Home For The Summer Ch 1

Summer had come to 1952 as does to every year. Harry Truman was still in the White House, but Ike seemed a likely choice to replace him in the November election. In Korea an interminable war wore on, and on, with seemingly pointless fighting along the 38th parallel that left behind countless dead and wounded American and Chinese soldiers. Me, I had just finished my Junior year at an out of state university where I was on scholarship as a basketball player. Safely deferred from the carnage in Korea as an Air Force ROTC Cadet, I was home for summer vacation and living off the fat of the land.

I had spent the first month of my vacation in ROTC Cadet training at Eglin AFB in Florida, and the next three weeks as an assistant councilor at a basketball camp in the mountains of North Carolina run by a friend of my college coach. By the time I arrived home the good paying summer jobs in construction had long since all been taken. The truth was, however, I really didn’t need a job, and didn’t want to be bothered with one. The Air Force had paid me a few bucks in salary, and being a ‘student athlete’ has its privileges.

I had been handsomely overpaid for my time at the basketball camp, and an alumni of my school, the local Ford dealer, saw to it that while I was home I had a used car to drive, a credit card for gas, and a few dollars spending money. This arrangement was of course on the Q.T., and we were careful to stay under the NCAA radar. The car was nothing fancy, just the kind of not-quite-junk transportation that any college kid might be driving. The charges on the credit card were listed as gas for ‘demos’, and the cash that he gave me would have been impossible to track.

By the time I arrived home that summer my parents had already moved away from the neighborhood where I had grown up. My Mother had finally convinced my father to move her from the little frame house in town where they had lived for fifteen years into one of the suburban VA and FHA subdivisions that were springing up like weeds everywhere after WWII. Who would have believed that dairy pastures and tomato fields so far from the urban core of what was at the time was still quaintly known as ‘downtown’ would ever be filled with a whole new city of houses?

The new house was certainly a big step up for my parents. A wall of sliding glass doors at the rear of what was now called a ‘family room’ opened onto a huge roofed porch that was a part of a screened in patio that in turn surrounded a swimming pool (unbelievable--my mom and dad with a swimming pool?). The house was air-conditioned, it had a two car garage (who ever heard of having two cars in a family?), a ‘high fidelity’ record player (stereo was still in the future), and even a TV (a gadget that my father had firmly rejected until then).

The move was not without its loss, however. Our neighbors of so many years had been left behind, and my parents were now living among strangers..., nice people I’m sure, but strangers none the less. This little story is about those a couple of those strangers, specifically those who lived next door, Mrs. Margaret (Peg) Stockton, and her daughter Carol.

Mrs. Stockton was tall, dark and willowy, a very attractive brunette in her late thirties with as good looking a set of boobs as I have ever seen on a woman before or since, and her legs were almost as perfect. She was divorced, and worked evenings from 5 to 11, Monday thru Friday, as an auditor at nearby bank reconciling the day’s transactions. Her daughter was also very pretty, although there was almost no resemblance to her mother. Carol was petite, very fair and blond, with nice legs, but no where near as well built up top as her mother. She was eighteen, and had just graduated from high school in June.

The local girls I had dated in high school were either married, scattered and out of the picture, or had new boyfriends. Dateless and lonesome, I decided to see what Carol Stockton was all about, although with some reluctance. As a sophisticated 21 year old college guy, I looked upon a date with a teenage high school girl as robbing the cradle, and I felt more than a little guilty about it. You might think a three year difference in age would be absurdly inconsequential, but to me at 21 it seemed like a lot. I needn’t have been so concerned. I soon discovered that Carol was damn popular with more attention than she could handle from boys her own age. I didn’t like to ask for dates days and weeks ahead, and consequently I had never done well with the over dated belle-of-the-ball types that Carol clearly was. I think she did sort of want to go out with me. After all I WAS a college Greek letter fraternity man and a basketball jock to boot, but she could never seem to find time for me in her busy social schedule.

