If there's one area where Brent and I differ, however, it's where girls are involved. Now, believe me when I say no girl will ever come between my best friend and myself, but it's a matter of the type of girl we enjoy being around where Brent and I differ. Brent was always interested in women our age, or at least close to our age. Me, however, well, I've always been interested in older women. I don't know: I just find the elegance, maturity, and sophistication of an older woman more appealing than the squealy, high-pitched ways of teenaged girls. I enjoy the way older women dress, how they carry themselves in public, how they choose not to play head games.
I guess that's the reason I was always so attracted to Sharon, Brent's mother. Yes, she was always kind to me whenever I stayed over at the house, but with me, it seemed she was always extra nice. Sharon never remarried, and where many people might expect to see a steady stream of single men coming and going at their house, Sharon rarely dated. As Brent and I aged, Sharon saw less and less of these men, devoting her life to her son instead.
But my attraction for Sharon was based on sexual needs and fantasies. Sharon was a bank manager and so, required to dress in a professional manner. Not a day went by that she didn't wear a skirt that displayed a set of the best legs I'd ever seen. Tight-fitting blouses which did very little to hide the size of her massive tits always caught my attention as well. She may have been in her early fifties, but I didn't care. I jacked off so many nights while fantasizing about Sharon that by the time I reached my late teens, she was my number one fantasy.
There was one incident, however, that was not a fantasy but an actual event. As usual, Brent invited me to stay the night. It was the middle of the night and I needed to take a piss. After stumbling down the half-lit hallway, I opened the bathroom door to find Sharon standing by the shower, her body still glistening with the warm water. Wide hips, huge titties, and a thick pussy bush caught my eye, and I found myself unable to turn away. But rather than rush to conceal her nakedness with the towel, Sharon instead moved very slowly, the white cloth rising as if it were in slow motion. For long seconds, Sharon did nothing to completely conceal herself, instead simply choosing to stare at me. I did my best to apologize, but Sharon wouldn't hear of it. "Don't worry about it, Nicky," I recall her saying. "But shouldn't we close the door while I finish drying off?" With my heart beating like a huge bass drum, I closed the door and returned to the bedroom. I expected Sharon to enter the guest bedroom at any time and admonish me for barging in on her when she needed privacy. But she didn't. And the next morning, while Brent went outside to collect the morning paper, I apologized again, but Sharon consoled me, telling me, "Those things happen, Nicky. It's not that big a deal."
Try as I might, I still found it impossible to get Sharon out of my mind. Sure, I dated girls my age, but as Brent and I neared high school graduation, I did something that remains with me even today: I stole a pair of her stockings. I'd overheard her speaking to her best friend on the phone, telling Betty that she preferred stockings over pantyhose. "I just prefer the silk of stockings over the nylon of pantyhose," Sharon said into the phone. With that knowledge, I made my way into Sharon's bedroom while she was away one afternoon and after locating her hosiery drawer, removed two black stockings and stashed them in my jeans pocket. That night, and many nights after for several years, I jacked off into the stockings, always dreaming of Sharon riding my cock until we both reached orgasm. That was all twenty years ago: It was just a few years ago that the stockings finally gave out and I was sadly forced to throw them away.
Despite our close friendship, Brent and I attended different colleges after high school graduation. Feeling the need to fulfill my patriotic duty, I took an army commission and became one of the best of the best: I qualified and served in Special Forces units for the next twenty-five years, serving in some of the worst and toughest assignments across the globe. I wore my green beret as a symbol of pride, and while I don't consider myself to a macho kind of man, I did learn to take care of myself. I'm retiring from the army now, settling down with my family in Spokane, Washington. I can tell you that after living a life on the edge of danger for so long, I was ready for as much relaxation as I could get. I was glad my wife had the children to her parents in Wyoming: I could use the quiet.
While I toured the world as an Army officer, my long lost best friend became a star newspaper reporter. I hadn't heard from or seen Brent for six years now, having lost touch with him after he took employment with a newspaper in Boston. Even Sharon had disappeared, no longer living in her North Carolina home. It was ask if she and Brent had simply vanished from the Earth. Even the neighbors had no idea where Brent and Sharon were living. "They just seemed to vanish overnight," Mrs. Smith, a nearby neighbor informed me.
As the plane descended into Spokane, I had no idea that my ability to protect myself or my friends would be in such demand so soon after my retirement. No, my thoughts were on fishing and hunting, on hiking and camping. The closer I got to Spokane, the more I relaxed. After landing, and even when the airport made an announcement that our luggage was stuck in the plane's cargo hold due to malfunctioning doors, I didn't get mad. Even when we were informed the mechanics needed at least an hour to correct the problem, I still remained calm. Nope, I knew I could spend the time in the airport bar. After all, I was retired: Where did I need to be?
One skill I developed as a Special Operations officer was that of knowing when a situation just didn't feel right. While we mingled around the luggage claim station, I noticed a gentleman, near my age, wearing dark glasses and a chocolate brown jacket. Several times, I noticed the man slid the glasses halfway down his nose and scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from side to side. His heavy beard hid his face from view as he stood off to the side, alone. I studied the man for several long seconds before deciding he was just another passenger, perhaps upset because of the luggage situation.
And then our eyes met. Because of my training, I've developed the ability to recognize when someone may be hiding something or doesn't wish to be engaged by another person. I immediately got that feeling about this man. But I didn't sense there was danger present, just some unknown factor I couldn't put my finger on. After a long second, he turned his head and slid the glasses up his nose to once again conceal his eyes. After the announcement about the luggage, the man shrugged and left the luggage claim area. I left the area as well, and made my way to the airport bar.
I was surprised twenty minutes later when the same man behind the glasses took the empty stool beside me. I immediately went on semi-alert, but again, my training kicked in and I waited for him to do something. No need to overreact, I said to myself. I heard the man order a scotch from the waitress behind the bar: he waited silently while waiting on the drink to arrive. For the longest time, he simply sat and stared at the mirror behind the bar, saying nothing, making no movements. When the drink finally arrived, I watched our reflections as he lifted the glass and just before placing it to his lips, heard him ask in a soft voice, "So this is how you treat an old friend?" Without turning my head, I was certain he knew he had my attention. Evidently, the man was not finished speaking. "I mean, isn't ignoring an old friend whom you haven't seen in many years somewhat rude?"
