Chapter 2

It was after dark when Agatha got back to her cottage. The anticipation she felt was excruciating. At the same time, she thought that the young man might not be able to make it, hoping maybe he has changed his mind. At least that would let a portion of her bruised conscience off the hook. For about fifteen minutes she paced the kitchen and living room. Then, considering what had transpired was just a middle-aged woman’s attempt at make-believe she went into the bedroom and drew the shades then continued pacing.

This is SO wrong she thought but the fantasies and desires refused to disappear. Feeling like a schoolgirl whose parents had gone away for the weekend, whose boyfriend was coming to spend the night she thought what if Bart came and someone were to see him coming in here? Remembering their conversation, she thought, but we covered all that. The street was poorly lighted. If Bart were to spot anybody, he would just keep walking. She went back to the kitchen to make sure she had left the back door unlocked. I’m being so unrealistic. He’ll never come.

She was in the back bedroom when she heard the hinges on the kitchen door creak. Her heart fluttered as floorboards creaked with his steps. When Bart’s body filled the bedroom door Agatha’s heart raced and butterflies filled her stomach. “I wasn’t sure you would come,” she said gulping for breath. With a mother’s instinct, she held out her hands to the young man and wrapped him in her arms. With a husky voice, she said, “You must think this old woman is terribly wicked.”

With a youthful smile, Bart Ignored Agatha’s comment and tenderly kissed her cheek then covered her lips with the warm softness of his. Their enveloping arms moved to each other’s waist as they pulled their middles together. Bart’s hands cupped her bottom and pressed his swelling bulge against her pubis as her gaping eyes swam in the pool of his confident stare. Hungry for his tongue she opened her mouth and thrilled to his searching probe, touching, and testing his until both twirled in the primal pleasure of slavering in the warm darkness of each other’s mysterious buccal cave.

Amazed at how easily she accepted the togetherness with this strange, young man she felt her wet excitement flowing between her legs. It was the kind of pleasure she could hardly remember with her husband; it had been in his car before they were married when she had first groped his groin, a curiosity that needed to be fulfilled. She needed to feel Bart’s hardening penis in her hand. Flattening her palm against his belly she worked her fingers between it and the elastic waistband of the young man’s shorts. Her fingertips brushed his coarse patch of curly pubic hair, finally bumping the top of his throbbing erection. When she felt the excitement of a different male’s fleshy member, she was surprised at how thick he was. Having only known only one man in her life since she married, she remembered her high school sweetheart Garven and remembered how huge he felt when she touched his. One stroke told her that Bart wasn’t particularly long, just extremely thick.

The young lifeguard fumbled with the top button of Aggie’s Capri pants finally zipping them down. Inside her panties, the palm of his hand pressed on the soft prominence of her hairy mound. She winced with pleasure as the tip of his middle finger skated in her slippery groove.

Letting go of Bart’s stubby cock Agatha wiggled and along with her panties she peeled her Capri’s over her curved hips and well-shaped bottom. As they dropped to the floor Bart’s middle finger slid inside her sex and hooked it against the front wall of her vagina. Keeping a steady pressure on the front of her tunnel his finger moved in and out sending jolts of excitement to her nipples, her knees, and even her toes. In a flash, she realized that the young man’s technique was far beyond her husband’s if I could call any of Phillip’s moves “technique.” Writhing with the pleasure of Bart’s moving finger she kicked off her blue canvas wedgies while he kept moving his finger, pressing on her g-spot but, though Agatha was a mature woman she found herself impatient for more intimate knowledge of his magnificent girth. “I WANT you, Bart,” she gasped in a ragged voice.

Thrusting his left hand into his pocket the young man pulled out a foil-packaged condom. Taking his finger from between the trembling woman’s legs he tore open the package. It was an entirely strange act for a woman whose tubes had been tied long ago. As infrequently as it happened Phillip always entered her bareback. She wished it could have been the same with Bart. But for his careful concern, she loved that he was being so responsible. As his palm pushed on her chest she fell backward, sinking the mattress and then settling as she watched him roll the delicate latex membrane over on his swollen phallus.

Settled on her back she raised her legs hopefully and spread them. Quaking with anticipation she felt the blunt tip of his glans sliding in her groove. When it found the threshold of her core Bart pushed forward, stretching the opening wider than the pastor’s wife had ever experienced. As he lodged his incredible bulk solidly inside her vagina, she felt like her eyes would pop out. Good Lord, she thought, it’s like he’s shoving a SALAMI inside me. Grunting at the tight discomfort she moaned as her vagina did what it was designed to do, accommodate this new and larger standard. Father in HEAVEN, she marveled, this is DELICIOUS.

