.”

And Mr. Johanssen will be coming home any minute now, I said to myself.

We were halfway back to the house when Mrs. Johanssen said, “We never even got any of that brush cut. Well, at least the afternoon wasn’t a total waste of time.”

* * *

It was when we got back to the house that things really got weird. Old Mr. Johanssen was puttering around the garage when Mrs. Johanssen and I pulled up in the truck. He was a big guy with a full head of silver-gray hair; must’ve been in his seventies if he was a day. Despite the warm weather he was wearing some kind workman’s coat, and he was kind of bent over as he walked around the garage.

Mrs. Johanssen killed the ignition, put on the parking brake, then climbed out and breezily walked up to her husband and kissed him on the cheek like nothing in the world had ever happened. “Hi,hon!”

“Mmmm,” he grunted, “What have you kids been up to?”

I could have died, then and there.

“We were down by the creek. I’ve got Sean clearing up that underbrush by that stand of birch,” she said, all business-as-usual-like.

When Mr. Johanssen glanced over at me, it was like that old movie Moby Dick when the one eye of the whale looks at you and I swear he could read my thoughts. I made out with your wife, I thought. Your wife sucked my cock. She sucked me off until I came in her mouth.

“I’ll be getting along, ma’am,” I said. Mrs. Johanssen looked at me with this expression on her face and for one panicky split-second I was afraid she was going to ask me to stay for dinner. And dessert.

“Very well, Sean. Tomorrow, then? Same time?”

* * *

Of course I figured our relationship was going to change somewhat, but I was in no way prepared for how much. When I pulled up to the Johanssen place the next day, Mrs. Johanssen didn’t even go pretend it was about clearing out the underbrush down by the creek.

“Oh, hi Sean,” she said cheerfully as she met me at the door. She was wearing the same kind of shirt again, a man’s shirt, unbuttoned just enough to offer a generous view of her bountiful hills. Instead of the khaki trousers, though, this time she had on a tight pair of Capri pants that showed off her nicely turned calves and ankles.

I hadn’t figured out yet if what had happened was some kind of a one-time deal or if we were going to take it further. Mrs. Johanssen erased any and all doubts as to the nature of our relationship as she wrapped her arms about me and damn near choked me to death on the kiss she gave me. Then she took my by the hand and led me straight downstairs to the guest bedroom.

It was a bright, sunny room with a big double bed, an adjoining bathroom and wide picture windows that overlooked the pool and a good deal of the property. We kissed again and by now my boner was straining against layers of clothing, poking right onto her pussymound.

Mrs. Johanssen indicated for me to lay on the bed while she pulled the drapes. The room was plunged into darkness and she lay on the bed next to me and we started making out. Our tongues going hard at it while my hands found the buttons on her shirt and went to work undoing them. I put my hand inside her shirt and grasped a handful of tit; she had a pair of really big ones, and her nipples poked right through the thin fabric of her brassiere.

At the same time Mrs. Johanssen was undoing my jeans and as soon as she got past my belt and unzipped my fly she had her hand inside my shorts and was fondling my rod. The palm of her hand felt soft and cool against my hot meat.

And then she was down to her bra and panties, a nice matching black lace set. For an older woman Mrs. Johanssen really had it going on; her legs were long and lean and muscular, she had a nice round ass and a wide pair of hips, her waist narrowed in and she had a flat stomach, as tight as a snare drum. Her black brassiere must have had some kind of steel reinforcement; it had her huge tits jutting out like a shelf, pushing them up with a bursting roundness like a pair of ripe tomatoes.

“Omigod, you’re so beautiful,” I whispered, running my hands up and down her form in genuine awe.

Mrs. Johanssen smiled at me, then she moved over a bit and leaned down to my midsection and took my length fully into her wet mouth. “Mrs. Johanssen,” I whispered, indicating for her to come back up. I figured in the front of the truck we couldn’t have taken it much beyond a blowjob, but it was my intention to reciprocate this afternoon, going all the way.

“I want to, Sean. I like sucking your dick.” As she said this she was palming my shaft up against her face, licking her tongue up and down my entire length and making it wet. “You know, you’ve got such a beautiful cock, Sean,” she said, stroking it lovingly before taking me in her mouth again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Johanssen,” I said, not know anything else to say.

