Guess I Should've Called First

"Mendoza is set....Garciaparra waits...here comes the 3-2 pitch....fouled off over the 1st base dug out...its still 3 and 2," the voice of Red Sox play by play man Sean McDonough boomed in his thick New England accent as he called the early May Yankees/Red Sox game.

I had just gotten the chance to sit down after a long day of work, taking my son to little league, eating dinner and helping my wife clean up afterwards. Now comfortably planted in my LazyBoy to enjoy the rest of the ballgame between my Red Sox and the hated Yankees on a quiet Tuesday Night, I twisted open the cap of a cold Heineken and brought the icy green bottle to my lips.

Intently, I focused on Nomar Garciaparra fidgeting in the batter's box as he awaited another 3-2 pitch.

"Down one here in the bottom of the 8th with the bases loaded....it would behoove Boston to get a run or two across here because if they don't they'll have to face Rivera, the Yankees almost unhittable closer in the 9th," Jerry Remy surmised in his usual splendid job as color analyst. Just then the pitch left the pitcher's hand.

Rising ever so slightly towards the TV screen, I immediately fell backwards into the chair, deflated when Nomar swung and missed....strike 3.

"SSSHHIII...," I started to curse when my wife Carol, walked meekly into the room. "How's the game going?" she asked in a tone that stated her question was only a polite one, that she really couldn't care less 'How the game was going'.

"Down by one going to the ninth," I answered taking another sip of beer. "What do you want....?" I asked, sensing a look of need on her pretty face, telling me she was about to ruin the rest of my quiet, lazy evening.

"Well..." Carol coyly replied," Since you asked."

Carol stayed silent for a few more moments sensing my growing testiness. "What!?" I said agitatedly, as I sat my beer down beside me.

"Well," she finally spoke, moving closer to my chair. "I was wondering, before the Sox go and lose again and you go get tanked again... I forgot to give Mary Mcdonald the cook book she lent me last month back to her at church Sunday....do you think you could run it over to her?"

"Now?!" I asked, amazed she would ask me something so silly this late at night. "Look honey....she lives three blocks away... why can't YOU just take it over?" "It's 10 after 10, she's probably in bed anyway," I added, as rationally as I could.

"She's not that old Charlie," My wife answered sarcastically. "She's only 55. She doesn't go to bed with the chickens."

"And to answer your other question," Carol continued," I just did my nails and they haven't dried yet. Can't you just listen to the rest of the ball game on the radio on the way over?"

Looking at Carol's hands as she extended them towards me to prove she had just coated them with a Cherry Red gloss, I saw that they were in fact still shiny and wet. Sighing loudly, I tried brushing the sudden drowsiness out of my eyes and ate my words, knowing it would be fruitless to argue.

I almost asked 'why can't you just give it to her next Sunday in church?', but I knew the sooner I got the book over to Mary's, the sooner I could come home and finish a few beers before going to bed.

Taking the cookbook that Carol had dropped on my chest, I sat up, put my sneakers on and went out into the driveway to get in the car.

"Thanks Honey," Carol said from the front door patronizingly, with a smile of satisfaction on her face from once again playing me like a puppet.

On the verge of exasperation, I turned the key in the car's ignition, slipped the car into reverse and began backing down the driveway.

As I tuned in the ballgame on the radio, my mood only worsened when I heard the groans from the Fenway faithful through my car speakers. "Grand slam home run for Bernie Williams...Yankees lead 7 to 2..." The announcer's voice said direly.

"DAMN," I cursed, slapping the radio off.

Smacking my hands on the steering wheel twice to relieve my anger, I then reached down and put the car in drive for the short trip over to Mary McDonald's house to return the cookbook that my wife had not even bothered to use.

* * * * *

Mary was a fifty five year old woman who still was a pillar of our small Massachusetts community. For 17 years she had taught English in our school system. Her late husband Peter had been a successful businessman for a number of years before he was elected to the city council. Peter served on the board for 6 years before he was diagnosed with Cancer and died two years ago.

The McDonald's had been big contributors in the church I grew up in for as long as I could remember. From day one, I had always had a crush on Mary. When I started attending church regularly around age 12, right when my hormones were kicking in, Mary McDonald was the most polished and gorgeous female specimen I had to use for my frequent fantasy fodder.

