Mrs. Bigelow


I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me.

After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

My most vivid memory; the one I most tried to suppress; the one that mortified me so, muscled its way into my consciousness. Eight years earlier, with a lengthy foreground (perhaps another time), I attempted to seduce the boy-man Kenneth, who was 18 at the time. I fell dismally short as a vamp. It was the last time we were to be together, I was certain then. I knew that I would have to be the initiator due to the difference of so many years in our ages. I was the one who had sexual experience. My dear Kenneth was, I was quite sure, still a virgin. I was 56 then. I was lonely after Jim’s death and I longed for intimacy. Against all reason I did so want Kenneth to hold me, caress me and make slow love with me. I wanted to make him into the lover I needed. I had increasingly, teased and titillated him brazenly; even ruthlessly. But when it came to the ultimate act, all pretenses abandoned, I hesitated and vacillated. The moment slipped away. Then he was gone. Kenneth’s family moved away across the country.

But I felt so foolish. My resolution had waxed and waned. Finally on the last day he visited at my home I got him into my arms by insisting that he embrace me for a goodbye hug and a kiss. I am 5’9″ (maybe less now as the years take their toll) and Kenny had grown so that at 18 he was nearly 6 feet. He was gorgeous as his adolescent body filled out into the flower of manhood. I had fanned the sexual tension between us deliberately; so that only a thin veil of frayed cultural disapproval and a lingering crumb of rejection anxiety remained between us; or so I thought. I was very wet and he was very hard; my panties were soaked and there was no hiding his vigorous erection.

I stepped in close and pressed my body against his. He tried to keep his cock away from contact. “Hold me tight for a bit, please Kenny,” I said. “I’m a silly old woman, but I can’t help it. I’ve grown to be so very fond of you. Don’t fret about your erection, I don’t mind.” With shuddering voice I added, “I like it.”

He grinned, a silly grin and flushed. Kenneth let his hips relax then and allowed his stiff member to press against my round tummy. My breasts flattened against his hard young chest. My pussy sighed open still further and oozed more anxious lubricant into my panties. I rose up on tiptoe and, taking the hint, he bent his knees a bit so that we brought our sexual organs into contact, only our garments intervening.

“Oh Kenny,” I sighed, “this is so nice. You feel so good.” I slid my cheek along the line of his jaw. When my lips found his I kissed him; a warm kiss lasting far longer than a maternal or friendship peck would go on and be yet considered proper.

“I’ll miss the wonderful relationship we’ve built,” I said. “I’ll miss the excitement and stimulation of you near me; of you touching me and, you naughty boy, of you wanting to do shameful things with an old lady.”

How I summoned the boldness to say that I don’t know. But I recall I was astonished to hear the words come out of my mouth. As I said this I brazenly humped myself against his so firm cock. It felt so good. I looked into his eyes as I spoke and shuddered at the pure lust boiling in them. I then leaned in for another warm kiss; a kiss eagerly received. So I invited a raise in the sexual stakes by urging his lips apart with my tongue. He responded with his own tongue and with hands on the move and a thrust of his hips in response to my own grinding. In that moment we left behind what had been a warm increasingly sensual friendship; this was now serious foreplay and a prelude to making love; oh well yes, a prelude to fucking and being fucked.

We stood like that for a while, my face nuzzled against his. His hands continued to roam and slid down to the cheeks of my prominent round ass. He fell into a rhythm hunching his groin against me, legs slightly bent to bring his hard cock against my mons and his large hands holding my cheeks, pushing me firmly against his enflamed penis.

“God, Mrs. B,” he gasped when I released his lips, “I’ve dreamed about doing this with you. You feel so good, so good. I can’t help this (a thrust told me which “this” he meant.) I’m sorry but I’m, ahhh, too excited. I want to… I, oh God I’m going to…. Let me feel your tits and your va… your pu….. your vu…..”

He was transported; the intensity manifest in the way he babbled almost incoherently and humped against me with increasing ardor. I was at once stunned by the intensity of his lust and by my own jigolo escort gaziantep level of arousal. But a shiver of fright came suddenly to the surface; provoked by the frenzy I had unleashed. Then it struck me suddenly; a ruinous rational thought; I was going to fuck this sweet man-boy and send him home smelling of sex; redolent with the unmistakable odor of female rut and his semen. In my mind a shrill voice broke into my consciousness. “Shame,” it cried, “You old cow. He’s young enough to be your grandson.” The thought impacted me like a last desperate lifeline tossed by my conscience. Pure reaction caused me to grab the proffered line.

