Summer School Ch. 04

It turned out, my day wasn’t over.

When I got back to Mamie Mama’s house I said goodbye, Margie said, “see you tomorrow,” and I went inside, kind of in a daze.

“Did you have fun?” she asked, looking up from the embroidery in her lap.

“I did,” I said, not meeting her eyes.

She giggled and said something I didn’t quite catch, maybe, “I’ll just bet you did.”

I think I blushed as I went into my bedroom.

I was reading when she said, “Come on, honey, dinner.”

Talk about country cookin’. We had meatloaf and mashed potatoes and corn on the cob with iced tea. Afterward, she washed dishes and I dried and put away. She went back to her chair and embroidery and I listened to her old console radio, KOA out of Denver, the original talk radio, and a local celebrity Bill Barker and his “crazy crew” were reading, of all things, Bram Stoker’s Dracula. We gathered around like I always imagined they did when radio was young.

When Bill signed off Mamie Mama went into her room and I to mine.

When I heard her call, “Davey,” I went to see what was up.

After a day of embroidery, her arthritic fingers were being defeated by the small buttons on her dress.

She looked almost childlike, almost like a little girl defeated by the buttons.

“Help me, please,” she said.

She had on one of those old-fashioned dresses with, by my actual count. 34 buttons down the front. She had managed the top two.

I started and even my young fingers had trouble with the tiny buttons. I was trying to picture how she had gotten them done up in the first place.

By the sixth one her bra, and along with it an expanse of cleavage, was showing.

I looked up for the first time since I had started on the buttons and met her eyes. She was smiling, a smile that I would, in later years, think of as a “satisfied” smile.

“It’s okay, Davey,” she said, “don’t stop.”

By the 22nd button I was bending uncomfortably so I slipped to my knees.

She giggled, an oddly young sound from her, and when I looked up she was smiling down at me but now it was more a grin than a smile.

“It’s been a while since I had a man on his knees before me,” she said, and she brushed my hair with her fingers.

With my newfound experience, I was feeling, well, experienced. So I looked up at her and said, “sounds like you like it.”

She smiled, a very happy smile, and said, “am I that obvious?”

I didn’t say anything, just finished the last dozen buttons before I lifted her foot, forcing her to grab my shoulders for balance, and laid it in my lap while I worked her shoe off. Then I did the other shoe before standing and gently working the dress off of her shoulders and tossing it onto the kocaeli escort chair.

I stepped back and looked.

I chuckled. “I swear,” I said, “if I looked up gramma in the dictionary I’d see you looking back at me.”

She looked good. Her hair was up, as it always was, I swear, the woman gets up a four in the morning so no one ever sees her without her hair and face done, and her makeup was good. Her breasts, in her white cotton industrial strength bra (I would look later and see the tag reading 48HH), showed about a foot of cleavage. They were very pale with a distinct tracery of pale blue veins.

The granny panties stretched over her pot belly would have made a pretty good parachute for a good-sized mammal. The pubic hair peeking out around the legholes was very thick and coarse, with about half white and half dark hair.

“And yes,” I said, hoping I exuded my newfound confidence, “you ARE that obvious.”

She giggled and blushed prettily. She turned and said, “finish what you started, Davey.”

Her bra had six of those little wire loop hooks. I might be confident, but I was not yet experienced. It took a few seconds to puzzle out how they worked. But I figured it out, got the bra loose, and worked it off of her arms.

She turned, oddly unashamed, hell, oddly proud, and dressed in only her panties I thought she was gorgeous. Those big tits, unbound now, hung low, actually laying on the roundness of her pot belly. Her areolas and nipples were, I now know with experience, normal size which is to say areolas about the size of a beer can with nipples the size of a middle finger, standing maybe a quarter inch above the surrounding areola, but they looked tiny on her huge breasts.

“You like my titties?” she asked and I chuckled at the archaic word.

“Very much,” I said, brushing my fingertips across her nipples and watching the areolas tighten into hard, tan cones with her nipples poking straight down at the floor and distinct love bumps showed on the areolas.

“Finish what you started,” she said, cupping my chin in her hand and smiling a sweet gramma smile, meeting my eyes with hers.

It seemed perfectly natural to get back to my knees before I started rolling those big panties down.

She was the same, but different from Margie or Bevvy or R.E. A big pad of fat made her pubis very prominent, almost hanging like a man’s balls might hang. Her pubic hair was thick and coarse and very long, hanging well below that big bag that was her pussy. I had a sudden urge to grab a comb and comb it.

It seemed perfectly natural to lay my hands on her hips and then lean forward to kiss the deep tunnel of her belly button. She giggled when I probed it with my tongue.