I had just about given up on her by the Saturday afternoon I knocked on the Stockton door to make one more try at inviting Carol to a movie. She wasn’t home but her mother was. Mrs. Stockton met me at the door to tell me the same bad news that I had heard so many times before. Carol was spending the afternoon on a picnic with one boyfriend, and she already had a date with still another one for tonight. I guess Mrs. Stockton must have felt sorry for me, because she invited me in and we made small talk for a few minutes. Then, right out of the blue, she asked me if I would like something to drink.

“Cola or something harder,” She offered. “I just had a swim and I’m ready to salute the sun going over the yardarm if you’d like to join me in having a highball. I have soft drinks though if you’d rather. Me, I take a little spirits every day at this time. I find its good for the digestion, and even better for my morale.”

Well, I could plainly see she had been swimming. Her long dark hair was neatly wrapped in that towel-turban thing that women somehow tie around their head to dry their hair. Even more positive evidence though was a still wet bikini. It was as skimpy as any I had ever seen on a live woman (‘two Band-Aids and a cork’ was the 1952 facetious description for this almost nude style recently made famous on French beaches). although she had thrown on a robe to answer the door, as we walked inside the sash came untied and the robe fell open. She made no particular effort to close it, and I had my very first opportunity to inventory, and enjoy, my neighbor’s lovely tanned and taut body.

I’ll tell you no lie, what was under that robe rattled me. I did my best not to stare, but those gorgeous tits, full and swaying, scantily covered by an almost-not-there bra just could not be ignored. My horny must have been pretty obvious, but Mrs. Stockton was a gracious hostess. She accepted the lust in my eyes as disappointment over her daughter not being home.

“Yes ma’am,” I answered. “I’d like that. I’ll have a bourbon whiskey on the rocks if you have bourbon. Scotch or Irish will be fine if you don’t.”

She smiled at my answer. This was one extraordinarily beautiful woman, and that smile made her even more so. I decided that this Mrs. Stockton was indeed something special, so special that even her made-to-kill-for body might be only the surface package of what she had to offer, the scant bikini not withstanding. A good pair of tits and long legs are nice, and good for a woman to have, but a smile like that always charms me right out of my tree.

“Ah yes, a young man whose choice of liquor is beyond his years,” was her comment.

I think she was laughing at me but I didn’t care..., I was already in love.

“Well, I don’t know about that ma’am,” I told her. It’s what my dad always ordered, and I picked it up from him. He told me when he sent me off to school that if I didn’t get anything else out of college, he hoped I would learn to drink like a gentleman..., and when I did get drunk, to do that like a gentleman too.”

“A wise man your dad,” she answered me handing me my whisky in a generous glass, and accentuating her words with another of those dawn-coming-up smiles.

“Here, bring your drink out to the pool where we can be more comfortable.”

I took the glass she offered and followed her like an obedient puppy out to the pouch by the pool. The porch, pool and patio were identical to those at my parents home except that Mrs. Stockton had a small hot tub and Jacuzzi over in one corner of he patio. She laid down on the lounge. I took a seat in on one of the chairs. He robe was still open. One nipple was about to escape from the tiny cup that was supposed to hide it, and between her legs I could see a single wisp of pubic hair that had slipped out from under the narrow strip of cloth that covered her crotch. God, but she was sexy!

“So,” she asked me, resuming the small talk, “I know that your name is Ricky Newton, and that you’re home on summer vacation visiting your folks next door. I hear that you’re a big time basketball star at some school up north somewhere, but that’s about all. Is there anything else that you’re famous for Ricky?”

“No ma’am, that’s about it. I’m a student athlete at Lincoln State University In Illinois. We play basketball in a fast league up there.” I threw in that last comment a little defensively because down South here if you don’t play for Duke or North Carolina, or at least for some other ACC school, nobody thinks your basketball team is worth a shit.

“Well, I don’t think that’s quite all,” she replied. “Your mother told me that her son plays a mean game of chess, . I love to play but Carol doesn’t. She would rather chase around after boys. If you don’t have anything better to do this afternoon, perhaps you would like to entertain the neighbor lady next door with a game or two? I have the board and pieces right here.”

“Sure,” I quickly agreed. I was quite proud of how well I played chess. I had never been in a tournament or anything, but I won almost all the time at my fraternity house and there were some good players there. The truth was tho, at that moment I didn’t give a damn what game she wanted to play. ‘Go fish’ or ‘pin the tail on the donkey,’ any game she wanted would have been fine with me. Anything for an excuse to hang around and feast my eyes on the body of this sexy and almost nude woman.