I pulled away from his embrace and fought for composure. My heart sank as I saw a mixture of emotions, stunned surprise, lust, anger, and longing cross his face as I summarily interrupted his climb to release. My pussy sent frissons of delight though my groin. My carnal persona struggled to break out of the fetters of social propriety that had been suddenly thrown up by my “proper lady” persona. It flashed foul curses through my brain. “Goddamn you, you stupid old woman,” it raged. “Get back over there and FUCK that boy! You need it; didn’t you feel that beautiful cock straining in his pants? You DID that! You! Not some teeny bopper twat. When the old brood mare is in heat do you think she cares how old the stallion is? He doesn’t care. He’ll put his cock in your pussy as quick as you let him know it’s ready and available.”

Still I could not make myself move back into his embrace. I did so need an orgasm. I needed to be embraced and loved, I needed him. I needed to cry.

“Quickly, darling,” I heard myself saying with quivering voice, “take it out of your pants before you mess in them. Take it out and relieve yourself. Do it, please Kenneth.” Even as I urged him I could feel a trickle of coital fluid that had begun to meander down my thigh. I too was near orgasm.

I flushed at the wretched look of dismay now on his face. He looked so frustrated and chagrined. But there was no hope for it. The frottage I had initiated brought him to a frenzy of lust that demanded an orgasm. He flushed with embarrassment but unzipped his pants and pulled his lovely cock out already stroking it as he did. I had not previously seen it although I had felt of it through his clothing. Now it fascinated and thrilled me. A small orgasm flitted through me and my breath caught. I clutched my groin. I did not think in my post-menopausal state that my pussy could or would produce the quantity of coital lubricants that now seeped out of my panties and wet my thighs.

He left off stroking long enough to spread his arms and thrust his hips forward so his penis became my complete focus. Then he grabbed himself and heatedly said, “You see that Mrs. B., you could have had that! I know you want me as bad as I want you. You’ve enticed me and now you stopped.”

His hand pumped more rapidly now as he watched me. Intimacy bred candor. Breathing heavily he said, “I’ve always loved your tits Mrs. B., I’ve always loved your ass; your smell. I’ve always loved the way you feel, your hands, your cheeks, your body when you mothered and smothered me. I love your laugh, your face, your lips, your belly, your legs; your pretty feet. I want so bad to see it, feel it, taste your pussy and put this in you,” said with a shake of his hard cock.

“I’m sorry Kenneth, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on. I let my feelings overcome my judgment. Here,” I said then, “Look at me and don’t hate me, please.” With that I lifted my dress and wiggled out of my panties. The odor of my sex rose and permeated the room. I stood and lifted the hem of my dress to my hips and displayed my sopping sex ready and anxious.

He groaned and increased the vigor of his masturbation.

“Yes, he gasped, “Oh, it’s beautiful, your pussy, your cunt; so wet, so open. Oh, and that’s your clit isn’t it? Ah, Mrs. B., we could have just done it. My cock doesn’t know how old you are. Your pussy doesn’t know how young I am. We could’ve given each other so much pleasure; so much joy.”

As he spoke tears welled in my eyes but still I was able to see that fluid had oozed out the glans of his cock and it now lubricated his furious jacking. I moaned, “I’m so sorry darling. I want you too, so much. You light a fire in me. It feels as though it is going to burn me up. I just don’t know what happened. I just had an overwhelming attack of conscience; stupid scruples; stupid, stupid, stupid.”

He moaned. His enflamed cock jerked and twitched and then he spurted, once, twice, three times in long parabola that diminished with each ejaculation. When he came so vigorously a spasm passed through my vagina and I too came; so fiercely that my knees nearly buckled. It had been a very long time since I felt an orgasm that intense.

Kenneth staggered under the intensity of his orgasm but his beautiful enflamed cock quickly became flaccid. He tucked gaziantep lezbiyen escort bayan it back into his pants. I had dropped my dress. We faced each other in chagrin. But he summoned some inner resource and spoke then with remarkable composure and maturity, “Thank you for what you’ve given me over the years Mrs. B. I’ve behaved badly just now and made this mess; I couldn’t stop myself. I’m only sorry that you couldn’t bring yourself to let me do sex with you. I will always regret not doing something I think we both wanted very much. Maybe you will too. I’d better go now.”