With my senses on full alert, I turned and asked, "Do we know each other?" I noticed that my fists were clenched and I was in a protective mode. It was when he turned to face me, and slid the glasses again to the midpoint of his nose that I looked into his eyes. For what seemed an eternity, the man and I stared at each other, neither of our eyes moving off the others. Something seemed oddly familiar about the man, especially his voice and his eyes. And then I knew.
Although the face was unfamiliar, there was no mistaking the fact that I was staring at my old friend Brent. When he saw that I now knew who he was, he stood and led me to a back corner of the bar where we were offered more privacy. I noticed that Brent sat with his back to the wall, his front facing the bar's entrance. He waved off my questions with his hands, saying, "Wait until the drinks arrive, Nick, so that we'll have uninterrupted privacy." We sat in silence until another second round of drinks arrived a few moments later. When he began to speak, I found myself hanging onto his every word.
I'll be brief. Six years ago, just after I'd seen Brent for the last time, and just after he moved to Boston, Brent had exposed a locally-based but very dangerous gangster who committed a series of murders, extortions, and drug transactions. The gangster's reach was so long that even in prison he was still a very dangerous man. Because of that, Brent - and his mother - were offered the chance to enter a witness protection program. Now I understood the changed appearance, the cosmetic changes to his face caused by a surgeon's knife. "I usually wear blue-colored contact lenses," Brent informed me, the volume of his voice very low. There was one good bit of news, however: the gangster had died two years ago and since then, the level of danger Brent faced had disappeared, but only somewhat. "There are still people who are very, very angry with me, Nicky," Brent said. "And they'd love nothing more than to get their hands on me and my mother." Taking another look around the bar, Brent informed me he was now referred to as "Stan." He further explained that Spokane had been chosen as his safe area due to its remote location and the many miles of unbroken forest located outside of town. "It's the perfect setup, Nicky. No one knows we're here. We have a great cabin located ten miles from town on a deserted road and we live comfortably."
For the next hour, I sat in complete awe at the story my old friend related to me and the measures he took on a daily basis to protect himself. Naturally, I had questions concerning Sharon. "Oh, she's no longer called ‘Sharon,'" Stan informed me. "When you meet her, refer to her as ‘Becky.'" I learned Brent's mother had just celebrated her lengthy-second birthday, although, as Stan reminded me, "Of course, that's confidential information." Further questions revealed that Sharon had also undergone cosmetic surgery, although the changes she agreed to were less dramatic than those made to Brent's face. "But she's still beautiful as ever, Nicky," Stan informed me. "And she'll just love seeing you again."
It was as we collected our luggage that Stan invited me to the cabin. "Come with me, Nicky," he said. "We can't have a lot of visitors, so having someone we know will be a real treat." I have to admit it: the possibility of seeing Sharon again - I was having difficulty with the "Becky" thing but would eventually refer to her by her assumed name - drove me to accept Stan's invitation. He seemed comfortable enough with the invitation so, after following him in my car, we arrived at a well-built cabin located on one of Spokane's more beautiful lakes. As Stan had described, the location was, indeed, remote, and required that we leave our cars several times to open and close heavy gates that prevented us from driving directly to the cabin. It was evident that while the threat to Stan's life had abated to some degree, he still needed to take every precaution necessary to ensure no one placed him or his mother in any danger. We soon arrived at the cabin.
If I'd met her on the street, I never would have recognized Sharon. She stood at the base of a long stairway, watching Stan and I as we entered the cabin. Our eyes met and the first thought that entered my mind was that she looked anything but like an eighty-two year old woman. Evidently, the cosmetic surgeons had been smart enough to alter her appearance so that while she maintained something of her original facial structure, the years of age-induced wrinkles and other time-related features had been removed to present Sharon in a whole new light. Because I'd been so attracted to her, I recognized the underlying beauty that had drawn me to her when I was a kid. But what I saw now struck me as nothing less than awesome.
A long, solid grey braid that extended to her belt lay over her right shoulder and drew the eye to her hair. Sharon had always had short hair when we lived side-by-side, but now, due to the circumstances and the need for disguise, she wore her hair long. Her eyes remained the same vivid blue, the color of the ocean on a sunny day, although the shape of her eyes had gone from being less round and more oval shaped. She may have gained some weight, but it was difficult to tell because of the long sweater she wore to ward off the cold. Jeans covered her lower torso, and while they were not form-fitting, it was still easy to see that Sharon had kept her figure in the years since I last saw her. Despite the required physical changes and the necessary alterations in her body, underneath it all Sharon was still a stunningly beautiful woman who remained standing at the base of the stairs, her eyes focused on me now, the obvious concern that Stan had gotten himself into a difficult situation.
"Becky, this is -" Stan never finished his sentence as Sharon moved now, fast on her feet for a woman her age, meeting me at the door and wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders. In an instant, Sharon burrowed her neck into the side of my neck as the sounds of soft weeping filled my ears. I felt her hands caressing the back of my head and her fingers entwined in my hair as her body shook softly against mine. Sharon lifted her face from my neck, looked at me as tears streamed down her face, then buried her face again inside my neck. "Oh, Nicky, oh, Nicky," she said time after time while Stan stood to the side and watched his mother as she recognized someone from the past, someone she knew she could trust.
Stan, Sharon, and myself spent the next three hours reminiscing, remembering the past. It was all but impossible for me to not stare at Sharon, impossible not to recall certain memories I'd harbored for many, many years. Once, when Stan left the room to retrieve more wine, Sharon caught me staring at her tits: A smile crossed her face, and just before her son returned to the room, she said, "One thing I've learned from all this, Nicky, is that despite the changes Brent and I have undergone, many things have remained the same" After sipping from her wineglass, sly smile spread across Sharon's lips and she asked, "Wouldn't you agree?" Watching her, and remembering the many nights I'd jacked off with her stockings, I realized that despite her age, I still desired my best friend's mother. At least, that's what the growing cock inside my trousers convinced me of.
