I’m a Major in the U.S. Army stationed at Ft. Benning, GA. I enjoy working down here because I’m also something of a history buff and I love going to the old Civil War battle sites in Atlanta, Chattanooga and other places. I’ve even been to a few Civil War re-enactor battles and talked to the re-enactors themselves to learn what’s involved. I’ve thought about buying the old uniforms and weapons and becoming a player myself but just haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe in my retirement. Anyway, this has been a good tour of duty for me.
You see, history is a living thing to me. When I go to the battlefields or read the old books, I feel I’m there. I love listening to old soldiers talk about the way it used to be. Sometimes I wish I could go back there with them. Little did I know that I would soon be getting the chance in a way I had never expected.
A few months ago I was sent on temporary duty to the Pentagon in Washington, DC for a couple of weeks. I’ve been to Washington a few times although I’ve never been stationed there – and frankly, don’t want to be. My superior officer during my tour at the Pentagon and I went back a long way together. He was my Commanding Officer during the Gulf War and knew something about my love of history and talking to old soldiers.
Maybe that’s why he asked me if I’d like to attend a reception at the Ft. Meyer’s Officers’ Club being given that night. A retired Army Aviators group was meeting there as part of their annual convention. As he explained it, this group was largely made up of older men and their spouses, many of whom were World War II and Korean War veterans. As sort of a courtesy, the Army would send over active duty men and women to some of the events and my boss thought I might enjoy talking to the old folks. I had nothing else going on so I said, sure, why not?
I arrived about 1800 hours that same evening in my dress uniform, grabbed myself a complimentary drink at the bar and started mingling. I know lots of people my age think it’s fashionable to say they hate cocktail parties like this but I’m not one of them. Plus in this environment, I was something of a celebrity. Before long, I had dozens of old Army aviators grabbing my elbow and telling me stories of what it was like long ago. I found it fascinating but after a while, even I wanted to sit down for a bit.
Just about everybody was up and mingling so most of the tables were empty. Sitting all alone at a table along the edge of the room was one elderly woman so I went over to her and asked if I could sit down. She said of course with a practiced social smile and I sat down next to her. Before long we started talking.
Her name was Bonnie although her friends all called her ‘Bo’ and her husband had passed away almost 6 years ago. She had flown up to Washington to attend the convention from Panama City, Florida and was staying with old friends. She pointed to them standing along the bar.
She and her husband were a career Army family and he had flown and fought in World War II, Korea and Vietnam before retiring. She had two children and three grandchildren and from some of the details about her life, I calculated she was about 78 years old or so.
I had enjoyed talking with some of the old pilots this evening but I found Bo charming and fascinating. She was really the first old woman I had ever spent any time talking with about the Army and an Army career. She told me about what it was like living in Washington DC during World War II and how wonderful it was when it ended in glorious victory.
“Most young men are not the least bit interested in my prattling on,” she said with a pretty little smile. She looked into my eyes for the first time and seemed genuinely pleased. “If you don’t know about computers and the Internet or modern movies (isn’t the language simply awful?), then they don’t want to talk.”
I shook my head. “Not me,” I said. “I love hearing about what it used to be like. I think we can learn a lot from the past.”
Bo smiled, then thought for a moment and reached into her purse for something. “Here,” she said. “You might find this interesting then.”
She pulled out some old photos of her and her husband from during World War II. In the photos she was slender and quite lovely. I went through all the pictures asking her about this one, pointing to that one. She told me about the crazy things she did and laughed out loud when I did. I was charmed by this bit of living history sharing her stories with me.
Bo had a way of patting my hand when I questioned if something she said could really be true. “Oh, you better believe it, honey,” she would say.
You’re probably wondering what she looks like today and forgive me for not telling you sooner but I just wasn’t interested in her looks up to this point. She was just a sweet old lady with a charming manner who loved talking about life 50 to 60 years ago. But something was happening.
We were sitting all alone at the table and when her friends came by and introduced themselves to me, Bo told them we were fine and all but sent them away. So it was just she and I and the occasional old friend who she would greet then dismiss and continue reminiscing with me.
Her lips seemed a little droopy, there’s no other way to put it. I watched them as she spoke and she would curl and enunciate particular sounds in that peculiar way that women sometimes do in the South. Only infrequently would she gesture with a finger. She had lovely fingers and wore a big diamond ring from her marriage. Her wrists were fat but disappeared into a lovely blue blouse and sequined sweater. She was wearing a long gray skirt and turquoise scarf that allowed a peek at a surprisingly firm upper chest while hiding some droopy neck folds.