He turned to leave, but through my tears I sternly commanded him to stop. “You just wait young man. Kenneth you do not leave yet.” I made a quick trip to the kitchen and returned with my wet panties in a baggie. “Take these. Keep them somewhere that only the two of us will know you have them. He took the baggie and stuffed it in his pocket.

I kissed him lightly on the cheek and on his mouth. Our tears mingled. “Now go” I said, “and be a good man.”

* * *

That was eight years ago; then the phone call.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” a very manly, poised, confident sounding voice, “Mrs. Mona Lee Bigelow?”

“Yes,” curiously, “this is Mrs. Bigelow. Who is calling?”

“Mrs. B this is Kenneth; Kenny Franklin. I used to live here in Norfolk and come over to your house because I was, um, fascinated with your husband’s model train setup.”

“You’re Kenneth,” puzzled, “that Kenneth? My goodness you sound like a man; is that really you Kenneth?”

A chuckle, again poised, self-assured, very masculine came down the line. “Mrs. B it is me, that same Kenneth. I’m a lieutenant in the Navy now. We’ve just brought my ship to drydock here. So I thought about you, of course. And I hoped I could see you while I’m on leave.”

I fought to keep my composure and keep my emotions out of my voice.

“Kenneth, I, I, I don’t know,” I heard myself saying. “It’s been what; eight years? What are you now 25 or 26? I haven’t heard a word from you in years and now you’re here and you want to see me?”

I immediately regretted the plaintive way my answer sounded. A smorgasbord of emotions tumbled through me. I was at once thrilled, irritated, intrigued, puzzled and yes, I must admit I was titillated. Astonished, I realized pleasant warmth was gathering in my groin.

He ignored my querulous response. “I should have called or written,” he said. But I was not sure you’d want to hear from me. It was wrong of me not to contact you. But when we were on our way here I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the last time we were together. I thought, we’re both adults now. Don’t we owe it to ourselves Mrs. B? Don’t we owe ourselves a chance to at least say hello, to see each other? We had a loving relationship and I think I was special to you. You were certainly a very special woman in my life; actually more than you may realize. I tell you what, if you’ll be more comfortable, let’s go somewhere public, I could take you to dinner this evening and just talk. I promise to be a gentleman.”

Cheeky boy, I thought indignantly. He thinks he can come back into my life just like that! I composed my response mentally (all this in a moment; less than it takes to tell). Oh, I’m sorry Kenneth, but I have plans for this evening already and tomorrow there’s church of course, then I have volunteer work at the hospital; maybe another time? When your ship comes in again; say in eight years?

Instead, “Well, Chez Omer is one of my favorites,” is what came out of my mouth. “Why don’t I meet you there at say, 6:30? You can call and make the reservation.”

He protested that he had a rental car and could pick me up. But I insisted that we meet at Chez Omer; at the time thinking that I certainly was not going to do anything to suggest I might want to move beyond where we had… alright, where I had stopped us long ago. Moreover, I felt as though he would be disappointed when he saw me at 64 than as he remembered me at 56. If I detected that dismay, I knew I would be desperate to get away from him and slam the door shut quickly on the past; just accept myself for the old dowager I had become.

After bathing and shaving my legs I spent some time going through my wardrobe. I did not trim my bush so as not to concede in my mind what I felt emotionally. So I settled on a maroon two piece suit with an “A” line skirt that extended below my knees and black low heeled pumps. Underneath I wore nude hose, a garter belt and my usual unremarkable panties and matronly bra. My maroon suit is an ensemble that is deadly for a mature woman as I think it makes one look old and bleak. It would challenge this brash young man’s notion of me as a sexual partner; a notion that he should no longer be fixated on, after the years that had passed. My fingernails were well manicured but in keeping with my deliberately dowdy look I wore no nail polish, minimal gaziantep escort masaj salonları makeup, just a little blush and lipstick and a spritz of perfume. My hair I simply pulled back and clasped in a chignon. Small stud gold earrings, a string of pearls and a shoulder strap purse completed my ensemble. I was ready; a bit apprehensive but ready.