And that's what my still hard cock convinced me of that night as I lay alone in my bed. Because my wife was away, I use a silk stocking I'd purchased for her in Japan, again sliding my cock inside the luxuriously rolled up tube to bring about the greatest level of sexual pleasure. Because Stan and Sharon - or, Becky - were required to remain vigilant in safeguarding their whereabouts, I did not hear from them for several days. It was late Friday afternoon, with my wife and children still out of town when I received a phone call from a number I did not recognize.
"Listen carefully and so not say anything," the female voice on the phone said. "Answer the following questions with either yes or no responses, nothing else. Do you understand?" When I answered that yes, I did understand, I was further told to mention no names. There was no doubt who I was speaking to, but my past military experiences had taught me the value of following orders. Especially in this case. "Your friend must leave town for the weekend. He requests your presence as I will be alone. Do you accept?" Again, I answered in the affirmative. "Good. Be here this evening at exactly eight o'clock. Do not be late." The line went dead in my hand. A quick glance at my watch informed me the entire conversation had taken less than twenty seconds.
Before the phone rested on its cradle, my heart had once again started to beat heavily in my chest. A weekend alone with Sharon? Oh, my. To say I was excited would be an understatement. But I was an ex-Special Forces soldier and I knew the importance of following instructions. I especially understood the importance of following instructions in this situation: to deviate from what I'd been told to do could very easily result in someone getting hurt, or worse. By seven o'clock, I was on my way to the isolated cabin. Before arriving, however, I made sure to purchase several bottles of Sharon's favorite wine.
The daylight was beginning to disappear as I made my way up the isolated forest road leading to the cabin. I saw tire marks created by Brent's car as he departed the property. Also noted that he had gotten sloppy: Of the three gates I was forced to open then close, he'd left the gate nearest the cabin semi-opened. "You gotta do better than that, Stan," I said aloud, using my best friend's newly assigned name. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the cabin, only to find it empty. A quick check of the inside revealed no one present, so, asking myself if Sharon might be waiting for me at the lake, I followed a narrow path to the water. And man, am I ever glad I did. Upon my arrival, I discovered a small wooden bench with a white towel draped over one of the armrests. Looking out over the lake's still, mirror-like surface, I was taken aback by the beauty of the remote surroundings. It was easy to see why Stan and "Becky" had chosen this location to hide in. Sitting on the bench, I waited, telling myself I'd return to the cabin if Sharon did not appear in the next ten minutes. By now, the daylight had turned to the beginning of dusk, providing me with just enough light to see the lake's flat surface. The moon began to rise on the far side of the lake, illuminating the lakeside where I sat.
Being in combat does many things to a person, and one thing I found that improved in my life was my ability to detect even the slightest of movement. Something moving in the water and coming toward me caught my eye. Whatever it was, it seemed large. As dusk continued to fall upon the land, seeing any considerable distance became progressively more difficult. I leaned forward, asking myself if what was coming at me was a bear, a dear, or some other large animal. Whatever it was, it was making good speed as it neared the beach, its movements almost silent in the dark water. Closer now, closer still, and finally, when the water depth was no more than five feet deep, the figure stood up and began to tread through the water. And then, as I'd been so many times since I encountered Brent after so many years, I once more found myself in complete awe at the events going on around me.
It was obvious that the figure emerging from the water was a human. As if they were gliding on the water, the person came into view in stages. First, there was the head, the hair plastered down along the sides. Next came the slim neck, followed by two bare shoulders. Hands lifted from the lake to wipe water away from the person's face. Still wading through the water toward me, the moon shone behind the person, making it impossible for me to recognize who this person might be. In waist-deep water now, and no more than ten feet separating myself and the person, I recognized that it was Sharon emerging step by step from the water. But as she emerged, I realized something that almost caused my breathing to stop.
Sharon was naked. Nothing concealed her nakedness, no bikini, no one-piece bathing suit, nothing covered her eighty-two year old body. Five feet now, and while her body was backlit, it was now possible to make out her features. Three steps, and Sharon stood before me, water dripping from her body, running down her shoulders to drip in rivers from her huge tits. Each nipple seemed to attract or create its own water stream, the cool lake water running from the two titty buttons and falling to the sand at Sharon's feet. Unable to stop myself, my eyes traveled the length of Sharon's body, noted the absence of tan lines, the presence of a thick bush of cunt hair, lean legs, well-muscled, and, I suspected, well-tanned as well. Sharon stood watching me, her eyes locked onto mine. She inhaled sharply, stepped so close to me that I believed I could feel her heartbeat and said to me, "You're early."
With any other woman, I would have immediately pulled her into my arms and kissed her, taken her to the ground, and done my best to jam my cock into her pussy. But this was Sharon, the older woman I'd secretly desired almost all my adult life. She made no move to conceal her body parts, made no effort place her hands over her tits or her cunt. Sharon simply stood quietly, silently, certainly knowing that I was appraising her naked body, certainly knowing that if we stood here much longer, I might reach a point where I would lose all control. For the first time in my adult life, I found myself unable to speak, unable to move.
After staring at me for some time, Sharon spoke again, her voice as soft as the evening's light. "May I have my towel, please?" With shaking hands, I handed Sharon the towel, sure she was angry with me, certain she would ask me to leave. After wrapping herself in the towel, Sharon turned and said, "I have dinner in the oven, Nicky. But I need to shower first. Please wait here. Give me twenty minutes then come to the cabin." Without a word, she turned and disappeared into the forest, following the same dark path I'd followed to bring me to this point by the water. I sat on the bench as the sound of a foraging raccoon sounded through the brush.
It was impossible to shake the image of the naked Sharon from my brain. And because I'd stood no more than five feet from her while she appeared nude before me, my cock had started to react. By now, the shaft was rock-hard, the long, meaty pipe stiff with lust. Only with concerted effort was I able to force my cock to become at least semi-limp. Checking my watch, I noted that no more than five minutes had passed since Sharon had departed the lakefront. Damn, but time was moving so, so slowly. I wanted to leave now, to make my way to the cabin, but I'd promised Sharon I would wait.
