Spring 1971 found David struggling along in his freshman year in college. This story is about his next door neighbor and a most unlikely tryst.
David has previously been featured in stories such as: caught peeking in "Summer 1970", losing his virginity in "Fall 1970 parts 1 and 2", enjoying the fruits of his labors in the "Summer 1971" series, and other more current tales.
This is an entirely separate story which can be read alone. Hopefully you will enjoy this so much you'll give the others a read.
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1. Introduction.
Spring 1971 found me almost nineteen years old and plugging gamely along in school. I wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped, or as well as was expected of me by others. I chalked that up to too lofty expectations on all of our parts.
It wasn't because of too many extra-curricular activities, that much was certain. Fresh from losing my virginity in the fall of 1970, I had managed to avoid getting laid that entire time since, but not from lack of effort.
I was seeing a girl that lived next door to me, Carol. We had been neighbors for a few years, and suddenly had started getting interested in each other. Interested might be an exaggeration on my part. I think it was more a case of laziness than anything else. She was next door and thus very accessable. There's also something to be said for watching a girl grow up over the years and finally becoming a woman
She was a reasonably attractive blonde with nice legs and apple sized breasts, which I had groped early and often in the relationship. Not a real blonde either, and that I knew by going down on her pussy frequently as well.
Light brown was the color down there, and a wonderfully abundant thicket there was. I was certain that she would have had delightfully appointed underarms as well if she listened to my request for leaving them alone. That was not something she thought attractive, but I was none too fond of the less than religious manicuring she irregularly gave to them either. Hair or bare, I requested nicely, to no avail.
Our activity thus far had fallen short of my objective, which was the joining of hearts, souls and bodies in the rapture of intercourse. I had gone down on her numerous times, which I enjoyed greatly. Carol had returned the favor, twice. The pleasure had not been mine, unfortunately.
My first blow job was destined to go down in history as my worst, or at least that was my hope. My poor member was subjected to the worst abuse imaginable. Carol's teeth raked my poor dick so badly that I was tender down there for a week. She claimed it was because my cock was too big, or more precisely, too fat for her to suck. I insisted that she didn't know how to do it, and should ask some of her girlfriends for advice. Carol denied lacking the proper skills and even offered to provide a list of satisfied customers that would attest to her talent. The second attempt was equally uncomfortable for me and I aborted the act before serious damage took place.
We compromised on her giving me hand jobs, with Carol doing a little lip and tongue work on the head. Each night that we would make out, inevitably we would end up naked and I would go down on her. Afterward she would bring out the vaseline and pump away. Carol claimed to enjoy it, especially the times when she would make me shoot high in the air. I enjoyed it more than I would have if I had been doing it myself, but still longed to make love to her, or make like if you will. So far, no amount of condom waving and pleading had met with any success.
Carol was a senior in high school, but I wasn't robbing the cradle here, as she was a month older than yours truly. She had been held back a year in school at some point; the result of excessive absences she claimed, but you didn't need to get into a prolonged conversation with the girl to make you have doubts about that.
Carol was a nice enough girl though, and we had a lot of fun when we got together. I knew I was just killing time with her, and think she felt the same way about me. Carol had been making noises of late about me taking her to her senior prom, an event that I was interested in about as much as a hot lead enema. It was almost time to think about parting ways, if only to give her a chance to rope some other sucker into taking her to the thing.
So it was on a warm Thursday afternoon in early April that I found myself in my room trying to study. I had the stereo going and the window open, two sure ways to distract me enough to insure a half-hearted learning experience.
I had Arlo Guthrie's "Running Down the Road" album playing, and during his rendition of his father's song, 'Oklahoma Hills', I heard a voice singing along with Arlo from across the driveway next door. Not singing well, but she knew the words.
It was Carol's mother wailing away, and I stuck my head out of the window and applauded when the song was over.
"Thank you Davy" Carol's mom yelled over at me. "Now there's music I can listen too. Makes me think about growing up back home!"
I had thought that she had come from North Carolina, so I didn't get the connection, but what the hell? I put the needle back to the beginning and cranked it up louder. After it was over and the duet ended she called back over to me.
