High school was not kind to me. It's a time when girls go for jocks and bad boys, not writers and thinkers. I even had teachers tell me that high school was not for me, and to not worry about girls. Once I got to college, I would do just fine. I have to say they were pretty much on the mark. I wasn't with a new girl every night, nor did I want to be, but the first year of college was certainly much kinder in the romance department than all four years of high school combined.
When I got back home from the first year at college, I found the neighbor who lived behind our house, Mrs. Bisby, was in the middle of divorce. Her husband had left her for a younger woman, a hard body on the other side of town that had fueled the masturbatory fantasy of many a young...and old...man in our small town. Still. I felt sorry for Mrs. Bisby. She was mousy and overweight, but always had a ready smile and warmth about her. And, she let the me, and a few other kids that lived nearby, use their pool.
With Mr. Bisby now living out of the house, she asked me to help with mowing the yard and other chores which I was happy to do. The best part was getting to watch her transform. She seemed to become less the mom of two and more of a woman. She lost a good 35 pounds and regained her waistline for the most part. She cut her hair in a far more stylish manner. I watched her swimsuits change from full coverage with a type of skirt, to a one piece, to a one piece that showed some cleavage...and I noticed her breasts seem to lift and her bottom become firmer and rounder and her legs got leaner by the week.
I would try to encourage her with "looking good there Mrs. B." and other words, and she would smile.
Still, there were days when she would sit by her pool and do nearly nothing other than just look forlorn.
When my parents were out of town, she'd sometimes invite me over to grill out or bring me left overs. Sometimes she'd invite me to use the pool and listen to music or talk about poets and novels.
One night we were having an after dinner swim, and her kids were with her soon to be ex. I turned the conversation to her love life and ex husband.
"I shouldn't even be talking to you about this stuff," she said.
"I'm not going to tell anyone." She shrugged and told me that sex with her husband was rarely pleasant. That it was often less than imaginative, and generally too rough and almost always about about him.
"I don't mind things being a little forceful...sometimes that's fun. A little naughty talk and such can be sexy. But sometimes he does things that aren't about being turned on but feel more like about controlling me. It's never about fooling around, or having sex, or making love. It's always about him fucking me. Not that I never want that, but not all the time. Does that make any sense? And I hate that he always pushes my head down....you know to...
"Give him head?" I said. She nodded and blushed slightly.
"And he'll hold my head down and push it down when he comes. He thinks it's hot to make me gag. I hate that. And then he'll laugh about it....and it's not like he's ever returned the favor."
"I think he's an asshole," I said. She nodded.
"He's tried that too...the accidental slip when he's behind me...it's just so gross...not even the idea, but that he'd try to do it without me saying it was okay. It's always about him. She leaned forward and did a dive into the pool. She she came up her top was slightly askew and her right nipple was almost exposed. I noticed and then she noticed I noticed and I heard her breath grow ragged for a minute as the scene seemed somehow in slow motion and blurred.
I couldn't help myself as I saw the smokiness of her eyes, I pushed the straps of her suit off her shoulders and cradled her breasts in my hands and sucked deeply, but softly at her nipples. My tongue swirled over one then the other. I heard her gasp and felt the sweet dusky pink caps of her large mouth watering breasts harden under my tongue. She gasped. "Oh Gawwwd," she softly moaned and pulled my head to her bosom.