And that was when I heard the scream. Having no doubt it was Sharon who was screaming - who else lived this far out? I asked myself - I ran with all my speed up the forest path, breaking into the yard at a dead sprint. I saw a dark-clothed figure escaping through the front door with Sharon standing in the doorway, still wrapped in the towel, although as I glanced quickly in her direction, it seemed as if a portion of the towel was missing. "NICKY! HELP, ME, NICKY!" Sharon screamed, pointing with her finger at the escaping man. In an instant, as my training had taught me to do, I judged the man to be my height, of equal weight, and I had to assume, of equal strength. I knew I could take him.
"CALL THE SHERIFF!" I screamed just before launching my well-conditioned body and tackling the intruder when he was less than halfway across the yard. As we fell to the hard ground, I felt and heard several items fall from his pockets. I knew then my worst fear had not come true: This man was not someone sent by the Boston thugs to injure or kill Brent and Sharon. No, he was no more than a simple thief, a man who'd waited until the cabin was empty to enter the building and take what he wanted. Sharon's sudden appearance had evidently surprised him and caused him to take off before he'd stolen much.
After lifting him to the ground, I used my belt to secure the man to a small tree, making it impossible for him to escape. I rushed to Sharon, still standing in the cabin's front door. A quick examination showed she was unharmed, but shaken. "Go get dressed," I suggested. "I'll babysit asshole over there." Thirty minutes later, with their rooftop lights blazing, the local sheriff and his assistant pulled away, having recognized the intruder as a regular visitor to their jail. When I mentioned that the criminal probably had a broken shoulder, the sheriff tested my theory by slapping the man on his back. The screams and howls echoed through the woods as my hypothesis was confirmed. I couldn't help but grin when I heard the sheriff, with a wink in his eyes, said, "Yep, seems broken to me! I guess he shouldn't have fallen down like that!"
I found Sharon sitting on the large bearskin rug by the fireplace inside the cabin, a glass of wine in her hand. During the time I'd handled the burglar with the sheriff, she'd dressed herself in a pair of jeans and light blouse. Her ocean blue eyes were wide in disbelief and fear as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace, but I noticed that her hands were not shaking. That's a good sign I said to myself, having learned something about the effects of traumatic events in our lives from my many days of combat. I sat beside Sharon, laid my left arm on her shoulder, and gently brought her body to mine as together, we watched the fire. Only the sound of the burning logs filled the room. It was clear that dinner was forgotten.
It was a surprise when Sharon lifted her head from my shoulder and placed her lips to my left cheek. "Thank you, Nicky," she said, her voice a whisper. "I was certain that man was from Boston and that our location had been discovered." Her eyes went misty as she looked at me and said, "I don't know how I can ever repay you." When I insisted that Sharon had no obligation to repay me for doing what I'd been trained to do, the woman I'd lusted after all my life laid her hand on my cheek, her eyes seemingly a million miles away. "You were always special to me, Nicky," she said. "Always."
I'm combat trained. I'm trained to act decisively and quickly. There was no other reason to wait now, I realized. And that was when I extended my neck and kissed Sharon. No, it was not the innocent mother-son kiss on the cheek. We'd already gone that far. No, it was a full, lip to lip, mouth pressed against mouth kiss that boiled up inside of me and exploded before I could control myself. My tongue probed Sharon's mouth, and searched for and found her tongue while my hands pulled my best friend's mother closer, closer, and closer to my body.
Fully into the kiss now, I wove my hands into Sharon's hair. I felt her hands along my back, caressing the muscles, pulling the shirt from my trousers. Seconds later, Sharon removed my shirt, my bare chest feeling either the heat of the flames or that of the intense, desire-driven lust that could no longer be denied. Soft moans escaped Sharon's mouth now as she returned the kiss, as she too probed my mouth with her tongue. With the passion roaring hotter than the flames in the fireplace, and unable to restrain myself any longer, I placed my hands on Sharon's shoulders, and felt the bare skin at the edge of the neck of her shirt. Slowly, my fingers slid inside the blouse, and as my fingers made their way along her shoulders, discovered Sharon was braless. Wild now with hot, torrid desire, and determined that only a freight train could stop me, I removed my hands, placed them along the hem of Sharon's blouse, and lifted the garment over her head. Sharon lifted her arms to assist me, her eyes glued to mine. When the blouse finally rested on the floor, both this older woman and I came together, naked chest to naked chest, again pressing our lips together in the most passionate kiss I'd ever engaged in.
I admit it: finally having Sharon topless within inches of my hands made me feel like a kid on his birthday. Both hands found each of her nipples, felt the firm, meaty, sensitive buttons, and directed them to the palms of my hands. Wide-eyed in wonder, and not believing I'd finally reached this point with Sharon, I softly and slowly began to massage Sharon's titties, feeling their firmness, marveling at the lack of age-related sag. "Oh, Sharon," I said softly. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
Determined now, focused on Sharon and my desire to please her, I released her tits and pushed Brent's mother gently backward upon the sofa, her legs coming up and wrapping around my waist. The kiss continued as her nipples pressed against mine. But just as suddenly as the kiss began, it stopped. Opening my eyes, I saw Sharon staring up at me, an expression of sudden regret on her face. "Nicky, what are we doing?" she asked. Before I could respond, before I could tell her of my life-long desire for her, Sharon extended her right arm and placed her hand along my left cheek. "Nicky, let me up, please." When I did not move, Sharon said, "Nicky, you must let me up. Please, let me get up." Slowly, I stood and watched my best friend's mother retrieve her blouse from the floor, and hold it to her chest to conceal her tits. Sharon's eyes did not meet mine as I watched her gather her clothing, watched as she drained the wine glass. As she left the main room and climbed the stairs to the upper level, I could do no more than what I had done since the day I developed a desire for her: I watched her go.
The silence that followed was almost crushing. Still shirtless, I watched the flames dance in the fireplace, mentally killing myself for being unable - or was it unwilling? - to control my animal-like impulses. I'd destroyed the trust both Brent and Sharon had placed in me. I'd ruined a more than forty year relationship with my best friend and his mother. I felt like such an idiot. Feeling lost and stupid, I lowered the cabin's lights, relying on the fire-created illumination to paint the room with a warm glow.