Naked from the waist down she was still wearing her blue and white vertical striped Tee. His blue lifeguard trunks were bunched around his ankles, his sandals still covering his feet. Agatha trapped Bart’s waist in the vise of her legs. Hungry for romance, or at that moment any kind of sex, the voracious fifty-one-year-old woman held the young man’s smooth face between her hands. Capturing his eyes, she brought his face close to hers. Their lips met. She wanted to lose herself in that wet kiss. At the moment though she just needed the raw sex she had been denied for such a long time. As she squeezed her tightened twat on the young man’s fat member, she relaxed her legs, broke the kiss, and with saliva stringing between their lips, she panted, “Fuck me, Bart!”

Pressing his knees against the side of the mattress Bart hunched his back, withdrawing his cock to the rim of its head. He marveled at how tight this fifty-plus-year-old woman was. Most of the older women he had known were quite loose. To him it seemed that Aggie’s pussy was like a virgin; her body had not yet begun breaking down. At the top of his stroke, he saw her eyes close. When he leaned forward, forcing his bulk back inside, her eyes opened wide and as if she had seen a ghost, she opened her mouth with a shriek, like she was being penetrated by a gigantic monster.

The fantasy of being penetrated by another man had been fantasized about for over fifteen years. That it was happening was enough at the moment, she expected no more. But as the huge presence of this vibrant young man’s thick sex penetrated once, twice, three times ... ten times, she expected with every thrust that he would come, Phillip always did. But he kept fucking her, exciting nerve endings she had never known to exist. She couldn’t believe that after what seemed like five minutes, he was still drilling her vagina. All of a sudden, she felt the rapturous cloud of an uncontrollable climax.

Phillip had always castigated her for what she could only describe as “squirting.” But her pussy was so well lubricated that Bart’s log-like erection was sliding inside her with greased ease. Each time he withdrew she bit her lower lip and sucked air through her nose, anticipating his next plunge. Each time he slammed home Agatha’s legs frog-kicked, and she gasped another curse-laden version of her pleasure. Each time he drove to the center of her core her eyes tried to leave her sockets as she would cry, “YES Bart,” or “FUCK Me,” while thinking I can’t even believe I am using this forbidden word. But oh, how I LOVE it. “UH-OH. UH-OH, FUCK me, Bart.”

Bart shouted words like, “God!” and “Fuck!” his cock like the piston of an engine, moving in and out of Aggie’s well-oiled cylinder. “AGGIE, Aggie,” he would cry, “Fuck... Oh, God.”

For her it was like an out-of-body experience as if she were looking down from above: Two bodies, the male in a blue shirt with his blue trunks bunched around his ankles, his muscular legs and tight buns rising and falling on top of the woman that waggled her head with each thrust. The woman, anticipating each thrust closed her eyes and then opened them as if expecting them to pop out of her head imagining that she saw a miracle. Each time she pulled her lower lip in and nibbled on it before her mouth opened into an ecstatic oval. At the same time, her legs kicked like a dog paddling swimmer. The slapping of their bellies seemed amplified and enhance as if it was applause from an appreciative audience. But as the clapping increased, she heard frenzied whines she realized were coming from her mouth.

The exquisite sensation of Bart’s penis moving inside her vagina had just sent Aggie over the edge of another orgasmic cliff. Strange she thought, I am truly Aggie now. Agatha would never allow herself to enjoy this. With her fists beating on his back, she bucked hard to meet his thrusts while Bart, with his arms stiffly supporting him on the mattress, began quivering. Grunting he held back the zenith of his explosion which had become more urgent, more primal. “Oh BABY,” he shouted, the force of his semen having finally cracked the dam. With ecstatic shudders, he kept humping until in exhaustion he collapsed on her body and gasped for breath.

With his deflating penis being clutched in her griping pussy Aggie imprisoned his spent body in her arms and legs. To Aggie, his cock still felt substantial even in its shrinking state. Though wanting more she had already experienced more orgasms than Phillip triggered during their entire marriage. Thinking he had dozed she was surprised and pleased when he asked, “Do you think we could be naked together Aggie?”

She longed to feel his naked flesh against hers the way a man and woman were supposed to be together in bed. “Mm hm,” she responded. Opening her arms, she smoothed her palms to the bottom of his shirt and as he held his arms high, she pulled it upward and off. His strong male smell would have disgusted Agatha Wilcox but as the odor of sweat wafted the emergent Aggie’s nostrils having already been opened by this macho young man were stimulated by the primal nature of his body odor. He had gotten out of bed to get undressed Looking at him standing with his shorts around his ankles she said, “Take off your trunks and shoes, sweetie.” As he stood naked in the pool of his dirty clothes Aggie’s maternal memories conjured the image of her son as a young child getting ready to climb into the bathtub. That’s strange she thought, how wicked is this?

