There were three generations of blondes occupying the table at the food court in the mall I had recently begun to manage.
I had seen them before, perhaps each Saturday for about a month now. With each visit they captured more of my curiosity. It didn’t hurt that they ranged, in order, from bubbly and precious, to perky and pretty, to downright seductively sexy.
The youngest was no more than a few months old, I estimated, a jolly pink-faced infant being lovingly bounced on the knees of her mom.
Mom appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and like most young mothers who were in a little over their heads with their new-found responsibilities, her countenance bore the contrast of doting adoration and harried maternal neophyte.
She beamed yet she fretted, she smiled while she frowned, all at the same time. There is no “how-to” manual for young mommies, her features seemed to say as she struggled to corral the baby who was bound and determined to repeatedly knock over her tiny baby bottle.
Lording over the festivities, like a lioness proudly watching over her small pride of cubs, was the matriarch of the trio.
Honestly, she could have easily passed for mid-to-late thirties, especially from the neck down, but judging by the age of her daughter, she had to be at least mid-forties. Her tall, lithe body was ever bit as shapely as her daughter’s, perhaps even more so.
She oozed a quiet, confident sexuality without even trying to, and she knew it. Yes, It was grandma who immediately intrigued me. I admit it up front.
Being someone who is paid to pay attention to detail, I also observed that the only ring among the three was the ring on the pacifier of the littlest cutie-pie.
I had only been in town for maybe as long as the youngster had been born, having very recently relocated from the east coast to the Midwest to turn this struggling regional shopping center around. During that time, I had been so busy with work that I hadn’t had time to indulge in any extracurricular activities.
At thirty-eight and newly divorced, I was turning into an “all-work and no-play” guy. That couldn’t last forever, I mused, as I was distracted by the ‘crash’ of a tray being spilled in another area of seating.
I rose from helping a member of my janitorial staff attend to the cleaning, and turned to walk towards my office when I almost bumped into her, or rather, she into me.
The mature lioness, Panthera Leo, queen of the Central Ohio jungle, the gregarious predatory feline with the tawny coat.
Trapped, I was, in plain view. She flipped a loose bronze-gold curl of hair from her forehead, and my recollection might be a bit fuzzy, but I swear she licked her lips.
“I’m Tricia Price”, she said in a soft, husky voice that brought to mind Anne Bancroft’s Mrs. Robinson’s character. “You’re the new mall manager, I wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to Indian Mound Mall.” She extended her hand, which I grasped and glanced down. Yep, I was right. No ring.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Price,” I replied, wanting to test the waters of matrimonial status. “That’s so nice of you to do so. I’m John Sullivan.”
She chuckled softly, still holding my hand in a firm grip. She had cat-green eyes with flecks of brown. Her fingers were long, I noticed, and she smelled like autumn. Crisp fall air, mulled cider, and burning maple leaves. Mmmmm.
“It’s Ms. Price, thank you,” she corrected me (thank goodness!). “And no need to be so formal, Mr. Washington, DC. You’re in Ohio now. Call me Tricia, please.”
Her voice alone began to make my cock twitch. Now that I had a second sampling of it, maybe I was wrong, maybe her voice wasn’t Anne Bancroft-ish. Maybe it was more Kathleen Turner-like in “Body Heat”. Yeah, that was it.
“Ah, you’ve been reading up on me, I see.” Our hands finally reluctantly released. I missed touching her already. “Yes, yes, I did notice the difference in traffic around here, ” I continued, playing along. “I haven’t been stuck on the Capital Beltway in a while. Gives me about three more hours to work each day. Though now,I have no excuse for running late.”
She smiled at me, sizing me up. It was at that moment I knew we were going to fuck.
Eh, who was I kidding? I had no idea if we were going to fuck. But a man can’t be blamed for wishful thinking, can he? They says that a man knows if he wants to fuck a woman in about a fraction of a second, or about as long as it takes a woman to decide if she wants to buy a particular purse.
They (whoever the fuck ‘they’ are) also say it takes a woman about thirty seconds to decide if she’s attracted to a man, much longer to decide if she’ll sleep with him. But it’s those crucial initial thirty seconds that gives them time to ponder if they’re open to the concept.
Tricia Price and I are were approximately thirty-one seconds into our relationship, so my odds were increasing each second she hung around.
(I have to stop for a second and tell you that Indian Mound Mall is located in Licking County. True dat. Naturally, there is a Licking Valley High School. And in nearby Sunbury, there is a high school called Big Walnut. Where do they get these names? Anyway, my favorite headline was when the latter school girls’ basketball team defeated the former’s in a contentious game. The headline said, and I quote: Aggressive Big Walnut Beats Licking Valley Girls. I don’t know why I always found that humorous. Hey, I’m not smart enough to make this shit up.)
But back to the story. Ms., not Mrs., Price, had a question for me. A question which is paramount in most womens’ thoughts. “So, John, Mr. New Mall Manager from the Capital Beltway, tell me, what new stores do you plan on bringing to this sleepy little town of ours? For instance, why must I go to Lancaster or Zanesville to find a Victoria’s Secret?”