By now, it had been an hour since Sharon went upstairs. I'd already drained two glasses of wine and the fire needed more logs. My emotions were on high alert, my nerves strained. But I was on no way tired, and decided to watch the fire a bit longer before going to bed. The logs I'd fed into the fireplace were fully engulfed in flames now, the sound of the raging but contained inferno filling the sounds of the large room. I stood at the mantle with my feet resting on a large, animal skin rug, looking down into the fire and lost in deep thought, trying to think of the words I could say to Sharon to make all this go away.
I guess that's why I didn't hear Sharon until she was standing behind me and spoke my name. "Nicky?" she said, her voice soft as spring rain. When my embarrassment would not allow me to turn to face Sharon, she spoke again. "Nicky. Turn around. Look at me." Here it comes, I said to myself. She's going to scold me, much like a mother does with a small child. "Nicky," Sharon said again, her voice still soft. "Turn around and look at me. Please."
In no way was I prepared for the sight that awaited me when I finally turned to look at Sharon. Expecting her to have either redressed or to have slipped into her pajamas, I found that my expectations were wrong. In an instant, Sharon's appearance caused me to inhale sharply as if I'd seen something unexplainable. For several long seconds, my brain was unable to function properly, to process what my eyes were seeing, to cause me to not believe what I was seeing.
Sharon had, indeed, changed from her jeans and blouse. But now, she appeared before like something from another world. A white silk robe covered her body, her long grey hair now laying unbraided over each shoulder, standing out in sharp contrast to the robe. A satin belt kept the robe closed, but only partially so as the robe lay open from Sharon's waist to her chin. A black bra, again in stark contrast to the white silk, supported Sharon's tits, each titty pushed up by the bra cups, and wedged together tightly to ensure that I was afforded a view of her amazing cleavage. The flames in the fireplace caused the golden charm suspended from her neck by a thin chain to glimmer in the firelight. Sharon's legs were wrapped in black stockings, her weight supported by four inch high heels, each with a small tuft of white fur attached to the toe. I'd seen the same type of shoe in the old men's magazines my father once hid in the garage. Until now, however, I'd never actually seen them on a woman's feet. Sharon remained stone still, her eyes boring into mine.
I was surprised when Sharon extended her arms and grasped my hands in hers. Now that she was close, I was able to inhale her perfume, a tropical scent that reminded me of many days and night spent in exotic locations. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to apologize for. Before I could act, Sharon spoke. "Nicky, it's been thirty years since I dressed this way for a man," she said. "After what you did tonight, after the way you handled the intruder, I feel as if I must repay you for your bravery and for saving me." When I tried to protest, Sharon released my hand and placed two fingers on my lips. "No, baby, don't object: Let me do this." After another moment of silence, Sharon said, "I need to do this for myself as well, Nicky." She released my hands and stepped back.
Unable to speak, and knowing what the immediate future had in store for me, I watched in mute silence as Sharon slowly untied the belt holding the robe to her body. A thought entered my mind at that moment, the voices in my head reminding me that Sharon was in her early eighties, and that I had yet to reach the age of fifty. It was as if I'd been transported back in time, as if some magical vehicle had come into my life and taken me to those days when, as a younger man, I found it impossible to not lust after Sharon.
As the robe opened then fell away, I did my best to prevent my eyes from bulging from my head. First, the bra straps appeared, thin, narrow, dark-colored bands stretching over Sharon's tanned shoulder blades, the black silk contrasting with her skin tone. As she removed each arm from the robe's sleeves, the golden charm lying between her tits moved from side to side, first resting on the right titty, then moving to the left. Finally, the expensive trinket came to rest in her cleavage, the tits pressed together so tightly I was certain it would be crushed by the sheer weight of each huge globe.
When Sharon had completely removed the robe, she held it in her hand and allowed the robe to drop to the animal skin rug under our feet. She stood before me now only partially clothed. A black bra, black, high-waisted French-cut panties, lace-topped silk stockings led my eyes to her shoes, perhaps out of style, perhaps not. But if they were, I did not care. What mattered most to me was that I now stood in the center of a very large cabin and the woman who I'd wanted to fuck for so long now stood within an arm's reach of me, dressed in a manner that had already caused my cock to grow hard and long. Competing voices screamed in my head, some telling me to run, to find my bedroom and go to sleep. But there really was no decision to make. I'd come this far, I'd kissed Sharon, and now, she was dressed for sex. What other decision was there to be made? The only decision I came up with was to let this amazing woman lead me to wherever it was she wished to take me. Both my cock, now rock hard, and my brain were eager to begin the journey.
"Nicky, I understand why you kissed me tonight," Sharon said as she stepped to me and closed the distance between us. "I know how younger men are sometimes attracted to older women." Her hand grazed upon my right cheek now as the perfume she'd applied in her absence wafted to my nose. "I'm flattered by your actions, Nicky," Sharon said. "I truly am." Again, she caressed my cheek, as she had so many, many times over my lifetime. Her hand was heated on my face, soft, and stimulating every sexual fiber in my body.
And then, Sharon kissed me. With my lips pressed against Sharon's mouth for a second time, it was as if time had rolled backward for me. As our lips pressed tighter and tighter, I heard the sound of soft moans filling my ears, and discovered I was unable to tell whether the moans came from my mouth or Sharon's. I lifted my arms and ran my fingers through her long, grey hair, the strands soft in my hands.
It was only natural that my hands also found their way to Sharon's tits. I'd waited too many years for this: I was not going to hold back now. Slipping the fingers from each hand under her bra strap, I ran my hands downward, over her shoulder blades, across the wide, soft skin of the tops of her tits, then sideways to meet at her amazing cleavage. By now, Sharon was moaning audibly as she extended both arms downward and began to attack the zipper in my trousers. Sharon broke the kiss, stepped back, and opened the front-closing bra. Just before she released the garment to allow it to fall open, Sharon stopped, again, and asked, "Nicky, can we do this? Can we?" The sealing of my lips against hers answered Sharon's question.