Bo knew how to wear make up well. Unlike many older women, she didn’t just slather it on in chunks of red and beige color. She had high cheekbones and applied the make up to accent it. Her hair was beautifully coiffed and she had a delightful way of brushing away a wild strand that might fall across her face as she would tell a story.
When the band started up, it was a little harder to hear but I learned she had no significant health problems except she had hip replacement surgery a few years back that relieved a lot of pain but left her with a bit of a limp.
“Are you able to dance?” I asked her.
For the first time, Bo flushed and seemed a little embarrassed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t tried for many years. I guess if you didn’t mind dancing real slow . . .”
“Nothing’s better than dancing slow with a lovely woman,” I said and she flushed again.
I stood up to my full 6 foot 2 height and held out a hand. Bo stood up a little shakily and walked with me to the dance floor.
Don’t you think dancing is an interesting and sort of salacious ritual? I mean, two near strangers are allowed to stand up in public holding each other’s bodies while gyrating to music. When I was growing up, I NEVER touched a girl except for dancing. And now I was holding the soft but wrinkled hands of chubby Bonnie and moving her slowly across the dance floor.
Bo was heavy but not obese and not unattractive in appearance, probably because she knew with dress how to accentuate her positives and downplay her negatives. We held hands in a very formal way with our bodies barely touching and we shuffled to the music while I told her stories of how today’s Army was different from the one she knew. Her big belly was just about touching my crotch and I was surprised to realize that the slight friction was exciting me. As a result, I was glad when she asked to sit down. This time she held my hand as we returned to the table.
“Major, you are a delightful dancer,” she said. Bo insisted on calling me Major even though I told her my first name. I guess it was all those years of living on Post.
We talked some more and I found myself watching her breasts and wondering what they were like under the sweater and blouse. I could see the curve under the fabric and the softness of the skin I could see made me wonder what the rest was like. Sexual curiosity. I guess it’s true, a boy and girl can’t just be good friends without sexual curiosity working its way into the equation.
Bo was going on about Georgetown and the nightlife that used to go on there and here I was wondering if an old woman like this ever had sex anymore. I heard that they could become dry if they were not regularly, er, serviced but what if they masturbated themselves? Did that count?
Despite myself, I became more aroused as I thought of the wrinkled powdered face of my new friend Bo rolling back in ecstasy as she jammed – what? – fingers, dildo, vibrator up her old snatch.
I had gotten a couple of drinks for us and we were both feeling a little more comfortable with each other and the drinks certainly helped. We were talking frankly about so many things that I wasn’t really surprised when she told me that she used estrogen despite some of the cancer warnings.
“Honey,” she said. “Without it I would be too dry to pee.” And then she quickly put a neatly manicured hand up to her mouth in mock embarrassment. I laughed and squeezed her knee gently and let my hand linger there just a moment longer than really necessary. Bo didn’t seem to mind much.
“You know,” I said. “One of the old places you used to visit over in Georgetown is still open and still making music. What say? Do you want to head over there?”
Bo thought about if for a moment, smiled. “I don’t know…”
“Then I’ll bring you right back. Or take you home. What do you say?”
Bo limped over to her friends still standing (if somewhat shakily) at the bar and they laughed and I heard the man say “you kids be good!” and wave her away.
When we got outside, I put my arm around her broad waist and led her to my car. “Honey, you are such a sweet boy to do this. Thank you,” and she reached up and kissed me on the cheek.
I don’t know, but all the stories about old Washington and the knowledge that this woman had lived it all and was alone with me now really turned me on. I didn’t know what I was going to do about it, but I was excited.
We got into my car. My boss let me take a big stretch staff car for doing him this favor and that impressed Bonnie. “Wow, you must be important,” she said.
When we got to the old Georgetown bar, we could tell in an instant that it certainly wasn’t what it once was. There were only a few people there and a small band played some dance music in a lethargic manner. Frankly, this was fine with me. I could talk with her and dance if we wanted to. And apparently, Bo wanted to.
She took me by the hand to the dance floor to the amusement of some of the other patrons. I don’t know if they thought I was taking my mother out or if they suspected something closer to the truth but there was a lot of giggling and pointing as we limped our way through a few of the slower numbers.
I was slowing up my drinking because I was driving and I was in uniform. Bonnie, on the other hand, while not picking up the pace certainly wasn’t slowing any in her alcohol consumption. And she was completely oblivious to the giggles of the people around us. For the most part, she kept a respectful distance as we shuffled through “As Time Goes By” and some other 40’s songs but every so often she would hold me closer and I had the opportunity to feel her bare warm back between the buttons of her blouse under her sweater.
