Wednesday Evenings With Babs Pt 01

Foreword

This is the true story of how I lost my virginity to a 'cougar'. At the time of this writing, it is a secret that I've carried around inside of me for nearly fifty-five years. Except for the wonderful woman who became my wife, I've revealed it to no one else in all that time. It is ironic that now, through the anonymity provided by Literotica that I can tell it here, for all the world to see.

Though it is an episode that at the time had some scary elements for a naive, inexperienced-at-life, and yes, at times even stupid young man, I do not look upon it as something traumatic. Not in the least. I'm not scarred by it. I did not write this account as a form of of 'therapy' though the process of doing so has had that unexpected benefit. Quite the opposite. I cannot count how many times I've smiled to myself while piecing together the memories and endeavoring to find the words to describe them.

That nearly all of the events described here are associated with specific dates is made possible due to the simple fact that the most important of them occurred on a series of Wednesday nights. This also proved instrumental in recalling and describing specifics as to how this 'relationship' evolved, both physically and for me, emotionally and psychologically.

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For the vast majority of us, life consists of long stretches of ordinary days where a certain routine sets in. We do the same things in the same sequence, in the same place or places with the same people, day after day. There are times when this routine can become a rut.

Along the way, those ordinary days with their ordinary events come other days marked by certain special events and experiences. With time they can become special memories. These events and experiences might consist of a transition from one stage of life to another, such as graduation from high school and then maybe college. Getting married. Your first child. That big promotion you worked so hard to get and it finally happens. And if you work hard and prepare carefully, later, much later, you might be able to retire.

Some of these events are of a 'first-time' nature. Very personal experiences that often occur when we least expect it. As a young boy, you remember the first time you kissed a girl, or if you are a girl the first time you kissed a boy. Who the other person was and where you both were when it happened.

Among these first-time events is one that is intensely personal. It is the day you lose your virginity. This is the story of how I lost mine. Its details... the who, when, what, and where combined to create an experience whose consequences were truly life-changing.

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Setting The Stage

It was mid-October in the year 1968. Anyone who was around then and old enough to have retained memories of it will tell you that it was a year, maybe THE year when the world seemed to be coming apart at the seams. In the United States, this feeling was particularly strong and ominous. Riots broke out in major cities and on college campuses protesting the war in Vietnam and its draft. The assassinations of both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. There were the protests that broke out at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in August of that year.

Even the President of the United States, Lyndon B. Johnson, seemed to have had enough, declaring in a televised speech on March 31st 'I shall not seek and I will not accept the nomination of my party for another term as your president.' In its aftermath, books with titles like 'The Year That Rocked The World' were written. Movies and documentary films were made about that turbulent year to both document its events and paint a picture of the mood of the nation.

Like most young guys during that time, I was struggling to decide what I would do when The Letter arrived in my mailbox at home. The Letter was the notice from the local draft board that began with the infamous word 'Greetings'. It hung over all of us like the Grim Reaper.

I had just turned nineteen that September, and a few days afterward 'celebrated' completion of the first full year of my first 'real' job. I had taken extra class work in mechanical drawing at a technical school during the summer following my graduation from high school. I found work as a draftsman in the engineering office of a company that provided supplied natural gas to a wide area of the state.

The job was located in a very old school office building in the downtown area of a large city. It was so old school that the building's elevators still had human operators.

The office environment had a way of reminding me each day, in some way big or small, of just how young I was in comparison to nearly all of the other employees. Most were of what has been called 'The Greatest Generation'. Many of the men were World War II veterans who had volunteered. One had been part of the first wave to hit Omaha Beach on D-Day.

All of the women in the office were also much older than me. The youngest was thirty-two. Most were between that age and their mid to late forties. The oldest was, well, too old at seventy-eight. Ol' Virginia was one of those women who kept working and kept working long after she should have retired because frankly, she had nothing else to do with her life. I figured the management of the company was okay with her as long as she was still productive. And she was.

