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Writer’s Note: This is a story for adults over eighteen years of age about adults over eighteen years of age. While the story line is true, the dialog has been compressed for the sake of time and space. Safe sex was not an issue in the early sixties and seventies but should be a concern for everyone today.
As the saying Biblical goes, “To everything there is a season . . . ;” that applies especially to women. They have a season to be a child, a season to come of age, a season to become a young woman, then a season to mature; my personal, favorite season for women. The season where many women begin to search for more personal freedom and to explore the pleasures they have missed out on.
I was only three when my father was drafted during World War Two and our family moved from Tampa to San Diego. I do not remember much about that time, but I do remember our next door neighbors. The mother, Marcie, and my mother worked opposite shifts at the shipyard and took turns keeping us kids; Marcie had a boy and a girl; my Mom had my older sister and me. After the war, Marcie and her family moved to Tampa with my family instead of returning to their former farming life in the mid-west.
Both of our families used their VA loans and built homes next to each other in a new subdivision on the north side of Tampa. Ray, Marcie’s husband, transferred from the Navy to the Merchant Marines and was assigned to a ship stationed at the Port of Tampa; he would spend three months at sea then he would be home for a month.
Marcie and Ray’s kids had the run of our house just as my sister and I had at their house. We were more like an extended family than two separate families. When I misbehaved, I could count on getting a spanking from Marcie just as quickly as from my Mom.
Of course, there were some advantages too. We thought nothing about barging into each other’s homes without knocking. On many occasions, I would see Marcie hurry from the bathroom in the hall to her bedroom, wearing only her panties and trying to cover her bare breasts with her arms; I was maybe six or so, but seeing her shapely bottom in a pair of white, cotton, granny panties, left a lasting impression on my psyche and defined my standard of sexy for my entire adult life. While I did not comprehend my attraction for my shapely, dark-haired, Italian neighbor at the time, I treasured the images like a rare gem.
Many nights Marcie would babysit us and we would all snuggle up close to her as she read us stories; she was warm, soft, and had the most wonderful aroma. I could sometimes get by with laying my head against her soft breast; If my hand accidentally rested on her breast, she would gently remove it without saying a word.
By the time I was a junior in high school my interest in Marcie began to change; I had already gotten laid and had a better understanding of my attraction for her. I guess she realized the change too and I didn’t get to see her in her panties as often, especially if her kids were home. One afternoon I stopped by to borrow something for my Mom; Marcie was alone and getting ready to get into the shower. She called out from the bathroom and asked me to hand her a fresh towel from the linen closet in the hall; rather than handing it to her through the slightly open door, I took full advantage of the opportunity and walk into the bathroom to hand her the towel. Surprised by my audacity, she made an attempt to cover her breasts with her hands and arms, but she didn’t turn away from me.
Marcie gave me her stern look as my eyes captured the image of her wearing only a pair of white, cotton, full cut panties, “Will, shame on you; you shouldn’t walk in on me when almost naked.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were already in the shower,” I stated my apology slowly to give me a few more seconds to admire her.
Once I left home for college and my active duty tour with the Army, I only saw Marcie during occasional holiday visits for almost six years; rarely more than once or twice a year. During that time she completed her nursing degree and began working at Tampa General Hospital. Each time I visited her, our welcome home hugs lasted a little longer and included more of our bodies touching before we sat down with a cold beer and caught up on the goings-on in our lives. If she had just gotten off of her shift at the hospital, she would sit on the sofa with her feet in my lap while I massaged her feet. I made no bones about my affection for her by giving her sweet bottom loving pats when I could get by with it; she would smile and scold me mildly then squeeze my hand or hold me close to her chest.
Marcie matured as a woman as I grew into a young man; her once slender figure became fuller and more curvaceous as she entered her forties; her mature figure did incredible things to her starched, white, nurse’s uniform. Her once thin face became fuller; her emerald, green eyes and sultry smile gave her a more sensuous look.