I soon got my comeuppance on the chess board, however. This gal could some kind of play. She beat me two games to one with two draws. It didn’t help any that I couldn’t concentrate on the pieces very well while watching those sexy tits bob and sway every time she reached over the board. Besides, she kept filling my whiskey glass, and although she drank every bit as much as I did, she didn’t seem to be as tipsy and giddy as I was. Maybe that was because she wasn’t all horny watching and waiting for a lovely breast to fall out of a bikini bra.

Hours slipped by, lost in the fierce competition of between the white and black pieces on the checkered board. While we played the sun went down, and Carol came home, changed clothes and went out again with her second date of the day. We took a time out while Carol was there for her mother to fix an evening snack for everybody. I did notice that while Carol was home, Mrs. Stockton’s robe was tied and closed, but after Carol left it somehow became untied and open again.

It must have been almost nine o’clock by the time my neighbor and chess opponent checkmated me in our rubber match. It was pitch dark by then and the only light on the porch and patio was a small lamp shining on the chess board, and another small one over the bar in the far corner of the porch. I was three sheets to the breeze from all that whiskey, but true to my dad’s instruction, I was still trying to be a gentleman.

“Great game,” my lovely competitor commented, “you play really well. We are going to have to do this a lot this summer..., if you want to of course.”

IF I WANTED TO? God damn wild horses weren’t going to keep me from this lady’s chess board. She didn’t even need to be in a bikini. You can bet I’d be there any time she would have me, what ever she might be wearing.

“How about one for the road?” she asked.

“OK,” I answered, “but just one more. All this whiskey is beginning to get to me.”

I waited as she fixed us both another round at the bar. When she brought my glass back she was smiling again. Damn that smile anyway. In the moonlight it was even more wonderful and overwhelming. It just melted me at the knees every time she turned it on.

“Hey,” she began,. “I don’t want to seem forward but how about taking a dip in the hot tub with me. All that nice warm water will be relaxing. When you get home you’ll sleep like a baby.”

Now hot tubs and Jacuzzis were rare things in 1952. Except for the stainless steel ‘whirlpool’ machine in the training room at the gym, I had never been in one. In the training room I went in naked, of course, but no one else was in the tub with me. I had heard stories about the avant-garde (said to be all free love communists anyway) who took communal baths in the privacy of their own hot tubs, sometimes even in the nude according to rumor.

During the proper and genteel ‘50s, however, most people considered sharing a bath tub, even a great big one with bubbling water, to be immodest, if not downright immoral, with or without swimming suits. That you were married to your bathing partner didn’t alter that general opinion in the least, and here I was being invited to soak with a lovely lady whom I had never even met before today. Was this proper? Who cared! Did I want to sit in a tub of hot swirling water with a beautiful woman wearing a bikini that was hardly there? Damn right I did! I would have sold my soul to the devil for the chance..., but there was a problem..., would she let me bathe with her in my underwear.

“Yes Ma’am, that sounds great. But I’m not dressed for it. I’d have to go in my boxer shorts.” I also thought..., “And Yeah, I will also need a big sack to cover the hard-on I’m going to have”..., but of course I didn’t say any of that out loud.

“Oh pooh’” she answered me. “I know what the male anatomy looks like, and anyway I’ve been walking around almost nude all afternoon. It’s your turn now. Get those pants off. We’re going to parboil you in your shorts.”

She knelt at my feet to help take my shoes off. It was a quite innocent gesture of course, but to have an almost nude woman at his feet can unhinge a guy’s sense of reality. That bare female back curtsying before me sent a flood of erotic fantasies racing thru my head. Wasn’t I a Sultan and she one of my harem girls come to pleasure me for the night? Or perhaps I was the district attorney and she the wife of an accused criminal willing to trade her body for his freedom? More likely she might have been nothing more than my most recent female conquest, seduced by my sophisticated charm and big dick, and now on her knees begging for me to fuck her again? The reaction of my prick was inevitable. By the time she and I had my shirt and pants off, I had a full erection, and worse, the damn thing was in plain view with maybe eight of its nine inches sticking out through the fly of my boxers.

