More of the story of a man who just couldn't say no to women who wanted him. A continuation of his remembrance of his first sexual partner.
"Ah yes, Mrs. E," I said aloud as I puffed out cigar smoke. I was indulging myself following the completion of my third divorce. My god, she was a long time ago, I thought. I was barely out of high school and a virgin. Now I'm approaching fifty.
"She sure cured that virginity problem," I said with a chuckle. Twenty years older than me at the time, thick curly black hair, hazel eyes, smooth olive complexion, a bit plump, but voluptuous, and, as I learned over the course of the summer, a woman with a truly volcanic sex drive. What an introduction to sex she provided me that summer. I was supposed to be building a fence between her property and ours and it did eventually get built, but I spent a lot of time on her side of the fence that summer. She made it clear there were things she wanted from me that summer beyond a new fence, and I just couldn't say no.
As I sipped my Scotch and puffed away at my second cigar of the day, I let my mind wander back through my memories of my fling with Mrs. E:
It seemed a foregone conclusion that Mrs. E and I were going to go beyond our initial encounter. Our exhibitionism and mutual masturbation were exciting, but I had ambitions for more, much more, and I was sure she did too. But now, with her husband, Jake, back from his trip to Singapore our budding affair had come to an abrupt halt.
I didn't see much of Mrs. E for the next few days, but what little I did see of her was enough to keep my blood boiling. It took me two
days to finish wrestling out the old rotted fence posts. I dragged the stub ends of the posts and their cement blocks along with the rotten tops of the posts out to the front of our house and loaded them into my little Datsun truck. For some reason my father wanted me to dig new postholes for the next round of posts, so I spent a couple of additional days wrestling with a clam shell posthole digger putting in holes for the new posts. Those clam shell diggers work okay, until you hit a good sized rock. I used the dirt from the new holes to fill in the old holes. Dad had marked precisely where he wanted each post. It was clear he was the builder on this project. I was just the labor. And it was labor—poorly paid labor, at that.
The work was bad enough, but what was really driving me crazy was Mrs. E. Each day she came out to the pool and sunned herself or swam for half an hour or so, sometimes two or three times a day. She always greeted me politely, just as though I was still the young boy who had lived next door to her since he was old enough to walk. But I wasn't the little kid next door anymore, was I? I was the fully grown man (or at least I thought I was) who just days ago had sprayed his cum all over her face and tits while she encouraged me and then whispered in my ear that she wanted to fuck me. At least that is how I viewed the status of our relationship. I assumed that all of her formality was for Mr. E's benefit. When he wasn't traveling, he seemed to be around the house a lot. Maybe he worked from a home office. I didn't know. But it wasn't helping my budding sex life.
There was another side to her demeanor that week. Occasionally she would look back towards her house, as though to assure herself that Mr. E wasn't watching, and then she would flash me. The first time, she looked over her shoulder, looked back to me with a really nasty smile, and then rolled down the top of her swim suit, exposing both breasts. She lifted one and then the other of her big tits up with both hands until she could lean her head down and use her long sexy tongue to lick the nipple. Finished, she looked up at me holding the newly sucked upon breasts out towards me as if to say, "These are for you." Then she covered up, smiled demurely at me, and resumed her sunbathing. This happened several time a day, each time ending with an oh so innocent smile and then her returning to the house or resuming some other activity in which I was totally ignored.
It wasn't just her boobs that she used to drive me to distraction. One morning I was working on a chore out in front of our house when she came out dressed to the nines like she was going someplace important. Her skirt stopped well short of her knees and she wore tall spiked heels that accentuated her stunning legs. Her tight sweater showed off her boobs in a way that got my immediate attention. It was much sexier style of dress than I had seen Mrs. E wear in the past. She politely smiled and said hello as she walked to her car parked in their driveway, but then, as she entered the driver's seat, she pulled up the hem of her dress and spread her legs lewdly, showing me she was wearing no panties. Just in case I didn't get her message, she reached down with one hand and spread her pussy lips apart to show me the gleaming, tasty looking pink flesh behind them—not for long, just long enough to get my cock starting to rise. Then she tugged her dress down and swung her legs into the car. As she drove away she waived at me with the sweetest, most innocent smile. She was back within five minutes, ignoring me completely as she tottered into the house on her tall heels. Just as she was about to close the door she looked back at me with another of her sweet and innocent smiles.