With her kids out of the house and on their own, we usually tuzla escort had the house to ourselves when her husband was at sea. After her shift at the hospital, she would remove and hang up her starched, white, uniform dress and ware her slip and underwear. We would sit on the sofa to watch a movie and eat pop corn, but would end up snuggled together. Eventually that led to some kissing, which over time led to some light petting.
I would kiss her nipples through her clothes or just cup her breasts in my hands; when we snuggled together, my hand would roam over her hips and firm round bottom; when she would admonish me, I would lay her hand over the swollen bulge in my pants. She would squeeze me gently and wiggle closer to me before removing her hand.
Occasionally, we would have to have a serious talk about “going too far,” “Will, I hope you don’t think I am leading you on,” she would say rubbing her fingers through her black, curly hair, “but sometimes, I need a man’s touch so badly I could scream.”
“Marcie, I’m having the time of my life enjoying your company; I have adored you since I was a kid. Let’s just enjoy our journey together where ever it leads us,” it wasn’t a case of my not getting laid enough, so why push it.
After college, I got a job teaching high school American History in a rural town about thirty miles north of Tampa. I made sure I saw Marcie when I visited my parents or after my graduate classes at the university. We would talk for hours; she liked asking me about the rumors of my affairs with older women. She delighted in hearing the details about what I did with them, especially if it had to do with my oral talents. Several times when she approached me sitting on the sofa, I pressed my face against her slip covered pubic mound and kissed her. If we had one of our hot and heavy make out sessions I could smell her aroma. She would hold my face against her.
After a moment, she would push me away gently, “Will, I can’t take much of that.”
I continued to push the envelope; after massaging her feet, I slid my hands up to her calves then higher up her smooth legs until I could unfasten her stocking from her garter belt clasp. I slowly slid each one down her creamy smooth, shapely legs. She would caution me, “Not too close,” if I moved my hands above the top of her stockings.
Marcie’s resistance faded completely one evening when I pushed my leg between hers then pressed it firmly into her crotch. She froze for a moment then began to grind her crotch slowly against my bare thigh below the leg of my shorts; a few minutes later her grinding increased. I felt the heat and dampness from her treasure vault as she achieved the sexual release she needed from being just a part time wife.
In time, we found out that we didn’t need the sofa; we could do the same thing sitting or standing. It was easy for her to get off; she could go from one orgasm to another. Marcie wasn’t selfish either; before we said goodnight, she would take me in her hand and let me spew my hot, creamy semen on her smooth thighs or her panty encased pubic mound or bare tummy.
When her husband would return home, we would sit attentively and listen to his adventures of exotic, faraway places as we played footsies under the table. There was no doubt that she loved her husband; she just needed more than being a part time wife. She admitted several times that she was ready for him to return to sea before his month was over; finally admitting that he was not giving her the quantity or quality of sex she needed.
My parents retired in their early fifties and began spending their summers at their mountain home in western North Carolina. Marcie had a key to their house next door and took in the mail and watered the plants; I would stop by weekly and mow the lawn before going to my night classes at the University. One afternoon when I finished the mowing, I went in and took a shower.
As I was drying off, I suddenly heard a familiar voice, “Will?”
I wrapped a towel around me and stepped into the hall; Marcie peeked around the corner, “Are you decent?”
I quickly responded, “Yes, but I can quickly change that.”
Marcie laughed then walked up to me and gave me a big hug. I pulled her closer; her body melted against me. My hand dropped to the firm, mature bottom I had admired for so long and roamed over her curvaceous mounds of flesh before giving them a couple of loving pats.
“Will, I believe I have scolded you about such familiar behavior,” she said with a coy smile. It was a game we played; I took liberties and she pretended to check my advances.
“Yes, you have and I should be ashamed for rubbing my hands over your beautiful, firm, curvaceous bottom and giving it loving pats.”
I leaned my head toward her and kissed her lips. Marcie quickly responded by opening her mouth; our lips and tongues meshed into a passionate kiss. Our hands explored each other’s bodies; our breathing and heart rate shot through the roof. I pressed my back against the wall and tuzla escort bayan pulled Marcie against me; my bare thigh moved up between her smooth legs to her crotch. She yielded the space to my intrusion and I quickly felt the heat from her most private place. I braced my bare foot against the wall; Marcie began a slow grind against my bare thigh with her hips.