Looking back on it I appreciate to this day how patient these people were with me, this kid that had infiltrated their world. Everyone treated me like I was part of their office 'family', and as if I was an adult and not some kid practically fresh out of high school.

Amidst this assemblage of straight-as-an-arrow folks was one Barbara Knight.

Barbara was a 'middle manager', and as such was something of a rarity in those days. She projected the image of being all business all the time. Nice enough when she needed you to do something for her, but somewhat superficial in the process. And you got the feeling that you better not mess around with her and her 'career path'.

A forty-two-year-old divorcee, she lived alone in a house in an upscale part of town. Judging from the way she dressed and at the time, the nearly new 1966 Audi she drove, it was pretty obvious she 'had money'. Certainly more than my parents had. My only thought was how much of it she had extorted from her ex. One got this feeling that she didn't need to have a job at all. Maybe there were other reasons for remaining connected to the working world. Some other agenda or agendas.

Her only child, a twenty-year-old son, had resolved his own draft situation the year before by joining the Navy. At that time he was somewhere out in the Pacific.

This every hair in place, dressed for success and manicured to the max woman, the former Mrs. Knight ( Ms would not come into widespread use for a few more years ) stood five feet three in bare feet, five feet five in one of her many pairs of stylish dress heels. Short, naturally blond hair in a sort of page boy style both crowned and framed her pixie face with its two penetrating blue eyes that were no doubt capable of producing a wilting stare when their owner was provoked. And yes, I have no choice but to acknowledge her classic 'coke bottle' figure supported by shapely legs and immaculately pedicured feet perched atop those shoes.

I noticed none of this in the beginning. I mean, what young guy would have an interest in a middle-aged divorcee with a kid roughly the same age as he? Even if she still showed evidence of having been a little hottie in her younger days? After all, this was an era when the hemlines embraced by young girls had crawled so far up their thighs that items of apparel that featured them had been designated 'mini skirts'.

Barbara's role in the company was in no way related to mine. Her office was near one corner of the floor. I had no office, just a drafting table sitting out in an open area at the corner diagonally opposite her location. Perhaps a couple of hundred feet separated us.

Even though we worked in the same office but in separate 'worlds' within it, there was one thing that, on rare occasions, brought Barbara and me physically close together... The office photocopying machine. Such contraptions were a new, novel and expensive piece of equipment back then. So much so that many offices that needed them could afford to lease only one. Our little company must have been rolling in the big bucks because we had two. One in Barbara's corner of the floor, and another in mine. Positioned about ten feet from my table, it was in almost constant use. It made for a noisy environment, often becoming an alternative to the water cooler as an office chat spot.

It had gotten got to the point that I could tell which female employee was approaching the machine just by the cadence of their walk and the specific tap-tap sound their shoes made on the hard surfaced floor. I didn't even have to look up from my work to know that Doris from bookkeeping was coming. Or maybe dear old Virgina. One of the notable exceptions was Barbara. Her visits to that machine would occur only when the one in her area had malfunctioned. It was just about the only time I saw her. She was very aloof, never acknowledging me or anyone else in the area. She never served up so much as a 'good morning'. We might as well have been a room full of potted plants.

But in my particular case that was about to change, and change big time.

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Baiting and Springing The Trap - Wednesday, October 16, 1968

Any of us who has worked a Monday thru Friday work week will, at some point in time, begin to refer to Wednesday as 'hump day'. Little did I know that before this crisp, clear and cool Fall Wednesday was over, the term 'hump day' would take on a whole new meaning. It would bring to an end one phase of my life and begin a new one.

Somewhere between two and two thirty in the afternoon, my desk phone rang. It would be fair to say that the voice on the other end belonged to one of the last people I might ever expect to hear from.

"Hello James... This is Barbara Knight.

