I was a pretty normal kid growing up in the 80's and early 90's in Iowa. I had neither good looks nor a great body. In fact I was thin, but that was the factor that led to a glorious episode in my early life. I was trying to bulk up for a place on the school baseball team, though I'm not sure if the phrase "bulk-up" was known in 92. Used home "gyms" could be purchased through local newspaper ads for $50, but I didn't even have that much money.
My mother was giving me some odd jobs to do for bucks and giving me encouragement. She happened to mention my efforts to our neighbors across the back fence, who happened to be the local Scoutmaster and his wife. I'd been in scouts for a couple years, but dropped out after a while. It was fun to camp, but the scoutmaster and staff always seemed to want to keep us real busy. He'd been 20 years in the military and it showed.
Carol, the scoutmaster's wife had been my second grade teacher for six months when the regular teacher had an operation. She also taught Sunday school occasionally when a regular person was sick or something. She was nice looking, but an adult, and I didn't know her that well. I'd had a few very brief conversations over the fence when mowing the yard, or if I had to talk to her husband about a merit badge or something and I'd gone to their house. That was it. Anyway, one day when my mom was hanging on the back fence talking to Carol, the subject of my trying to get some equipment came up. Carol said she'd been thinking about working out, too, and that maybe we could share. My mother even got interested, so we three got a used Precor home gym set-up for little money and set it up in Carol's basement.
They never locked their basement door (typical Midwesterners!) so we could come and go anytime. Mom and Carol worked out together for a while, and I used it after them or before them. Before long, though, my mom threw in the towel. She felt bad about deserting Carol, but she said something like "No pain is my gain" and quit. She did encourage me to keep it up, and I did. Working out was boring and I was about to give it up, when Carol started coming down when I was working out. She asked for advice about various exercises, how to work something or had me "spot" her when she did a bench press. 30 pounds. Pretty amusing. So we started to workout together. It was all very proper, and even though I saw Carol in leotards or some workout clothes, she never exposed much skin. In fact, she would ask me not to stand or sit in front of her if she had to do an exercise that involved spreading her legs. She said it in such a way that I wasn't offended, something like "Would you be a gentleman and stand behind me?" or something. So I did. I noticed also that when she would spot me while I did bench presses she actually stood back and to the side. Otherwise I'd be looking at her crotch up close.
As the weeks went on, we exercised together more and more. Carol said that just having someone else around made her more conscientious and the workout less boring. I agreed. Having another person around WAS better. It helped me, too, not that it showed much in my physique yet. Gradually we grew closer. Not intimate close, but just spending time with someone three times a week breaks down the barriers. Before long we were discussing my girlfriends, college, married life, Iowa isolation and more. I learned that Carol's motivation for working out was half for herself and half for her husband. She didn't say much about that, but sometimes you could read between the lines, sort of.
We had been working out for a few weeks when it occurred to both of us that we hadn't measured any body parts before we started. I didn't care about inches, I just wanted to put on a little weight and improve my physique. Carol wanted to lose weight and inches, so she got a fabric tape measure and brought it down. She duly recorded my calves, thighs, stomach, chest and bicep measurements. I offered to measure her, but she blurted out "No way, Jose. Even my husband doesn't know how big my butt is."
It really wasn't a big butt at all, just an average middle-aged butt. I confess to having some erotic thoughts about it, though. I was a "breast man", but lately I'd been fantasizing a little about workout sessions gone wild, and me pushing my face into the softness of her ass cheeks, or feeling them with my hands while I sucked on Carol's nipples as she stood before me. Wild stuff for me...
Back to reality, Carol took her own bust, stomach and butt measurements. She wasn't sure if she could get an accurate measurement of her calf leaning down, so she gave me the tape for that. I read off the numbers and moved the tape up to her thigh. At first she said "no", but I said something like "Come on. It will be an extra incentive. Like when my mom told everybody ahead of time she was going to quit smoking."
Carol gave in good naturedly, so I got to sit on the floor and hold a tape measure around her thighs. She had a pair of shorts on that she lifted slightly, and I took the measurement. I can't remember what it was, but I remember the softness of her inner thigh and a dappling of cellulite--and how she resisted me taking the measurement of her right thigh also, but gave in. I was almost the same but not quite. And she gave a quiet kind of squeal and accused me of tickling her. I hadn't. I was in awe of adult women and wouldn't have had the nerve. Small-town Iowa guys like me were pretty backward, although that night I masturbated to the idea of tickling Carol. She absolutely fell apart in lust for me and let me do whatever I wanted with her. Just another boy fantasy.