“My goodness Ricky,” she exclaimed. Her eyes got big, apparently in honest amazement. “Where did you get that thing. I told you that I knew about male anatomy but I’ve never seen one THAT big. Do the girls around here know you’re armed like this? Surely not, or you wouldn’t need to be over here asking my daughter to go with you to the movies. And speaking of my daughter, I don’t think I want Carol to go out with you at all. If she finds out how well you’re hung, you may be more temptation than she could stand.”

She wasn’t serious, only teasing me. I knew because she was giggling the whole time, and damn, there was that smile again. Smile at me like that lady and you can make fun of my dick all you want. Jesus, but I was frustrated. I wanted this woman so bad my nuts were aching, and I didn’t have a clue how to do anything about it. So, I just stood there like a fool with a silly I’m-a-good-sport grin on my face, embarrassed and blushing a beet red as she went on to discuss my exhibitionist problem.

“Look, under the circumstances,” she said glancing down at my rampant penis, “I think we might as well dispense with these shorts. They don’t seem to be holding or hiding a thing. You’ll just have to soak in the nude. A young man with your build and a dick like that certainly has no reason to be modest anyway. When I was in Junior High, we had a swimming hole down at the river where we girls would slip away and go skinny dipping with the boys. It was fun to be so naughty, and it gave the guys with big penises a chance to show off on the bank.

We girls called them ‘bank-walkers’, and poked fun at them even when secretly we might have been just a little impressed. You, Ricky, would have made a great bank-walker. Still, I can understand you don’t want to be the only one naked in my tub. That wouldn’t be fair I agree. I guess the only thing for me to do is to soak naked too. I’d bet you’ve seen most of my goodies by now anyhow so what do I have to hide? Besides, to be honest with you, I always hot tub in the nude. I firmly believe that any other way is stupid, Victorian, and prudish. I don’t go wadding in the ocean surf with my shoes on, and I don’t bathe in my clothes..... “

“Here untie me.” She turned abruptly offering me the string bow at the back of her bra.

I was certain I had just died and gone to heaven. Here I was stripping the bra off the best set of tits I had ever seen while the beautiful woman who went with them was pulling down her panties. Another of those smiles lit up her face as she turned back to face me again, buck ass naked now. That confused me even further. As much as I wanted to look down and admire those bare sexy jugs of hers, and get my first good look at her pussy, I couldn’t take my eyes off her face and that smile. Her eyes were such soft and loving pools as they stared into mine that I was partly paralyzed and entirely speechless. I stood there dumbly, too hypnotized to take this dream of a woman in my arms and hug her against my body, erection and all, as I now know I should have.

Fortunately I had stumbled upon a woman who was as understanding about my shy inexperience and stupidity as she was beautiful. She certainly had every reason to laugh at me, but instead she took me by the hand and led me over to the hot tub partially hidden in its dark corner lit only by moonlight. She left us in the dark, but with the flick of a couple of switches, and the turn of some valves, steaming hot water was soon swirling and bubbling thigh deep in that little tub. And it WAS little. I suspect this was a tub built to hold one person only. Two people at the same time might be possible, but it was going to be a tight squeeze. My bath partner said we should try to sit side by side, meshing together as if we were pieces in a puzzle.

She put me in first, her hands guiding me gradually into a temperature that at first seemed scalding, but which soon eased to just damned hot as I became accustomed to the heat. Once she had me seated, she carefully slithered her naked body across mine (God, if I could only have canned that feeling and saved it forever), and then slipped sideways past my flank into the tiny unused hole beside me. We may have been crowded together like two sardines in a can, but we were none the less successfully seated more or less side by side. Trust me! I had no objections. The sensations that ran through me were absolutely incredible! A lovely feminine naked body was pressing against my flank, and my libido was rising to a boiling point even hotter than the water I was sitting in.

“I hope you don’t mind being a little crowded.” she apologized. “I don’t want you to think I’m getting fresh. It’s just that there isn’t much room. But isn’t the water just wonderful.”