That was a fair question. And the image of mature cougar Tricia Price roaming the corridors of Indian Mound Mall with a Victoria’s Secret shopping bag full of goodies was enough incentive for me to hop right on it. But it’s not always quite as easy as that, unfortunately.
I caressed my chin, trying to appear contemplative while trying not to look at her left nipple, which had somehow preceded the right one in beginning to poke through her off-white cotton blouse. A lefty, huh? Good to know.
“Well,” I started slowly, “…that’s double-top-secret information, you see. Can’t announce a leasing deal to the public before it’s signed. But, seeing as you seem to be a loyal shopper of the mall and all, I’ll tell you what…..” Her eyebrows arched in anticipation. My cock again did likewise beneath my belt. Go for it, what the hell.
I looked deep in her twinkling pupils, full of the wisdom and guile that only a mature lioness can evoke when she knows she could devour any male she so desired.
“If you’ll agree to discuss the topic over a business dinner with me, that will give me the opportunity to survey my customer base and maybe let you in on some inside knowledge.” She grinned mischievously, but I held up a finger in caution.
“Only if you promise not to kiss and tell, of course.”
She shifted on her heels and tilted her head, making her scent go downwind in the stiff jungle breeze of the indoor food court. I jest, but it seemed that way, her scent nearly bowling me over with olfactory-driven lust. The nose wasn’t the only organ of mine whose attention she had captured.
“Oh, I would never, ever, tell, Mr. Manager,” Her face became girl-scout earnest. She made an “X” with her fingers across her chest.
The right nipple was now making its first appearance. “Cross my heart. It would be our little secret.” She wrinkled her own nose, though, signaling a potential problem of some kind. “Except……”
With the possible exception of my recent divorce hearings, I was accustomed to overcoming objections. “I’m sure we can address whatever concerns you might have, Tricia. Please be assured, it would strictly be a business conversation,” I lied.
“It’s not that at all, John. We can only talk business for so long, after all. The issue is my daughter over there, Caryn. See, she’s a single mom, and well, um, I don’t know how to put this…..” Ms. Tricia Price actually blushed. I love it when they blush.
“So I’ll just come right out and say it. God, that girl’s hormones have been raging. I came over here to try to see if I could set you two up, maybe….”
Tricia bit her bottom lip. “If Caryn finds out you and I are having dinner, well, that might shatter whatever self-confidence she’s trying to regain. See, she’s put on a little weight after Amanda was born, at least in her mind, but God, look at her. Caryn’s gorgeous, and anyway, Amanda, that’s my granddaughter, and…..”
She was rambling now, stammering a bit. Circumstances seemed to have flustered her. Perhaps her own hormones were raging?
I held out my palms in a “easy, now, I have a plan” gesture.
“You’re right, Tricia, Caryn is gorgeous. Like her mom. And Amanda is most gorgeous of all, she has an impeccable lineage of genes.” Tricia let out a deep breath, finally relaxing.
I continued, speaking very softly, to avoid the inquisitive stares of the Licking County busy-bodies. (I had already learned in my brief time in Central Ohio that NOBODY gossiped like Licking County mall walkers. Idle minds.)
“I don’t kiss and tell, either, Tricia. Especially not the ‘telling’ part. Caryn doesn’t have to know about our, um, business meeting. Does she?”
The sexiest grandma in the Buckeye state pondered this simple reality. “I suppose not. I’ll just tell her that I didn’t have the guts to bring it up when we were talking, that you just seemed to be strictly business. Does that sound like she’d buy it?”
I tried to sound reassuring, but probably came off as incredibly insincere. “Absolutely. Tell her I don’t seem like I’d be any fun at all. Just a East Coast stuffed shirt.”
Tricia nodded, playing along conspiratorially. “I’ll tell her ‘a mother’s intuition tells me that he’s not for you, honey’, and hopefully that will let her down easy. Mother knows best, after all. I must ask you, though, John…….do you REALLY want to have dinner with a fifty-year-old?”
“Wow, you’re fifty? I asked genuinely surprised. “Wow”. I was repeating myself now. “No way. I’ll bet you hear that all the time, don’t you?”
This time, when she looked at me with those bewitching, omniscient eyes, this time, I DID know we were going to fuck. Tricia had absorbed the data and reached a conclusion. She smirked. “You’re sweet. I’ll bet you say that to all the fifty-year-old women, don’t you?”
Just the ones I want to stick my cock into their half-century-old pussy, I thought. She went on, duly flattered. “Yep, turned fifty last month. Eligible for AARP discounts. But that can be another of our little ‘kiss and tell’ secrets, can’t it, John?”
I respect my elders, but didn’t think it was prudent to tell that to Tricia, so instead I just concurred. “Yes, ma’am.” Simple comments are the safest.
