I had come home for Christmas break during my second year of college and decided to get together with a longtime buddy, a guy I'd known since I was ten. He'd elected to go to a local college and was still living at home so we decided to meet up at his place, about five blocks from where I grew up.
On the walk over, via a route I'd taken hundreds of times before, I was visited by a series of mental images that first took shape during my post-puberty years. That time when I began discovering and developing the fantasies that would drive me to cum in my bed late at night, frantically jerking my cock as the mental movie played out in my mind. And the images that drove those movies were fresh, usually just hours old. The truth is, when I would go to see my buddy...he wasn't the only one I was going to see.
She may not have been best described as 'beautiful' but she definitely wasn't unattractive. She was in her mid-40's with longer, brownish-red hair, only about 5'2" and a little on the chubbier side. You could tell she had ample breasts but they weren't highlighted by her everyday clothing. Her look was decidedly Mid-Western although she lived in the Southwest. All in all...she was a "Mom."
And maybe because Moms in the good ol' days seemed to inspire a different kind of respect; she was still "Mrs." to me. Even though I'd cum to her many times in my fantasies, whenever I was around her I could flip the switch, turn off the lust, and stay in line. So when I approached the door it was more about seeing a woman who had made me a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches over the years than who had been the object of a fantasy.
"Hey, there he is," she said while giving me a nice, brief hug. She invited me in as my buddy came around the corner with his "Hey Man's." We all stood in the entry way for a few minutes as we made small talk. Mrs. J mentioned her road warrior husband was out of town on a sales trip but sent his best. I never really understood that relationship. He was one of those jowly, loud types who laughed too hard at his own jokes and didn't have an edit button. She was a lot more cerebral and introspective. Opposites attract I guess.
My buddy and I didn't have any real plans but Mrs. J wanted to leave us alone so we could, "...go have fun but be careful." So we did what most guys who were too young to get in to bars did in those days. We drove around. After making a few passes down the main drag trying to look cool for girls, no easy task in my buddy's beat-up 1972 Vega, we headed over to a parking spot on top of a hill on the outskirts of town.
It was the spot that most towns had. Ours was called Flat Top which I never understood because the ground wasn't level. It was where I got my first hand job along with countless other teenagers over the decades. But tonight it would serve another purpose which became apparent when my buddy parked, reached in to the broken glove compartment and pulled out a joint the size of my finger filled with some of Humboldt County's finest.
I enjoyed smoking weed but my friend was a fiend and after too many 'just one mores' we found ourselves thoroughly and blissfully high. We laughed until we snotted, decided that the universe is so vast that our galaxy is a speck of sand on another galaxies beach and agreed that my friend's ex-girlfriend was a bitch. When food became more of a necessity than an option we decided to head back to his place and fulfill our stoney needs.
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We came in the front door and headed to the kitchen. When we did, we walked past the living room where Mrs. J was sitting on the couch and reading a book.
"Hi guys," she said not looking up, completely focused on the pages and oblivious to the world. And I'm glad she was because what my stoned, lustful eyes zeroed in on was the kind of scene that never failed to stir a reaction in me. Mrs. J was curled up on the couch, wearing an oversized, light pink robe, reading a mystery novel and holding a cigarette. The smoke curled up from her hand that rested on the arm of the couch and changed colors as it rose past the lampshade.
I became aware of Mrs. J's smoking at about 15. Something about getting a hard on every time she lit up clued me in. I also knew this attraction I had was a little outside the 'norm' and needed to be kept private. But that sure as hell didn't stop me from sneaking glances when I knew she wasn't looking. This was before the days of the Internet. We didn't have access to the never-ending stream of porn of any kind that's available today. So those mental photographs mattered.
Her smoking style was always relaxed and easy but with the way she performed a small cheek- pop before a quick snap after each drag before inhaling deeply and executing a tight, cone exhale she always conveyed a certain decadence and indulgence. It was easy to tell that she liked smoking and took time to properly enjoy it.
While I never believed she was smoking for me personally, those occasions where I would steal glances felt like private moments. I would try and find ways to be around her so that if she smoked I could watch without being obvious. There were quite a few nights where the three of us would watch a movie where I was actually getting my own 'private screening.'
My friend and I moved past her towards the kitchen and began rooting around for the quickest, tastiest, saltiest, sweetest food we could find. As we were foraging through the kitchen Mrs. K. called to her son from the next room.
"Honey, please grab me a beer and bring it here, ok?" With a heavy sigh my friend made it seem like an imposition. But I saw it as an invitation to embed an image in my mind that would come in handy later when I was laying naked in my bed.
"It's cool. I got it," I said to my friend and reaching past him to grab a Budweiser out of one of three six-packs in the fridge.
"Cool," he said and went back to trying to decide if chocolate and cheese would go together.
As I walked out of the kitchen and turned the corner to the living room I was greeted with the powerfully erotic image of one of Mrs. K's long, streaming exhales. The lights in the room were dim, except for the low reading light behind the long, beige couch where she sat, and the smoke from her full lips took on a bluish grey color. She was dressed in her flannel pajamas with her reading glasses dipped low on her nose and seemed engrossed in the reading she was finishing.
Watching her in this private moment, I immediately felt my cock began to stiffen and I had to subdue the desire to rub the palm of my hand against its hardness. Luckily, I was wearing a long shirt that covered my quickly growing bulge but it didn't stop me from making sure it was pulled as low as possible. The idea of walking up to Mrs. J with a beer and a hard on, with my buddy in the next room, had "awkward" written all over it.
"Here you go," Mrs. J I said as casually as possible.