She was in her early thirties then and had the grace and presence that caused me plenty of sleepless nights and messy sheets as a pre teen and teenager.

As I grew up however, and other girls came into my life, my interest in Mary waned slightly even though she was one of the private pleasures I had to look forward to every Sunday morning.

When I started high school, I had always held out hope that I would be lucky enough to be placed in her English class but it never happened. Unfortunately, I was a mediocre student and Mary spent her days teaching the advanced placement classes.

After I graduated high school and spent 6 years in college, when I finally returned home to settle down, I found out Mary had given up teaching because her husband's business success had enabled her to do more charity work and to stay home and raise their two kids. She had also immersed herself further into the various church programs such as exchange and missionary work.

Although age had stripped her of her youthful and polished figure, for a woman in her fifties, Mary still had a very voluptuous body, a keen sense of humor, an eternal friendliness and still had that intangible poise that never leaves no matter your age. Mary was about 5 foot 4 and I guessed she weighed around 145lbs. She had large breasts that still never failed to fill out the front of the sweaters or business suits she always wore to church. She also had short jet black hair that was dotted with hints of salt and pepper and always had a smile of kinship on her face.

When her husband had finally passed away after his long illness, Mary re-dedicated herself full bore to her charity and missionary work after she had finished grieving. Peter's estate allowed Mary the opportunity not to have to go back to work, and after seeing the way she doggedly went about raising money and making connections in her various capacities, even though she was 20 years older than me, I had developed a deep respect for her energy and vigor.

* * * * *

Parking my car at the foot of the hill that led up to the McDonald's front porch, I cut the ignition and my headlights off, grabbed the heavy cookbook, and prepared to go up and drop it off.

Walking up the steep incline of the McDonald's modest palatial estate, I scanned the front windows of the house trying to determine if Mary was still up. The complete darkness inside gave me a sensation that I was about to feel very awkward after waking this hard working woman up at this late hour.

Even though the light was vividly glowing on the front porch, I just had this feeling Mary wasn't ready to be disturbed. Why I didn't get Carol to call first I don't know......oh that's right, her nails were still wet.

As I approached the door, I balled up my hand into a loose fist and smacked my knuckles against the heavy hardwood door. About 20 seconds went by without any stirring from inside, so I knocked again.

I turned my head to the side and saw that Mary's dark maroon Cadillac was indeed parked at the upper end of the driveway, so I knew she was home. Another minute went by with no response.

"That's it," I thought. "I tried."

I could picture in my head knocking a third time with Mary hurriedly walking down the stairs to see who was disturbing her at such an hour only to see a shadowy male figure walking through her yard back to the car that she would surely recognize in the church parking lot at some point.

I tucked the cookbook back under my shoulder and turned to head back home feeling like a complete putz.

As I descended the steps a little quicker than I had scaled them, hoping Mary wouldn't look out the window and think there was a doorbell ringing prankster in the neighborhood, I stopped at the foot of the steps suddenly remembering the only time I had been inside the McDonald house.

It had been a church mixer I remembered that Mary and Peter had thrown four or five years ago and I recalled spending a great deal of time at the party that night downstairs in the luxurious basement they had built. If memory served, they had put in a large family/TV room, a game room, a wet bar and an office for both Peter and Mary.

Against my better judgement, I turned and took a few steps across the manicured lawn, and sure enough, I did see a shining light coming out of the window of a side room on the house's lower level.

I remembered from my previous visit that there was a door around back that had easy access to the basement and I reasoned that down there in the peace and quiet, Mary was probably able to get a lot of her busy work done.

Happy now that I could get Mary her cookbook back and get it off Carol's absent mind, I glanced down at my watch and saw the neon numbers tell me I could still get home in time to watch Leno.

Whistling softly to myself under the cover of darkness, I eased around the house, heading for the door knowing Mary could certainly hear me knock from there.

As I approached the window that I had initially saw the light shining from, I casually and innocently looked in.

Stopping dead in my tracks, I felt my ears pop as I stood there, gawking in. At some point during my temporary paralysis, the cookbook resting under my arms fell with a thump to the ground as the wave of numbness swept through me.

