The Old Coot And The Couple

"You gotta girlfriend, Kenny?"

Kenny grunted and shot me a sideways look.

"Sorta," he said, while he put the box of my crap up on the living room table, where I had asked him to.

He squinted at me, wary. His slight frame was a bit sweated up at this point.

"Why?"

"Well, you never mentioned one, but I figured with your looks," (he snorted at this) "and way with words," also a bit ironic since he didn't talk much or all that lucidly, "it wouldn't be surprising. What does 'sorta' mean?"

I knew better than to say something like "a FWB?" Any of my attempts to employ contemporary slang would not only sound ridiculous, but be ridiculous.

Kenny came over five days a week after noon, and stayed for maybe a couple hours, helping with stuff I couldn't do anymore. I was okay getting in and out of bed, into my wheelchair, cooking, most daily activities, all of that, but the damn house always needed attention I couldn't always provide. I could still walk, but slowly. The doctor said one more fall and the hips would be a disaster zone. The wheelchair was just easier and safer around home, and at my age I don't mind sitting most of the time anyway.

My project the last few weeks was going through my collection of model trains, parts, and accessories from an earlier stage of my life, all kept in boxes in the attic, trying to figure the best way to sell the lot off.

I had made some good money on the first round, and since I wasn't using any of this old stuff, had no grandkids, the more that left the house the better. The combination of my pension from the Electrician's union and Social Security were enough to leave me comfortable in retirement, but a little extra cash never hurt anyone.

Kenny wasn't that big a guy, maybe five eight or so, but wiry. He had more tattoos than I liked, but I could probably say that of just about everyone else I saw in town under thirty years of age. Brown hair, odd haircut, I couldn't imagine him dressed up for a wedding or anything, always in loose shorts and a tee-shirt.

"I see her most weekends. Except when we're on the outs," he shook his head.

"She gotta name?"

"Rosalyn, although she prefers 'Ripper.'"

I didn't dare ask.

"Why don't you get the other boxes up on the table, where I can go though them later. Then let's take a break on the porch. On the clock. I got you pretty sweated up and I bet you wouldn't mind some iced tea. I'd offer something stronger, but, you know..."

Kenny was on probation. Drugs. He had done time in the county jail, said he had been clean for a whole year after finishing his stint. The state give him a stipend for the hours he spent at my house, more or less a subsidized work program, and I contributed an equal share, cost me seven bucks an hour, a little more than fifty dollars a week. It was money well spent, and did us both good. I had cut-rate labor and he got to get his feet back underneath him and please his probation board.

Hard to believe that it had come to pass that I was a community service option, but I suppose that's going to happen to anyone who doesn't expire earlier in life for one cataclysmic reason or another.

"Thanks Mr. B, I'd like that."

He looked carefully at me, although he should have known by now that I wasn't into judgment stuff.

"I'm cleared to do beer and wine now, Mr. B. Another sign of progress. I never had trouble with alcohol, it was the other stuff, but the rehab folks have rules early on you can't afford to break. They still spot test me, but my 'probe' officer said they wouldn't care about alcohol from now on, unless it turned into a 'problem.' Not today though, thanks."

I watched Kenny as his sinewy arms hoisted and arranged boxes. He finished lifting, and we sat out on the front porch in the afternoon sun, summer just over, evening air'd be getting cool in a few weeks. The Berkshire hills in the distance were handsome enough, their rounded forms still green, wouldn't get that autumn color for another month or so.

"Your girlfriend, 'Ripper,'" the name sounded odd coming off my tongue. "You know her in town before...?"

"The troubles?" He gave me a knowing glance. "No we didn't meet until I started my classes at Berkshire Community College. She knows my history, all of that, had some issues of her own, down in Great Barrington, moved up here to get away from some of that past."

"She pretty?" I was aware this was an awfully old-fashioned question, but knew Kenny would have been surprised at my saying anything otherwise.

He shrugged. "To me. Although I'm not exactly far enough up the food chair to merit someone with serious looks."

"Or really any looks," he added.

I got him to talk a little. She didn't sound exactly like the retiring type, which I had guessed anyway with her

nom de punk

.

"She's a little shorter than me, stronger than she looks. Eyes usually either wild or off somewhere else."