Bo pressed herself hard against me and began humming the tunes and to my embarrassment, I found I was getting an erection which was poking against her lusciously chubby belly. “Oh my, honey,” she said as she took my hand to sit down. I didn’t know if she was responding to the song, the alcohol going to her head or my hard cock poking into her. We sat down and she patted my hand twice as if to say “that’s okay” so I figured what the “oh my” was for. And I didn’t care.
We got up to dance one more time and, mercifully, my erection was gone. We danced at a distance to “My Shining Hour” and I whispered how much I enjoyed being out with her.
“You flatter an old woman,” she said and reached down to pull my ass closer to her. My now flaccid cock pressed against her and I heard her murmur “Oh darn,” then look up at me and smile. Then she said,” I have a secret to tell you that I’ve never told anyone. Wanna hear it?”
Bo was slurring her words a little as she picked up her purse and wobbled with me out the door to our car. A few of the patrons applauded as we left but I think Bonnie missed it. I watched her big old ass go out the door ahead of me and my Mr. Johnson was at attention once more.
I opened the door to the staff car and she plopped into the front seat. It was getting cold so I started the car and heater and turned to her again to tell her again what a nice evening it had been – and I meant it. She looked into my eyes, her face completely lovely and apparently sober, and I reached over and took her into my arms and kissed her full on the mouth.
Bo instantly opened her lips and our tongues intertwined. I kissed her fat face, her neck and just above her scarf.
She was breathing hard but managed to pant: “Do you know what my secret is?”
“No,” I said, kissing her floppy elephant ears, tugging on her silver hair with my teeth.
“It was in this very parking lot,” she said, “that I was first felt up by Jimmy Catwell more than 65 years ago.”
I pulled away and looked at her. “And how did you like it?” I asked.
“I liked it just fine,” she said, “but he wasn’t very good at it and I couldn’t let him THINK I liked it. I might even have slapped his face.”
I kissed Bo on the lips again and she closed her eyes, then I reached over and boldly put my hand on her right breast and felt the warmth and the incredible softness there. She opened her eyes and smiled. “How come you’re not slapping my face, Bo?” I asked her.
“I’ve learned something in 65 years, honey,” she said and pulled me closer and kissed me again, touching my leg, then gingerly sliding her liver-spotted hand up to the hard tent of my dress trousers.
I moved my hand under her sweater and blouse and felt the old lady bra beneath my fingers and the surprisingly generous tits underneath. I couldn’t unclasp the bra so I slipped the cup over the tit and it popped out into my hand like a warm melon, ready for eating.
“Oh honey,” she said. “I can’t remember this happening. We should… go … somewhere… but I can’t… staying with Fred and Sally…”
I was suckling happy at her tit with her sweater around her neck. I moved my other hand around her back. I wanted to feel her bulk, her warmth, her old history alive under my fingertips.
“You felt so good pressing against me,” she managed to say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve made a man so hard.”
“Mmmph,” I uttered through the hard and fat nipple between my teeth. I reluctantly pulled away and faced her again.
“Bo, I can’t remember feeling harder.” And she smiled and reached down to unzip my fly which wasn’t easy because the fabric was stretched so tight from my boner. But she did it, worked the shorts aside and my cock popped up like a flagpole ready for honors.
“Oh honey,” she said. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s all yours, sweetheart,” I said.
Bonnie actually licked her lips as she slowly moved her wonderful fingers around my shaft and began stroking until a little gleam of pre cum erupted from the tip and it glistened from the surrounding street lamps.
While she held my cock, I moved closer to her and took my free left hand and moved it along her thick ankles and up to her knee while she continued to stroke me and moaned softly and even giggled a little.
Her legs were bare so I assumed she removed her panty hose sometime during the evening, and that made me smile. Her legs were lumpy but as I slowly stroked her thighs she parted them until I was up to her crotch. I placed the whole palm of my hand against her old lady panties and I could feel the warmth seeping out. I rubbed her cunt through the panties and her stroking of my cock slowed and she said “Oh God, Major . . .” and then I noticed something else that Bonnie hadn’t noticed.
To my surprise, there were two couples standing outside the car, grinning stupidly and looking in as I worked Bonne’s pussy with my hand and she stroked my cock with hers.
“Lay back, darlin’,” I said so I could get at her more easily and so she couldn’t see the spectators assembling outside in the dark. The big old car’s passenger seat dropped all the way down and Bo slid up on it and let go of my cock – a good thing because this howitzer was ready to shoot.
It was surprisingly easy to move her seat back and I was able to get on the floor on my knees in front of her. She was talking quietly. “Do what you want, honey,” she said, words that every man loves to hear.