When my taxi stopped in front of Chez Omer one of the young men outside immediately stepped forward and opened the door. He greeted me and asked if I was meeting someone. I said yes and he said, “Would that be a Lieutenant Kenneth Franklin, United States Navy?”

I had paid little attention to the “valet,” but taken aback by the question I quickly turned to look into the face of the tall, handsome young man in khaki slacks, white shirt and blue blazer who flashed a dazzling broad smile at me.

“Oh my,” Kenneth! It is you. My goodness you’ve certainly grown up.”

I took in the sight of the man before me. He was Kenneth but in posture, bulk, mature features, authoritative voice and manner he had shed his boyhood completely. This was a man, a young man to be certain, but a man in full who stood looking at me with a warm, steady and frank gaze.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” he said, “It is so good to see you. Thank you ever so much for accepting my invitation. You are as lovely as I remember you.”

Blandishments, I thought, but I was pleased. I flashed a little smile and simply told him thank you.

We went in together, and the maître de hurried up to us, “Ah Lieutenant Franklin, madam, we have your table ready, right this way.”

The warmth of that greeting puzzled me since as far as I knew Kenneth was not known in Norfolk. As we took our seats I realized I was a bit excited and resolved to calm myself with light chit chat.

“Kenneth,” I said, “He seemed to know you. Isn’t that odd?”

“He knows my family, but I just met him. He knows my Uncle Benjamin.”

Only later did it dawn on me that Kenneth had lavished a $100.00 tip on the man.

Kenneth’s largesse, unbeknownst to me, brought us exceptional service; in a restaurant were good service was the norm we received extra attention.

Kenneth had a very nice bottle of wine for the table and I realized after a while that I was on my third refill and just a bit tipsy. But I managed to maintain my dignity as I picked at my shrimp salad and let Kenneth do most of the talking. He was voluble, talking about his life since we were last together. He talked about his college years, graduate school and his experiences as a deck officer in Navy guided missile cruisers and destroyers. When I said I would like to see a picture of him in his lieutenant’s uniform he mentioned a cruise book from his ship’s latest deployment and that he would be glad to show me pictures of himself in it if we could meet again. At the moment I was noncommittal.

The wine made its way through me rather quickly and as I was somewhat tense in the circumstances the combination made me have to pee. I excused myself and made my way to the ladies room.

When I was washing my hands after I peed, an elegantly dressed little woman joined me at the sinks. She had to be in her eighties. A small smile played on her lips. She spoke to me.

“That young man you are with is very handsome. Your grandson?” she asked. Although I thought her a bit brash for asking, I politely explained no, that he was the son of a family that used to live in Norfolk; that when he was a youngster he visited my home because he was a model train enthusiast and my late husband was too and had an elaborate setup in our basement.

Her eyes twinkled as she put her hand on my arm and smiled sweetly, “I’m glad he’s not your grandson,” she said. “A man shouldn’t look at his grand-mother the way that young man looks at you.”

For the second time that evening I was taken aback. I felt myself flush.

She patted my arm. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a nosy old lady but let me tell you, if you have feelings for that young man you really are fortunate because he wants you very badly.”

I was astonished but also bemused. “You can see that from the way he’s been looking at me?”

“Oh yes my dear,” she chuckled, “I’ve had many men, including enthusiastic youngsters, in my bed over the years. I know the look of desire in a man’s eyes. I don’t know what you may have done with him in the past but I can tell what he wants to do with you now.”

I could not quite believe this sweet little octogenarian was really saying these things to me. A bit flustered, I inanely asked, “And what is that; you think he wants to do with me?”

“Why, he wants to fuck you, dearie. And I think that’s what you want too. Now don’t be upset with me. Seize the opportunity. Take the pleasure your body still has in it. Don’t let it wither away and leave you with only regret. You will make that young man very happy and pleased with himself and you will get more pleasure from him than you thought possible.”

With that she picked up her clutch purse’ reached behind and adjusted her dress; then patting her bottom she returned to the dining room. When I passed her table of six elderly women they all smiled at me and one of them winked. I was a bit chagrined but another part of me cheered at the realization this group of women would credit me with feminine appeal enough to draw this handsome young man into my bed.

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