Befriending Mrs Tupa Ch 01 02

[This story has been submitted under the Fetish category, but it could also fall under the Mature, Voyeurism, and Romance categories. It has a slow build-up, so if you want hot action quickly, you had best seek elsewhere. It also involves bodily fluids and waste, simple and extreme. If these offend you, do not proceed further. These stories are meant for a very select audience who appreciate the fetishes involved. Please do not down-rate these stories just because they are not to your liking. If you do like them, please comment or send feedback. Thanks very much for your support. All characters in this story are over 18. This is purely a fantasy, and bears very little resemblance to reality.]

The city I grew up in was in the great American "rust belt", back before it got so rusty. A substantial percentage of the local population was composed of Eastern European immigrants, many of whom worked in the steel mills and auto plants that dotted the area. While they were hard working and assimilated pretty well into mid-American culture, many of them still identified with "the old country" and consciously preserved their customs and culture whenever they could.

For instance, most of their women-folk never left home to go shopping without a flowered scarf covering their hair. One such woman was Mrs. Tupa, the old Czech widow who lived in the house next door to ours. She was still living there unobtrusively when I graduated from high school in 1968, at age eighteen. Our paths rarely crossed, unless you count our giving a friendly wave to each other as she rocked on her front porch on summer afternoons.

While many of my friends had plans to head out to colleges a good distance away, even out of state, I was of the mind that I'd save my money by attending the local community college and continue to live at home for a couple of years.

Living at home while attending college had its plusses and minuses. On the plus side, I didn't have to live in a dormitory or pay for one. I still had my own room, which was roomier than a dorm room and I was spared having to share it with a roommate. I still got to enjoy my mother's cooking, which was healthy and delicious, and I got to hang out with my high school friends who had decided to hang around and also attend the community college.

The minuses were not negligible, however. My privacy was compromised by the fact that I couldn't take my girlfriends up to my room, and I couldn't stay out later than midnight, which really blew. I still had to follow other house rules, such as not playing my music too loud, not hogging the TV, and keeping my room and our lawn tidy. In short, it often felt like I was still in high school, which made things a bit claustrophobic.

It was right at this juncture that something unexpected happened. My mother took me aside one day and asked if I'd be willing to do Mrs. Tupa a favor. It seems that the guy who had been mowing her lawn for her was going off to school downstate, and Mrs. Tupa wondered if I might take over the job. She was even willing to pay me the going rate. I shrugged and said "why not?" I was already doing ours as part of my family's room and board deal, so doing Mrs. Tupa's would at least give me a bit of extra pocket change. Besides, she was a nice old lady, who had always been kind and friendly to me.

I came by her place the next day and she showed me her mower, which was an old manual push mower that was probably twice my own age and then some. For all that, it worked well enough and it looked like the blades had been recently sharpened. As I mowed her back yard - in my shorts with my shirt off, working on my tan - she came out and sat on her back stoop, fanning herself and drinking ice tea. It was not lost on me that she was not so much monitoring that I was doing a good job, as checking me out as a healthy young man with solid abs and hair on my chest. That got me thinking differently about her as well.

If she was going to check me out, I'd check her out. Fair enough, I thought. There's a certain symmetry between dirty old ladies and dirty young men. Her constant gaze stirred the snake in my shorts, and it seemed that the sight of my engorged member, barely covered by my flimsy shorts, was making her squirm around on her sizable tush.

Before I go further, I owe you a decent description of Mrs. Tupa. She was probably no taller than five feet, and slender she was not. But she had a nice large keister and a pair of bazooms that tended to wobble around under her dresses. I had a strong hunch that she was squeezed into a girdle of some sort, with a slip over that, but her billowy dresses hung down nearly to her ankles, making it hard to get a sense of her calves and thighs. Call me a lech, but there was something intriguing and exotic about Mrs. Tupa.

When I did her front yard, sure enough, she shifted to the front porch and sat in her rocker, idly crossing and uncrossing her legs, and showing me her petite feet and ankles. It may sound ridiculous, but I could sense a certain sexual energy leaping the gap between us.