Taken aback, I began with a stutter "Hello Mrs... Miss... Uh... Barbara"

Laughing she stops me and says "Oh just call me Barbara."

"Okay... uh... Barbara".

"Could you come to my office for a minute?"

"Why, sure".

Suffice it to say I was puzzled by this request. What possible reason would she have for an 'audience' with me? Maybe she's called others. Maybe it's an impromptu meeting. But about what?

Upon arrival at her office, it became immediately obvious that I was the only one she had called. This was a Barbara Knight I had not seen to this point. Her tone of voice was warm and pleasant. And she SMILED a smile that lit up her face, one which was so stunning that, but for my cynical side might have changed my perception of her right then and there. Instead, I concluded that she needed something from me and I was either the only person who could provide it or I was the only one she felt she could pick on to ask.

"Thanks for coming, James. I really, really hate to burden you with anything, especially since you are not part of my department. But I would appreciate some help with a problem I've created for myself." Whereupon she pointed to a pile of file boxes, six in all, that she had stacked in one corner of her office.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head in mock self criticism she says "I've put myself in this position. I need to take these boxes, along with a trunk full of more of them already in my car, and take them home. I'm going to put them temporarily in a spare bedroom. Could you PLEASE help me by putting them in your car and bringing them to my house tonight?"

"Sure" I replied. "Just give me your address and I'll be there."

"Oh thank you. Look, I know beggars can't be choosy but would you hold off until about seven thirty? I have something else I have to deal with first this evening."

Smiling I replied "Sure. Hey, I'm easy." Little did I realize how true the use of 'I'm easy' would come to mean. "I'll come back here about a quarter to five to take them to my car."

"Oh great! You are a lifesaver!" she exclaims.

I left her office not quite sure as to how to process what had just happened. Surely she could have found someone else, someone under her supervision, to perform this little errand for her. So why me? 'Don't overthink this' I thought to myself. 'Just do it and get it over with. Anything to get anything good said about you around the office.'

It had gotten dark by the time I reached Barbara's house but I had no difficulty in finding it.

After placing the boxes in the spare bedroom along with the others, she led me to the door, expressing her appreciation for my help as we walked.

Then it happened. Just as I reached for the front doorknob, she says "Wait a second." I turned around and now we are standing there facing each other. An awkward moment of silence (at least for me) ensued as she stood there, arms folded and smiling as though something was on her mind. Suddenly she reached up, took my face cheeks in the palms of her hands, and all but slammed her lips against mine, holding them there for two or three seconds. Two or three seconds that seemed like an eternity to me.

With my cheeks still filling her palms, she pulls back as if to gauge my reaction. I must have looked like that deer in those headlights you may have heard tell of. For all the years that have followed, years that turned into decades, for all the surprising things good and bad that have happened in my life, in the realm of WTF moments this one still reigns supreme.

Still holding my cheeks, she again presses her lips to mine, though this time more tenderly as if they were instruments in a procedure of seduction. Though I was shocked at what had just happened, this second kiss lasted just long enough that I noticed how soft her lips were and how nice her perfume smelled.

The non-verbal communication that took place during the next few minutes was mind-blowing. Facial expressions and body language were more eloquent and effective than any spoken word.

Upon backing away from the second kiss she released the grip on my cheeks, and with her eyes lock on mine, placed her hands on my waist as if in invitation to place mine on hers. HER waist now filled the palms of MY hands as a third kiss was shared. Then a fourth followed by a fifth, each more lingering than the previous one. Each with more willing and wanting participation by me. By the sixth kiss, our tongues got involved.

Any doubts as to how far she wanted to go were erased when she reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt. It was the moment of truth for me. A life-changing decision point for which I was unprepared. You have heard that old phrase, the one about 'fight or flight'? This situation introduced an additional possible outcome. I couldn't decide between fleeing her, fighting her... or fucking her. The first two were clearly the wrong options. By then her perfume, her lips, her tongue, and last but not least my male hormones had caused any remaining flee, fight or fuck conflicts to evaporate.