He pulled out his phone and showed me a photo. Shortish, not quite spiky hair with green ends, angular face with an expression I couldn't quite interpret. Amused? Defiant? Pointed chin, arms crossed.

"Nice," I said, almost truthfully.

"She suck your dick?" I threw this in as a looper, knew Kenny probably wouldn't mind the directness. It was hard to tell with him, we'd talk frankly about all manner of stuff, but there were occasionally some off-limits areas. I was fairly sure sex wouldn't be one of them.

He stared at me anyway, perhaps for dramatic effect, letting me know we were approaching boundaries.

"What d'ya think, Mr. B?"

"Of course. I don't think I ever minded that myself."

Martha hadn't been the only one, probably the third in my limited repertoire to do this particular honor to my venerable organ, but it wasn't a stretch for me to remember the feelings. But Martha had been gone for over five years, and any event that involved my penis and her mouth was a good ten years ago, before I even retired.

He took a long thirsty drag of his iced tea. So, my own glass in hand, I would rather have had a beer, but didn't want to evince any sign of inequity that might make Kenny uncomfortable, I got going with the reminiscences.

I told Kenny about my first girl after high school, Carol, with her sweet face and big meaty tits, who had done the debut "prick in mouth" business, how nice that was the first time, in the back seat of the Impala, and how I had to promise not to finish things in her mouth, but then made a mess elsewhere which took serious work to clean up, and over time we got a bit better at the whole thing, first sucking me nice and then coaxing me to completion with her fingers, with the added benefit that she never got pregnant.

The memories were keen, from way back then in this small-town region of the US. I even felt some faint stirring down there as I relayed those ancient stories of lust and the illicit but not quite satisfying resolution they produced. I noticed Kenny was sporting a pretty good erection himself as I spun out the stories, throwing in all the detail I could muster, which was plenty.

I think I reeled him in when I described Carol's "exploratory, wet slithering tongue" going up and down my "ebullient erection." Not sure he knew what "ebullient" meant but the context was clear enough. He tightened his mouth and shifted awkwardly on his chair, probably to give his penis a little more room to expand.

I got him to talk about the sorts of things he and "Ripper" did together. Some of it sounded a bit rough, but then I am a good fifty-plus years past puberty and things have changed a bit.

"She bit you?" I asked, incredulous, when he mentioned one particular event.

He nodded. "Yep. It hurt too."

"Where?" I was about to say something usually associated with real estate, location and all that, but decided not to do the joke thing here.

"On my ass." He looked at me steady.

I laughed. "I bet she had both hands on your dick at the same time."

"Actually my balls. I had asked her to do something she didn't want to do."

"And, that was?"

"Not telling. We got to keep a little professional distance, Mr. B."

We both laughed at this, but I waved my hand.

"Can you come twice a night?" I asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Not too often. Has to be a pretty special time, we both have to be real excited. Usually once does me in."

I agreed, and we both complained, although without rancor, how unfair that this was not true for females.

Our talk continued for awhile. I don't think either of us wanted it to finish, but eventually we ran out of stories and descriptions.

At a suitable stopping point, I spoke.

"Look Kenny. I am about to make you an offer. I am guessing you wouldn't mind some extra funds?"

A thought had crystallized while we talked. Worth an ask anyway.

His eyes were uneasy, a bit suspicious.

"You know my scene well enough, Mr. B. No one is getting rich up here in the Berkshires, by working anyway. All the money is from outside, the vacation homes up in the hills outside of town, all of that. And even if I keep everything tidy, I still got a felony to clear off the record, that's going to take some time, and my plans aren't much more advanced than month-to-month anyway."

He looked at me. "What do you have in mind? Extra labor, preferably under the table?"

"Absolutely. And even 'work' I expect you wouldn't exactly mind."

"As you can guess, this old coot hasn't had any sex in one long time."

He looked alarmed.

"No, no, not what you think. Hear me out. Not that. What I was about to say is that some evening maybe you and, ah, 'Ripper' could come over, maybe get comfortable with each other, indulge in some intimacies here on the couch, or maybe better, the bed ..."

"With you as our audience?" His eyes were cagey.

"With me as the audience. The paying audience."

I let him sit with this.

