Author's note: This is a story of consensual sex between a woman of 68 and man of 22. It centers around her sexy legs, particularly her calves, a fetish of mine and pervasive theme in my stories. There's a slight domination edge to this tale, which I trust will appeal to the likeminded. Thank you.
*****
It was only a sliver. A hint. A tease. A tiny glimpse of promise, and what drove him mad.
She stood on the walkway, he on the steps. She wore the tightest black sweatpants he could imagine, hugging every delicious curve and sweep of her incredible body. Her incredible old body.
Maureen O'Ryan was a lovely women, beautiful really, at least in Jason's eyes. She was 68 - the same age as his grandmother, who was Mrs. O'Ryan's best friend - small, at 5-foot-4, wiry and lean at 120 or so pounds, with hair so blonde it was practically white, and looked it under the right light.
She was always under the right light to Jason. He'd been smitten with her for years, drawn by her charm and grace and beauty when he was a boy, and after he'd turned 18, keenly noticing her sexual attractiveness as well.
And now she stood there, in the walkway, looking up at him, a handsome young man of 22. He was at his grandmother's house, who was away. Maureen had stopped by to drop off a tablecloth she'd borrowed, not knowing he'd be there.
He saw the sliver, the hint, the tease. Her very tight sweatpants came to the very top of her short white socks, sneakers below. It revealed the tiniest glimpse of her sexy legs, no more than a teasing reveal of shin and calf, an inch or two at most.
It drove him mad. Her legs always did, he knew. He had noticed them before, really noticed them four years early. Her legs were a dream to him, and he recalled the occasion of his 18th birthday, when his grandmother had some friends over to celebrate. Mrs. O'Ryan was there, sipping wine late in the afternoon, wearing a short print skirt, legs crossed, one sandal playfully dangling off her foot, working the tendons and muscles in them and the shin and calf rising above into a fluid, maddening dance under the soft tanned flesh.
It overcame him, as he stood, watching them talk, an innocent bystander. He felt his cock stir and harden, surprising him, as he watched Mrs. O'Ryan's superbly shaped leg, with a touch of supple thigh showing above and under her hugging skirt. He left the room, went to the toilet and indulged the magic of self touch, stroking himself and cumming quickly. With the image of the comely Mrs. O'Ryan's wonderful legs firmly and forever etched in his mind.
Over the next few years, it only got worse, in a way that the best things often do, a frustrating blend of right and wrong, of hope and disappointment. He'd go to his grandmother's more often, wishing Mrs. O'Ryan would be there, disappointed when she was not. But when she was, it was always, it seemed, with a bit of those marvelous, captivating calves on display.
She'd wear Capri pants, that end at the knee, accentuating those beautiful lower legs and feet, or skirts or better yet, shorts. Shorts that revealed the full sweep of her slightly wrinkled old thighs, but firm and hard when she moved, the muscles beneath that sweet, saggy skin pressing the flesh above into life.
And she noticed. Mrs. O'Ryan, a widow by that point in her life, noticed the young man's stares. She was embarrassed by it, and for him, at first, but soon felt flattered as the boy aged into his 20s, sprouting into a handsome lad, tall and lean, an athlete with firm, smooth muscles and a great curly mane of bright blonde hair.
They'd go to the beach near his grandmother's house often, the three of them, and that was the best of all. Mrs. O'Ryan's amazing body, amazing for her age, amazing because she was a grandmother of three, was on nearly full display then. She'd wear modest "old-lady" bathing suits, one-piece outfits, but ones that pushed her ample tits up and out. Jason would marvel at her legs, of course, tanned and rugged and shaped to perfection, but her chest as well, a delicious patch of wrinkled cleavage rippling to her tits below, and above, the most succulent neck he'd ever seen, folded flesh he longed to bury his face in.
She felt more self-conscious about his stares as he got older, but at the same time happy for the attention of a handsome young man. And aroused someone 46 years her junior found her so attractive.
There were indications of the attraction both felt for one another but never spoke of. Stolen glances, innuendoes, and as Jason became more emboldened, snapshots taken of her incredible legs with his cell phone.
She'd noticed. He'd be at the beach, next to her, she and his grandmother chatting away, and he'd pretend to be texting. But he'd be taking photos, or videos, of her legs and feet as she sat crossing them in her chair.
She was flattered. She was frightened.
She made sure never to be alone with him - just in case her sexual urges got the better of her. But one day when he was about 20, she was at his grandmother's house, in the pantry, reaching for a bottle of wine on a mid-level shelf. It necessitated her standing on tiptoes, and in her knee-length, very snug black Spandex exercise pants, resulted in her majestic calves swelling into diamond-shaped ridges above her short white socks.
Jason came in at that precise moment. The pantry door was open and directly before him past the short entryway. The sight of those calves, flexed hard and rolling under her sexy, tanned flesh, made him gasp.
"Oh, Jason, didn't see you there," she said shyly, dropping down to her feet, the bubbles of muscle gone smooth. "I was just...uh getting..."
"Can I help you, Mrs. O'Ryan?" he said eagerly, walking into the pantry.
It was a tight space, narrow, both sides with shelves stacked with food, dry goods and wine. She turned to face the shelf, pointing above at the wanted bottle. Jason reached for it, the motion in the confining pantry putting him in breathtakingly close proximity to her ass, which was pressed tightly against her Spandex-covered bottom.
He'd gone slightly hard just seeing her calves seconds before but now, as he was agonizingly close to her butt, went fully erect. As he reached, he stumbled and fell against her. They stood like that, he pressed against her bottom, bottle in hand, silent and stunned. Both aware of the feeling overcoming them. Both fighting it. Jason less so.
He moaned and gulped, backing away, crashing into a stack of dishes on a shelf, the top one toppling to the floor and shattering.
"Oh shit!" he cried out. "Mrs. O'Ryan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
"To bump into me, of course not, Jason, don't be silly!" she completed, fully aware of the heat she was feeling in her loins, the slight dampness there as a result of their millisecond of contact. "Here, let's clean this up before your grandma gets back."
"Back?" he said. "Where is she?"
"Oh, she walked down the street to drop off some candy at Irene McCormick's house, she's always doing nice things for people, you know, it's..."
She stopped as she squatted down to pick up the large pieces of shattered plate and looked up: Right into Jason's crotch. There was no mistaking his excitement as his cock, thick and full and alluring, pressed outward in a sexy outline against his tight jeans.
Jason quickly squatted, too, helping her pick up the pieces. He looked away, to the side, at the floor, at the pieces of dish, anywhere but her eyes. And at one point, below her squatting thighs were those maddeningly well-muscled calves, folded out as her thighs pressed down onto them, thick pads of alluring flesh flaring from her shinbones, meaty and smooth. He stared at the tanned meat of them, freckled and tight.
He felt his cock twitch, despite his willing it down. They worked quietly, quickly, sweeping up the remnants, she walking out of the pantry ahead of him, his eyes down drinking in the flexing calves. She felt them on him, and smiled.
She tossed the debris in the trash, facing away as he walked toward her. She turned and he was close, too close.
"Mrs. O'Ryan, I'm sorry I...in there...I tripped..." he stammered.
"Jason, please, don't be silly!" she said, her hands cupping his biceps reflexively, the way she and many people did when talking to others, marveling at the steely feel of his young flesh, tingling her. "It's...no big..."