It was getting warm in the car and because it was steaming up a little inside, some of the growing group of spectators were moving closer to the windows to catch all the action. I didn’t care. I hiked up Bo’s skirt and caught my first look at her fat and veiny legs but I was so aroused (my own pants around my knees) that it did nothing to slow me up. She raised her fat ass and I slid off the white panties and threw them on the driver’s side seat, then I dug in with two fingers to take the temperature of the old cunt breathing warmth at me like something alive.
I was a little disappointed to find she was pretty dry but I thought I could fix the situation. I dove between her thighs (I could tell she was having a little trouble getting them very far apart) and tongued her aged pussy and she jumped like I had jammed her with a poker. She smelled like baby powder and aroused woman and I lapped at her happily until between my lapping and her own lubrication, she was ready.
I looked up. Bo’s eyes were closed. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “Do it to me.”
My cock was still at 90 degrees and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to fuck lovable old Bonnie, lubricated or not.
“‘M ‘see your penis again,” she said.
I managed to straddle her chest without too much difficulty while working three fingers of my right hand in and out of her elderly vagina. “You taste so good,” I said to her. “Why don’t you lick papa’s ice cream cone?”
Bo’s eyes opened a little wide. “I’ve never done that before,” she said. “It’s so dirty.” Which I thought was an interesting thing to say as I was trying to hump her in a parking lot with onlookers but I would not be denied.
“I just thought when you said I could do anything . . . ”
“C’m here,” she said and she flicked at the tip of my dick for a moment, then closed her eyes and took the whole thing like a world-class cocksucker. I was so proud.
“Bonne,” I said. “You are so great. You feel so good.”
She grunted and kept at it and I took my cunt-juice filled fingers and smeared them on her droopy tits and fat nipples.
I was practically on my knees during all this and was able to see two couples staring in the back window and another couple on the driver’s side. Bonnie didn’t see any of them. But I was ready to blow. It was show time.
“All right, baby,” I said. “Time to fuck.”
Bo’s lips were more loose and floppy than ever as a result of being stretched by my hard cock in her mouth. Her lipstick was all smeared but she still reacted to my use of the word ‘fuck.’
“I want to come inside of you so bad, Bo darling,” I said. “I want you to feel what you do to me and feel me exploding inside of you. Are you ready sweetheart?”
Bonnie was breathing harder than ever and she tried to scoot up a little on the seat. I didn’t want her to move too much or she’d see the peanut gallery surrounding the car. “Fuck me,” she said and I could tell she was aroused by the naughtiness of it which aroused me even more. Bonnie and the assembled throng could easily see my hard cock in the lamplight, ready for battle. “Fuck me now, Major.”
I tried to slide off my pants and dress jacket so I was naked from the waist down. Bonnie’s fat thighs were spread wide and I could just make out the sparsely-haired snatch beneath me, oozing her juices, mine . . .
One guy looking in actually gave me a thumbs up. Some of the women were laughing and one, I could see, even seemed shocked. I hoped she wouldn’t try to interfere. Just to make sure, on the way in I hit the lock-all- doors button.
I balanced precariously at the entrance to Bonnie’s elderly cunt, then shoved it in in one swoop and she said, “Oh, God, honey, oh god, honey” in the cutest way and I shoved it in even further and she gulped, then nodded. “Yeah, sweetie. Yeah, major. Go. Uh huh.” As if I needed encouragement.
She seemed remarkably tight and I wondered as I started my slow strokes how long it had been that anybody had reached into these nether regions. A couple of the bystanders were unashamedly sticking their noses against the windows now but they stayed quiet, thank god. I reached under Bonnie and grabbed two handfuls of chunky old ass and pulled her to me until I bottomed out in her cervix.
She loved it. She was bucking slightly, trying to meet my every eager thrust. “Oh Bo, you are the best,” I kept saying and she replied with a breathless “don’t stop, honey” until we had a great rhythm going and her oh, oh, ohs got louder and louder and I thought about World War II and a lifetime of raising children and getting through the Cold War and I thought to myself, FINALLY, I’m fucking history!
Bo’s ass was so floppy that it was easy to hold on. I wondered if I was hurting her and at the peak of the action, I even managed to stick a finger in her asshole and before long she was bucking both ways, into my finger and into my cock, her tits flopping back and forth, the steam rising in the car, some of the male onlookers nodding enthusiastically through the car windows.
Finally Bonnie said, “Oh Jesus, baby, you did it” and stopped bucking after a tremendous shiver and a moment later I jammed my index finger all the way up her ass and pumped my load into her cunt, seemingly gallons shooting into the barren, aged pussy with an intensity I’d never before experienced.
At that point, the onlookers started applauding and there were catcalls and whistles and they slowly started moving off. I thought Bo might be upset but she didn’t seem to care at all.
“Major, honey,” she said. “You can fly in my plane any ol’ time at all.”