Jeannie Byron is 65, in tremendous shape for her age, a graying-haired GILF of exquisite proportions, standing about 5-6, weighing a very athletic 140 pounds. A lifelong tennis player and teacher, the stunning elderly woman teaches young people at a tennis camp in summer in the seaside community where she lives.
She loves working with young people for a variety of reasons, including the satisfaction of helping them learn a sport she loves. An added benefit is having so many young men at her, well, disposal. Mrs. B., as she's known, has a penchant for studs under her watch, loving their eagerness, virility and willingness to serve her in any way she wants.
This day was a particularly hot one, in the high 90s, very humid, and the tennis lessons were over. Mrs. B. had her eye on Todd, a tall, lanky 18-year-old college boy who was helping out with lessons, a lad with a muscular young body and noticeable package in his tennis shorts.
Mrs. B. flirted with him from time to time, taking note of his attraction to her and innocent nervousness.
Mrs. B. waited until everyone had left, but Todd, and asked him for help putting away the gear in a small, hot shed on the camp grounds. He followed her, hands full of gear, she ahead of him in cap, sleeveless white shirt, very short white tennis skirt, mid-calf white socks and white sneakers. She'd noticed him checking out her old, wrinkled but quite firm legs every chance he got, so she walked slowly now, feeling his eye burning into her thick calves covered with delicate wrinkles and saggy hamstrings that tensed with muscle beneath as she walked.
She was soaked, from between her huge but still firm boobs to the crack of her succulent but saggy ass down to her drooping, smelly socks. She smiled, feeling his look behind her.
She stepped inside the shed and walked up a small ladder to put things away on a high shelf, knowing Todd was right behind her in the stultifying air, her skirt riding high, exposing her creamy white, wrinkled and dimpled ass in the tiny bikini bottom she wore.
"Be a dear, Todd, and hold the ladder steady, it's a bit wobbly," she called back to him.
"O...OK, Mrs. B.," he stammered, stepping directly behind her, his face in direct line with that nearly exposed ass, finding himself staring hard at the wrinkled yet alluring flesh, and sniffing the air for her scent.
"No, this won't work, I think you need to hold me around my calves, keep me steady," she said, standing on the rung on tip toes, her calves rippling with elderly muscle beneath her crinkly skin.
"Uh...o...OK, Mrs. B.," he gulped, putting his shaky hands around her muscular old calves and marveling at the feel and heft, the smooth, silky skin erupting in folded flesh as he squeezed them, the muscles pulsing beneath.
"Oh, Todd, I do hope I'm not embarrassing you making you hold my sweaty old calves!" she said brightly, feeling his hands slowly knead the muscles in them. "They're not very attractive, I know, I'm an old woman!"
"NO!" he protested a bit too loudly, catching himself and then mumbling, "Uh, no, Mrs. B., they're...they're....quite, uh, lovely for ..."
"My age?" she giggled. "Why that's so sweet of you...you're so close, I do hope you're not able to smell my disgusting dirty little white socks, I've had them on all day, they must be quite rank in my old sneakers!"
"No, not at all!" he cried out. "They, they don't..I mean...."
She was done storing the gear and stopped. Todd's hands were still on her solid, socked calves.
"Uh, Todd," she said. "You can let go of Mrs. B's calves now if you'd like."
His hands popped away as if surprised they were there and he stepped back as she stepped down, quickly picking up a few racquets in his hand and holding them before him. She turned and looked.
"Todd, you can put those on the table," she said calmly.
"I, uh...I ...uh..." he stammered.