But there was more to be done than to simply answer questions. Both Sharon and I knew where we were headed: it was just a matter of time as to how long we took to get there. Did we play the seduction game, or did we rush into an act that, perhaps only a few short moments from now that would show us lying upon the bearskin rug, my cock buried deep inside my best friend's mother's cunt? Too many questions, Nick, an inner voice said to me. Shut up and go with it, another voice demanded.
Breaking the kiss, Sharon stepped back on her three-inch high heels, the move soundless as we stood in the center of the very large bear rug. Silently, Sharon shifted her hands to her chest and as my heart increased its pounding and relentless rhythm, the woman I'd fantasized about for most of my life opened and removed the front-loading bra, and for the second time this evening, her magnificent tits came into full and unobstructed view. Sharon lowered her right arm, the bra swinging freely from her hand. "Is this what you want, Nicky?" she asked softly.
Because of her age, Sharon's tits were showing some measure of droop and sag, but somehow, the two massive tits attached to Sharon's chest had somehow defied the gravity that caused so many other women's tits to slump toward their waists. I'd already touched them and the recent memory flashed of Sharon's titties being firmer than I'd expected. I also recalled how they seemed so large, much larger than the blouse revealed. Inner voices screamed at me again to move, move, move. But this was Sharon's show: I was too intrigued by what she might do next to change anything. I would wait.
Below her tits, Sharon's body also showed the effects of age, but again, only somewhat. It did not escape my mind that Sharon was in her early eighties: but neither did it escape my mind that I wanted to fuck her, despite the difference in age between us. Yes, there were stretch marks across her abdomen, but I did not care. Lowering my eyes again, I saw the high waistband of the French cut, black-dyed panties digging in slightly into her skin, but like the now discarded bra, it made no difference to me. The panties painted a picture of reality for me: the waistband sitting just under her navel, then guiding the eye downward toward her still concealed cunt, finally, disappearing between her stocking-covered legs, as small tufts of coarse pussy hair made their presence known by jutting out from the leg bands. Perhaps the sheerness of panties reflected their high quality: Despite being dark in color, there was no missing the darker, triangular-shaped patch of cunt hair located behind the seemingly see-through material.
The lace stocking tops were wide, at least three inches in height, the sheer black silk contrasting nicely with Sharon's tanned skin. It was when I noted the absence of tan lines that I realized my encounter with the naked Sharon at the lake was actually a sign that she sunbathed regularly in the nude. Allowing my eyes to continue their downward, optical journey, I took in the long, stocking-encased legs, well-muscled for a woman Sharon's age and finally, the shoes she'd chosen to wear for this special encounter.
All my life, I'd been a fan of women wearing high heels and stockings, and it was almost as if my knees went weak whenever I was in a sexual situation and the woman wore those special garments. So it was no wonder that I stood there transfixed, unable to take my eyes from Sharon's sexy feet. Unable to divert my attention from Sharon's feet, I heard the sound of material rustling above my head. Despite not knowing the source of the sound, I found it impossible to divert my attention from Sharon's high heels.
That is, until the sudden arrival of the bra diverted my attention. As I stared openly at her heels, Sharon's bra suddenly entered the scene, falling to her high-heeled feet, the long, black straps wrapping about her feet as if they were snakes, coiling on the bearskin rug. The two huge, cavernous lace cups tumbled over her toes, temporarily covered both feet, then fell to the side between her stem-supported feet. Each cup lay first on the point, the huge open spaces of the inside cup staring up at me. Because of my military career I saw the two bra cups as defeated soldiers who'd done their duty well and who, at the end of after a terrible struggle, had valiantly given up only after facing terrible, overwhelming odds. For another incredible moment, I stared at the bra, until, finally, my senses caught up with me and I realized that if Sharon's bra lay on the floor, then that could mean only one thing. Sharon's tits had to be exposed. In eager anticipation, in sexual hunger, I lifted my chin to yet again feast my eyes on the incredible sight of an eighty-two year old woman's tits.
But remember: these weren't just any tits. These were Sharon's tits, and I'd only been afforded a brief glimpse of them when she emerged from the lake after her evening swim. Visually locked into them now, I actually felt my palms begin to sweat and my cock began to dance inside my trousers. There they were, more visible in the cabin light, at least 38dd in size, perhaps larger, but firm, the nipples pointing at me, thick and meaty and the size of two very large thimbles. Each nipple was dark in color, the same dark brown as Sharon's eyes, and although I had yet to touch them, there was no doubt in my mind that when I drew them into my mouth, they would be both hard, yet soft. I stepped forward, more than eager to lay my hands upon each of Sharon's tits, wanting to lay my lips upon her nipples. It was Sharon's hand, placed against my chest that stopped my forward movement.
"No, Nicky," she said, her voice still quiet. "Wait, baby, please," she asked. Taking a step back, I watched as Sharon bent at the waist and slowly, as if she were performing a striptease, removed the French cut panties, sliding the silk down her waist and over her cunt, the sight of her pussy coming into view slowly. Ever so slowly.
First, the upper fringes of her cunt forest came into view, the hairs thin and sparse, yet dark, unlike the hair covering her head. As more and more of the panties fell away, the fibers became darker and thicker until finally, as Sharon lifted her right foot and slid the panties away and off her body, she stood again, the undergarment still clasped between her fingers. A distance of twelve inches separated her feet, the stems of her high heels now hidden in the bearskin rug. After what seemed an eternity, Sharon dropped the panties, the silk clothing falling to floor and adding to the ever growing pile of clothing at her feet.
I stepped forward again, and like a young child who cannot wait to grasp his favorite toy, I placed my open palms over each titty, the nipples again pressing against my palms. Sharon leaned forward, and laid her head at the base of my neck. He arms wrapped around my naked upper body as the combined warmth and the now high-intensity lust spread over us. As I lovingly massaged each titty, I heard Sharon say, "Oh, Nicky, baby," again and again. She seemed confused when I broke the hand contact with her tits and instead, wove my fingers into hers, and led her again to the same sofa where an hour before we'd started this amazing, sex-driven and lust filled journey.