"Eighty bucks sound good? For each of you?"

His eyes got wide. "You'd pay us that much for us to make love in front of you?"

The "make love" phrase seemed odd coming out of his mouth.

"Yep. It would give a nice little jolt to the old ticker."

There were hotels in Boston that charged over two hundred dollars a night, and they wouldn't come anywhere close to offering the same enjoyment.

"Can't you just dial up some porn on the net, Mr. B? I am sure there are even chat services, live webcams, all sorts of stuff that even..."

He didn't finish.

"That even a geezer could figure out?" I laughed. "Sure, but sex is best when it's live. Between two real people. People with feelings, sensitive nerve endings, who care about their partner's pleasure, all's I'm saying."

We went back and forth a little. He was tempted and I was old and crafty enough to let the conversation take its own path, no hard sell. He said he would run it by Ripper. "No guarantees," he said, "but she needs funds even more than I do these days."

Couple days later he indicated that we were "on," and we figured on a time and date.

So it was settled. I was more excited than I had any right to be, but that was just fine.

They pulled up in his motorcycle Saturday evening, just getting dark. She was thin, her helmet looked out of proportion and lopsided on top of the rest of her frame. She was wearing those tights, or leggings, or whatever you call them that the hot, little prick-teasing wenches wear to high school these days, that leave no crevice of the anatomy bereft to the imagination, plus a loose cotton cropped-top that left her navel bare. I could tell there was no bra on underneath and had to stifle my urge to push a hand up underneath the front to verify. Was she tarted up for me or was this normal dress?

We chatted easily enough, first on the front porch, then inside the kitchen. This time my offer of beer was accepted.

"Greylock Ale!" Kenny exclaimed. I was guessing local craft beer was a bit above his normal price point.

I was pleased to see the beer helped ease whatever awkwardness in our conversation there might exist over our little unusual arrangement. Ripper was more animated than I thought she might be, looking around, checking out the place, even some old photos of me and Martha up on the walls.

"You were a pretty sturdy guy," she said at one picture, of me in shorts hiking in the hills. I did have fairly rugged legs in those days.

She looked long and hard at one photo of Martha, her official high school portrait, one of my favorites. Long curling hair, fresh face, clear features.

"She's very handsome, Mr. B." She said this slowly, deliberately. I was grateful for her sincerity.

They kept looking at each other, and I was hoping that it was due to anticipation. It became clear that I was supposed to initiate the next move, understandable if they regarded me as the "benefactor."

I urged them into the bedroom, a standard cozy New England farmhouse type of room, turned on some low light, made a space for my wheelchair in the corner with a good view of the bed, and bade Kenny disrobe.

Kenny wasn't quite scrawny, although I knew he had thin sinewy limbs. I didn't like to see the marks on his arm veins, although I had seen them before, but you could see his ribs, with tiny, pointed nipples on his chest. Just a trace of soft hair around his navel. He had a nice hanging dick, with a soft rounded head. His balls were clearly defined in his sparsely furred sac, they hung low and succulent.

I watched as Ripper pulled off her top. A sweet look. Rounded, firm tits, a hands-full, no more. Reminded me of those bells you used to see on the counter at the post office or other country store when someone was likely to be out back and you had to ring to get service. Convex, smooth, rounded. Nary a crease underneath. Nipples on top that you wanted to press.

"Why don't you do the honors for the lower part?" I arched my eyebrows at Kenny. This was touchy area, this request a way to find out how much they would be amenable to direction, or prefer to do things in their way. I figured I'd be happy regardless, although if they didn't mind some stage direction things might get more amusing.

He gave me a sidewise look, and his glance to Ripper seemed to meet with approval. He had her sit down at the edge of the bed, and I must say, made a bit of a show pulling off her tights, not the easiest thing to do. That left her with just a red thong, to my pleasure. I idly wondered if this touch was for my own benefit.

Except for the haircut and her smorgasbord of tattoos -- mostly fairly jarring graphics of edged weapons and whatnot, none of them of feminine little strawberries or dainty roses -- she was cute.

Instead of pulling off her thong, Kenny moved towards her. Instinctively she reached out under his package and began fondling his balls with one hand, while the other ran up and down his penis. She looked awful nice topless with just her thong while she pulled away on his penis.

