Alphonse "Al" Petrino is a nice guy. He's a bit of a nebbish, yeah, but nobody really has anything bad to say about him. I didn't dislike him, and everything I relate from here on in is not intended to be a negative reflection on him. To be honest, I know now that some of it is actually a negative reflection on me.
I'm Steve March. For 15 years, I was a down the street neighbor of Al Petrino. My parents still live on the same block as Al's widow, Marge. Ah, Marge, now that's a horse of a different color. I guess I should explain...
It was a beautiful mid-June morning as I walked down the block heading for Robert Browning's house to hang with him for several hours. I had the evening shift at Dunkin, so I had several hours of freedom. I had graduated high school the week before, and was looking forward to starting college in seven weeks.
As I headed toward the end of the block, I looked up to see Marge Petrino--six months pregnant Marge Petrino--trying to get some grocery bags out of her car trunk. My first thought... hey, I was your basic average 18-year-old hornball... was that she looked pretty hot for a 44-year-old pregnant woman. My second thought was that I needed to help her bring the bags into her house. My father had taught me to always respect and help people, and he would kick my ass if I just walked past Marge without offering to help.
"Let me help you, Mrs. Petrino, if that's okay with you," I said as I walked up to her car.
"That would be great, Steve. Thank you," she said as she gave me a beautiful smile.
Goddamn, she's a good-looking woman, I thought to myself. Al's a lucky man. It's no surprise why she seems to be pregnant all the time. I'd be boinking her, too, as much as possible.
I carried in her four bags in two trips.
"Thanks, Steve. That was a big help. It's always a little tough for me on the Mondays when Al is gone," she said.
Her husband worked for the railroad. Every Monday he had some sort of meeting several hours away, so he stayed overnight in a hotel before coming home on Tuesday evening. Everybody on the block knew about Al being gone on Mondays, and all the neighborhood men made it a point to keep an eye out for Marge on those days. Now it was my turn.
"You're welcome, Mrs. P. You need help with anything else while I'm here?"
I noticed her five kids weren't around. Lori, her 17-year-old, must have taken the rest of the kids someplace.
"Actually, yeah, the kitchen window is sticking again. Do you think you could get it open for me?"
"Not a problem. I got it," I responded.
I flipped the latches open, braced my feet evenly and yanked the window up. Damn, that
was
stuck.
When I turned around, Marge was standing right there, her pregnant belly gently touching... my dick in my shorts. I know I flinched as I felt my dick start to stiffen. Unconsciously, I looked up into her bright cornflower blue eyes... and was lost. I'm pretty sure I was still breathing, but I knew my big brain was no longer in charge.
Her smile was a combination of innocence and evil. I would have sworn her eyes were glowing, but in my condition I couldn't be sure of anything. She took my arms by my wrists and placed both of my hands on her large belly. My hard dick was trying to rip through my shorts as it was tight up against her.
"Ooh. You obviously like... helping out," she purred. "Mmm... that feels nice."
The feel of her preggo belly was amazing as I rubbed it. Somehow, the buttons on the front of her maternity dress were undone, and I was then rubbing her bare skin. She leaned into me, got up on her tiptoes and gave me a gentle kiss on my lips. When we separated, her dress was pooled at her feet and she was standing in a black bra and what looked like granny panties. She stepped forward, reached into the waistband of my shorts and grabbed my brick-hard dick.
"You're not a virgin, are you Steve?" she asked breathlessly.
All I could do was shake my head. My throat was too dry for words.
"Have you ever eaten pussy, Steve?" she asked huskily.
I again shook my head.
"Then I've got a treat for both of us," she whispered.
A minute later we were in her bedroom, naked. She spread her legs and told me to bring my face to her pussy.
"Now put your face right here," she said, holding her vaginal lips apart, "and stick out your tongue. Listen carefully and explore. I've heard you're a smart boy. I think you will figure it out. Don't be afraid to get your fingers involved, too."
I had been told the word used to describe the smell of a woman's pussy is musky. I didn't have a clue if her being pregnant changed the smell... or the taste. I licked and kissed with my tongue and lips and used my fingers to rub various places. She started going crazy, screaming, moaning and writhing all over the bed. Several times I had to grab a hip to keep her from sliding away.
I wasn't ready for what happened next. She shrieked loudly and bucked her pelvis into my face, almost breaking my nose, before she exploded, soaking me with a warm, wet liquid.
