Ida had told Andrew to keep it quick. He was staying with her for the long weekend and planned to leave after his convocation. He had no family in the small university town, and hotels were far too expensive for a fresh graduate. Andrew couldn't afford to add to his mountain of student debt, and so his mother's friend Ida had agreed to let him sleep at her home until he left.
He was grateful, and had enjoyed the stay so far, but he'd been annoyed from the beginning by how stingy Ida was with hot water. She had an old water heater, she said. She'd been meaning to make repairs, but it would be another few months before she had the funds. She, like Andrew, was far from rich.
So Ida demanded that his showers be quick. It was her only rule, really, and when he had first arrived, she'd been very clear about it. No more than five minutes, otherwise there wouldn't be enough hot water for the both of them. He'd kept to the rule well enough for the first two days, but now it was the third—the morning of convocation—and his mind was elsewhere. He was becoming anxious, thinking of all those eyes on him when he took to the stage, and he'd decided to relieve that stress in the shower, in the best way he knew how. He figured he could be quick enough—doubted that Ida really kept that close an eye on the time anyways.
And so, with his hair plastered against his head by the hot water, and the rest of him slick and dripping, he'd gotten to work, closing his eyes against the steam and beginning to feel himself, and to let his imagination work. Today it was a simple fantasy. Standard stuff, but it did the job. He imagined a college locker room, a cheerleader whose face was red with worry that her routine was not where it should be. He imagined her asking him to watch, to tell her it was alright and that she was the best of the best.
Of course, it didn't matter why he was there in the first place, or why she thought his opinion would be any good to her at all. What mattered was the hourglass shape of her body. What mattered was the way her breasts bounced, braless, with her movements, and the way her nipples pressed against the fabric of her uniform. What mattered was that she wore no panties, as he saw when she first kicked her leg up. There was an instant's flash of bare skin, labia shaved bald, sleek white legs growing from round buttocks that bounced with her movement. It only took a few seconds for him to go rock-stiff.
His right hand worked quickly, and his foreskin saved him the trouble of finding a bottle of lotion. He used a tight grip, not interested in prolonging the experience. He needed release, and he needed it quickly. His left hand cupped his scrotum, and he imagined that he and his cheerleader had moved to the shower. It was she that cupped him, she that stroked him, and he imagined her breasts, still perky in their youth, brushing against his chest as his hands closed on her buttocks.
He felt his orgasm coming. He worked fast and hard, hand moving over his mushroom and striking softly against the base of his shaft with each stroke. Just one or two more, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out, facing the drain, opening his eyes to watch himself discharge. He generally considered himself straight as an arrow, but there was something about watching himself cum that—
"Alright kiddo, I don't have time for this. Move over!"
The shower curtain flew aside, and a chill from the outside washed over him. He turned unconsciously, and was suddenly face to face with Ida. At first her expression was wry. She'd expected horror on his face—expected to give him a good scare for taking so long in the shower. Her hair, usually waist-length, was pulled up in a bun, her face framed by a few errant strands, and the corner of her mouth was turned up beneath big green eyes. Her lips were full, even pressed together in her knowing smile.
She was naked herself. She faced him straight on and made no attempt at modesty—likely wanted him to see it all, he would think later. One hand was outstretched, pushing aside the shower curtain, the other rested on her hip. The breasts that hung between her shoulders were by no means young, but they were full for a woman of forty, and immense, too, with nipples hard in the cold air. Just below a modest belly, between hips that no young cheerleader could ever hope for, her pubis was a dark wedge where trimmed pubic hair covered the open lips of her labia.