“May I call you with directions to my house? You don’t mind picking me up, do you? Caryn will be out tomorrow night with Amanda visiting her sister in Columbus, who wants to spend some ‘aunt’ time with her little niece. Would seven-thirty be OK? Give me your number, I’ll memorize it.”
I did as requested. Tricia closed her eyes to commit the seven digits to memory. “I’ll leave a message. I’m only a half-mile from here. And if you don’t mind, there’s a new place I’ve been wanting to try over in Granville, can we go there?” Granville was a quaint little college town I’d heard a lot about, it sounded great.
Again, I was deferential. “I’ve been wanting to get over to Granville myself. Absolutely, ma’am.”
She shook my hand and began to return to her cubs. “Oh, one more thing. I’ll be needing to go to Zanesville tomorrow for some ‘things’. Do you have a preference?”
I didn’t just play dumb. I didn’t know what she meant at first. “Uh, what things? Preference for what?”
“I’m thinking either leopard skin, or coral, or perhaps a midnight blue ensemble. I love dark blue. Like your eyes, John.” I was titanium hard now. I had a feeling half of Heath, Ohio was now watching the new mall manager’s erection.
“Surprise me,” I gulped, mesmerized by the older vixen’s wares. Now I understood.
“Oh, I shall. I’m full of surprises if motivated properly.” Tricia winked slyly. “Who knows, maybe we even can play “Show and Tell”. If ya promise not to tell, that is.”
I returned to my office, shut my door, grabbed a handful of Kleenex, and shot the first mid-afternoon load of cum that my office had experienced. Well, since my occupancy, at least.
Tricia opened the door of her modest but attractive home at seven-thirty sharp the next evening. Her attire was not quite what I’d been expecting. However, in retrospect, based on our conversation the following day, perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Please come in, Mr. Dignitary,” she gestured, bowing slightly in mock respect. “It’s not every night we have a mall manager grace our humble abode.”
Tricia wore a modest navy blue skirt and blazer, with a light blue silk blouse underneath the jacket. The skirt was cut to just above the knee, and her long, lean legs were covered with sheer dark stockings (midnight blue?). Below the ankles, she did wear pumps that were maybe two or three inches high, walking the tenuous tightrope between conservative and provocative.
Her copper-blonde hair was pulled up in a tight bun, and she wore thin librarian-like eyeglasses with a rose-maroon frame. A string of pink pearls dangled down the front of her neck, but with her jacket still buttoned, I couldn’t determine where the journey of the strand terminated. However, I could see more cleavage than I could the day before, and I was pleased to see that her neck and upper chest was lightly freckled.
If there is such a thing as a fetish for chest freckles on a woman, I have such a fetish. She brought me back to reality with that voice again. Melanie Griffith as Tess McGill in “Working Girl”. That was IT!
“You’re taking liberties with the dress code a bit, aren’t you?” She asked, surveying my button-down Oxford shirt and khakis. “Was it casual Friday today or something? Isn’t this a formal business meeting, after all?” She put her hands on her hips, looked me up and down, and clucked her tongue, feigning disappointment. At least, I hoped she was feigning.
“Well, I had nothing to really match my leopard-skin undies other than khaki,” I said. “Besides, I didn’t want to chance us wearing the same outfit. Just imagine the potential embarrassment.” I fanned my face in my best Nathan Lane imitation.
She tossed her head back and laughed delightedly. “All right, you’re off the hook. That’s the only plausible excuse I can rationalize. Shall we go?”
As I put my hand on the small of her back as we walked to her front door, she turned to me. “And you’re in luck. I didn’t wear leopard skin. So, relax, we won’t clash.”
Our conversation during the drive and all through dinner was easy and lively, like talking to someone you had known all your life. That’s the nice thing about mature women. They don’t spend the whole date talking about themselves. Tricia was intelligent and inquisitive without being overly prodding. Inquisitiveness is always a sign of interest in the subject matter. It was a good sign.
We didn’t talk much about our respective divorces, my one and her two. Divorce talk is the death knoll of first dates. I wasn’t interested in hearing about her ex-es any more than I wanted to talk about mine. That was rear-view mirror stuff, and I was relieved that Tricia took the same perspective.
Two and a half hours and almost two bottles of merlot later, towards the end of our delicious meal, I did learn that she had grown up in Western Pennsylvania and was a small-college All-American swimmer at IUP, which for those of you who don’t know, is Indiana University of Pennsylvania. Yes, there is an Indiana in Pennsylvania.
“All-American, wow.” I was ‘wow-ing’ again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date with an All-American before,” I said. “Pretty impressive.”
I was feeling the effects of the wine, but had let her consume slightly more since I was driving, so I figured she had to be more than tipsy by now.
“Ah, yes, but that was thirty years ago, almost. God, where does the time go?” She asked wistfully, looking into the wine glass, almost as if to scan her image in the reflection of the crystal.
She turned her gaze to me. “Anyway, I still try to swim about 5 miles a week to try to stay in shape. I love being in the water.”
“It’s working,” I interjected quickly, watching Tricia nibble on the rim of her wine glass, the merlot trickling onto her tongue.