This torture went on for four days. Then it was the weekend, and my father was out helping me set the new posts in concrete and brace them with two by fours to hold them in place while the cement cured. As long as Dad was there her conduct was perfect. She smiled sweetly and said hello to each of us and then went about her business as though we weren't there. There were a couple of times when she was out sun bathing that I l noticed Dad taking a long look at her and then smiling to himself and shaking his head before he returned to work. I wondered briefly what that was about.
If Dad wasn't there for some reason, she would look over shoulder to make sure Mr. W was also absent, and then make some sort of obscene gesture, or flash her tits or pussy, or something else calculated to drive me to distraction. Sometimes it was no more than leaning over a table in the yard, fully dressed, as she stuck her delicious round ass in my direction and then moved as though someone was fucking her from behind and she was meeting every thrust. She also had a positively lewd way of slowly inserting a finger into her mouth and then sucking on it as she withdrew it that was. Then, if there was still no one else around, she would mouth the words, "lets fuck" or something similar. This was always followed by a sweet, innocent smile, and a toss of her dark, curly mane as she returned to her business (and I adjusted my growing cock to a more comfortable position).
On Sunday my Dad and I went out for a round of golf, so I didn't see Mrs. E all day. I think it was the first time in a week my pulse dropped below about 120. I didn't forget her mind you, but at least I could focus on the golf instead of my lewd next-door neighbor's exhibitionism.
On the following Monday morning I was about to back my little pick-up out of the driveway to make another run to the dump. It still had all of the old posts and concrete in it that I had pulled out the prior week. My boss at the pizza parlor was complaining about my driving an old beat-up pick-up full of trash around to deliver his pizza. "Bad for the image," he claimed.
I was checking the load tie-down down when Mr. E, suit case in hand, came out to their car. He was followed promptly by Mrs. E, who I noticed had no suitcase. She climbed into the driver's seat (no flashing this time). They quickly backed out and drove past me. She waived, and smiled her sweet and innocent smile. I noticed she was wearing the same long, loosely fitting, white dress with the buttons up the front that she had worn when she seduced me a week earlier. I couldn't help but wonder if she was naked under it, as she had been that day. Probably not, I told myself. Was she taking him to the airport for another trip I wondered, or were they both leaving town? I had only seen one suitcase. Hope springs eternal for a horny 18-year old. I stewed about it all the way to the dump and back.
When I returned the car was in the driveway. "Maybe it was just Mr. E that left," I said to myself. I could feel my cock stirring in my jeans at the possibility that Mrs. E and I would be alone again.
The new fence was still without any boards—just a line of posts held in place by 2x4 braces, waiting for the concrete to cure. Mrs. E was in her backyard wearing the long dress. I noticed that the buttons below the waist had been released. As she looked up at me she let a hand fall to her side brushing the dress aside and exposing one of her long sexy legs. She pushed it far enough to the side so that I could also see most of her seductively rounded hip on that side. There was no sign of panties. I stared and licked my lips in a kind of involuntary reaction to her deliberate move to expose herself. I'm sure she saw me.
"Hello Andrew, I was wondering when you were going to get back." As she spoke, she began slowly unbuttoning the dress from the top. I watched in silence.
"I was afraid you had lost interest in me."
"Silly boy. How could you think that? I thought I gave you plenty of hints over the last few days," she said pouting. She slid a hand inside her dress and cupped one of her large breasts. There were just enough buttons remaining fastened on the dress so I couldn't quite see all of her tit, but I could see her fingers under the fabric caressing an already swollen nipple.
