It was between my freshman and sophomore years in college. I had returned home and to earn money for tuition had gotten a job, thanks to some connections through my uncle, with the local public works department. Being a civil engineering major some parts of this were really useful, others just hard no thinking work, and then still others very educational in ways that I had never imagined.
The semester had ended and I drove back home to Oklahoma satisfied that I could indeed not only hack the rigors of studying engineering but be successful at it. For social life during that first year I had a couple of dates, but had mostly devoted my energies to adjusting to the new environment. This summer would, let's just say, awaken the giant within. It was the last week of May when I reported to the town garage, processed for payroll with the town clerk, issued the tan uniform with "Public Works" embroidered on the left side of the shirt, and assigned to one of the foremen.
The very next day I found myself out with a crew of four of us that included another college student named Ken, installing fire hydrants in a new section of town. The foreman ran the excavator while Ken and I were told to don rubber boots, grab shovels, and get into the hole. The days were getting warmer and it was hard work. That week I got home each evening with my clothes drenched in sweat and muscles aching.
The second week I was expecting more of the same, but instead was handed a flashlight, a thick book of accounts, and the keys to one of the town pickup trucks. I was then told to head to a specific neighborhood where I would go from house to house reading the water meters. It hardly sounded interesting and was really convinced that this was to be the most uninteresting job in town as I had to ring the doorbell and announce myself "meter reader," If someone was home they would let me in and show me to the basement where the meter was located. If nobody was home, I'd leave a reply card for the homeowner to complete and send back. OK, so easy enough, but it really sounded boring.
The first house that I went to was not a great experience because I rang the bell and the next thing I heard was very low pitched "woof, woof" suggesting that there was a big dog waiting for me on the other side of the door. When nobody came to the door, this house got a reply card. Moving on to the next house I was greeted by a middle school kid who let me in. I went to the basement, looked at the meter, wrote down its five digits, and let myself out. And so it went for house after house. Boredom set in from the tedium of the repetitive tasks. The following days were more of the same, that is until I reached house number 37 Westmoreland Street. It was just past 9:00 a.m. when I rang the doorbell. The inner door opened and there stood Mrs. Pinkham still in her nightgown. I said my usual "meter reader" greeting and she opened the screen door for me.
"You're out early," she noted. "I haven't even had time to get dressed."
I guess she hadn't because she was wearing a short white nighty of flimsy material that allowed her perky nipples to show through. I could even make out the shape of their areola. Actually, she was one very good looking woman who was maybe only 7-8 years my senior. I couldn't help checking her out and felt my manhood twitch a bit as I did.
"That's OK. Just point me in the direction of the basement and I won't be but a couple of minutes," I said feeling my face flush.
"You don't have to hurry on my account," she said.
"Reading a meter doesn't have to take that long."
"Maybe not, but you can read my meter anytime you want," she said lifting the hem of her nightgown revealing that she had nothing on underneath.
I gasped at the sight of her pussy, but Mrs. Pinkham did have one very nice body and I was getting more flustered by the minute as my erection grew to huge proportions.
"Mrs. Pinkham . . ."
"Please call me Hillary."
"OK, Hillary, I apologize, but I'm not sure I know where this is going."
"Really, it is quite simple. I've been home alone for days, my husband is always traveling for business, I am really unbelievably horny, and I have a young stud like you who just walked in my front door."
"Oh, well. . . "
"Well nothing. You're a college student which means that you are oversexed and undersupplied. So am I, so are you going to fuck me or aren't you?" said Hillary raising her nightgown again and giving me a great view of her girl parts.
My manhood, which had been twitching all the while now stood straight up, a fact that was not easy to hide.
"I can see that I now have your attention," said Hillary unzipping my pants. "Let's see what we have here."
I didn't put up any resistance primarily because Hillary was one of the most attractive women I had ever seen either naked or clothed. Finally she found what she was looking for.
"Oh, my but that is impressive!" she said. "I bet that you keep those college girls happy with that one."
"I do OK," I replied knowing that it was a pure lie.
"Well, now I need to know if you do or not," she said taking my pants down to my ankles. "If you aren't doing OK, it's your own fault."
I could see Hillary's bush glisten in the sunbeam coming through the window. I began to think that his experience was getting to be too surreal just when Hillary started to finger herself.
"Have you ever fucked a real woman?" she asked.
"Well, er . . ."
"I will take that to mean that you haven't," she said taking me by the hand. And leading me to the back of the modest ranch style house where the master bedroom was located. She sat me down on a corner at the foot of the bed while she sat down in front of one of the pillows at the head.