Sitting up Aggie stripped off her T-top, reached around, and deftly undid her bra. Wiggling it off she smiled at the naked young man who stood before her. Tickled by the bizarre image of his thick penis dangling limp, covered by the semen-filled condom she chuckled. A dimple formed in her cheek as she said. “You’re so damned cute, Bart. Maybe your Mamma should wash you in the shower.” The instant she said it she felt strange. Why did I refer to myself as Mama?

When she stood up her generous breasts slumped to their natural position. Belying that she was fifty-one they didn’t droop, but just seemed to flow. Her areolas were large pinkish brown circles, pimpled with bumps, soft as the softest kid leather. Her large nipples were the size of hazelnuts, protruding nearly a quarter of an inch beyond her breasts. As Bart’s gawking approval sent warmth throughout her body she felt like a newlywed. Smiling she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. Reaching down she pinched the end of the condom and said, “Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” slipping off his flaccid penis. Dropping it into the toilet she flushed it then pulled the young Adonis into the shower.

After soaping the washcloth, she said, “Hold your arms up sweetie,” and went to work scrubbing under his arms and down his body: across his abdomen, up and down his chest, through his sudsy pubic patch, and over his slightly swelling penis. Tenderly she attended the doeskin sac that held his balls. “Turn around baby.” She did his neck, back, down legs, and feet. Spreading his cheeks, she washed behind his balls and around his anus, probing just inside with her finger in the washcloth as she thought Phillips’s anus has always been strictly off-limits ... I wonder. Exploring Bart’s though tentatively sent tingles throughout her body. I wonder. “You do me now sweetie,” she said, handing him the washcloth and turning her back to him.

He mimicked her movements exactly, even the probing of her anus, which triggered a thrilling shock. “Turn around,” he said. When she turned her eyes captured what was now a full erection. This time she was able to get a more permanent picture of what it truly was like—a plump bratwurst, pink with a lavender head. He washed her cheeks, her shoulders, around her arms and breasts, the washcloth on her nipples sending jolts to her clitoris and toes. He made suds in her pubic triangle and very gently washed between her legs, down her legs to her feet. Standing up again he put his arms loosely around her waist and pulled her gently forward coaxing her pristine labia to glide over the top of his rigid shaft.

As they kissed and hugged their naked chest and breasts discovered new sensual pleasures. Closing her legs, she squeezed his hardness, seating its top between her parting lips like a hotdog in a bun. Sliding his cock from the tight prison between her legs he created an opening that would allow his finger to search the confluence where her labia came together. As Bart titillated her slit Aggie’s hand went to his stumpy erection. She pulled his loose outer skin as far forward as he pressed with his fingertip. She winced as it moved and skated around the circumference of the swelling node. Their lips melted like heat-softened butter, their tongues dancing in a sensuous mating waltz. Unlike the primal wildness of their first kiss, this was deliberate and purposeful. Each explored the slickness of the other’s inner cheeks and the velvet-like tops of their tongues. Warily, they breathed to avoid having their nostrils flooded by the cascading water from the showerhead.

To Aggie her clitoris being caressed by Bart’s pinkie was surreal, making his finger swollen beyond its width and her clit the size of a cashew, driving her toward another orgasm. While lips pressed and tongues flailed wildly, their nostrils flared as they inhaled through Aggie’s nose and exhaled through Bart’s. Both of their hands moved faster while both bottoms wiggled and clenched. It seemed like a viscous covering of joy sagged from her brain toward a similar rising from her feet that finally collided at the tip of her clitoris. Another spasm caused a gush of clear exclaim to sag down the insides of her thighs.

Turning Aggie’s back to the warm shower Bart let the soothing water caress her as her jacking hand squeezed his penis in her grip. He held her tight under the pelting warmth as she quivered in her climax.

“Oh baby,” she shyly gasped not realizing how long it had been deleted from her married vocabulary. “Oh, Baby.” The sobbing release caught her off guard. Feeling like a foolish child she managed to say between sobs, “Oh baby, baby I’ve needed this so badly.”

It was hard for the young lifeguard to believe that the attractive woman in his arms was over fifty years old; she seemed so much younger. But he’d been with enough desperate, mature women to know that she was well-toned and supple. In awe, he said, “You’re a marvelous woman Aggie.”