I got a quick expressionless glance from her, then a longer, more interested look directed to Kenny.

It was not hard to imagine them indulging in this particular action plenty of times before.

She played him slowly, softly, and within a few minutes his penis became quite erect. No issues with arousal, at least for him.

"How do you guys normally proceed?" I asked softly, I hoped invitingly.

"It depends," said Kenny, who stepped back out of Ripper's reach, maybe because things were going too quickly. Ripper made a show of removing her thong. A little triangular patch of fur emerged, dark outside lips, most inviting.

"Depends on how desperate we are," Ripper said with a sly smile.

"Can you do twice?" I directed this at Kenny although he had told me already, but I wanted to say this in front of Ripper, in case she had something to add, or give Kenny some agency over things, maybe even motivate him a little.

"If she gets me off quickly, and I have enough time to recoup, yes." Kenny's eyes were sharp, moving from me to Ripper.

"What's the best way for fast?" I asked Ripper.

"Fingers and mouth." It appeared she usually welcomed the challenge.

I waved a hand. "I'd love for you to take your time this evening. An hour if you can manage, that was about the longest I could hold out in my good days, but it took a lot of pacing, and some self-restraint that wasn't always available."

"And lotsa breaks," Kenny said. "Continuous action means a quick end for both of us. We do like to extend things if we can." Another glance at Ripper who seemed willing.

Kenny moved back in front of Ripper, still sitting at the bed, and waved his cock, standing out straight, in front of her. She got an evil look, or at least a glint, in her eye, and began to fondle him again, one hand under his package, the other gliding along his penis. Kenny alternated between looking at Ripper and down to his dick getting manipulated. Hands on his hips, he had to shift his weight a bit as her stroking got more animated.

I settled back, intrigued.

Eventually, when he had gotten pretty hard, Ripper leaned forward and extended her tongue-tip to the head of his penis. I inhaled, it looked so nice.

Lips slowly over his cock-head, then down and up a few times, when she pulled off and gave him a look. His penis gleamed with moisture in the low light of the room.

They settled in on the bed next to each other and I was treated to the sight of her nestled in between his legs while she took him in her mouth and he rubbed her shoulders or tits when he could reach them.

His eyes were closed, his head lolled back and balls all drawn up.

It was all of maybe five minutes of sucking before he climaxed. I could see his legs tensing, his hips moving back into her, and she had sped up her timing.

A mighty hip heave and I could see him finish in her mouth. She suckled nice, her cheeks chipmunked out and I saw her throat contract a couple times.

Jesus. My envy was acute. This had never happened to me. None of the girls who sucked me ever let me finish there, and I had never been able to get Martha to do this. Here this guy was barely twenty years old and he already had this breathtaking piece of excitement in his repertoire. Lucky bastard.

Ripper, with obvious enjoyment, nursed at his dwindling prick as long as he let her, and then he finally pulled his soft, wet cock free.

After a suitable interval I asked in a low voice, "How do you guys usually like to proceed from here?"

Never hurts to be inquisitive. Show interest in others.

"Well," Kenny, drawled, a bit breathlessly, "I need a little time before we can fuck, obviously," pointing to his soggy limp prick. "Pretty much she has to go first..."

"Or else not at all," needled Ripper.

He looked at me sideways. "If we fuck, I still almost always come before her, even if it's seconds for me."

I nodded. "That's actually pretty normal. Unless..."

"I am pretty worked up, or already come once before." Ripper's eyes were excited. "And when I am pretty loosened up down there and not so tight and maybe he isn't stimulated quite the same, or..."

"That's quite enough," Kenny held up a hand, with a hint of irritation. He looked hard at Ripper, and I noted his eyes drifting down to her cunt.

"We do some various things to each other." He smiled at her while he thought out the different possibilities. I wondered if playing to an audience added to their excitement at all.

I had only ever been witnessed a few times, mostly with Carol back in those post-high school nights of double dating, usually in the back seat of Lenny's family's station wagon, and I knew Lenny and Arlene liked a good show before they took care of themselves in the front seat. The thrill of being seen was undeniable.

"I'll usually eat her out, and finger her while she gets me hard again. Sometimes we fuck after for a little bit, or do some other things."