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First part of a series about young man’s sexual fascination with sexy 65-year-old woman. Working on second part, let me know how you like the first part, the set-up for fun things to cum.
Suzie Curry was beside herself trying to set up her new computer. Never good with those sorts of things, she’d only recently gotten a new cell phone, an iPhone, and it took forever to master it. And now, with a new laptop she’d gotten as a 65th birthday present from her pastor, it was even worse.
“Dammit, why won’t this work?” she fumed one hot afternoon after managing to turn the computer on and set it up but failing miserably at hooking up to the Internet. “Damn, damn, damn!”
She needed the computer for her work. The blonde widow woman worked at a local church, sending out newsletters and emails and keeping track of events and such. She did that mostly at work, where the older computer didn’t present a problem. But now they’d gone to a newer system, and she needed to learn it. The pastor had given her the laptop to use at home, to work there and get used to using the equipment at the church.
She knew her job was on the line. Modern ways needed to be adopted, and adapted to, and Suzie was long set in her ways. But with her moderate Social Security, and pittance her late husband had left her, she needed the job. Failing to keep up could mean loss of employment. She had to figure this out, and had just spent much of her free Saturday trying, after playing tennis with friends.
So she tried one last time, and couldn’t connect. In frustration, she called one of her best friends, Mary, who had grandchildren whom she assumed were good with computers. She had none of her own.
“Aren’t they all well versed in this…this stuff?” Suzie sighed into the phone. “I mean they’re kids, they grew up with these things. Are any of your grandkids around, hon? Damn, I’m sorrier than ever I don’t have any!”
“Yeah, in fact Dennis is, he’s here now doing some work for me around the house, I can ask him to swing by on his way home,” Mary said.
“Oh, would you please, Mary, that would be nice,” Suzie said hopefully. “Tell him I’ll pay him if that helps.”
“Nonsense, you’re my friend, he’s known you forever, too, he’s happy to come help you hook up,” Mary said.
In the background, Suzie heard the boy groan. Clearly, spending a late afternoon helping an old woman with her computer wasn’t in his cards. She sighed.
“Well, OK, but I don’t want to be a bother, please,” Suzie said. “It’ll be nice to see him, God, it’s been a few years. How old is he know?”
“Eighteen, just turned,” Mary said proudly. “He’s a good boy, always willing to help. He’ll be right over.”
“Well, OK, thanks,” Suzie said. “I have fresh lemonade if that helps…”
She waited for him, thinking about showering and changing. She’d gotten back from tennis a couple hours ago, hot and sweaty, and still felt that as she labored over the damned laptop. She felt grungy in her short white tennis skirt and dirty old socks and sneakers as she looked in the hall mirror, fixing her short blonde hair into a sweaty ponytail and ignoring how tired and haggard she looked.
“God, where did the years go?” she sighed to herself.
She was still a good-looking woman, or so friends told her, urging her to date more. She hadn’t much, if at all, in the six years since her husband passed. And she was fit, very fit, playing tennis and working out. Her legs, she thought as she looked down at them, were said to be her best feature, long and lean, muscular even, tanned and shapely. She thought of them suddenly wrapped around her husband’s back or face in the rather robust sex life they’d enjoyed.
She missed that. She missed him. Then the doorbell rang and she shook away such thoughts and walked toward the sliding door in her kitchen. Through the sink window, she saw a very handsome young man. She hadn’t seen Dennis in a bit and he’d filled out nicely, tall, lean, muscular, with dark hair and brown eyes.
For an instant, her mind flashed back to her husband. For an instant, she thought how much she missed sex. For an instant, the memory of her tawny thighs wrapped around her husband’s face gave way to Dennis’s taking its place. She shook her head.
“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?” she grumbled to herself. “He’s just a kid, an 18-year-old kid!”
She opened the slider, Dennis smiling at the comely widow beaming at him.
“Dennis, thank you so, so much, I’m so sorry to bother you!” she gushed. “Honestly, there are so many better things for you to be doing than hooking up an old woman!”
He blushed. Clearly she never knew the meaning of the expression “hooking up” in modern times. She shut the door and walked to the refrigerator.
“Would you like some lemonade, hon, before we hook up?” she smiled.