When the job was finished and I'd put her mower away in her little garage in back, she came out and thanked me profusely, slipping a crisp $5 bill into my hand. She even gave me a little hug that allowed her grandmotherly bust, lurking beneath her dress, to press itself against my bare sweaty chest and abs. When she pulled back from her daring gesture, I saw that the front of her dress was now soaked with my sweat, making it cling to her form and delineating her brassiere underneath. I also saw a look of wistful longing in her eyes, as if, now that I was a strong young man of 18, she was giving herself permission to think of me erotically. I didn't quite know how to respond, so I made do with thanking her for her generosity and telling her to call me anytime she might need some help.

* * *

That night, when I went up to my room, it occurred to me that my room was the only room with a window facing Mrs. Tupa's house across our driveway and, by happenstance, my room's window was opposite Mrs. Tupa's bedroom window. She had always kept her bedroom shades pulled in the past, but after this afternoon's bit of a tease, she seemed to have a new policy.

Now, I discovered, when she was undressing and going to bed, she often left her shades up and blithely walked around in her undies and foundation garments, giving a little look in my direction, now and then, as if she was hoping that I was enjoying the show. I never would have taken her for an exhibitionist, but by early summer, this became a nightly ritual and an increasingly risque one.

What began as a relatively modest display of her big granny boobs encased in her ancient brassieres, evolved into a casual strip-tease culminating in her showing her body completely naked before she pulled on a light nightgown and crawled into bed. I was not put off. Far from it.

With my parents downstairs watching TV, I'd sit in my room in front of my window with my shorts off, brandishing my rigid prick and giving her as good a show as she gave. Once she realized that the arrangement was reciprocal, she became bolder still and set up a comfortable chair in front of her window, with her legs spread wide, displaying her muff and fingering herself. She allowed herself a wicked little smile, looking me directly in my eyes, as she plucked at her twat with one hand and tugged on and mauled her big ol' teats with the other. This invariably led, amid deep breaths and sighs, to her trying to time her convulsive orgasm to match my ejaculation of ropes of sticky goo. Within a few nights, our mutual masturbation had become so friendly and intimate, that we blew each other goodnight kisses at the culmination of our lewd nightly ritual.

Needless to say, this put Mrs. Tupa in a whole new light, and I was delighted that she had been bold enough to reach across the deep gap between our ages and social positions, in order to initiate an erotic relationship that we obviously both enjoyed.

* * *

I learned over time that she and her late husband had immigrated from Czechoslovakia in the 1930s, which accounted for her slavic eyes and cheekbones. She talked with a distinct accent and broken english, almost breathy at times, as if her conversations were a form of confession seeking penance. For all that, she was very down to earth - one might even say "earthy" - which seemed appropriate for an old Bohemian woman. She fascinated me, as if she had come from a different world - which of course she had - but the nature of my fascination was about to veer off in a bolder direction.

* * *

Not long after, her lawn again needed mowing, and as before, she came out in a big sun-hat and a summer dress, and sat on her back stoop with her ice tea and fixed her gaze upon me. I was again shirtless, but this time I just wore my swim-trunks, which left virtually nothing to the imagination. As I was wrapping up the job, she stood up and walked over to me, looking up at me with a big warm smile.

"You do good job, as always, Jack. Here, come in and have some tea. I bake you cookies. Perhaps we talk like neighbors and friends, no?"

She grasped my arm gently and had me walk her over to the back steps and up into her kitchen. There was the delicious smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies permeating the air, with a faint underlying odor of boiled cabbage and sausages. I couldn't even begin to guess how many such meals like that had been prepared in this kitchen. It had to be thousands.

She sat me down at the kitchen table and brought over a plate of still warm cookies. A tall glass of ice tea was next, and then she took a seat directly across the small table from me. We both munched on a cookie, smiling happily at each other. This was the first time that I had seen her up close since our little voyeuristic flirtation had begun, and she looked somehow subtly different than before. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and then it struck me.

She was wearing makeup and had gone to a beauty shop for a facial. Her eyebrows were very nicely shaped and there was even a touch of mascara on her eyelashes and a hint of rouge on her cheeks. And most uncharacteristically, she seemed to be wearing a bullet bra beneath her dress. Bullet bras were quite out of style by the late '60s, but they still charmed me.