We gasped for air as primal grunts and moans emanated from our throats. My hands found her firm, softball-sized breasts that she had always tried to hide from me. I felt a tug on my towel then it dropped to the floor. My fingers began working on the buttons of her blouse the same time Marcie’s hands were unfastening the back of her skirt. Through the entire time, I don’t believe our lips parted once. I stripped off her blouse and bra, but we could not remove her skirt and panties with my thigh pressing firmly between her legs. Her hips were thrusting at warp speed, her voice crying out, and her hands pounding the wall above my head; my hands kneaded her breasts as my fingers gently pinched and rolled her hard nipples.
There was one last wailing cry before she went completely limp in my arms; her hand was wrapped tightly around my engorged cock as she tried to regain her breath. Our bodies were soaking wet with sweat; droplets of perspiration ran down Marcie’s back and into the waistband of her cotton panties. I envied the freedom the droplets had to move into those nooks and crannies I had only dreamed of. I picked up my towel from the floor and began drying Marcie off.
It was the first time I had an unobstructed, close-up, view of her beautiful, milk white breasts. There would be no covering them with her hands or arms as she ran to her room in her panties. I stood for several minutes simply admiring their symmetry, smoothness, and, of course, the beautiful, light, rose-colored nipples; they showed the normal wear from having fed two children, but they were still beautiful and very kissable. I lowered my head and kissed each one.
I lowered the thermostat and followed Marcie into the den admiring the beautiful sight of her panty covered bottom, once again, as she walked. We grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge as we passed by and settled down on the sofa in the den; I was naked and still sporting my hard-on and Marcie was wearing her usual white, granny panties. We didn’t say much to each other for a while, she just stared out the sliding glass patio door at the feeding hummingbirds and, of course, I stared at her; occasionally we looked at each other and smiled.
Marcie reached over and took my hard cock in her hand and broke the silence, “Will, we have been pushing the limit for some time; how do you feel about our going all the way?” I grinned from ear to ear, “I want to feel you in me.”
I looked at her for a moment then kissed her passionately. I slid off the sofa and knelt between her legs, pulled her hips to the edge of the sofa, and pressed my face against the crotch of her still wet, slick panties.
“As a nurse, I should warn you, places like that are ripe for germs.”
“I know and I want to meet every one of them,” I said as I nuzzled my nose against the slick wet fabric separating me from a treasure I had long sought.
When my hands went to her waistband, she lifted her bottom up; I pulled her panties over her mature, round hips and bottom then down her long shapely legs and off her feet. I looked her in the eyes when I lifted the soft fabric to my face and inhaled deeply. My long time neighbor, babysitter, and surrogate mom was completely naked before me for the first time; her beautiful treasure vault was open, displaying her glistening, pink gems.
I buried my face between her legs and began kissing her puffy, hair covered, outer lips; with her feet on my shoulders, her entire undercarriage was exposed. My tongue slipped lower and danced around her rim, she excitedly exclaimed, “Will, that is definitely germ territory,” but she made no effort to block my path or push me away.
My nose moved up the slick, wet furrow as I licked higher and higher; she used her feet on my shoulders as leverage to grind her crotch against my face. When the bridge of my nose reached her clit, she went wild.
“Will! I need you in me!”
I quickly moved into a sitting position on the sofa and pulled her on top of me. She guided me to her entrance then slid down the entire length of my shaft and immediately began riding my cock like a bronco rider; her breasts bounced and swayed in front of my face. I quickly captured them in my hands and kissed them as they moved over my face. Marcie rode fast for several minutes then groaned and sat still for several minutes before starting all over.
After several orgasms, one right after the other, Marcie disengaged and turned around a hundred and eighty degree then remounted me; she switched from riding me up and down to thrusting her hips back and forth. She went slowly at first then she increased to warp speed. I felt her fingers near escort tuzla the base of my shaft and my cod sack moving about feverishly and causing squishy sounds; we were in perfect timing.