“Mmmmf,” was her reply, as her mouth was now full of cock. Then she released me once more, pursing her lips up at the very tip of my penis. “You’re welcome.” Her tongue came out, darting in the slitted hole on the end of my cock, then around the head as she expertly polished my knob. She opened her mouth again, this time just taking in the head and concentrating her lips and tongue about the rim of my helmet.

“Mrs. Johanssen,” I whispered through gritted teeth. I had to fuck her now or never; I couldn’t take much more of this pleasurable torture.

She released me and moved back up the bed; I practically ripped her panties off. Looking down I was amazed to see Mrs. Johanssen was practically hairless down there; she wasn’t shaved or anything, her pubic hair was simply so fine and thin. As I searched in vain for the clasp on the back of her bra she began laughing. “Here, let me,” she said as she demonstrated the first front-clasp brassiere I had ever encountered in my brief career as a cocksman. She sat up, undid the thing and her large breasts burst out, free at last.

Mrs. Johanssen’ tits were simply beautiful. I got up on one elbow and held one, nuzzled it and kissed and licked her nipple. They were surprisingly full and firm for an older woman, big and round like a pair of grapefruits. I kissed one, then the other, held them, felt their roundness, their fullness, hefted their weight. “Oh, that feels great,” Mrs. Johanssen sighed, as I kissed and sucked her nipples. “That feels s-o-o-o g-o-o-o-d!”

I rolled her over on her back and moved between her legs, the head of my throbbing cock poised right on her slit. I could feel her female heat right on the very tip of my cock. Mrs. Johanssen draped her arms sumptuously about my neck and shoulders in anticipation of her pleasure.

“Uh, do you want me to put something on?” I asked. I was terribly embarrassed and didn’t know what to say or do about it, but I remember thinking it was the right adult thing to say, the responsible thing to do, to show some concern about birth control.

“It’s okay, Sean,” she said simply, “don’t you know I’m past the time of my life where I have to worry about having a baby? Go ahead and stick it in.” She reached down and parted her labia with a couple of fingers and helped guide my cockhead into her wet pussy.

She was hot, wet, and surprisingly tight! I went slow for a couple of strokes, then sped up the tempo; in and out, in and out of her hot, wet love tunnel. Mrs. Johanssen moved her legs, wrapped them around me, put her arms around my back and held on for dear life.

When I looked up our eyes met and all of a sudden it seemed so unreal, so incredible that we were connected: I was between the legs of Mrs. Johanssen, I was making love to my high school vice-principal! Her hair was all about her face, spread out on the pillow, and her big round tits were pressed flat between us.

She sensed my thoughts somehow. She smiled and pulled me close, almost like a mother to a favorite child, and we kissed long and slow. Then I reached down and held her ass, squeezed my fingers tight into her ample asscheeks as we resumed our lovemaking.

Mrs. Johanssen grabbed my butt, began pushing me up and down in sync with my thrusts; the pressure started building up in the head of my cock and I sped up again. The muscles of Mrs. Johanssen’s twat began gripping and clenching about the sides of my cock; my brain melted and my cock began shooting my load of hot cum into her wet pussy.

We lay together in silence afterward, trying to make sense out of it all. I was facing her, she was looking up at the ceiling. Then she turned to look at me and she smiled, gently ran her fingers across my face. “Your cum feels good in my pussy,” she said.

It was strangely exciting to hear an older woman use such common and crude terms. We kissed ever so slightly with our lips barely touching, then parting so the very tips of our tongues could tickle and tease.

When I think back about the whole thing, I think this moment captured the very essence of our affair. From my point of view, Mrs. Johanssen represented mature respectability. Making love with her, indulging in the incredible and tantalizing sex we were having, was for me an extraordinary crossover to adult sophistication.

Then we just looked at each other for a little while, studying each other’s faces, just getting used to the idea that lovers now. When she trailed her fingertips down my neck, down to feel my chest I put my hand on hers and placed it on my cock so she could feel I was hard again already. Mrs. Johanssen said, “Omigod I forgot how it is with a younger man,” but it was time to get moving because Mr. Johanssen would be coming home soon so nothing became of it.