She swallowed. “What’s working?”
“The staying-in-shape part. Your body’s a dream.”
Tricia’s face flushed, the veins on her neck pulsed a bit. “Call for a check.”
While the waiter disappeared to bring the bill, she propped her elbows up on the tablecloth. “So, other than an All-American, what’s the oldest woman you’ve…..?” She didn’t finish the question. Rather, it dangled there, in the air, like a blank cartoon balloon in the newspaper comics.
“Dated?” I guessed, trying to answer the pop quiz. “What’s the oldest woman I’ve dated?”
She shook her head. “Fucked.”
I felt my own face heat up from the boldness of the inquiry. She scanned my face intently, bringing her pinky tip to her thin lips and licking a drop of wine off of it. “What’s the oldest woman you’ve fucked, John?”
I took it a sort of a trick question, so I stalled for time. I squirmed in my seat and swallowed myself, remaining silent. She took the opportunity to continue. “That’s OK, you don’t have to answer. I’ll just assume I’m the oldest. I haven’t been fucked yet as a fifty-year-old. Wanna try to break some records tonight?”
As I dropped enough cash on the table to thank the waiter for his discretion all evening, Tricia dropped a bomb. “By the way, my youngest man was nineteen.” My burgeoning hard-on wilted immediately beneath the table. What the fuck…?
“But I was eighteen at the time.” She chuckled at her own funny. I exhaled deeply, my erection reversing its course, once again on full alert.
“Let’s go.” I suggested.
She concurred. “Let’s.”
We had parked on a side street about two blocks away. We held hands in silence during the walk. I enjoyed her perfume wafting through my nostrils and coursing directly to my dick. It was still light when we had parked. It was pitch dark now. When we reached the car, she backed against it and pulled me into her body.
“Make my first kiss as a fifty-year-old a special one, John.” Her lips opened in anticipation, her half-open eyelids fluttered in a mixture of intoxication and lust. “Please.”
We started slowly, exploring, mutually teasing, our tongues dancing a slow, oral tango, reminding me again that mature women are the most passionate kissers of all. And the most passionate foreplay of all are those same soft, teasing kisses that escalate in intensity at a perfect pace until each mouth is virtually fucking the other, gasping for breath, desperate to consummate the kiss with the only ending that can be appropriate.
We released the kiss, still embracing each others’ body. She barely seemed to notice that I was squeezing her butt with one hand and lifting the hem of her skirt with the other. “That was memorable, all right,” she gasped, her head burying into my neck, smothering it with more kisses, biting my earlobe gently. “Thank you.”
I glanced around and saw no one approaching on the street or peeking at us from the windows of their houses. Or so I hoped. But it didn’t matter at that point.
“You’ll really like the second kiss, Tricia,” I whispered. In one quick motion, I pushed her against the side of the car, knelt down, lifted her right leg, threw it over my shoulder, and tucked my head under her skirt.
I couldn’t see a thing, complete darkness, but the musky, honey-like aroma of her saturated pussy served as an impromptu GPS system. I heard her gasp and felt her shudder, her calf digging into my back, as I flicked my tongue until it found its steamy destination. Jackpot.
With at least one of my tactile senses rendered utterly unserviceable, I had to make the best of my remaining somatosensory system. From the sounds of Tricia’s groans and the clenching of her vaginal muscles stroking my fingers which were impaling her gash, it appeared I was wildly successful.
My tongue greedily lapped at the humid, sticky flaps of her labia and my mouth found the small pea which I correctly assumed was her clit. There was no doubt that I had indeed navigated myself to ground zero when her screeches echoed throughout the quiet Ohio hamlet’s neighborhoods.
She was still stifling her moans when I extricated my head about ninety seconds later, savoring several squirts of warm, milky ejaculate that had streamed liberally from her swollen, overheated folds as I had made love to her pussy. It was incredibly erotic to pat oral homage in the dark. I made a mental note that I would have to try it again sometime. There’s fun, and then there’s FUN.
I smoothed her hemline as I raised my head to kiss her, our third kiss, this one covered in her juices, which we enjoyed together.
“Holy Mother of God,” she moaned, licking her nectars on her lips. “You are so fucking bold. Right in broad daylight.” I laughed at this remark. She realized her mistake and whacked me on the shoulders.
“You know what I mean, dammit. Give me a break, I’m drunk and just had the most unexpected, fantastic cum of my life. Jeezus, oh fuck, oh my God….” Her voice trailed off as her head went into my shirt, her body still trembling in small post-orgasm after-shocks.
I opened the door for her so we could escape without facing indecent exposure charges. It was just a guess, but I doubted Granville, Ohio had a lot of displays of public cunnilingus. “By the way, Ms. Price,” I said softly. “Did I miss something or were there no panties on down there?”
She slid into the seat and grinned. “I couldn’t decide on a proper color, there were so many options. So I chose none at all. Didn’t think you’d mind.”