She looked pretty amazing, Dennis found himself thinking as he nodded to her and she bent casino siteleri inside the ‘fridge. Her grandmother’s age, he realized, she was his grandmother’s age. He’d always had a thing for older women, but topping out in their 30s, 40s at best, and never having sex with any. But their images were a constant source of his mastubatory fodder.
He took out his cell phone, holding it by his side. There, he had stored hundreds of images and videos of older woman, taken on the sly, of mature women around town, at school, anywhere he could get shots of their sexy legs and feet. Including some of some of his grandmother’s sexier friends, but never Mrs. Curry. Dennis was a lower-body man, and now Mrs. Curry’s was driving him nuts.
Her legs were definitely her best feature, he thought as she rummaged in the ‘fridge, her short tennis skirt riding up to reveal supple, delineated hamstring muscles, firm and sinewy as she stretched them, the softly wrinkled flesh going hard. As he was. His cock stiffened in his pants and he casually keyed the video function on his phone, walking closer to get a better shot.
“You don’t have to bother, Mrs. Curry, honestly,” he said, careful to film while she was looking into the ‘fridge.
She assured him it was no trouble, and then came out with the lemonade, smiling and pouring him a tall icy glass.
“Follow me,” she said brightly. “My new laptop is in the living room.”
He keyed the phone again, walking with it low to capture than the flexing, sexy old calves as they moved across the room, bulging above the dirty white socks that just cupped the bottom of the sweet sweep of muscle. This was good stuff, he thought to himself, figuring out ways to get more. He couldn’t believe what gorgeous legs this sexy old woman had.
Her work space, such as it was, was a small built-in shelf into the corner of the fireplace, only a few feet wide and a couple deep. The laptop was powered up, and he looked at it.
“You got it to work, I see,” he said. “But you can’t connect to the Internet?”
“No, no, I’ve tried, but no, nothing,” she said, wringing her hands nervously, not wanting to bother the boy.
“Where’s the router?” he asked.
A blank look. “The…rooter?”
“No, no, the router,” he laughed. “It’s the…oh, never mind, there it is over there. Just need to hook you…uh, hook it up…”
He got it from the box she’d never opened and got down on his knees to wiggle into the small space beneath the desk, hooking it into the system. With a sidelong glance, he saw her legs, nothing but her legs, from mid-thigh down, soft and tanned and sexy, as she stood. His cock grew harder still and he took the chance to get some quick video of her supple, sinewy gams.
He came back up, to his knees, and fiddled with the laptop, getting the command needed to type in the router codes to get her online. He smiled at her before ducking back beneath the desk.
“Uh, I’ll read off the numbers and letters, Mrs. Curry,” he said, pointing to the spot on the screen for them. “You just type them in. Here, sit down, it’s easier.”
“Ok, Dennis, whatever you say, you’re the pro!” she laughed.
He bent under the desk, flipping the router over, finding the code. He looked left as she sat down, her thighs slightly parting in her little skirt, her calves thickening in muscular bulged above her little white socks.
He thought he would cum in his pants. Quickly, he fired up his cell phone again, taking image after image of this sexy old woman’s incredibly athletic, shapely legs. He watched and filmed as she kicked off her sneakers and sat wiggling her toes as she waited.
The smell hit him in a wafting wave of pussy and foot funk, confined in the heat of his small space. He groaned inaudibly, feeling his cock get wet in his shorts. Bending closer to her, he put his face inches from her feet. She couldn’t see him as she stared at the screen, awaiting the code. He inhaled deeply of her socks, moaning, and now switched to video, panning up her freckled, tanned shins, her calf muscles flaring around the shiny bone in front, and up to her slightly saggy thighs. Inside, he saw her white panties and the unmistakable profusion of pussy hair springing from the sides.
“Oh my God,” he heard himself hiss.
“What is it, are you OK?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, I meant the letters…so small..it’s dark in here…”
“I have a flashlight, will that help?”
“No, it’s ok, my phone has one, it’s fine,” he said, switching it on.
“A flashlight in a phone!” she laughed. “Oh, I’ve so much to learn!”
He fired the beam between her luscious thighs, filming the sexy hanging flesh of them and the hairy pussy contained in her panties. He didn’t have long, he knew it.
“The code?” she asked finally.
“Yup, got it,” he said, continuing to film, tilting it at her legs with one hand, and tipping the router with the other. “Ready?”