Sharon knew what I had planned even before we arrived at the sofa. Guiding her to a sitting position with her back against the couch, I placed my hands on each of her silk-covered thighs and pressed her legs outward. Immediately, the thick forest of cunt hair came into view. Leaning forward now with my wide=spread hands leading the way, I extended my neck forward until my mouth was but millimeters from Sharon's cunt. I was surprised to see Sharon's clit projecting forward through the dense mat of pussy hair. But something inside of me convinced me that this would be a night of many, many surprises. With the ends of my fingers now located on each side of Sharon's semi-opened pussy lips, I spread Sharon's legs further, felt the fine silk covering her legs stimulating my hands, and knew that finally, since I was a teenager, really, the moment of truth had arrived.
Sharon flinched when the tip of my right index finger made contact with her clit. My eyes were focused on finding the opening to her pussy, but I was still aware enough to hear her inhale sharply as I probed her cunt and separated the thick, coarse hairs preventing me from accomplishing my objective. Although I was a man who seemed only moments away from fucking the most desirous woman in my life, my military training kicked in and I set out on a mission. A mission in which I would not fail to accomplish.
I was surprised at the volume of her voice and the level of physical reaction Sharon displayed when I placed the tip of my tongue against her wide, long clit. Sitting at the top of her cunt lips, once I spread her cunt hair, I had no difficulty finding her love button. I felt her hands move above me and when she did not place them on my head or shoulders, I knew Sharon was cupping each massive titty in her hands. Driving forward now, with both of my hands under and lifting Sharon's thighs to provide me with as much access as possible to her pussy, I attacked the old woman's clit with a vengeance. It was when I inserted first one then two fingers into her eighty-two year old cunt that Sharon truly began to react.
"MOTHERFUCKER, NICKY, MOTHERFUCKER!" she cried again, my cock growing harder now as this woman I was finger fucking began to utter words I'd never heard come from her mouth before. "OH SHIT, NICKY! OH HOLY SHIT!" she cried over and over, beginning to assist me now by lifting her ass upward in time with each of my tongue thrusts against her clit. Working my fingers faster now, I jammed a third finger inside Sharon's hairy cunt, the three fingers piled one atop the other as I used my hand like a blunt-tipped knife to provide Sharon with as much sexual pleasure as possible. The faster I finger-fucked Sharon, the more she reacted until at one point, she spread her legs so wide that I could have placed two of my bodies between them.
But I hadn't come this far to simply finger-fuck Sharon. So many years had gone by of me lusting after Brent's mother, so many years of not having the opportunity to be in this situation with her that I decided now was the time. After removing my juice-soaked hands from her pussy, I stood, and removed my trousers. I felt no shame as I stood naked before this well-aged woman, no shame that she was now seeing my entire body unclothed. I was ready to fuck her, ready to slide my cock as deeply as possible inside Sharon's cunt. But as had happened so often in the past, Sharon had other ideas.
Sharon leaned forward, her eyes on mine as she extended both arms and wrapped them around my naked ass. Even when the tip of my cock slid easily between her lips and into her mouth, Sharon's eyes remained fixed on mine. Even when she had the entire length of my hard, hard cock in her mouth and began to suck my cock as no woman ever had before, Sharon's blue eyes remained locked on mine. And as she began to slowly extended her neck forward, then backward, then forward again and to suck my cock as it never had been sucked before, Sharon's eyes remained fixed on mine. I placed my hands on the back of her head and assisted Sharon in swallowing my cock. The sensations exploding from the shaft caused me to stand on my toes, to drive my hips forward at such a speed that I feared I would cause Sharon to lose the oral lock she'd established around the meaty tube. And yet, her eyes remained fixed onto mine.
But like the experienced woman she was, Sharon did not lose the cement-like seal she'd established with her lips and mouth. Watching her suck my cock caused something to stir in me, something almost cruel in nature. It's not that I wished to hurt Sharon: no, I could never do that. But as she continued to blow my cock, I felt the urge come on to force more cock into Sharon's mouth. Tightening the grip with both hands I'd established on the back of her head, each time Sharon extended her neck forward, I assisted her by pushing my hands forward with enough force that Sharon was forced to take every last millimeter of my cock between her lips. This move, of course, caused Sharon to accept more cock into her mouth than she was ready for with two results.
First, there were the large, what seemed like almost painful gagging sounds coming from Sharon's lips. Now, I had no intention of causing Sharon any type of injury, but the sounds of the gagging, coupled with the sucking sounds she'd already been making, drove me to another and deeper level of lust altogether. Slam, slam, slam, went Sharon's head as I pushed her head forward with enough force that her nose began to smash powerfully into the area of skin just above my cock shaft. Gag, gag, gag, the sound escaped her lips as I force-fed the entire length, and then some, of my cock into this old woman's mouth. Something had come over me, and I felt as if the lost years needed to be made up for, as if somehow, attacking Sharon's mouth with my cock could somehow make up for all the lost time. On and on and on, Sharon's mouth accepted my piston-like cock while choking noises filled the room.
But the second thing that happened was that not once while I slammed my cock into Sharon's mouth did she ever take her eyes from me. I would have expected her to instead focus her eyes on the rapidly incoming shaft of cock meat penetrating her mouth at a high and probably painful pace. But no: Not once did this woman take her eyes from me. I took her actions as an approval, and when she reached between my legs and grasped my balls with both hands, I knew I could continue with the pounding blow job I was fortunate to receive.
But through it all, through the overpowering desire to shove every last inch of my cock into Sharon's mouth, the realization of how Sharon and I had reached this point punctured my actions. I wanted to make love to Sharon, not just fuck her, or slam my cock into her mouth at a high rate of speed. To Sharon's surprise, I removed my hands from the back of her head, placed them next under her arms, and lifted this lovely lady to her feet. Sharon's face held an expression of confusion until I led her to the center of the bearskin rug and guided her to the floor. The animal skin was surprisingly soft under my bare feet as I lay next to Sharon. For several moments, no other noise filled the room except for the sound of the crackling fire beside us. A soft glow filled the room as well, adding not only to the returned romantic nature of the situation, but also to the realization that finally, finally, Sharon and I were as I'd dreamed. When she moved toward me and we embraced, and as our lips again met and pressed together, I felt her press her lower torso to me as well. Breaking the kiss, Sharon brought her eyes to mine and said, "Take me, Nicky. Make love to me as you've wanted to since you were a young man."
