In my tween years, like many of you, I was a Boy Scout. Our troop went on a camping trip every month, and it was fun camping setting up tent camps and hiking in the woods.
One summer, we made a week-long camping trip to the mountains. This was a big project for the troop leaders, and our scoutmaster, Mr. McIntosh, brought along two other assist scoutmasters along with Mrs. McIntosh and the wives of the other men. The wives would stay in their own separate cabin and assist with meals and be backup for other needs that might come up.
These were the years of puberty for most of the boys, and there was often talk of girls and sex. Most of the talk was probably bad advice. But, we were of an age to notice and appreciate womanly developments in our female classmates and occasionally the virtues of older women as well. Mrs. McIntosh was a case in point.
She was the perfect older woman. At the time, I guess he was in her early forties, tall with jet black hair. Her breasts were larger than average, and her legs were shapely. That is, she showed off shapely calves and lovely upper legs that disappeared into her short pants. I loved being around her. She was kind and soft spoken and always had nice things to say to us. She was kind of the troop's mom.
I saw her a lot on that summer camping trip, and I would see her occasionally in the town where we lived. She always took time to ask me about my schooling and about my plans of the future. She was just one of those wonderful women who exude friendliness.
Years later I returned to my home town and would often cross paths with Mrs. McIntosh in the grocery store or on the street. Even though she was now in her mid-sixties, she retained her charms. Her personality was just as kind, and her shape was, if anything, even more striking. I was always pleased to see her, and I have to admit that she became a source of not a few fantasies that left me with a puddle of spew to clean up.
Once when we stopped to talk in the grocery store, I noticed that I could see some of her bra if I stepped to the side and took the right angle. She didn't notice my leaning to and glancing down at her cleavage, but maybe she was just being polite. She smiled and gave be a little kiss on the cheek as we parted, but that was typical of the warmth and trust between us.
Both of us volunteered for service on a community development committee, and I looked forward to seeing her regularly at the weekly meetings. Often, Mrs. McIntosh and I would stay afterward and talk about the issues or talk about old memories.
Her husband, my old scoutmaster, had developed difficulties walking after a stroke, and he was in a wheelchair and could not easily communicate verbally. My heart went out to her, and reliving old memories were a source of pleasure for her.
As the weeks went by, I became a bit more bold. After the meetings, I would insist on a hug and kiss on the cheek. Sometimes both cheeks. And after some time, I kissed her on both cheeks then gave her a tiny peck of a kiss on her lips. I worried about that, fearing that she might push back, but she took in in stride as just a normal part of our old friendship.
Obviously, she remembered me as a boy, and I assumed that our friendship was amplified by the fact that she saw me growing up and she trusted me, as the Boy Scout oath says, to help other people at all times and to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.
I'm not so sure she should have trusted me on that last point. After these parting hugs and kisses, and even before them, I could feel my cock stretch down my leg and begin to feel its dripping wetness.
It was after a committee meeting that things finally took a turn. Mrs. McIntosh and I got cups of coffee and stayed a while to visit. We sat in a side room of the county courthouse in simple straight chairs with our coffee cups on a little conference table.
She shared a bit about her home situation and the difficulties of caring for Mr. McIntosh. Then she brightened and began to tell me about her gardening this year. She had spent a lot of time outside creating beautiful flower gardens, and I enjoyed watching this absolutely lovely older woman whose face I had adored for so many years. Of course, my eyes darted from her eyes to her breasts to her knees and lower legs. Every chance I got, I would take in another part of her beauty and enjoy feeling my dick do a little dance.
That evening, Mrs. McIntosh wore a dress. Many times, she would be pants and a shirt top or wear a blouse and skirt combination. But in the summer warmth, she wore a light fabric dress belted at the waist and about knee length.