“My favorite color,” I replied, shutting the door and walking to my side. “Goes with everything.”
I finger-fucked my mature vixen to at least two more pussy explosions during the short ride home, one hand on the wheel and the other buried in her cunt, her skirt pulled up to the belly button, which had a gold ring inside, her wetness soaking my upholstery. I gently whacked away her repeated attempts to stroke my cock.
“In due time,” I chastised. “Don’t want to be swerving all over the road. Let’s get us home first.” Mind you, I’m all for the mobile blow job or hand job, safety standards notwithstanding. But I was willing to be patient. I was getting off on seeing her reaction to the pleasure I was bringing her. I knew it would be more than reciprocated shortly enough.
When we approached her house, there was a Honda already in the driveway. “Caryn’s home,” Tricia said, pulling down her skirt. ” Her bedroom is upstairs. We’ll have to be quiet.” Since Tricia had just undoubtedly violated Granville’s after-hours sound ordnance, I was skeptical that she would be able to keep the decibel level low enough not to wake her daughter. Or her granddaughter for that matter.
She opened the door to the darkened house and gestured for me to sit on the couch. “Be right back, want to check to see if everyone’s in bed already.” My hard-on and I did as instructed, with him leading the way, as always.
When she returned, she finally unbuttoned the conservative blazer that had covered her body for the evening. Slowly, very slowly.
She gently folded the blazer and laid it on the chair next to the couch. Without saying a word, she next unhooked the clip that held her hair in its bun and let the curls loose, spiraling down onto her shoulders. She reached to take off the glasses, but I shook my head. “No, leave them on,” I insisted.
She smiled. “Kinky. I like that.”
She next spread her sinewy legs about two feet apart and ran her fingers along the side of the zipper. Inch by inch, her long fingers teasingly made the southward descent until she kicked out of the skirt with a flourish.
Her completely shaved and glimmering cunt, still seeping the residue of her cum down her muscular swimmer’s thighs, was indeed uncovered. Two midnight blue straps held up the garters of the same color on either side of her pelvis, but she eschewed panties or a thong.
She turned her back to me, giving me a birds-eye view of her taut ass cheeks. My immediate thought was that it was an ass that would have made a twenty-five year-old proud, much less a woman a half-century old. She took her time taking off her blouse, reveling in the fact that I was now stroking my bulging cock in appreciation through my khakis. Pre-cum had already begun to seep through the slit in my boxers, resulting in a small pool on my lap.
“Looks like someone’s almost as wet as I am,” she purred, clenching and unclenching her sublime buttocks. I had only seen such an exhibition in a strip club. It made me wonder why I hadn’t actively pursued the wonders of older women before. “This is the ‘show’ part of ‘show and tell’, John”.
She turned again to face me, the blouse now dangling off her shoulders. She was wearing a bustier that she had unlaced to expose her firm tits, and she cupped her palms over each one and caressed them. I couldn’t help myself, I had to release myself from my Dockers’ prison. As I lifted my ass off the couch to lower my pants, Tricia the Lioness pressed upward on her left tit, raised it to her mouth, and began to lick the root-beer colored erect gumdrop nipple.
One sparkling cat-green eye poked out at me from beneath a lock of hair as her neck contorted awkwardly. She continued to circle her areola with her tongue. I stood and undid my belt, and my pants fell to the carpet. My engorged purple cock head flopped through the slit in my boxers. “Oh, yeah, baby, show mommy that big cock.”
If anything, her voice had lowered another octave or two. I was no longer making comparisons. Rather, I deduced she should be the voice-over actress that Hollywood vixens should aspire to emulate.
She walked towards me without saying a word, her perfect orbs jiggling with each sexy stride. It was apparent that there was nothing artificial or enhanced about Tricia’s breasts. Like her buttocks, they were fifty-year-old perfection.
In one motion, she pushed me backwards. My pants were still bundled around ankles, so I stumbled down onto the couch. She knelt down swiftly, the predator attacking the prey, and slipped off my shoes and tugged my pants off in a flash. With two hands, she fished the rest of my shaft through the slit and began to fist the base while corkscrewing just below the head.
“I knew you’d be a big fucking boy,” she hissed as she began to lick a path along the vein on my lower shaft. “Mmmm, so fucking thick. Look at that big purple lolly-pop of a cock head. Can mommy suck it?”
If you googled ‘silly question’, that might have come up as an example.
Tricia’s tight mouth encircled my head and her lips formed a perfect oval. Her left hand continued to stroke my shaft down by the root, pushing and pulling it into my belly just above the testicles, causing my public bone to reach a hardness that I couldn’t ever recall experiencing.
Her mouth would only surround my cock head, and she would release every few seconds with a ‘pop’…’pop’…’pop’…’pop’. Tiny firecrackers echoing through the room.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get my mouth around this pop can. I can barely get my fingers around it. And I’ve got big hands. God, you’re SO fucking thick. Gorgeous cock.”