I bent down slightly ,my knees buckling from what I was witnessing. As my field of vision lowered, I got a clearer view for what was going on inside through the ground floor window.

There was a large, cushy sofa sitting in the center of the basement's study, resting catty corner from the window I was looking through.

Mary was seated on the sofa, her right side to me. I immediately recognized her sitting there dressed casually in a pink sweater and a pair of comfortable form fitting black leggings.

The light in the family room reflected off Mary's short jet black hair, highlighting the salt and pepper in it magically. There was a pile of books sitting on the coffee table in front of her, a few of which were open.

At about the same moment I discerned two glasses of what looked to be ice tea sitting on the table, Mary leaned forward to take a sip and allowed me to see the man that was joining her on the couch.

My head started to swim as the realization hit me of who it was. Since Mary's husband Peter had died, Mary had re-dedicated herself to aiding the church's efforts with helping exchange students prosper during there time in America, especially concentrating on helping them learn the English language.

One such exchange student was an 18 year old young man from Nigeria named Kaba Akeem. I had seen him on occasion at church for the better part of the past 2 months and knew he was living with a black family in our congregation.

Putting 2 and 2 together, I assumed Kaba being there was just a natural extension of Mary's role as an English tutor for the church, especially with the evidence of the open textbooks in front of them. It appeared to now be totally innocent.

Taking my mind out of the gutter, I reached down and searched for the cookbook that I had just dropped. As my hands blindly felt around the ground in the dark, before I could grasp it, my eyes curiously glanced back inside the window and this time when my gaze fell on Mary and Kaba, my body literally fell limp. Collapsing onto my stomach, I laid there and watched incredulously.

Kaba, who was easily 6 foot 2 and a wiry 200 lbs. even though he was only 18, sat beside Mary, face to face with her.

As my eyes focused on the contrasting pair, I could see Kaba's large black hand tentatively placed on the top of Mary's right shoulder. I stared on as Kaba's tendons subtly flexed, pulling the reluctant teacher closer to him. Once she was close enough, Kaba opened his lips and lowered them to hers.

Eyes opened wide, I watched as the open space between Mary's and Kaba's face narrowed to mere inches. They both seemed to stop just before making contact with each other as if to say, this is both our last chance to back out, that once it gets started.....

With my heart thumping loudly in my chest, I waited impatiently for one of them to make the next move. A moment later Kaba parted his lips fully and placed his mouth on top of Mary's.

When their lips met, Kaba's arm muscles instantly constricted, pulling the 55 year old widow closer to him vigorously as his mouth explored hers.

With the smell of freshly cut grass filling my nostrils, I continued laying there almost hypnotized by what I was witnessing inside.

Mary's body seemed to cave against Kaba as she reluctantly returned his kisses. One moment Mary would seem to allow him to dwelve deeper into her mouth and the next, she would cautiously try to push him away.

Kaba kept up his oral probes until Mary finally succumb to his relentless advances, freely allowing the teenage stud to place his right hand between her slightly parted legs, giving Kaba unhindered access to the moistening mesh covering the crotch of her soft cotton leggings.

Kaba then deftly pulled his lips off of Mary's for a brief moment, opened his eyes and seemed to look down and survey Mary McDonald as if she was his captured prey.

Mary just sat there motionless, her eyes still closed, at the mercy of the hulking exchange student who was sizing her up.

Satisfied she had given herself completely to him, Kaba lowered his head once again, only this time he bypassed Mary's mouth and pressed his lips wantonly onto the soft sensitive flesh between Mary's earlobe and collarbone. Grinding his hot mouth against Mary's delicate skin, the virile young stud sucked hard on her neck until Mary's hips rocked steadily up and down on the sofa cushions below.

Working his thick wet lips down Mary's neck, Kaba slithered his tongue down Mary's shoulder as he continued probing her seething crotch with his free hand. Deftly swinging his middle finger up and over the elastic waistband of Mary's leggings, I watched as Kaba's long black finger disappeared.

A moment later, it seemed an electrical shock went through my body when I saw the same woman I had fantasized about for over 20 years, spasm like a common whore under the touch of an 18 year old kid who was gouging his finger into her wet pussy.