I cried out, “Aaaahhhh, Marcie, baby!” as spurt after spurt of hot liquid shot through my shaft and exploded through the small opening in my engorged head filling Marcie with hot, creamy liquid.
Marcie lay back against me and lifted her feet to my knees; I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. I soon felt my shrinking cock slip through the gooey cream I had deposited in my beautiful neighbor; the remainder ended up in a puddle on the floor.
After several minutes she spoke, “Will, do you think we should continue this; I don’t want it to be a problem for us?”
I squeezed her softly, “It won’t be a problem for me, but I think we should be discreet and find another place to meet.”
We didn’t have time for an encore before Marcie’s shift so we hopped into the shower made sure we were very clean. Marcie retrieved her nurse’s uniform and underclothes from her car and I sat on the sofa and watched her put on each piece. First came her white garter belt then a fresh pair of white cotton, full cut, panties; she pulled them up her long, shapely legs then wiggled her hips and sweet butt so they fit just right, entrapping the dark, curly patch of pubic hair covering her treasure vault then the waistband snapped in place.
I got to admire her full, milk white breasts a little longer while she pulled on her white, seamed stockings and attached them to her garter belt. Once she verified that her seams were straight, she fastened her bra behind her back, pulled the straps up her shoulders and carefully and expertly put each breast in its proper cup for safety; I was again hard as a rock.
She made one more check to verify her seams were straight, or maybe she was just showing me her beautiful, stocking encased legs one more time before donning her starched, white dress and little nurse’s cap; she gave me a delicious kiss, squeezed my engorged cock, and left for her three to eleven shift at TMH.
I readjusted the thermostat back to a higher temperature and pulled on my shorts and shirt. When I got to the glass storm door to leave, I saw Mrs. Bergman heading across the street toward the house. The stride with which she was approaching, told me she had a full head of steam up for some reason and I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I scratched my crotch and got ready for the approaching storm.
Mrs. Bergman and her husband had been our across the street neighbors for several decades. She was in her early fifties and childless so she had plenty of time to be the neighborhood over-wrought, busy body, and gossip spreader. My mother was one of the few women in the neighborhood who had the patience to be friends with her.
She was a slender, prissy woman with an intense look about her that indicated that maybe she was wound a bit too tight. Her short, curly, auburn hair and dress style was clearly out of date; her dark, horn-rimmed glasses with an attached silver chain around her neck stood in sharp contrast to her white complexion and thin lips with bright red lipstick. The glasses seemed to magnify her piercing blue eyes. She always wore dresses with hems just below her knees, whether she was on her way to church or working in her flower beds; she often wore a light sweater draped over her shoulders with a chain clasp to secure it.
I tried to greet her at the door.
“Don’t think I don’t know what is going on with you and that woman. Your sweet mother is going to hear about this when she gets home.”
My jaw dropped; the one thing that Marcie and I didn’t need was for this old biddy to rat on us to my mother, Marcie’s long time best friend, or start gossip that would get back to her husband when he got home from the sea. I had to act fast.
“Mrs. Bergman, what on earth are you talking about?”
“You know good and well what I am talking about. You and that woman cavorting about in your mother’s house when she is away; you should be ashamed.”
There was no way to reason with her when she was in this state of mind. I decided on a different tactic. I had learned that the best defense was a good offense; I had to attack and attack now.
“Please, Mrs. Bergman, come in out of this heat before you have a stroke.”
I didn’t bother to readjust the thermostat again since I was sure Mrs. Bergman would not stay long.
I offered her a seat on the sofa then, “Would you care for a small glass of sherry?”
Mrs. Bergman was a bit of a lush, but she would never take a glass of sherry, only a “small glass”, even though the glasses were all the same size. When I saw Mrs. Bergman coming across the street, I sat a full decanter of sherry and two glasses out.
“Just a small glass, thank you,” she fanned herself with the Good Housekeeping magazine on the coffee table.
I poured the four once glass to the brim and handed it to her and sat on the sofa beside her. I inhaled the aroma of the sherry in my glass and took a couple of sips; I recalled, “sherry is a lot like a woman,” my grandfather used to say, “You can enjoy her taste and aroma at the same time.”
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