I learned during my brief tenure in the Buckeye state that the natives referred to soda as ‘pop’. The analogy that she used was ironic since it was the identical sound that her oral administrations were causing.
She took a deep breath, almost as if she were preparing to submerge. Which, in a way, I guess she was.
“I have to take my glasses off for this, sorry, baby.” She placed them on the coffee table next to the arm of the couch. “I have a feeling I’m going to get carried away. This will be my first blow job as a fifty-year-old and I’m going to do to you what you did to me. So hang on, you big-cocked bastard.”
I’ve been the fortunate recipient of enough blow jobs that I’ve begun to develop a sort of categorization system.
There are what I call the ‘eyeballers’. Women who look you in the eye while sucking you, deriving pleasure from the reactions that their oral magic can evoke.
There are the ‘head tossers’. Women who swirl their head around wildly, like a bobblehead caught in a rinse cycle. This takes on even more panache when a woman has longer hair, as Tricia did. The ‘head tossers’ usually have a technique that is flamboyant and reckless.
There are the ‘prop artists’. Women who creatively take a rather arcane object and turn it into an accessory item for their fellatio experience. In Tricia’s case, she had taken the strand of pearls from her neck and wrapped them tightly around the base of my shaft, essentially using it like a cowboy would rope a calf. She playfully lowered the shaft farther and farther down until her nose was buried into my balls. ‘Prop artists’ who are also ‘deep-throaters’ are the rarest of this species.
Then there are the ‘slobberers’. Women who lavish enough saliva on and around your cock to cure summer droughts. The most unabashed of the slobberers are the ‘spaghetti stranders’. Women who recycle their saliva prudently for re-use by sucking their spit back into their mouth in a “Lady and the Tramp” -like scenario.
Finally, there are the ‘moaners’, the true connoisseurs of cock sucking. The ones who truly love it. They may be trying to actually articulate something, but they are genuinely so into the act themselves, that their utterances come out as garbled mumblings, like the Papa Bear character in the Berenstain Bears cartoon. These moaners also have not the slightest idea that they are generally so loud, Marlee Matlin would cover her ears to escape the noise of their enthusiasm.
When you discover each of these characteristics in one single woman, it is like a fisherman finally hooking “The One”. Don’t throw her back, don’t let her get away. Bring her back to her own aquarium and let her swim the day away happily. You have found the dream blowfish.
So discombobulated was my thinking, one hand was gripping the back of Tricia’s skull, attempting to face-fuck her while shooting my seed into her womb. Yet the other desperately gripped the pillow, trying to prolong my release, wanting this white whale of blow jobs to never end.
I was right on the verge of exploding so ardently I was afraid I would drown my All-American swimmer/cock sucker in an ocean of sperm. Then we heard three letters that put the emergency brakes on this runaway oral locomotive.
Tricia’s head snapped around sideways, although I wasn’t so quick to react. My hand was still super-glued to the back of her skull, in semi-shock that we had been interrupted. Tricia had to slap my palm off of her, like she was swatting a mosquito that had imbedded itself in her mane. “Caryn! I……”
Caryn was standing on one of the bottom steps of the staircase, wearing a robe that was loose off of her shoulders, and exposing more than a generous amount of healthy cleavage that I hadn’t quite noticed in the food court. What I did notice was that Caryn was staring directly at my cock. Her gaze honed in on it like a scud missile.
There were a few seconds of collective freeze-frame silence, everyone seeking for the right response when a daughter happens upon her mother kneeling in front of a semi-strange man’s dick while wearing an outfit that would make Mae West blush.
Finally, Caryn let out a wry grin, averting her gaze from my cock to see the saliva still hanging from her mom’s lips to the tip of my dick. “So, he’s not my type, huh, Mom? No fun?”
Tricia stood up, unconsciously wiping spittle and a gob of pre-cum from her chin. “Honey…”
Caryn waved her off. “I’m going back to sleep, don’t worry about me. Try not to wake the neighbors, though, mom, Jeezus. It’s a miracle Amanda is sound asleep. Gosh, you’re loud.”
Caryn turned and disappeared from sight, trailing the words, “Such a slut……..”
Tricia, always a woman of action, stood up, seemingly unaware of, or oblivious to, her condition and her attire. “Stay here, don’t move,” she barked at me.
The irritated feline had not yet consumed her meal. She pointed down at my cock and addressed it as a schoolteacher would a petulant child. “You neither!”
She ran upstairs. Muffled animated voices could be heard. Still, miraculously, Amanda remained beddie-bye.
The two of us, me and my cock, sat stock-still for about ten minutes, staring forlornly at each other, frightened too much to disobey. In fact, so determined were the pair of us to comply with our orders that my cock remained fully erect when Tricia could be heard coming down the stairs.
Her face was still flushed, but of course, being a guy, despite the uncomfortable family quarrel that had just ensued, I couldn’t help but also notice that her puffy vulva was still pronouncedly swollen.
“She’s OK, but I promised we’d make it up to her,” she said simply, without further explanation.