Boring, uneventful days passed and more workouts. Workouts without a hint of sensuality. We did talk a lot and had some laughs, but it was all straightforward. Too straightforward for me, of course, but what could I do? A month passed, then I suggested it was time to measure again. Carol got the tape measure and measured me, making approving noises at every fraction of an inch gain. She measured herself and was happy to see a decrease in her stomach and butt, but unhappy to see her bust decrease also. She pouted and half-wailed "I'm losing my charms". I told her that she was being ridiculous and that she looked great. She blurted out something about wishing her husband had the same idea, then changed the subject, asking me to measure her legs. I did. I called out the numbers for each calf, then moved the tape measure up. Again, Carol jumped a little as I measured her left thigh and again she accused me of tickling her. She said "Cut it out."
Of course I did just the opposite and wiggled my fingers ever so slightly while I measured her. She jumped and stiffened, which had the unplanned effect of trapping my hand between her thighs. It was only for half a second and she pulled away at once, saying "you're no boy scout!". I protested my innocence and argued for a few seconds, then Carol said "Never mind. It just might be the highlight of my day".
Boy did that phrase ring in my ears. I got a lot of masturbation mileage out of it that night, the next day and several times after that.
Despite the moment of sensuality, workouts continued much the same week in and week out. We did talk about more and more intimate stuff, but not intimate sexually. Just good friends stuff. Carol said I was a good listener and a good guy. I was developing quite a crush on her. I had to turn away occasionally when she made a certain move or sound. Like "ummmfffff" and "unnnh". It sure sounded sexy to me. I imagined her making those sounds while I pounded my dick into her and sprouted an instant erection.
Scoutmaster husband was usually absent, but I would see him occasionally. He had no interest in exercising because he "did his time in the Army and that was more than enough for a lifetime." He liked to smoke cigars around the house, but Carol didn't like the smell and prohibited from smoking in the basement. Didn't like kissing a man who smoked cigars either, she said. I just nodded and filed that information away.
The next "weigh-in" was uneventful, but Carol was happy to see more progress. Giddy, actually. She was down a size and a total of 11 pounds. She went out and bought some clothes at the mall to celebrate. All the next week, though, Carol was kind of down. Turned out that The Scoutmaster hadn't responded to her happy news and better body the way she thought he should. I praised her and said she was doing great and looking better for sure. I got teased for that comment, but it lifted Carol's spirits a little.
Later that week Carol bought a new workout outfit. Coincidence? I hoped not. But even though I liked Carol, I was beginning to get a little bored with the workouts. Sometimes I would miss a good tv show or homework or something with friends. One week it rained every day, and I made up excuses not to go outside. Carol called and practically begged me to come over, so I braved the wet weather and hopped the fence. Carol seemed extra happy at my effort and we had a good session. She wore her new, more revealing outfit, which gave me a view of some cleavage and clung to her ass. She still wore everyday panties beneath it, but I found the view of a woman's panties sexy, too. My inevitable stiffening was hard to hide. Carol said nothing for awhile, but my dick would NOT go down. I was embarrassed about it, which tells you how sophisticated I was. Carol finally said something.
"So you like my new outfit?"
I blushed and said "Yes".
Carol smiled and that was that, except that when we wrapped up for the day a few minutes later, I got a kiss on the cheek and a whispered "Thanks".
That was heady. More than enough detail to add some spice to my nightly "session". It got even better the next time, although some people, women especially might think what follows a little strange, but what the hell, I was a horny teen, and I've found out that I'm not that unusual.
What happened was that I took Carol up on the offer of some juice after a session and ended up using their bathroom. She answered the phone, so I took an extra minute to snoop around and found a pair of Carol's panties from the previous day in the hamper. They were still slightly damp from her perspiration. Shaking, I lifted them to my nose and tentatively inhaled the scent of her crotch. It was pungent and so wonderfully feminine I swayed on my feet. I took another deeper sniff and in the process my nose actually touched the intimate strip of fabric. I put the panties back and washed up loudly, then stepped out. Carol was still on the phone, so I waved good bye and let myself out. On the way home I was surprised to find that the pungent smell from Carol's panties was still with me. Some slight amount had rubbed off on my nose, and I could still smell her distinctly. What a sight I was, walking home in the drizzling rain, protecting my nose with my hand so the wondrous smell of Carol's pussy wouldn't be lost before I could get home and masturbate.
Now half the guys in big cities probably get laid by the time they are 15 and have gone to prostitutes by the time they reached the age I was then, so the thought of a boy getting excited by a woman's panties may seem quaint, but that was me. I confess I had only touched a girl above the waist at that time in my life, too, so go ahead and laugh. Still, I found the smell of Carol intoxicating and imagined my face and tongue buried between her spread thighs. In my fantasy she begged me to lick her and make her come again and again, holding my head to her wonderful pussy until she was satisfied and her body had stopped twitching at the wonderful things my tongue had done to her.