"C'mon over if you get the chance Davy, I got something to show you."
I told her I would and shut the books for the day. Mrs. Elliot was a real piece of work, and always entertaining. Besides, I was running low on cigarettes, it was a chance to bum a couple of smokes from her. Chances are she was already half loaded by now, it being a little after one o'clock.
2. A cocktail with Carol's mom.
I don't know what time of the day she started drinking, but she could put it away. Four Roses was her beverage of choice, and she would lean on the kitchen counter and put them away like you wouldn't believe. Straight too, mind you. None of that watering down or mixing it for her. The smell of the stuff alone was enough to make my stomach churn.
When I went next door and knocked, I heard her yell for me to come on in. She had assumed her position leaning on the counter, with a tumbler half filled with Four Roses right beside her.
We exchanged pleasantries, and she offered me a drink.
"You have anything to mix it with?" I asked hopefully, and got a snicker in response.
"There's some ginger ale in the refrigerator Davy" she told me. "Drink it straight, it'll put some hair on your chest! Looks like you got that already though."
Shrugging in embarrassment, I poured a very weak highball and bummed a cigarette as well. Lucky Strikes, no filter and nasty as hell. Free though, which was a lot better than shelling out fifty cents for a pack.
I had brought the Arlo album over and she got excited when she saw it, and put it on the stereo in the living room.
"Here Davy, this is what I wanted to show you" she said motioning toward a picture on the counter.
It was a picture of her taken when she was probably around twenty, which had to be about thirty years ago. She was an attractive woman back then, and I mentioned how good looking she was.
"Wow, you were really a looker, Mrs. Elliot" I said.
"I had them chasing me back then alright" she chortled. "I didn't run away from many of them either. And do me a favor. Call me Virginia, will ya? All of that Mrs. crap you deal out makes me feel ancient! Enough of that polite and gentlemanly shit! Besides, I don't get it from anybody living here, so I ain't used to it."
I laughed when I thought of her family. Besides Carol, there were two other sisters and a brother. Mr. Ellis was husband number three that I knew off, and was only the father of Carol and one sister. The other two I assumed had been products of the first two marriages, and the three different last names in the household made for interesting but snide comments by the neighborhood gossip guild.
Now about fifty, Virginia was not nearly as good looking, of course, but far from a total wreck. She had put on considerable weight in the passing years, but it had taken a weird distribution on her body.
Mrs. Elliot... I mean, Virginia, was about five foot ten, with long, curly dark brown hair. She was heavy set from the waist up, with solid but large arms bigger than my own. She had a ridiculously small butt in comparison with the rest of her body, and legs that really were pretty nice looking. She had the look of a waitress or a barmaid, with a wisecracking attitude and a world-weary appearance.
You would never notice any of that right away when you first saw her. There was no way you could get beyond her most obvious physical features, no matter how hard you tried. It was like trying not to notice an elephant in the room.
Virginia had large breasts. That statement is just as descriptive as saying Wilt Chamberlain was tall. The sheer size of her breasts was almost scary. It was hard to picture what they would look like without that heavy duty contraption she wore, and I couldn't imagine where you would be able to buy something like thatanyway.
Her breasts went down to her waist even with the harness, and the way those incredible torpedoes swung in front of her was almost cartoonish to watch. Mrs. Elliot didn't wear clothes to accentuate that enormous bosom either, usually wearing bulky flannel shirts. Today was no exception, as she was wearing a red and white checkered shirt with the sleeves taken off. The top button of the blouse was undone however, and my eyes were drawn to her astonishing cleavage, causing me to stare despite my best efforts not to.
As we talked, I felt that something was a little different today than other times I had spoken with Mrs. Elliot. She was always friendly, and usually a little off color as well, but today she was speaking with even more of raunchy tone. Maybe it was the fact that no one else was home, or maybe she was a little more wasted than usual. Perhaps a combination of both.
"Carol won't be home until late today" Mrs. Elliot informed me. "Damn wingnut has detention again. They caught her smokin' in the girls room."