“You canlı casino bet!” she said brightly. “Oh, this is exciting, I can’t wait to have you hook me up!”
He smiled, filmed and slowly read the code, one letter and number at a time. And purposely made the last one wrong.
“Dammit, didn’t work!” she said after she’d hit return as he told her.
“That’s ok, let’s try again,” he smiled, continuing to film her incredible legs, which were flexing now as she fidgeted in her seat.
Again he read them off. Again he made one number wrong. Then again and one more time, getting tons of footage he couldn’t wait to look at later. He finally recited the right code, practically from memory of saying it so much, freeing him up to zoom in closer on the older woman’s phenomenal legs, all the while getting closer to her feet to sniff them and her sweaty, rank sneakers near him, and then place his face tantalizingly close to her slightly parted thighs for another whiff of her essence between them.
“BINGO!” she cried out, slapping her thigh with her hand in excitement, sending a quiver through the fleshy, which Dennis duly recorded. “Oh, come on out, you must be all cramped in there!”
He quickly keyed the photo compartment on his phone, and there was a frozen video image of Mrs. Curry’s luscious thighs. He smiled, and felt his dick get harder still.
He shuffled out, phone in hand as Suzie stood to let him up. She didn’t know a lot about cell phones, but noticed that he had one like hers. And on the screen, for a brief moment, she saw her thighs, her thighs slightly open, her panties beneath.
“Oh my God!” she thought to herself, watching the young man climb from under the desk to kneel before it and tap away at the keyboard. “He…he was taking pictures? Videos? Of…Oh my GOD!”
And then she felt herself tingle in a way she hadn’t felt for too long. She watched his strong shoulders flex in his tight t-shirt, arms bulging as he worked her laptop. Nervously, she edged closer, looking down. Sure enough, there was an outline in his shorts, long, thick and very hard.
Her mind was flooded with thoughts, all totally forbidden, inappropriate and undeniably sexy. It had been so long, she thought, far, far too long. She thought of the boy on his knees, she imagined her sitting down, spreading the legs he seemed so fascinated by, giving herself to him, taking him for her pleasure. There, down there. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts, but not totally.
“Thanks, Dennis, thanks so much,” she said calmly. “Would you like some more lemonade?”
“Uh, sure Mrs. Curry, thanks,” he said, about to stand but realizing the folly of that given he had a hardon that wouldn’t quit. “I’ll just…uh, relax on the couch there…”
He shuffled over, bent over, sitting. She smiled, retrieved the glass and went to the kitchen. Bending into the ‘fridge, she knew she was blocked from his view, her upper body. She purposely lingered, stretching her back leg out to flex it. She heard him shift on the couch a few feet away. He had to be filming again, she thought.
She returned, noticing him quickly slipping the phone into his pocket. Smiling, she put the lemonade on a side table. He stood, hunched over, walking around the couch.
“This the, uh, bathroom?” he asked politely, face red now.
“Yes, by all means, go,” she said, pointing.
She looked at the couch as she heard him peeing in her toilet. His phone had slipped out onto the cushions. She picked it up, found the videos, played one briefly. She gasped loudly, hand to her pretty, puckered mouth. There, close up and personal, were shots of her calves and thighs and pussy hair peeking out from her dirty white panties.
Her panties. She realized she’d left a pile of dirty clothes on the washer in the bathroom. She put the phone down, stepping to the door. Silence. Save for the barely audible grunts of the young man she presumed to be pleasuring himself there. Possibly with her dirty panties.
“Are you OK, Dennis?” she finally called out, not realizing she was slipping her hand under her tennis skirt to play with that hairy pussy in those dirty panties. “Everything all right?”
“Uh, YES, Mrs. Curry, just uh, finishing up, that’s all,” he stammered.
“I’m sorry my dirty…laundry is in there, I forgot to do laundry today before playing tennis,” she said. “Pay it no mind, Dennis, sorry!”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Curry,” he said nervously, now stuffing his unsatisfied cock back into his pants and dropping the panty he was sniffing back into the pile, eying a particularly disgusting looking blue pair. “Be…right out…”
She pulled her hand from her pussy and sat down, completely confused now and unsure what, if anything, to do. Dennis came out, hands over his crotch, and sat next to her. He spotted his phone, grew redder in the face, and quickly stuffed it in his shorts.
