My name is – well, what difference does it make what my name is? I mean, you don't care about me. You're probably more interested in my little adventure and, if that's the case, you're one sick son of a bitch. But, okay, here goes.
Oh, hell, I don't care if you want to know or not. I'm going to give you a little background about me anyway. If you don't like, go screw yourself.
Still here? Fine.
I'm 42 years old and worked as a contractor for about 10 years before I got sick of the bullshit. It wasn't the people I worked for who pissed me off. It was the damned people who worked for me. Drunk, high or lazy, many of them were completely unreliable and did shitty work.
So when I was able to put together the money, I quit my contracting work, went on down to the bank and purchased a nice little apartment complex. Because I have no use for maintenance workers either, I make it a point to do all the repairs myself. It's my place so I take pretty good care of it, if I do say so myself.
I'm not making as much as I thought but I'm pulling down some regular change and I get some fringe benefits, as I'll explain later.
Here's a little more about me. If you don't like it, tough.
I'm not as long as a horse but I've got a cock as thick as a small baseball bat. After about 15 years of women (never got married – most girls are whores anyway) saying they couldn't get my monster in their fuck hole, I started to get the idea that I was sort of special in that department. Oh, I managed to get it in eventually. My feeling: if a woman can punch a baby out of that hole, she can take my thick dick in the other way.
Over time – and it got easier as I got older – I started to target mothers. Some of my buddies (assholes, most of them) said some mothers' floppy cunts were no good as places to stick their dicks. I on the other hand found they were a very nice fit, thank you, and most of these ladies were only too grateful to find a man who could "fill them out."
Okay, back to the fringe benefits at my complex.
I got to know most of the people in my buildings over time and, because I did such good work, there was an eager waiting list of people wanting me to repair the disposal or stop a leak or some damned thing or another that their limp-dicked husbands couldn't or wouldn't fix.
There are no children allowed in my complex (noisy, ungrateful bastards) so most of my tenants are older, although most of them have a family that doesn't live with them any longer. I found myself spending more and more time providing upkeep to my buildings and I wasn't getting out as much as I would have liked.
And the older ladies started looking better and better to me.
The first one I took was Catherine, a retired schoolteacher of about 60, with a big wide smile, liberal politics and a pussy as wide and friendly as all outdoors. She gasped the first time I fucked her but as soon as I bottomed out in her hole, she was fine and I grabbed a mouthful of tit and hung on for dear life as she soaked my cock dry.
Oh, yeah, and I got her washing machine working again too.
Then there was Margaret and Frances, Catherine (again) and Sally who I fucked in the kitchen while her fat good-for-nothing husband snored away while watching the History Channel (yeah – we get cable in our building too).
Most of the women came on to me in one way or another which at first was surprising and then I started to expect it.
I was in the middle of boning Emily, a fat 60-ish librarian at the nearby elementary school, when I realized she had never really come on to me. I just expected I could have her if I wanted. Fortunately, Emily didn't seem to mind but I never had the chance to bonk her again.
The reason is Sarah. And here's where my story gets kinky – although, as they say, it's only kinky the first time.
Sarah is Emily's mother and she lives in the second bedroom at their apartment. She had been at a doctor's appointment when I replaced some bad carpeting in their living room and put the meat to Emily. Usually, however, Sarah was home all the time either watching television or sitting on the balcony that overlooks the courtyard – and, yes, I take great care of the courtyard too. The lawn is mowed by me, flowers are planted in the spring and I even put in an irrigation system so it all stays green.
Sarah is 90 years old.
Hey, don't give me any crap! I'm just telling the story. If you don't want to hear, go elsewhere. I don't give a shit.
Not leaving, huh? You are a sick bastard.
Anyway, I know Sarah is 90 because she told me. I went back up to their place because the cheap-ass carpeting I put in earlier had wrinkled up and Emily was afraid her mother would trip over it. I didn't want that so I got up there in a hurry.
It turns out it was my fault, which is pretty unlike me. I did a crummy job putting it in but I had it fixed in short order. Keep the customer happy, that's my motto.
Sarah let me in. She had a pretty smile and her own teeth but there's no getting over the fact that she was an old woman. She came to the door pushing a walker – which was a little tricky on the carpet – and invited me in.
Like many old women, she wore a simple shift because, I guess, it's easier to get in and out of. She didn't have the "old woman smell" that you sometimes get. You know what I mean. The fact is, she didn't really smell like anything. She just pushed her walker along and sat down on the couch. On the way, she pulled out an album from the bookshelf and plopped down on the sofa with a sigh.
After I fixed the carpeting and was ready to leave, Sarah said, "This is my Henry. He was a policeman, you know."
Of course I didn't know but I've got no use for cops. Bullies, most of them. Still, I smiled and nodded.
"He's been gone more than 30 years now."
My mom has lived alone for a long time because of my dad's early death (he never took care of himself. I eat right. He didn't) so I was a little sympathetic. I walked over to the couch and she turned it around and showed me a picture of Henry. Ugly, fat fucker but I nodded appreciatively.
"This is when we went to Niagara Fall," and Sarah pointed a bony finger at the page. There was Sarah about 50 years ago in black and white. I squinted to get a good look but it was easy to see she was an attractive woman. In the photo she looked a little like Emily but thinner and, of course, younger. She had nice legs back then (she was wearing shorts) and sweet little thighs that sort of floated out of the shorts.
I looked down at her legs now but they were mostly covered. Still, I could see her legs were shaved. I sat down next to her.
For the next 20 minutes she showed me photos of everybody including Emily who looked like she was always fat from second grade up to today. Sarah went on in her sweet, high-pitched old voice explaining this and that. I wasn't listening but as I sat next to her I saw that she seemed to have – I don't know how else to say it – a young neck. Her face was old and wrinkled but the neck that disappeared beneath the shift looked smooth and young.
I guess no one had spent this much time with her for quite a while. Whether it was that reason or another, I don't know, but Sarah gently put her free hand on my thigh as she continued to show me pictures.
At first I smiled and interpreted this as the suggestion of keeping me in my seat so she could continue her story. But after a while, Sarah began to run her bony palm against my thigh in a slow stroking motion. At first I thought it was like she was patting the head of a child but as my pecker started paying attention, I realized it was possibly something more.