mature xxx


July 1, 2006

young boy mature mom

Doing good is its own reward, I’ve heard. It’s true; helping others gives one a certain satisfaction, a feeling that something has been done to make the world a little better. Yet there can be other rewards…

I had found myself in need of some of that sense of self-worth in my college days. Life in the dorm seemed so insular, so out of touch with what was going on in the world. So, at the suggestion of a friend, I volunteered for the local meals on wheels program. It was no great sacrifice, carrying lunch to one lonely, elderly person a couple times a week, visiting for an hour, and going back to my routine, but it made me feel better about myself and about the world.

Today, it was Mrs. Curtiss. I always enjoyed taking a meal to her; some of those I visited were bitter, or unhappy, or sometimes just downright unstable. This lady, however, remained outgoing, voluble, and “sharp as a tack.” I climbed the four concrete steps to her sagging front porch and knocked–the bell had been out of order as long as I had been going there.

I could see her approach through the screen door. Those were still the days when a woman alone could leave her doors unlocked, even in a fairly rough neighborhood like hers. I knew there were those around who kept an eye out for her. It was a bit surprising to find her wearing a long bathrobe; she had always dressed when I came before. Immediately, I wondered if something was wrong.

“Come in, boy,” she called to me, “you know you don’t hafta stand outside.” I carried her meal in and placed it on the formica table in the kitchen.

“How are you today, ma’am? Do you have an appetite?”

“‘Pends on what you brought me, Ted,” she replied, sniffing the air. “Sure smells good.”

“Fish,” I told her, unpacking the food. “I know you like fried fish. Better dig in while it’s still hot.”

“Blessin’ first.” She bowed her head and said a short prayer. “Now let’s see…slaw…mashed potatoes…those cooks down at the center do not know how to make decent mashed potatoes.” She sighed dramatically. Mrs. Curtiss was a well-cured ham. “But I’ll make do.”

I sat down in the steel-framed chair opposite her. Its upholstery was patched with duct tape. My doing-I always carried a roll for surfboard repairs. “Two packs of sugar in your tea?”

“Yes. Thank you, boy.” She peered at me over her reading glasses; her dark eyes were as bright as a child’s. Reaching out, she gave my hand a squeeze. “I appreciate your visits no end.”

“Oh, I’m glad to come, Mrs. Curtiss.”

“Why don’t you just call me Sister Jo, like everyone else?”

Well, why not? A college-age white boy might feel a little strange calling this elderly lady “sister,” but I figured I’d get used to it. “Sister Jo it is, ” I agreed with a smile. “The last women I called sister were the nuns at St. Catherine Elementary.”

She leaned back and laughed heartily. “I ain’t never been a nun, Ted!”

“Um, no, you’re not at all like any of them,” I remarked, trying to be as noncommittal as possible.

Sister Jo went on, quite oblivious to my discomfort with the subject. “I’ve lost three husbands you know. Buried two of ‘em…the other I just lost!” I had to laugh along with her on that one. “And…well, I’m a God-fearin’ woman most of the time, but sometimes a nice lookin’ gentleman makes me forget ’bout that.”

Uncertain what to say, I simply nodded.

“That was a fine meal. Thank you for bringin’ it by.” She rose to her feet, steadying herself on the table. Mrs. Curtiss’ only physical problem was a bad hip that kept her from getting out much. “Sugar,” she addressed me, with a faint, enigmatic smile on her lips, “I want to show you just how much I appreciate your visits.”

With that, she slipped the bulky bathrobe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Beneath was a sheer red gown. Beneath that was…nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. Sister Jo in all her still-desirable splendor was on display. She had aged well; a sexy sexagenarian if ever there was one. “I know those looks you’ve been givin’ me from time to time,” she said.

Uh-oh. I had caught myself taking in her full breasts occasionally. I guess she had too. Now I could really see them…and I felt an unmistakable response in my loins. I stood, thinking that I should leave right then, but remained frozen, a deer caught by her headlights.

“Are you comin’ over here, Ted, or do I hafta come and get you?”

I looked her in the eyes, trying to decide on my answer. Then my gaze slid south, to the full, if not exactly firm, bosom, her broad hips, the thatch of curls that, unlike those on her head, was still quite black. I had found my answer.

Jo must have been striking when young–not beautiful, perhaps, but impressive with her height, her strong angular face, her ample breasts. She still had an aura about her, the aura of a woman who took what she wanted from life and never regretted the choice. If she wanted me…well, who was I to argue!