So, she knew after all. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. But this woman who I might have loved desired me, and I had no intentions of disappointing her. Rolling her onto her back, and placing myself between her silken legs, I grasped my still hard cock with both hands and steered the tip toward Sharon's pussy. Rather than look into Sharon's eyes, I instead directed my attention to the head of my cock. I wanted to see the moment when my dick entered her cunt, when everything I'd hoped for beyond all belief finally came true.
Not surprisingly, Sharon's cunt was well-oiled and receptive to accepting the thick shaft. Two inches slid easily into her, then another, then another, as I hovered over Sharon now, feeling her lift her legs from the floor and position them alongside my waist. With each insertion of more cock, Sharon's legs moved back and forth, the stockings caressing me, stimulating every nerve in my body. I don't have an exceptionally long cock, so it required little time for me to become fully embedded inside her cunt. As I performed thrust after thrust to ensure my cock was completely inserted into Sharon's cunt, I watched her face, our eyes now locked again, and the message of why we were staring at each other so very crystal clear. She lowered her legs, dug the thin stems of her high heels into the carpet, and arched her back. It was time: My cock was where it needed to be and both Sharon and I were ready.
"Take me, now, Nicky," Sharon whispered over the noise of the flames. With a degree of tenderness I'd never known before, I established a rhythm that began slow, thrusting my hips back and forth at a speed that allowed both Sharon and I to enjoy the moment more than the two body parts that joined to create this wonderful sensation. "Yes, baby, yes," Sharon whispered, "Yes, Nicky." I chose to remain silent, as stimulated by her words as much as the sight of her naked body underneath me, her tits flowing like gelatin on her chest. Faster now, I quickened the pace, but only so much. I'd been waiting a long time to be in this situation with Sharon" I had neither the need nor the desire to rush matters. Leaning forward now, and with both of my hands placed on either side of her head, I stared down at Nicky as she continued to moan softly. When she extended her neck upward, I knew she again wanted to kiss me.
But I was wrong. Rather than press her mouth to mine, Sharon instead locked her lips around my left nipple. I have no idea if she knew my nipples were overly-sensitive for a man or not, but when she locked her lips around my tit bud, the move sent electrical signals of delight through my entire body. "Oh, god, Sharon," I moaned now, my voice mingling with the sound of the burning logs. Sharon was so into sucking my nipple that, as she'd done with my cock, sucking sounds competed with my moans. Releasing the left nipple, Sharon turned her attention to the right nipple, as sensitive as its mate. "Sharon, Sharon, Sharon," I called, knowing that if she continued to give my nipples oral attention, I would come soon.
It was when Sharon released my nipples and lay back on the rug, our bodies still moving in unison with each forward thrust of my body and each counter thrust of hers, that this woman who I was fucking let me know it was time. "Nicky, I want you to come inside of me," she said as she lifted both legs above her body. "Take my ankles, baby," she said. "Take them and give me the best you've got." Righting my body, but not losing the cock-to-cunt connection, I did as Sharon requested and grasped each of her ankles in my hands. With her three-inch, retro-style high heels now on both sides of my head, I began to ram Sharon's cunt again, the shaft of my dick embedding itself deeply between her pussy lips. "Yes, that's it, Nicky," Sharon said. "That's it." On and on, and closer now to coming than I'd been all evening, I continued to pump Sharon's pussy as the nerves in the shaft of my cock began to reach the point of accepting all the sexual stimulation they could handle. Below me, the words, "Nicky, Nicky, Nicky" continued to drift upward from the bearskin rug.
And then, she erupted. Sharon's orgasm slammed into her as I've never seen before. Thrashing her head violently from side to side, her grey hair partially covering her face one moment, then clear the next, Sharon's cunt seemed to contract around my cock shaft as if it had converted itself from a pussy to a set of pliers. Never in my sexual life had I experienced what was happening to my cock. As Sharon swam below me in an ocean of erotic pleasure, as her tits jiggled from side to side, as she thrashed her legs so wildly I had difficulty in maintaining my grasp on them, it was then that my own orgasm not only brewed but seemed to erupt as suddenly as Sharon's. Wave after wave of orgasm spread over me, causing me to drive forward with cock trusts so deep and so powerful that our cock and cunt connected bodies actually began to move slowly toward the fireplace. Thrust after thrust, Sharon and I made our way across the rug as two very intense and very powerful orgasms took command of our bodies.
In my entire life, I'd never experienced an orgasm as that which I'd just shared with Sharon. I was certain I'd deposited at least a gallon of hot come inside her pussy, certain that I'd filled every internal crevice inside Sharon's eighty-two year old pussy with more come than at any other time in my life. I was completely exhausted at the end of the sexual waves, just barely able to hold myself up. From my head to my toes, sexual seizures continued to vibrate across my entire body.
When it was all over, I lay slumped, chest heaving, across Sharon's tits while she massaged my back with her soft, soft hands. "Nicky, that was wonderful," she whispered into my ears between kisses. We lay in silence for several moments before I lifted my body and wedged myself into her outstretched arms. Each time she shifted her body to get more comfortable on the bearskin rug, the silk stockings covering her legs stimulated my legs. Each time she rolled toward me, her massive tits pressed tighter against my chest. For almost a half hour, we lay quietly and exchanged kisses while my cock returned to life. When Sharon felt me pressing the hard shaft again against her hand, she rolled me onto my back, straddled my waist and rode me to another shared orgasm as she faced away from me, her shapely ass lifting and falling as she fucked me, rather than me fucking her.
We slept, but only lightly. The following day was filled with sex in all positions and in every room of the cabin. By the time Brent - Stan - returned on Sunday, my cock was raw but my heart was filled. While my old best friend unpacked upstairs and out of sight of my car, Sharon kissed me, deeply, erotically, holding my face in her tender hands. Before letting my car drive away, she placed her hand on my arm as I sat in the driver's seat and said, "Stan has to testify next week as well. Will you come and stay with me?"
Now, honestly, how do you think I responded?
|
Note from the webmaster: authors always appreciate feedback about their stories, so by all means write the author a note if you liked the story! The author of this story: Joshua |