This time dear readers, I leave it to you to determine for yourselves whether this tale is true or merely the product of my fertile and feral imagination. However, I must make a disclaimer in order to comply with the rules of Literotica. All of the sexual incidents involving the protagonist herein occurred when he was a senior in high school and after his eighteenth birthday.
When I was growing up in south Florida in the '50s, I lived a privileged life. My family wasn't really wealthy, but we were more than comfortable. We lived in a large, lovely home on a golf course. We were members of the exclusive country club in our area and traveled in all the right circles. From the time I was sixteen, I had my own car and was a member of the "in" clubs at my high school. I wanted for nothing, nothing that is except an exciting sex life.
I was good looking, best described as "cute", but I wasn't the school stud. As a sophomore in high school, I was 5' 7" tall and weighed a hulking 135 lbs. It wasn't until my junior and senior years that I experienced a growth spurt which resulted in my attaining the lofty height of 5' 10". Nor was I the school jock. I was athletic, but my size mitigated against football stardom. I did play on the junior varsity team for awhile, but in a scrimmage against the varsity, I made the serious, and almost fatal, mistake of attempting to tackle the varsity fullback who weighed about sixteen tons. At least, that's what it felt like when he flattened me like a steamroller. After my recovery from unconsciousness, a fractured jaw and several broken teeth, I joined the golf team and had a very successful high school athletic career as an orthopedically sound, if not champion, golfer.
My sex life, like that of most teenagers in the '50s, was woefully inadequate. I had plenty of dates and my fair share of girlfriends. I even got laid once by one of the girls on the "Easy" list. It was a quick, exciting, wet, sloppy, frantic and not altogether fulfilling experience. The rest of my sexual experiences with members of the feminine gender generally consisted of furtive groping in the back seats of darkened automobiles. I remember many fondled breasts, wet fingers, blue balls and cold showers. Other than that, my sexual satisfaction was provided by "Mother Palm and Her Five Lovely Daughters". I definitely was not an accomplished lover, that is, until after my experiences with Evelyn!
My mother was the quintessential southern belle socialite. She was a member of the UDC (United Daughters of the Confederacy), the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution), the local women's club, the Diggers (the exclusive garden club which my Dad dubbed the "Hoers"), and the local Baptist church. She volunteered at all sorts of things. In addition, she played golf, tennis, and bridge regularly. Her golf, tennis, bridge, church, and garden club "buddies", collectively known as the "girls", were always underfoot at our house. I was always having to run the gauntlet of ladies' embarrassing comments about how much I had grown, how handsome I had become, how I must be a lady killer, etc., etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseum. However, Evelyn was the one "buddy" who didn't make that kind of comment. I loved her for that alone.
Evelyn was unique to my mother's circle of friends. She was employed at a paying job. She was the executive secretary to the one and only true billionaire in our area. She had been employed by Mr. D for many years. He was a widower and had no immediate family. Evelyn became his family, and he treated her as his daughter rather than as his secretary. Evelyn had never been married and lived in a private wing at his mansion. She shared most of his servants but had her own personal maid. She drove a baby blue Lincoln Mark II purchased for her by Mr. D. It was said that she had acquired so many shares of stock in Mr. D's companies over the years that she was a millionaire in her own right. At any rate she was accepted in the highest circles of society.
There were some whispers, of course, that the relationship between Mr. D and Evelyn had been intimate at one time. However, since she was in her early forties, and he was in his eighties and the most powerful man around, the whispers remained just that--whispers. Although there were many male suitors seeking her favors, Evelyn never dated. At the opera, the ballet, and other functions Evelyn was either escorted by Mr. D or attended alone. I suspect that this was one of Mr. D's rules.
At this point I should mention that Evelyn was also very beautiful. She was tall and shapely with a trim figure. Even in her forties, her full breasts were carried high on her chest, and her round derriere had not yet begun to spread. Her medium length auburn hair was perfectly coiffed with never a hair out of place. Her clothing and jewelry were tasteful, conservative and obviously expensive. In sum, she always looked as if she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She was perfection personified.
Even when she played tennis, she was too cool to believe. In her tennis whites, she was a dream. Her long, tanned legs propelled her effortlessly across the court to the ball, and her short, efficient strokes rifled it back across the net. Even in the south Florida heat and humidity, she never seemed to sweat. What is that old saw? "Ladies never sweat; they perspire." I don't know that Evelyn perspired, even when she played tennis. Every now and then she would dab at her forehead with one of her wristbands, but only occasionally, as if it were an aberration. And her ice-blue eyes were just as cool as she was. By now it must be obvious that I had a heavy-duty crush on Evelyn, and I have to admit that I entertained numerous erotic fantasies about her. Remember "Mother Palm"?
Evelyn was always warm and friendly to me, never patronizing. She seemed genuinely interested in me and the mundane events of my life. I have always been a voracious reader, and my mother evidently told Evelyn that, in addition to my schoolwork, I read two or three books per week and all the magazines in the house, including the monthly issues of National Geographic. One day Evelyn called the house and asked for me. When I picked up the phone, she asked me if I would like to have a complete leather-bound set of National Geographics from the first issue date to the present. She said that Mr. D had two sets, was willing to part with one, and that she had already cleared it with my mother. Of course I was ecstatic and jumped at the offer. We made arrangements for me to meet her at the mansion on the following Saturday to pick up the books.
Saturday dawned bright, hot, and muggy. I dressed in an old Lacoste "alligator" shirt, a pair of shorts, and my trusty old Weejun loafers. I was excited for two reasons. First, I was eager to get the books. Second, and of equal importance, I was practically salivating at the chance to spend some time alone with Evelyn.
When I arrived at the mansion and was greeted by the butler and then Evelyn, I was stunned. She was wearing the shortest short-shorts that I had ever seen on a feminine body. In addition, her breasts were only semi-encased in a bandana-halter-type-thing that defied description. I mean, those beautiful mounds and their nipples were practically right out there in the open air! I just stopped dumbstruck and stared at her entire body.
I was very suave! My mouth dropped open like that of a cretin, and I probably would have started to drool if I had been left to my own devices. Fortunately, Evelyn laughed–a full throated, musical laugh that brought me to my embarrassed senses.
"Obviously, you like my outfit," she giggled.
As I regained some of my composure, I replied very articulately, "Mmmm, Uhhhh, Gurgle, Gurgle, Mmmm, Yeaaahh!" mixed together with some other gibberish.
Evelyn giggled again, grabbed me by the arm, and said, "C'mon we've got work to do."