“Oh, there’s another kaçak casino thing you can do for me, if you would,” Suzie said, finding herself searching for anything to get him to stay, to satisfy his apparent fetish for older women and perhaps her own needs, fighting the inappropriateness of it. “Uh, I have some boxes I have to put into my crawlspace, would you mind?”
“No, no not at all,” he smiled.
She got up, walked down the hall, the boy in tow, still hunched over. She reached up for a pull cord hanging down, dropping the folding ladder out. There was a tiny space above where she stored things. Nearby were boxes, three of them, two small ones with books she was about to donate to the local library, another of linens bound for her church. They were the perfect ruse, she thought, wondering now about the wisdom of what she was doing.
“I can just go up and you hand them to me,” she said, stepping onto the ladder and pointing to the boxes. “It’s a pretty tight space up there, I can just slide them around a bit. Do you mind?”
“No, Mrs. Curry, I don’t,” he said eagerly, picking up one box and handing it to her.
In one hand, she noticed his cell phone. The boy worked fast, she thought. She smiled, taking the box, turning and walking up the six or seven steps.
She felt her calves knot and flex as she stood on tip toes, purposely bulging them up for the boy’s camera. She moved the box aside, leaning in, knowing her little skirt was lifting up, confident he was filming the backs of her thighs now, and above that, her milky white ass. She felt the fabric of her panty slide between her cheeks. And did nothing to pull it out. She took her time, then signaled for another box, repeating the procedure.
At one point, she looked down briefly. He was holding the camera, aiming it up her skirt, recording her muscular legs flexing, her ass jiggling as she moved. She felt her pussy get wetter by the second, knowing what he was up to. And what he would do later watching.
She had the plan worked out in her mind. She would come down the steps a bit, sit on one, spread her thighs, smiling at him and telling him she knew what he was up to. She would draw his astonished face to her sex, pulling aside her panties, pulling his adoring face to her wet pussy and he would lick her, given her an orgasm like she’d never had before. She would then take him to her bed, remove his clothes, suck his cock, make him cum, and then she would ride him, atop him, fuck him. That all flashed in her mind as she now backed down the stairs, noticing the nervous boy putting his camera away.
And she chickened out.
She got off the ladder, thanking him for his work, walking him to the door. Propriety won out over need. Doing the right thing over the lust of the wrong one. She turned him around and surprised him with a hug. He groaned, backing away slightly. But not before she felt his thickness press into her. She hugged him again, kissing his cheek in a grandmotherly fashion.
“Thanks again, Dennis, I appreciate it, you helping me with the boxes, hooking me up,” she smiled. “Can I fix you something to eat? It’s almost dinner time, are you going home to eat with your folks?”
“No, no, that’s OK, they left this afternoon, wedding down the Cape, won’t be home until late tonight, and my sister’s gone for the weekend, but I’m not hungry, thanks,” he said nervously. “I got plans with the guys anyway, and gotta get home and do somet…uh, do a few things first.”
Of course, she thought. Like use the footage of her he’d just gotten. To jerk off to her thighs, calves, feet, ass. It made her tingle again.
He looked at that gentle face, the creased furrows of her sexy neck, the puckered lips smiling. He wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, and every inch of her. He gulped. And backed away, out the door.
“Any time, Mrs. Curry, any time!” he said brightly, waving over his shoulder.
She closed the door sadly, sighing as she walked back into her living room. She wanted more, needed more, but knew denying it was the right course of action. She walked into her bathroom to do laundry. She noticed the pile of filthy panties and socks, somewhat askew and smiled. He had been…smelling her, she laughed to herself.
“That poor, poor horny boy!” she giggled, picking up the pile to put in the washer.
They were gone. The blue pair. Her favorite blue pair. The pair that were the tightest, sexiest, most revealing. The dirtiest pair, she recalled, having taken them off a few nights ago after a particularly sweaty night at the gym and then playing tennis. There was no mistake. They had been there. They weren’t now.
“That poor, poor, naughty horny boy,” she groaned. “He stole my panties!”
She stood looking at the pile of panties, thinking. He’d left a few minutes ago, he lived about 10 minutes away. Where he’d be alone. With his cell phone and the images of her.
She almost didn’t think about it, just rushing from the house, jumping in her car and heading for Dennis’s house. She had no idea what she’d do when she got there, but every possible scenario raced through her mind…
(to be continued)
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