She took my hand and began to lead me toward her bedroom. Before we got there we paused in the hall for more deep kisses and to begin to unburden our bodies of clothing. As she continued to unbutton my shirt she 'instructed' me to unzip her dress. I reached behind her and unzipped it down to her waist. To get to the last button on my shirt she unbuckled my belt and pulled the shirt's tail out of my dress pants. It was then that I realized my jockey shorts were in danger of being ripped by my erection.

The kissing became more feverish and the pace of undressing picked up. We both slipped out of our shoes almost in the same instant. As I cast my shirt aside she slipped out of the dress sleeves and slip and let them fall to her waist. She wasted no time in reaching behind herself to unhook her bra, letting it fall away and then tossing it aside. A still firm, perky pair of breasts burst into view. The specifics of their dimensions did not matter, but it was pretty obvious from their appearance they were capable of doing an excellent job of filling the palms of my hands. Their nipples were surrounded by pregnancy darkened aureolas roughly two inches in diameter. Her shoulders and upper chest were carpeted with freckles. A few little moles dotted the area here and there.

For me, the little virgin boy, the next hour would be filled with a mind blowing string of sensuous sensory inputs that had never before been experienced. The first of these occurred as we were still in the hallway. Both of us now nude from the waist up, we embraced and locked tongues again. The feel of our naked upper bodies in contact was just about more than I could process.

Barbara took the lead in breaking our embrace and escorting me those last few steps to her bedroom... and her bed. As she walked in front of me she pushed her dress and slip to the floor and stepped out of them. I likewise let my pants drop to the carpet and pulled my socks off. Only her panties and my jockeys stood between us and complete nudity.

The door to her bedroom faced the right side of the bed. She walked around to the left side and then pulled down her panties. She climbed into the bed, got up on her knees, then smiled as she extended her arms out to me in a gesture of invitation. She chose that moment to provide a bit of reassuring information.

Smiling she says "Come on, don't worry. This is just between you and I and always will be. And don't be concerned about getting me pregnant. It can't possibly happen."

How is it possible for any young man put in a situation like this to describe such a moment? Here I was alone with this grown woman, in HER home and HER bedroom. I was there at her invitation and encouragement. She is old enough to be my mother. And frankly, she looks pretty damn good. No doubt attractive enough to the eyes and hormones of men more her age. She bluntly tells me to not be concerned about knocking her up, thus making one thing clear. She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck ME!

As I moved forward to join her, my heart seemed as if it was trying to pound its way out of my chest. My crotch-hugging jockey briefs took a quick trip to the carpet, freeing my cock to spring out and up. It was so erect I could have hung a soaked beach towel on it. Though it didn't register with me at that moment, I had just become the object of a premeditated seduction. And a successful one at that.

With our first embrace my body, indeed my whole being, became overwhelmed by sensations that I had only fantasized about before. Our hands were everywhere, touching, feeling, squeezing... exploring. Mine began a journey that started at her well-defined waist, then down to follow the contours of her hips, and finally around until her ass cheeks filled my palms. Every nerve ending in my body that came in contact with her was a sensor of softness, smoothness, textures and warmth. Her right hand that only a few moments earlier had been tugging on my belt now reached down and gently wrapped its dainty fingers around my cock. Pointing it upright, she began to run her thumb up and down its frenulum. I didn't even know what a frenulum was, but she knew how to 'torture' it in an indescribably delicious way.

Then, barely above a whisper, she says "You have a beautiful smile. I'd love for the mouth that frames that smile to suck my titties. Don't bite them, but seal your mouth over each of them in turn and suck FIRMLY, and swirl your tongue over the nipples at the same time. Here, lay down on your back."

I had to hand it to her, she was one incomparable sex educator, and I was quickly becoming an attentive and fully engaged student. I was determined to follow her every instruction to the letter.