"Wow, Mrs. Tupa! You look terrific," I blurted out. She gave me a pleased look that was a peculiar mix of coquettish charm and elderly poise.

"I want look good for you, Jack. You are very kind to this old lady, make me feel desirable for first time in many years. I once was town beauty back in Bohemia. Long ago . . ."

Her voice trailed off and she got a distant look in her eyes, as if she was seeing herself back in the village square, flirting with the young men. Then she gathered herself and looked at me directly again, reaching over and gently taking my hands in hers.

"Jack, we become good friends, now. No longer you call me Mrs. Tupa. My name is Anna. Okay?"

I gave her hands a little squeeze. "Okay, Anna. I'll do that when we are together, but I may still call you Mrs. Tupa, if we are with my parents or in other situations like that. I don't think we want to give other people funny ideas about us."

"No, you right, Jack. This be our secret. I have many secrets, you know. I like certain things that most people not understand. Shameful things. Naughty things. Filthy things. Perhaps you do them with me and we enjoy them together in secret."

She was earnestly clutching my hands now, with a look both hopeful and embarrassed. I could sense her squirming in her seat, looking increasingly uncomfortable, as if she desperately needed to pee. Suddenly, she let go of my hands and stood up from her chair.

"Quick! We must do something without delay. Follow me."

Mrs. Tupa turned and walked as briskly as a woman her age could walk, out through a doorway and down a short hall to another door. She pushed the door open and entered, flicking on a light, and hurrying across the room. I entered in her wake and found myself in a half bathroom with her. What exactly was going on?

"Shut door, please. This is shameful thing I like. You open fly and bring out your wiener. No questions! Just do it."

It seemed that my original guess was correct, as she hoisted up her skirt and pushed her big cotton knickers down to her feet, quickly plopping down on the toilet seat. Without a second's pause, she began to pee forcefully, gesturing me over to stand in front of her. She had her legs spread wide, giving me a view of her incredibly hairy twat, her large pee flaps held open with one hand, the urine spraying down in a noisy stream.

"You pee, too," she ordered. "Pee on my slit. We pee together. It very nice. I love pee together."

Such a thing had never occurred to me, but as I let loose, a thrill ran up my spine. Peeing on Mrs. Tupa's cunt was such a violation of what was considered proper, that I was struggling to keep it going before my excited cock filled with blood and a boner cut off the flow. If my folks knew what I was doing at Mrs. Tupa's request, they'd have been scandalized and cut off all relations with the prurient old gal.

Ironically, it was my mother who suggested that I might spend more time with Mrs. Tupa - playing cards perhaps - as our neighbor had confessed to her of feeling isolated and lonely. I agreed to do the right thing, albeit with feigned reluctance, and soon I was spending most of my time, when I wasn't attending school or studying for my classes, over at Mrs. Tupa's becoming acquainted with her extensive array of shameful, naughty, and filthy pleasures. My interest in my girlfriends my own age declined sharply.

* * *

The first thing I discovered upon our close contact in the flesh was that Mrs. Tupa was extraordinarily hairy. The view I'd had of her from my bedroom window was distant enough and semi-obscured by the summer screens both homes had installed, that I had mainly seen her generous silver-white pubic hair surrounding her cunt. At close quarters, however, I realized that her pubes extended as far up as her navel and around underneath her crotch, half-way down her inner thighs, and up her big butt-crack and even gracing her pelvis and lower back. Her armpits were a mass of gray hairy tufts, while her arms and lower limbs sported a coating of fine hairs, better felt than seen.

When I asked her about this, she shrugged it off as if it was perfectly normal.

"Back in old country, all women be like this. It perfectly natural. Women in America waste too much time trying to be hairless like greek statues. And all this concern over body odors? Bohemian men like women's smells. And we like men's smells. I like the old ways. Does it disgust you?"

"No, no, not at all, Anna. I just never thought much about it until I met you. I think my Mom shaves her legs and her armpits every few days. And of course my girlfriends are always doing it."

Mrs. Tupa crinkled her nose in disgust and made a dismissive gesture with her hands.