I kocaeli escort bayan looked up at her across the swell of her belly and breasts and she was smiling, I smiled back and buried my face in her belly button doing motorboat sounds. She laughed so hard I had to use my hands under her big soft ass to support her.

“Oh, God,” she giggled, “come to bed honey, and see how a woman does things.”

I helped her onto her bed, a big, tall thing with the softest feather mattress in the world. Seriously. I’ve slept in probably a hundred beds, maybe more, over the years and nothing is even close to that feather bed of hers.

When I started to get in with her she laughed, a happy sound, and said, “oh, honey, don’t be ridiculous. Get out of those clothes.”

Strangely, after what had already happened on this strange day, I felt embarrassed as I stripped off my clothes.

When I climbed in with her she smiled, kissed me, a good kiss too, and then rolled over and rummaged through the drawer on her little nightstand.

“Close your eyes,” she said, and I did.

I felt her lightly touch my dick and felt myself come erect. And then I felt a band of pressure move slowly down the shaft to the base, right at my balls.

“I do love this little gadget,” she said.

I lifted my head and saw a little band of silver at the base of my erection, with a tiny little ball attached. It looked, for all the world, like a tiny version of one of those balls you see at a BINGO game where they roll the balls around before pulling one and calling out “B7” or something.

“What?” I started but she giggled and cut me off with a kiss.

“At my age, honey, a girl needs strong sensations,” she said, lightly stroking my erection.

It took just a few seconds to get used to this new pressure and then I was looking at those amazing breasts, what she called her “titties.”

“You men,” she said, giggling, and lifting the left breast, I was laying on my right side then, and offering it. “Is this all you want?”

I chuckled and said, “well, not all, but it’s a start.”

She giggled and said, “here, baby,” and brushed her nipple against my lips.

I took it into my mouth, just her nipple at first but as she used her hand to offer more I accepted her areola and then breast tissue until my instincts took over, those instincts far below the level of any thinking, the same thing that has a baby an hour out of the womb feeding hungrily, and latched on. I was massaging her nipple and areola, delightfully firm, against the roof of my mouth with my tongue and her breath caught.

“That’s nice, baby,” she said and then giggled and said, “baby” again.

I really have no idea how long I izmit escort nursed that first time. She was humming a soft little song, something oddly tuneless but also comforting, and she’d say things like, “that’s nice,” or, “harder,” or “not so hard,” making us both chuckle softly.

But I was getting to her. I could smell it. Her womanscent was a little different from Margie or Bevvy or R.E. A little, well, somehow, “stronger” is the word I guess. Now don’t get me wrong, it was a pleasant scent, hell, it was a wonderful scent.

And it was an undeniable scent.

I released her nipple and pushed, gently rolling her onto her back.

She was smiling, a very happy smile as I got my knees between hers and she gasped, well, she had a quick intake of air, when I moved forward and slipped inside of her. She hissed quickly when I finished that first slow, gentle thrust, and that little device on my cock contacted her clitoris.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, smiling up at me, her legs now locked on mine, her calves behind my knees.

“I’ll try to make it worth your while,” I said, smiling down at her.

I had what I’ve since learned to call “staying power” after my day. And I had some idea of what women, at least women in this family, liked so I was settling into a rhythm. With each thrust, the device she had put on my cock would bump her clitoris drawing a little gasp from her. It took a minute or so before I realized I was feeling a burning on my cock. When I looked down I saw that there was a streak of red and I understood that the little ball was distributing, well, something.

She was grinning up at me.

“I told you, honey,” she said, giggling and using her vaginal muscles to squeeze, “I need stronger sensations at my age. It’s a little red pepper, very mild, and a little cinnamon. Can’t you smell it?”

“It burns,” I said.

Her eyes got big, looking, for all the world, like a little girl suddenly surprised by a new understanding. “It does?” she asked in a cute voice.

So I thrust, harder this time, making her grunt.

“Not too bad,” I said, grinning down at her.

“That’s right,” she said, “harder.”

I’m still not sure what to call what we did that night. It was lovemaking, to be sure. But there was a roughness, almost a violence, that it quickly became clear she wanted.

I would pull out, almost all the way, and then thrust back in, HARD, making her grunt, but her hips would thrust to meet me.

When she came it was wet and her breath was coming in shuddering gasps. I held still until the wave passed and then started my rhythm again. She came like that three times, each one almost identical, before joining me in my own release.

It had been a busy day, though, and I softened almost immediately.

“Not bad,” she said, smiling and kissing me softly, “for a first time.”

As I suckled on her breast, she said, “I expect better tomorrow.”

I murmured something.

And went to sleep.