I suppose this story could fit into a number of categories. Romance, erotic couplings, mature and others. I've chosen mature because of the age difference and the growing up aspect of the young man.
If you're looking for a stroke story you'll be disappointed. There are no gargantuan breasts or shaved nether regions. Though the young man is black he doesn't have a snake in his pants. Those only exist in porn movies and sites like this. He's normal, like the rest of us.
For the word nazi's who will feel compelled to point out this or that inaccuracy concerning geographics or writing style. Find a new hobby, it's a fiction site, get over yourself. For the rest of you, please enjoy the story. May you have a prosperous and healthy New Year.
Glenda
Watching her dress it's impossible to not see that her hair is greying. The nipples on her slightly drooping boobs are long and thick. The little bit of extra padding in her otherwise small butt makes a cute dimple in each cheek. To me she is all a young guy could hope for to learn about sex. Then there was my favorite part which was about to disappear as she pulled her panties up. Her thick and curly bush. I've read where some guys prefer a woman to be shaved or waxed smooth. Not me, I want that pussy to be smothered in hair, just like Glenda's.
Though she isn't the most glamorous woman in the world, she's taught me more about loving and life than I could have ever imagined. It began two weeks after my eighteenth birthday, by the time I was nineteen she had transformed me into a more than adequate lover.
I'd never been with another woman. When she told me that I'd gone from a zero to a hero in the bedroom there was no reason to doubt her. As her obedient student I was receiving rewards greater than anything my young mind could conceive of at times. This lady was my life teacher. Someone who willingly set aside the mores of society by taking this otherwise unwanted youngster into her home before I ended up on the streets. If she had told me to grow wings and fly, I would have tried.
My life was basically doomed from the get-go. My mom was what one might call rebellious throughout her teen years. She chose to shun her parents' admonitions and married the baddest boy she could find. The fact that he was poor didn't necessarily make him bad. His poor choices and even worse behavior did. Their marriage started out shaky and quickly became an earthquake. It wasn't one messing around behind the others back, it was both of them screwing just about anyone of the opposite sex. When she turned up pregnant there was a constant debate over who the father was. Bad boy took his exit never to be seen again.
The one I would eventually call dad stuck around until I was born. My skin was dark like his so everyone assumed he was the daddy. That is until he began seeing traits in me he couldn't attribute to himself. Whereas his hair was straight and thick for a black man mine was soft and flowing with a bit of curl, nor did my facial features come close to being his. Thus, the mail order DNA test without my mom knowing, and sure enough, I wasn't his. Her not knowing who the father might be only made things worse. I was still an infant when he decided to vacate the premises for good. It was at this point when my Mom miraculously made a paradigm shift and actually began raising me, which was no simple feat. I was born sickly and at the tender age of seven looked more like I was emaciated than simply a skinny kid.
As I grew I remained skinny. I was also tall for my age which contributed to me looking more like a bean pole than a growing boy. To my advantage was the fact that I'm smart as a whip and love to run, my mother called me her Forest Gump. Education came easily to me, having exceptional retention skills I could read something once and be able to recite the topic almost verbatim. I wore big geeky glasses, baggy clothes, and possessed the charisma of a cardboard box.
I was sometimes referred to as Urkle, which confused me until I saw an old TV show called Family Matters. I had to admit I dressed and acted very much like Steve Urkle. Not a redeeming factor when you're trying to fit in and be cool. My given name was Titus. What I was called by the cruel kids in school was 'tampon'. When that first started, I didn't know what a tampon was. But when the girls would say it and giggle I knew it wasn't good. When my mother finally told me what a tampon was I was devastated. One more thing to ruin my life.
The only real activity I had outside my study regimen was to run cross country, I was never number one, but I was rated all conference and made it to state from my freshman year on. I also had a passion for anything auto related, I read magazine after magazine at the library. I knew every make and model truck on the market and most of the cars. I never had a date, I was always too afraid of being rejected to even think about asking a girl out. My life changed at the end of my Junior year in high school.
Though my mother had changed after I was born, with me nearly raised she began reverting back to her days of carousing. More than once I was awakened to moans, groans, and the headboard banging the wall. Eventually she met mister wonderful and was determined to marry him, which would have been great except for one caveat. He was not about to finish raising someone else's kid, the fact that I would be graduating and hopefully headed to college in a few years made no difference. When she accepted his proposal, she was willing to give me up in order to go with this guy. I went to sleep that night with tears in my eyes wondering where I would end up and how a mother could do that to her only child?
I barely knew the woman who was called my Gram. She lived far away in a state called Montana, I had only met her twice in my short 17 years of life. She was a family doctor and was always working. She never came to visit us, it was we who went to see her. I used to think it was she who didn't want to come visit. I learned later that it was my mother who kept Gram at arm's length. Gram had semi-retired the year mother was trying to dump me. Through much cajoling, tears and downright begging by my mother this fine lady agreed to take me in. I was to be uprooted as soon as my junior year was finished and start all over in another school eighteen hundred miles away.
I hadn't seen her since I was eight and couldn't remember what she looked like, what her personality was like, or whether we would get along. After all, I would be this tall lanky kid invading her domain. Could we live in the same house and not kill each other? My young mind was filled with a myriad of unanswered questions. Since I'm five foot eleven and couldn't recall her height I envisioned myself looking down at her. I quickly made peace with the fact that she was the only thing between me and a foster home or the streets. My mother would be abroad with her Belgian husband within a week of me being gone.
I didn't have much regarding possessions. My clothes were generally purchased at secondhand stores, my glasses were the cheapest thing available, the few electronics I did possess were all on the verge of being extinct. I didn't have a cell phone or laptop. What I had was an old I-Pad the next-door neighbor kid was throwing away. Within three days of school being finished I had all my belongings packed into four moving boxes and a backpack. I figured she'd show up in some dinky economy car and try to cram everything inside.
Imagine the smile on my face as I watched a late model Nissan pickup stop at the curb. Even more surprising was the lady who got out of the truck. She was tall, slender, and attractive for what I deemed was an old lady. There were the little wrinkles that are associated with age, but her slightly wrinkled face was attractive in a simple rugged kind of way. Her boobs weren't big, nor were they small, they seemed to fit her body perfectly.
She was dressed in jeans, a loose pocket tee shirt and sneaks. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung through the back of a baseball style hat and halfway down her back, reflective sunglasses were the final touch. I'd been sitting on the porch waiting. Mother and her lover were inside bickering about something. I really didn't care what it was about. I wasn't going to have to listen to the occasional tiff or them screwing any longer after today. I stood and walked down the sidewalk meeting her halfway to the house. Standing a foot away from me we were at eye level, I couldn't see hers, but I knew hers were boring holes in my brain.
She extended her hand, "So, you're Titus huh? What a goofy name. Anyway, I'm here to take you with me, I guess. Is that all you have to move? I was figuring I'd have to rent a trailer, damn, we can get all this in the back of the truck. Where's your mom, boy?"
I turned pointing toward the house, just then the screen door opened, mother flounced down the steps and hugged Gram like they were long lost friends. Though Gram tried to return the gesture I noticed she was rigid and ill at ease.
"Hi Mom. It's so good to see you. The spare room is all set up, Titus can sleep on an air mattress."
My opinion and regard for the woman before me was raised exponentially over the next two minutes.
"Not staying. Me and the boy will hit the road as soon as we're loaded. You've done some stupid shit in your life Sheryl, but this tops them all. Go get the paperwork assigning me as his legal guardian so we can sign it, then the boy and me can get going."