“Tricia,” I began to reach for my pants. “I feel bad, maybe I should……”
She wagged a finger at me and leered a sinister smile when she saw that I was still more than hard. “Shut up!”
I shut up.
“Don’t you fucking dare speak.”
I didn’t speak.
She climbed on the couch, straddled me, locking her strong thighs around my own, and pulled her labia apart with her fingers.
She growled at me, a reminder warning in the event there was any duplicity in her prior commands.
She pulled my head to her bustier and let her breasts fall free from the silky material. “I’m going to slow-fuck you to an inch of your death, young stud.”
I felt her cunt gradually expand to accommodate my girth. The smile returned to her face, she was glowing in that glow that only great sex can bring to a woman’s face.
“Actually, I might let you live. Just let me use your cock for my pleasure. Deal?” She leaned in to kiss me and for the next untold minutes her talented kegel muscles simultaneously massaged and tortured my cock.
“After a few moments, she spoke. “Mmmm, this is my first fuck as a fifty-year-old, too. There are a lot of firsts tonight.” I nodded, now emboldened enough to thrust my pelvis up at her to match her rocking-chair gyrations, rotating her hips on me like a belly dancer in slow motion.
“How’d I do on that inaugural blow job, by the way?” She seemed sincerely interested in feedback.
“Um, it was pretty good,” I purposely understated, feeling my cock snap deep within her as it reached her cervix. I could actually see the outline of my shaft inside the folds of her taut tummy. Her skin stretched as she bounced on me. It was a wildly erotic sight.
I reached my hand down her back and made a surprise attack of my own, wiggling my index finger into her anus, which was more than lubricated by the streams of moisture cascading from her cunt like a leaky spigot.
“Aaaah, fuck, “she groaned. “You’re a back-door man, too, huh? How did you know I love my ass played with?”
Lucky guess, I thought. Gee, you’re so prudish otherwise.
I next took a chance based on the premise that you’ll never know until you ask. “So, are you ready for your first ass-fucking as a fifty-year-old?”
She stood up, and for the briefest of moments, I was worried that I had over-stepped my boundaries. But worry not.
Tricia was simply maneuvering herself into a reverse-cowgirl position, and she leaned back so that her back was pressed into my chest. “No ass-fucking on the first date, baby, we have to save you for more.”
“Besides,” she said rocking on me urgently. “What do you think I am?”
“Oooh, I love this position,” she purred, fucking me eagerly now. “You can get soooo fucking deep in me. Start to fuck me harder, baby. Mommy wants to feel your cum in her needy cunt.”
She craned her neck around to kiss me, and I lifted her up about a foot off the couch with each urgent thrust. One hand reached to flick those root-beer nipple nuggets while the other diddled her clit. Her own hand reached beneath us and she cradled my balls, filling with cum like two water balloons ready to burst.
And burst they did, flooding Tricia’s hot gash with shot after shot of rocket-like sperm fuel. I was still cumming and thrusting when I felt my hot seed pour down her thighs and into my lap.
I collapsed with my head on the back of the couch when she straight up on the couch, hovering over my face, and squatted down like a landing copter on a heliport.
“Open wide,” was all she said. My mouth parted like a tiny bird’s and I saw her salmon-colored labia expand, and a huge glob of cum landed right on my tongue. She had literally given me a facial of my own semen.
“That was my first facial as thirty-eight year-old, I’ll have you know,” I told her.
She laughed, and pointed to a door down the hallway. “The guest restroom is down the hall on the left. Go ahead and take a shower, you’re all sweaty, what HAVE you been doing? Did a fifty-year-old wear you out?”
She smiled the smile of a proud feline, conqueror of males, queen of Licking County. She dabbed at my cheek. “Besides, there’s cum all over your face, you slut.”
I emerged from the welcome shower about fifteen minutes later to see Tricia sitting contentedly on the couch, now wearing a pink puffy robe that covered everything. “This is the coral ensemble I talked about. Do you like?”
I took the towel from my waist and let my semi-flaccid dick swing like a pendulum. “What about the leopard skin?” I stroked my cock, indicating I was more than interested in being the recipient of her second blow job as a fifty-year-old.
I heard the creak of the stairs and saw a slim ankle coming down into the living room. The ankle was followed by another, and then a pair of toned thighs, and then a firm ass covered in a leopard skin thong, which failed to conceal the tattoo of a teddy bear on the right bun.
“Caryn and I wear the same size,” Tricia said nonchalantly, sipping a refreshing post-coital beverage of green tea. Caryn came into the living room and I ogled a body that by anyone’s measure, certainly did NOT carry any excess weight. Unless you counted the tits. They were bigger than her mom’s, perhaps augmented by recent childbirth, and hung out of the bra like two chubby Cheshire cats.
“Well, I take that back. Caryn’s tits are much fuller than mine. They seemed to serve as buoys when she swam, though. They served to slow her down somewhat. Did you tell John you were quite a college swimmer, honey?”
“Lafayette College. Easton, Pennsylvania. This wasn’t our team’s uniform, though. But our nickname was the Leopards.”