"Ridiculous! I be who I am. They should too. Here, let me smell you."

She pushed me back on the couch on which we were sitting together and pulled my t-shirt up until my armpits were exposed. I could smell the accumulated sweat of the day and feared I was overly ripe. She was having none of it. She stuck her nose right in my pit-hair and took a deep breath.

"You smell like man! Young man smell especially good. Now smell mine."

She pulled her dress up over her head and leaned back in her bullet bra exposing her impossibly hairy armpit tufts. She cupped my head in her palms and pulled it right into her left armpit, mashing my nose into her dampened tufts. I took a strong snort and almost came in my shorts from the intense smell. Yes, there was that comforting granny smell of talcum powder and flowery perfume, but it was supplemented by a feminine odor of a woman in heat, sweating in anticipation of her man mounting her and giving her a proper thumping. I was reduced to sucking and chewing on her tufts, while I squeezed and fondled her mammoth teats through the quilted fabric of her black bullet bra. I was in heaven, and Mrs. Tupa had enticed me there.

* * *

Another time, when I was visiting her to supposedly play cards, we were both naked in her bed, the lights low and the window shades pulled down all the way.

"New smells!" she announced, almost as if she were teaching a naïve simpleton to comprehend what was right in front of him, which she pretty much was doing. "I smell you, then you smell me," she ordered, and then had me roll over on my front and pull my ass cheeks apart. Mrs. Tupa clambered down between my thighs and pressed her face between my butt-cheeks. As her nose penetrated my anus, she sniffed deeply and sighed.

Raising her face, she almost trilled her delight. "You stink good! Your man smell is very strong." Then she sunk back down and began to lick up and down my anal crack, swirling her tongue around my anus, and then sucking my sphincter and making rude smacking sounds.

She surfaced again to declare, "we explore your bottom more other time, but now you smell and taste mine!"

The more relaxed she became with our intimate encounters, the freer she felt to draw me deeper into her warped cravings. I was putty in her hands.

Mrs. Tupa raised herself from my butt and lowered herself onto her back beside me. She wedged her arms under her thick thighs and raised her knees up against her trunk, exposing her cunt and anus in all their hairy glory, giving me access to these smelly regions.

"You smell and lick," she commanded. "Real men love women there."

Mrs. Tupa was so certain that her opinions matched reality, that it never occurred to me to challenge them. She was my teacher and I was her student, though these lessons earned no college credits. They were purely extracurricular activities.

You might think that being ordered to sniff and taste an old lady's privates would be a disgusting and humiliating task, but you would be wrong. I was enthralled with her earthy scents, the deep musk of her sticky labia and the rich stink of her anal crack. When I tentatively began to lick, her funky taste exploded on my taste buds, and I was soon lapping at her crevices like a madman. While I was relentlessly tonguing and sucking, she was flopping around like a fish out of water.

"Kiss button, please!" she ordered, pointing at her clit, a pink little bean that had emerged from its hood and was glistening at me. I gave it a lick, and then another, and finally began to smooch it lovingly. That made her squeal like a hotrod peeling down asphalt and she came in an explosion of juice that coated my face and made my eyes sting.

She suddenly let go of her thighs, letting them drop with a thud, her legs splayed around me, with her panting as if she'd run the 100 meter sprint. She had me worried that she might have a heart attack, but my fear was misplaced. Once she caught her breath, she made clear that we were not finished.

"Now you stick wiener in me," she directed. "Fuck me hard and chew my boobies."

Her orders were like music to my ears. I was rapidly discovering that Mrs. Tupa, my kindly old neighbor, when properly primed, was an insatiable love-beast and cum slut. She couldn't get enough of my rigid prick pounding her hairy cunt and when I was on the verge of ejaculating, she pushed me brusquely out of her slimy slit and had me shoot my ropes of goop all over her floppy teats and eager face. Damn!

I was soon to discover that this was only scratching the surface of her obscene cravings. Soon, bit by bit, lesson by lesson, she would totally suck me into her whirlpool of mutual debasement. Like a siren singing to an enthralled sailor, she had me hooked on her depraved charms. There was certainly more to come.