What turns a woman on?
Damned if I know, but I have had several lessons from several women. Take Libby's mama. I first met her at Libby's 18th birthday party and thought I noticed she gave me special attention. I was only 17 at the time and she wanted to know when I would be 18.
Within a week Libby called me and led me in a conversation that arranged our first date. Time passed. On several dates her mama appeared when I arrived and left.
I now was on my way to see her mama.
"Come on in", she said. "I'm glad you came". She held the door open, her full face showing its near 50 years. She had lived a full life. Her smile promised she wanted more of anything that life had to offer.
Her invitation had not been expected. I answered the phone, was surprised by the mature voice on the other end.
I was hesitant, not knowing what to expect. Normally my mother would have answered the phone but she was in the yard. I didn't immediately recognize the voice, but was aware that it was a woman, one with a familiar voice. She was quick to say that she was Libby's mama.
This frightened me.
Had she discovered what had happened between Libby and me earlier that week? In the tone of Mrs. Laird's voice, I heard something that told me that this was not a concerned phone call.
"I'm so happy you and Libby had such a good time Saturday night. She enjoyed the movie and told me what a wonderful time you had. I do hope you intend asking her out again."
I relaxed. Libby hadn't told her mother. I searched for an answer, not
wanting to say Libby had invited me first. I had invited her out again and again.
"Can you come over to my house? I have some baby pictures of Libby that I just found after all these years, and I think she would like me to show them to you". Mrs. Laird's voice was friendly, even excited.
Summer vacation would end in two weeks; Libby had told me that, with her two brothers, she was spending the next two weeks with an aunt in Mississippi.
"Yes Mrs. Laird. It'll take me a few minutes to change clothes and get there."
I was 17 when Libby asked me out and had just celebrated my 18th birthday. I couldn't understand why I was not afraid, but Mrs. Laird did sound friendly. As I changed clothes, I thought she sounded enthusiastic. That had to mean that she didn't know about last Saturday night.
As I walked to Mrs. Laird's house, a half-mile away, I remembered parking the car, touching one of Libby's tits. When she relocated my hand, my fingers began to rub silk and then the fingers moved the silk aside.
Libby was wet between her legs, and I moved my fingers into a very warm, very moist nest. I was beginning to understand that I was a man.
I plunged one finger, then another deeper and deeper as the wet spot on my trousers enlarged and the swollen center of my pants rose to an upright position. All the time we were kissing, first my tongue and then her tongue rush into my mouth.
"I want to kiss you here," I said as I leaned over to position my lips at the spreading knees but they closed suddenly.
My attention came to a new focus as Mrs. Laird opened the door. I walked sideways. That wet spot was obvious on my trousers and the bulge showed ominously. If it did show, but Mrs. Laird didn't seem to notice.
She offered me a chair in the kitchen where she had spread out babypictures on the table. They showed a little girl, without any clothes. In some she was on a blanket; in others she was in the bathtub.
One of the pictures, yielding a shadowy view between her legs, re-captured my imagination. It seemed to remind me of Saturday night, of the aroma that I remembered.
"They are all of Libby when she was a baby. I think she was so cute then and she is really so pretty now. Don't you think she is pretty."
"Yes, Mrs. Laird," I said shyly.
For the first time I noticed that Mrs. Laird was not wearing a dress. She had a robe wrapped around her, secured with a bow tied in front.
Her hair was carefully combed and she was wearing lipstick, something that was not usually done in the middle of the day.
"She's real pretty." I knew I was repeating myself, but I could not think of anything original to say.
"She says you are a good lover." Mrs. Laird said as she laid her hand on my shoulder. "Does that surprise you that she told me that?"