The guest bedroom opened onto the pool area, which was convenient; I was able to scoot out of bed and into my clothes, go right out back and make like I was clipping the hedge or cleaning the pool when Mr. Johanssen pulled up front. Meanwhile Mrs. Johanssen got dressed, straightened the sheets and then went upstairs to greet the old man when he came in.

* * *

And so it went. I’d show up at the Johanssen residence right on time and half the time there was legitimate work to do around the place. Sometimes Mrs. Johanssen would go over my college work with me. But by now I my studies in auto-pilot, which gave us a lot of time for each other. This was good because there was a lot of fucking going on.

My parents play bridge, and it was their turn to host a bridge night. Mr. and Mrs. Johanssen showed up; they were regular bridge players. I made an appearance, did the sociable thing and said hello to the guests, shook everyone’s hands and when it got to be the Johanssen’s turn to say hello it was weird beyond belief.

My mom announced to everyone that I was working over at the Johanssen’s place fixing up whatever needed to be fixed up and doing yard work and cleaning until I got back into college. As she said this Mrs. Johanssen just nodded and smiled like all I was doing was what my mother said, while old Mr. Johanssen gave me a look that could slay an ox.

I just nodded and smiled and made my way to the door, grabbing my coat on the way out, saying I was going to hang out with some friends downtown. I got into my old beater and headed off into the night, not going anywhere in particular and wondering what I would find when I got there. A case of youthful angst, I guess.

* * *

The vibes I was getting off her husband were killing me. Soon after the bridge party episode I broached the subject. We were down by the creek, where it all started. This time we were actually working on clearing that underbrush.

“You really told your husband about us,” I said.

“Of course, darling!” To my confused look, she continued, “Don’t you know it’s impossible for two people to be together for as long as we’ve been married and not know everything the other is up to.”

“Then how . . . . . . what . . .” I stammered, confused.

“When I told him, we weren’t doing anything yet. When he brought up his suspicions, I could have honestly denied it, but what was the use? He suspected, and anyway I could see something happening with us.”

“So us . . . . . . our thing . . . . . . you planned on it happening, all along?”

“Not exactly. I mean, the thought crossed my mind, sure, but I never imagined that we’d get this far, never mind that it would be going on like this. But why deny it and then later, when and if the thing ever happened, have to go on with false denials? I headed the whole thing off by simply acknowledging what he wanted to believe from the very beginning.”

“You’re unbelievable.” I was totally amazed at this remarkable woman, her forthrightness in dealing with the whole situation.

“It’s like this. Mr. Johanssen is an older man, a lot older. You give me something he obviously cannot, and he knows that.”

“And he deals with that?”

“Why not? He had his fling, many years ago. A younger girl, a hot spicy young thing, and how could I compete with that? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, it’s a simple as that.” Her turn of phrase was incredibly apt.

“And so what do I do?”

“Nothing. We continue as we’ve been doing. You come over. You work. I coach you with your college studies, and when the time is right we make love. Don’t you worry about Mr. Johanssen; he’s dealing with it just fine. As long we’re discreet everything will be fine. After all, he’s the one who set the precedent.”

And so we carried on. I’d show up at the Johanssen’s place and half the time Mrs. Johanssen would set me to work on some kind of bona fide chore. I must have been motivated by pussy because I never worked harder in my life cutting and clearing brush, painting or cleaning out gutters and Mrs. Johanssen knew it; she was getting her money’s worth out of me and then some.

We did our share of sex, too, of course.

As we became comfortable with each other we progressed beyond the kind of simple cuddling type of lovemaking to where we were doing it any and every way I could imagine possible. We took showers together; we did it in the shower standing up but I couldn’t come that way, even though Mrs. Johanssen did, so she ended up on her knees sucking me off.

We developed a method of doing it where Mrs. Johanssen laid out on her belly in the prone, legs together, with me holding her wrists together above her head with one arm while I fucked her from behind like a madman.

