Autumn Sex with my Mother’s Friend
She is older than I am; a friend of my mother’s — Sylvia. I can’t help feeling embarrassed that my mother had to ask her if she could give me a ride back to my college dorm but I appreciate being able to get back to my friends on this Sunday evening rather than having to catch a pre-dawn bus tomorrow morning.
We leave Mount Angel just before five to make the hour-long drive back to Portland. Instead of heading up I5 she takes the more scenic route through Barlow and along the Willamette river.
Initially we drive in silence, the country music station she has tuned into turned down low as we head into the dusk, but then I say “Thank you for offering to drive me.”
“No problem at all. I remember being a college student myself and I didn’t have a car either.”
“Yeah, not really room for that in the budget at the moment,” I say and look out of the window.
“Well, Santa Claus is coming to town.”
I laugh, “I doubt whether he has room for a car on his sleigh.”
I look over at her — the country music seems to not fit her pristine appearance; her manicured hands and flawless skin.
“I wouldn’t have thought that you would like country music,” I continue.
“I grew up in Tennessee.”
“What brought you out here to Oregon?”
“Marriage.”
I nod and look through the windscreen at the road that winds out ahead of us; the autumn trees fading into the night.
“And you don’t have any children?”
“No. Somehow there wasn’t time for that.”
There is a pause and then she continues, “I don’t know whether I’ll regret it someday but, at least up until now life has been good to me.” Her expensive clothing and luxurious car confirms this.
We drive along in silence for ten minutes during which time she quietly sings along to one of the radio songs.
“Do you like my skirt?” she asks. I’m not sure how to answer and look down at her simple yet perfect skirt with the slit at the side that reveals a hint of upper thigh.
“Sure,” I say.
“Oh come on now! Show a little more enthusiasm than that!” she teases.
“It’s very nice, really.”
“Touch it,” she continues “You might like it.”
I have no idea how to reply and instead just look out of the window. I hope that, in the dark, she can’t see that my face is flushed red.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not right now.”
“But you have had girlfriends,” she continues.
“Yes, a few.”
“A few,” she nods and smiles “And how was the sex?”
I’m dumbstruck. “Uh, what do you mean? I mean, I’m not sure what to say.”
She turns to me as the headlights from an oncoming car illuminates her face. “I’m asking how the sex with your girlfriends was.” I don’t reply.
She continues, “I’ll take a guess. Sam, no woman in her early twenties can really be good at sex. Beautiful, sure. And taught. But not good.”
I laugh nervously, “Well, I guess I don’t have much to compare it to.”
“That’s true. I remember the first time I had really great sex, I was already in my thirties.”
“Your husband must’ve been pleased,” I say.
“He was, but the sex wasn’t with him. I love John, he is my everything, but he was never the strong type. Caring and patient, yes, but not the type of mountain of a man that could make me shudder as if he was going to snap me like a twig.” By now my face is glowing red with a fake embarrassment that my racing heart knows to be a lie.
She turns to me again, “Go ahead, put your hand on my leg. You’ll enjoy it.”
I don’t move but then she reaches out, takes my hand and puts it on her lower thigh. “Now squeeze,” she insists and I do.
“Good. Now pull up the fabric, just a little, and put your hand back there and squeeze again.”
By now I’ve lost all sense of direction and do as she says.
“Mmmm, you might just have a talent for this,” she continues and, without thinking, I move my hand to her inner thigh and inch it up higher.
“Yes, keep doing that,” she says while opening her legs slightly.
Instead of driving to my dorm she, without asking, drives to her darkened house. “Come inside,” she insists.
“But what about your husband?” I stutter.
“He’s not home right now but he’ll be glad that you did. We have an arrangement and I promise I won’t tell anyone but him.”
By now I’ve lost all control and register nothing but the painful bulging of an erection in my jeans. We get out of the car. I walk after her to the porch where I stand and look around while she unlocks the door. As soon as we’re through the door she puts her one hand on my chest and guides me to stand with my back up against the wall while her other hand moves to squeeze my erection. As soon as she touches it I spasm in surprise but she catches me and keeps me firmly up against the wall. “Unbuckle your pants,” is all that she says. I do it and she pulls down my briefs to reveal my swollen red cock.
Now she is crouching down in front of me and uses her flat hand to squeeze my cock up against my stomach. At first I put my head back and look upward at the ceiling but then remember to look down; her face beams back at me. Then she gets up and says, “Hold still,” while hitching her skirt up. She’s not wearing any underwear and I’m surprised to see that her pussy is perfectly shaven. Again she takes my cock in her hand and, pushing down slightly on my shoulder, slips it in between her legs. It takes a few moments before the tip of my penis finds the wet opening to her vagina and slips in. My body spasms again. She giggles a little while still holding my cock and then guides it deeper into her, “Oh yes!” she exhales, “That’s really good don’t you think?” The nerve endings all up and down my penis scream as if they were on fire and she fucks me like this, up against the wall, until I come.
We take a moment to recover and then she says, “That was a good start. You’re a lovely young man.” She smiles and lets my penis slide out of her, “So let’s do this again next weekend and then we’ll work on your patience and stamina. I’ll have you fucking like a champ in no time.”
My voice is raspy, “Yes. Please. That sounds great.”