Tricia rose from the couch and she and Caryn shared a hug. “Now that we’ve selfishly woken Caryn from her sleep, this is when we need to make it up to her.”
My dick was rising again in involuntary salute, indicating my willingness to show my contrition in a proper manner.
Tricia stretched her arms over her head. “Well, I’m going to take a shower. You kids have fun.” She gave my now-erect cock a playful squeeze. “He is your type, sugar. I just had to take him for a test drive. And he’s a smooth ride.”
Tricia hadn’t even exited the room when Caryn peeled off her top and shimmied out of her thong.
“I’m not even going to pretend that I’m not somewhat humiliated after you just fucked my mother. But I haven’t been fucked in close to a year. And this will be my first sex since I had Amanda.” It was truly a night of firsts.
“So, do me a favor, don’t talk a lot. Just fuck me hard and rough, OK?”
Forty minutes and about a dozen positions and four of Caryn’s orgasms later, I learned that Caryn inherited her mom’s animated audible exhortations and then some.
I was vigorously fucking Caryn’s ass in the jockey position on the couch (“Did you fuck Mom in the ass? No? Well, would you mind doing mine?”) when Tricia emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel on her head.
Tricia watched intently from the floor, calmly rubbing lotion on her sensational body, stroking her clit, listening to her daughter’s wails as I invaded her bowels. She seemed remarkably detached while watching her daughter get voluntarily sodomized.
Mom offered only one piece of counseling. “Let him cum on your tits, honey. Take advantage of those beautiful puppies while you have them.”
Obligingly, Caryn knelt on the couch while I deposited a much smaller load all over her soft globes than the one left within Tricia’s snatch an hour earlier, yet impressive nonetheless if I do say so myself. Tricia seemed to approve. She clapped in appreciation as Caryn licked my sticky cum from her mounds.
As Toad once said in one of the closing scenes in the classic movie American Graffiti, “Jeezus, what a night!”
So as not to overstay my welcome, I declined the Price ladies’ gracious invitation to stay for breakfast. I had to work in the morning, and I needed to clear my head of the ambivalence of emotions I was experiencing.
“I have an idea, honey,” Tricia said to her daughter who herself was glowing now. “Why don’t you go with John to that restaurant in Granville next Friday and then later in the evening, after you have your fun, you can let me borrow him for my tip? Sound like a plan?”
Caryn frowned. “Mom, Kimberley is coming to visit next Friday night, remember?”
Mom stroked her chin. She looked at me. “Kimberley is my youngest. She’s a swimmer at Ohio State. The most talented of us all.”
Tricia herself was apparently quite adept at overcoming problems. “And she just broke up with her boyfriend.”
Caryn chimed in excitedly. “I’ll bet she’d love to meet the new mall manager, mom!”
Now, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, right? A family full of three sexy love servants.
I chose another course.
“Um, Tricia, may I speak with you for a moment? I looked at Caryn. “Alone?”
“Go on upstairs, honey,” Tricia quietly directed her cub. “Check on Amanda and get some sleep.” She kissed Caryn on her forehead. Tricia’s intuition told her, correctly, that I ad something important to say. But it wasn’t what she expected.
Once Caryn had disappeared upstairs, I began.
“I don’t know exactly how to say this, Tricia, so I’ll just come right out and say it straight. I don’t want to fuck your daughters.” Those were words I never thought I would hear myself utter.
Tricia looked at me earnestly. “Go on,” she encouraged.
I studied her mature, sexy face as I spoke. “I like to simplify my life. Life’s complicated enough.” She smiled at this truism.
“Tonight was the best sexual experience of my life, and no disrespect intended, but it had nothing to do with Caryn, ” I continued, on a roll now.
“You’re amazing, my dream woman, “The One, the White Whale”.
She chuckled at my awkward phrasing. She rubbed her hands along her still naked body. “Interesting analogy,” she teased.
“You know what I mean. But beyond that, you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re together.” She blushed slightly. She tired to hide it, bit I saw it.
“I want a relationship with you. Just you. What do you say, Tricia? Do you want to try a relationship with me? Just me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I say you’re sweet and honest and I’m very flattered. You’re just what I’m looking for, also. I never thought I’d say this again, but ‘I do’. I do want to try a relationship with you, John.”
I beamed. “Good answer. I have just one more request.”
She motioned with her hands. “Anything, lover. Name it.”
“I want you to take me upstairs to your love nest and give me your second blow job as a fifty-year-old. And finish this one.”
That sexy nose wrinkled. “But you just fucked my daughter in the ass.”
“I know,” I said. “Clean me.”
She took me by the hand and led me up the stairs. I watched her glistening pussy peek between those tight buns the whole time. “Kinky,” Tricia said over her shoulder.
“I like that.”
We woke the baby this time.
Thus began a two-year relationship for Tricia and myself that was, shall we say, full of many explorative adventures.
Maybe I should write about them. Ya know, kiss and tell.