It was almost as if I was raping her ass. At the same time I was fucking her like this I would reach around with my free hand and diddle her clit with my other hand. I don’t know which got her off more; the total pervertedness of it all or the intense pressure on both the inside and outside of her pussy. She would writhe and moan beneath me as she came in warm, wet waves.

But we were more than a pair of perverted little fuck monkeys; we were truly lovers. She was older than me, of course, and it was accepted without being said that I was in a transitory stage of my life and that sooner or later I would move on, but in the meantime we were sharing something beautiful; it was that simple. The fact that she was a generation older translated into a sort of mentoring theme to our relationship. Mrs. Johanssen assumed the role of a sort of teacher as she took me by the hand and tutored me in the ways of physical love.

And so we enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s naked bodies; in the guest room downstairs, skinny-dipping down by the creek or even in the pool by the house. One memorable afternoon Mrs. Johanssen instructed me on the finer nuances of cunningulus; the art of eating pussy.

“Yes, right there,” she was saying, “on my clit. Yes. Lick it.”

I dutifully did as I was told, gently lapping up and down on her little love button.

“Do the alphabet.”

“Unnggghhh?” I said, which is what ‘What?’ sounds like when I’ve got a pussy clamped over my mouth.

“Do the alphabet. On my clit. With your tongue.” Her words were coming out in abrupt phrases as her breaths became short. I did as I was told, describing the alphabet on Mrs. Johanssen’s clitoris with the tip of my tongue. Up, down and across; A. Straight up, then two 180-degree turns downward; B. I got all the way to the letter O when she said, “That’s it. Now suck. Suck my clit. Yes . . .”

I looked up from where my mouth was buried in her crotch to study the look of concentration on Mrs. Johanssen’s face. It was fascinating to observe this older woman as she took her pleasure. Reaching down to hold my head in her hands had the effect of forcing her boobs up between her upper arms. As I sucked her clit into my mouth she flung her head back, “THAT’S IT! YES! YESSS!!!! YE-E-E-S-S-S-S-S-S-SSSSSSS!!!”

* * *

Our affair went on for a year and a half, incredibly enough, during which time I completed a second years’ worth of college classes, through correspondence courses. Mrs. Johanssen was good to her word; she got me set straight back on the path to academia. My parents were eternally grateful to her when I was able to put in my paperwork and get re-accepted at State. Mrs. Johanssen even came with my parents to see me off at the bus station the day I left for college the second time.

There was a lot of pride that day. The look on my Dad’s face was a combination of pride and relief; relief that it looked like his money wasn’t squandered and I was actually going to make something of my life. Mom was just bursting with motherly pride, nothing more. And Mrs. Johanssen, who had coached me and rehabilitated me, looked at me with a different sort of loving pride.

I always wondered if my parents ever detected the subtle message of romantic love that passed between the older woman and I. It was difficult to restrain myself from grasping her, pulling her body close against mine and kissing her full on the lips right there in front of my parents and everybody else. To have done so would have totally scandalized our little town, of course. I allowed my hand to go to her hip as my lips grazed her cheek, and was pleasantly surprised as Mrs. Johanssen held my face and whispered in my ear, “Goodbye, Lover. Do great things.”

As Fate would have it that was not the end. We were together again for a short time, a couple of years later. It was summertime and I was back in town. I was a minor celebrity amongst my parent’s circles, having finally graduated with my degree; Bachelor of Science, cum laude no less.

I’d only been in town a week when Mr. Johanssen died. He hadn’t been sick or laid up or anything. He was old, it was his time and his heart gave out.

We all went to the funeral, of course. Mrs. Johanssen was absolutely beautiful, incredibly enough. She was looking fine in a long-sleeved dress done in a gray birdseye pattern that featured black collar, cuffs and lapels. I wasn’t the only man at the funeral house who noticed how well the gray wool dress displayed her luscious curves, round hips and generous breasts. Mr. Johanssen wasn’t looking bad, either, considering the circumstances. The funeral director had done a great job; the old man looked better in the box than I ever remembered him in life.

We went up and spoke with Mrs. Johanssen, she smiled and gave me a look I’m sure my parents mistook for some kind of school-related fondness, perhaps pride at my recent accomplishment. If only they knew. “Come by later on,” she whispered in my ear as I kissed her cheek.