I could almost feel Mary shudder as I laid in the yard watching. Kaba continued kissing her tenderly, slowly manipulating Mary's voluptuous body until he sensed she was ready to take the next step.

Taking his hand that was resting on Mary's shoulder , he lowered it gently to the front of the older woman's sweater and furtively began fondling Mary's heavy, D-cup breasts through the fabric like the powerful, insistent school boy he was.

Mary literally shook under Kaba's intense, clutching grasp, seemingly becoming more and more willing to allow her teenage suitor access to parts of her untouched for years by another man.

Suddenly, I felt something pressing with each passing second as well. I could feel my cock straining against the front of my blue jeans as it grew between my legs, pressing mightily into the grass below. I still was having a hard time believing this was the same woman I had known from church, school and social circles for the better part of 20 years, now sharing a secret and private embrace in her basement with one of her exchange students.

Mary's eyes were closed and her face flushed as the black stud went about stimulating her upper body with his hands, arms, and mouth.

As Kaba pulled his middle finger out from underneath Mary's pants, I could almost smell the pungent nectar that coated his finger. After pulling it out of her pussy, Kaba immediately raised his hand up to Mary's face and brushed the sticky length of his fuck finger against her small quivering, pink lips. I could see Mary's tiny mouth tentatively work, trying to muster the courage to suck her own juices off Kaba's digit. Knowing where Kaba's finger had been, Mary had to fight her own demons, knowing she had shown her weakness of the flesh already ,that now there was no turning back.

Growing impatient with Mary's attempts to accept his finger into her mouth, Kaba simply pushed his slick glistening middle finger into her mouth, forcing it down to the knuckle before swirling it crudely in her mouth, forcing the copious amounts of vaginal fluid on it to baste Mary's tongue, lips and teeth.

After rotating his drenched finger around Mary's mouth for thirty seconds, Kaba pulled it out and smiled when he saw it glisten with the combination of Mary's feminine secretions. Taking the finger into his mouth, Kaba quickly tasted the remnants of what Mary had left on it.

Wasting little time, Kaba angled both his hands down onto Mary's throat, gently tracing his thumbs in small circular patterns around Mary's exposed neck causing the fifty five year old widow to rock her head all the way back in a signal of complete surrender.

Instinctively realizing this, Kaba reached down and took Mary's frumpy sweatshirt in his hands and effortlessly raised it up over his English tutor's torso. The young man smiled broadly when he saw Mary raise her arms for him allowing Kaba an easier path to remove her top.

Both my cock and head throbbed painfully as I watched Mary Mcdonald, the woman that I had fantasized about for over 2 decades, be stripped willingly of her clothing. My eyes widened when I saw her pale chest and back come into full view. she was wearing a large white support bra that appeared to have 2 sets of 4hook attachments. I focused intently on Kaba's dark hand as it quickly covered the hooks, his youthful exuberance showing in his hurry to unsnap Mary's bra to get his hands on her heavy, slightly sagging mounds of fleshy womanhood.

I found myself ever so slightly grinding my crotch forward into the ground below as I watched Kaba continue to strip Mary of more than her clothing.

After taking a few moments to unsnap Mary's formidable bra, Kaba leaned back when the snaps were all loosened and rested his body against the back of the sofa, taking an eager and attentive final look at Mary's covered breasts before he finally stripped her chest completely naked.

I could tell Kaba had opened his mouth and muttered a few words of broken English down to Mary, and a moment later, Mary looked up at the towering dark young stud and opened her submissive eyes as if to say, "I'm your's...I'll do whatever you want."

Mary then reached her hands up over her shoulders, taking the thick bra straps in her hand and then deliberately removed the undergarment from her chest allowing her heaving, pale white titties to spill free in front of her young pupil.

After discretely dropping the bra to the floor beside her, Mary meekly looked up at the imposing young black exchange student and seemed to cower when she saw him haughtily rubbing a growing thick tubular ridge through his tight jeans as he intently watched Mary undress herself for him.

With my gaze intently locked on Kaba's facial expression, watching as he stared hungrily down at Mary's body, I saw the young stud subtly nod his head to Mary as he watched her openly gawk at his growing cock.