I was shocked and physically hurt, but I was also as charged up sexually as I had ever been in my young life. My previous experience was feeling up several girls and having sex with three of them in the back seat of my old car. This was at a level I had never previously enjoyed.
I lifted my head and noticed Marge looking back at me, her eyes glazed over with lust. She didn't give me any direction, so I used my best judgment and dove back in between her legs. Twice more she screamed, bucked and, as I figured out later, squirted on me.
She was panting like a freight train and mumbling incoherently before she finally was able to tell me that she wanted me to lie on the bed on my back, my ultra-hard dick sticking straight up. She then crawled over to me, squatted with her hands on my chest and slowly lowered herself on my pole until she was all the way down. She slowly started to lift herself up and down on my dick and I reached up and started playing with her milk-engorged tits. She moaned as I wondered if this was as close to heaven as I was going to get without being hit by a bus, and I started to buck up into her. She had another orgasm and I just couldn't hold off any longer, filling her with the largest amount of cum I'd ever produced.
She collapsed on my chest, her tits smashing into my chest and her belly hard up against my stomach. After about five minutes, she lifted her face to mine and gave me a soft but passionate kiss on the lips.
"Not bad for a beginning pussy-eater, young man. I think you could become great with a little practice," Marge said.
"Wow! You mean I'll get to do this again?" I blurted out. "When?"
"Easy, Steve. I'm a married woman and usually there are kids hanging around. We'll only be able to do this again on a Monday if the kids are gone again. I should be able to work that out a time or two, though," she said. "But you can't tell a soul about this... and I mean not a single person.
"I'm always so horny when I'm pregnant... and I love having my pussy eaten, but Al just hates to do that. If you're willing to help me out here..."
"Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah," I answered enthusiastically.
"Okay, give me your cell number. I'll text you," she said.
"Now let's get you cleaned up. The kids will be home in a little while.
"Oh, by the way, sorry about that smack on your nose. I guess I got carried away. That's not a bad thing, you know."
I got to experience Marge three more times before going off to college in August. Based on her body and vocalizations, I think I learned how to eat pussy pretty good. I also got more experience with different sexual positions in a bed, with a real woman as opposed to a girl.
My summer experiences gave me a newfound confidence with women. I knew that if I could please a 44-year-old pregnant woman, college girls would be little challenge. God bless Marge Petrino.
I was amazed at how the college girls went absolutely crazy over my oral skills. Seems that pleasing their partners wasn't a big thing with most college guys. I was, in effect, a unicorn... a sexual unicorn... a very popular sexual unicorn. If I was a pig, I could have dated girls five nights a week.
I got an unexpected phone call in March. Lori Petrino, the oldest daughter of Marge and Al Petrino, wanted to know if I would be her date for her senior prom in six weeks. She wasn't dating anyone, and her mother suggested me since Lori and I were friends and I was a nice guy.
I had to wonder if Marge suggested me knowing that I would treat her daughter right at the end of the night. Sex after prom was almost a given, and Marge knew that I wouldn't just treat her daughter like some random pussy. Marge knew me well enough to know that I would treat Lori like a princess throughout the evening, and at the end of the night I would give her everything her mother taught me.
The truth is I have always had a bit of a crush on Lori Petrino. A year younger than me, Lori was a pretty girl with very big tits and sparkling light blue eyes. Most guys never realized she even had eyes. Her one drawback, though, was that she was about 30 pounds overweight, so she went through school with the label of "the fat girl with the big tits." If guys bothered to ask her out, it was only so they could grope her melons. She was fully aware of how the boys thought of her, so she spent much of her social time as the quiet but cheerful sidekick.
We were friends of a sort in school and in the neighborhood, but it was just that: friends of a sort. I knew the alpha girl in her group and occasionally my group and hers intermingled, so to speak, but that was as far as it went, until she called me.
The day of the prom, a Friday, I ditched my afternoon classes at college and drove back into town with plenty of time to spare so I could pick up the corsage I bought for her, take a nap, shower, shave and put on my best suit. At the appointed time, I drove the half-block to her parents' house to pick her up.
It was somewhat surreal to be dating Marge's daughter after what her mother and I had done the previous summer. Marge, by the way, had given birth to a boy, and the tally stood at three girls and three boys. She was holding the little guy in her arms when she answered the door and gave me a wink while her husband came up to join us.
I'm pretty sure it's some sort of a tradition for the girl to never be ready quickly for prom, and I was told I had to wait for a couple of minutes while Lori tended to her final few details. That gave Al a chance to give me the traditional "fatherly speech."