Later that evening I told my parents I was going out to hook up with some old friends. It wasn’t exactly untrue; I went out and hooked up with a particular old friend who was also happened to be a lover. When she answered her door Mrs. Johanssen was still wearing the nice gray dress she’d had on at the funeral. She’d had a few drinks. “Some people came over,” she said, “but they left early. I guess they didn’t want to burden a poor old widow with entertaining late into the night.”

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked jokingly.

“Don’t you dare,” she grinned, pulling me close and planting one right on my lips. It was the first time we’d kissed since she’d seen me off a couple of years ago; the electricity was still there.

The conversation was brief. “So how have you been? How was college? What are you plans?” And then, as she led the way down the hall, “Can you unzip me?”

We ended up naked in bed, of course. Without it being said we both knew it was a goodbye of sorts. One last time for old times’ sake, that sort of thing.

We kissed long and slow as our hands rediscovered each other’s bodies. Her breasts were just as full and large as I remembered them, her hips as round as ever before. Then Mrs. Johanssen gave me a knowing look and neither of us spoke, not a word was spared as she moved down. I grew harder by the second as I watched Mrs. Johanssen once more worship my cock, lovingly bestow sweet kisses upon it. Then she parted her lips and took my cock in her mouth.

It was like the first time all over again; once more I was overwhelmed by feelings of sheer gratitude, appreciation for this much older woman as her lips and tongue graciously pleasured my cock.

Her fingers stroked my rod in a wonderful way as she let me fuck her wet, willing mouth. Then, after what seemed like a lifetime of this perfect pleasure, Mrs. Johanssen came up for air at last. She pressed her naked body against mine and we kissed; long, slow and lovingly. As our tongues intertwined I could taste my cock in her mouth.

I squeezed her tight, round asscheeks; Mrs. Johanssen put one leg around mine and pressed her hot wetness against my thigh. It was time. I maneuvered myself above her and between her legs and dipped my hard cock into her wet, willing pussy.

“Oh, Sean, you’re SO HARD!” she sighed as I penetrated into her wet heat. This encouraged me to start going at it like a jackhammer; fast and furious, a good hard fuck. I was giving this hot mama the fuck of her life.

After a while, now that we were fully re-acquainted with each another, I slowed the tempo down to get some full-length thrusts going. She hugged me and held tight with her legs wrapped around mine as I plowed into her. Then she started coming. “Oh Sean!” she cried as her pussy clamped my raging hard-on, “Oh Sean! Love me! Love me! OOOHHHHHHHHH!!!”

I came in buckets as my brain thoroughly melted, into her warm, wet depths.

It was Mrs. Johanssen who brought it up, afterwards as we lay kissing and cuddling in the light afterglow of sex. “You’ll be moving on, soon?”

“I start graduate school in September.”

“Oh, Sean, you really have come a long way since that first summer, our first time.”

“There can still be an us. I’ll still be coming home, from time to time.”

“Oh no, I don’t think it’s right, Sean.” This surprised me, coming from the one who had seduced me, had set it up so we could become lovers in the first place. “Mr. Johanssen isn’t here for us to hide behind anymore. I’m a widow now; there will be talk when people see you coming around.”

Her hand was resting lightly on my penis as she said this. Her breasts were pressed against my chest, my arm was about her and our lips almost touching as we spoke. My penis lay up against my belly, still slightly stiff from our recent lovemaking. Suddenly it twitched beneath her fingers.

“Oh,” Mrs. Johanssen said, looking down. “It looks like I’m going to have to take care of this thing again.” I watched her, incredulous, as she moved down and once more began lightly kissing and licking my swollen joint.

I was hard again in minutes; I was still a young man and this remarkable woman was making sweet love kisses to my dick with her lips. Mrs. Johanssen ran her wet tongue up the underside of my rod, parted her lips and once again swallowed me deep.

“Mrs. Johanssen,” I croaked.

“Shhh . . .” she whispered, lifting her head momentarily. “I want to, Sean. It’s something I want to do,” she said before returning her sweet loving lips to my python.

And so it ended the way it had begun, with Mrs. Johanssen bringing me to completion in her mouth.

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