As I stepped forward, she slipped her large strong hands around my waist and, giving my buns a squeeze, pulled me tight. “Nice rear end, surfer boy,” she commented, resting her forehead against mine. “Is the front as good?”

I wasn’t about to answer that question, so I put my lips to a different use. Except for the taste of fish, it was a pretty damn good kiss. “Alright,” she continued when we were done, “if you aren’t tellin’, I’ll just have to find out myself.”

She fumbled at my crotch for a moment. “Where’s the zipper?” She stepped back and roared with laughter. “Durn, Ted, you wearin’ pants without a fly? How do you go?”

“I just drop ‘em,” I explained, untying the drawstring. They slid down part way on their own; Jo gave them a little assist on going the rest of the way. Underneath, I wore a tight, bright blue Speedo. My excitement was quite obvious through the fabric.

“Ooh, I didn’t know you white boys wore such fancy underpants!” There was no point in telling her it was a swimsuit; I would pull my baggies on over it later to go surfing. “I like them!” She ran the tip of a neatly manicured finger along the length of my erection. “Like what’s inside too!”

Giving an involuntary shiver, I replied, “I kind of like what’s inside of that dress you’re wearing, Sister.”

“You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you? It’s time for your reward.” Jo grabbed the cushion on which she had been sitting, dropped it to the floor, and lowered herself to her knees. “My old joints aren’t what they used to be,” she chuckled.

In a moment, the Speedo was around my ankles and my penis was pointing the way to pleasure. I pulled my bulky tee up out of the way and then, on second thought, all the way off. “That’s the idea,” murmured my mature seducer, running her hands up my torso. Right then, her age meant nothing; she was simply one sexy woman.

“Now you’re going to get somethin’ you never got before,” she promised. With that she pulled out her teeth and set them on the table. Looking up with a wicked, puckered grin, Sister Jo informed me, “Gums awe de behst foh bwow jobs!”

She may have had something there. It was certainly a new experience–not that I was greatly experienced at that age. Slowly, tantalizingly, she swallowed my shaft, the pink flesh disappearing into the brown. I gazed down at those full, fleshy buttocks peeking through the gown and knew I needed a better look. Pulling the sheer fabric up, I relished the view of her rounded rump. Jo’s mouth moved up and down my inflated phallus, sending waves of arousal that I was riding ever closer to orgasm.

Now she pulled back to nibble on the head with those gums, while her tongue tangoed across the tip. Sensing I was near completion, Jo suddenly stopped. “Take it awe de way ohf!” she ordered. I pulled the gown over her head and tossed it aside. She leaned back, lifting the exposed breasts up, offering them in all their mahogany magnificence. “Puht it in, Honey, puht it in!”

I drove my manhood between the two sweat-slippery mounds, the large dark-chocolate aureoles bobbing on either side in rhythm. Her full lips open, her head thrown back, Sister Jo moaned with ecstasy at each thrust. “Oh, oh, oh…wet me…have you…again.”

I obliged, sliding once more into her eager, hungry mouth, furiously fucking it with deep full strokes until I reached that orgasm that had been unreachable up until then in my young life, the one that surpassed all others before and most since.

I sank to my knees, my slowly subsiding erection leaving a trail from her lips to her navel. My head rested on her shoulder, my body against her bosom, as I caught my breath. For a minute, perhaps, she held me tight; then I felt her reach her arm out. Leaning back onto my heels, I watched her slip her teeth back in. Mrs. Curtiss gave me a toothy grin and a wink of the eye, saying, “You’ll have to help me back up now, boy. I do believe I’m all wore out!”

“You’re not the only one, Sister.”

“No, I reckon not,” she laughed, as I assisted her to her feet. I had to step back and look at her then in her naked entirety.

“You’re quite a woman,” I stated.

“And don’t you ever forget it, Sugar. Just the reward you deserved.” She leaned forward to give me a little peck of a kiss on the cheek. “Now you’d better get yourself dressed and skedaddle. My granddaughter will be comin’ to take me to church and I need to get cleaned up. But,” she continued with a twinkle in her eye, “I do expect you’ll be bringin’ meals by again.”

Today featured young boy mature mom gallery

Leave a Reply

IMPRESSED? Then Click HERE to post your comment...

Powered by Blogchalking

Warning: readfile(/www/users/dan/ [function.readfile]: failed to open stream: No such file or directory in /home/dan/ on line 1