Chapter 1

When I was a month shy of my sixteenth birthday I was loafing around on my back porch when my neighbor, Mrs. Pastrianni, called across the yard and asked me to come over and help her change a light bulb in the ceiling fan in her bedroom. I had done some little odd jobs for her before. Like, I mowed her lawn and if she needed something while I was there she’d give me a glass of lemonade and ask me to do whatever it was.

I had always had the hots for Mrs. Pastrianni because she was pretty gorgeous. She was white and somewhere around thirty years old. She was tall, about my height, at five-eleven, and she had blond hair with red highlights in it. I have no idea what she weighed, but she was slim, except she had curves to die for. Her boobs looked like somebody had cut a big coconut in half and stuck a half in each side of her bra. She had hips, but her ass wasn’t huge or anything. Her husband had died in Afghanistan and she didn’t have any kids. My dad had told me to do whatever I could for her because she was a gold star widow and he thought people should take care of a woman like that. He went over and helped with big stuff, like when she needed a new water heater put in. She worked at a part time job and got some money from the government each month, but she didn’t live flashy, or anything, so Dad tried to help her out when he could.

She had also been friendly toward us and even came over and welcomed us to the neighborhood when we moved here. We weren’t used to that, because we moved here from the South. Actually, she only moved here a couple of months before we did, so we were all the new kids on the block.

Anyway, when I got to her house that day she was wearing a short white skirt and a blue halter top. It was June and starting to get hot.

“Thanks for coming over to help me out, Bobby, this won’t take long,” she said.

“No problem,” I replied. I knew she’d offer me at least five bucks for helping her. I would have done it for free. She was a really nice lady and one of my secret fantasies.

I followed her upstairs to what must be the guest bedroom, because other than furniture, there was nothing in it. I had been in her house plenty of times, but never in any of the bedrooms. It smelled ... dusty ... but there was no dust anywhere, if that makes any sense to you. Mrs. Pastrianni’s house was different than all the other houses in the neighborhood because the whole neighborhood used to be a wheat farm and her house had been the farm house. She had done a lot of painting on the outside and fixed the slat fence that went along the front. She had planted flowers in the gardens and it was a neat looking place.

There was a six foot stepladder beside the bed. The ceiling fan was half over the bed and half over the floor. As I looked at it, I got this image in my head of her lying on the bed, trying to cool off under that fan. She was naked in this vision and I felt my cock move. I pushed that thought out of my head and thought about cleaning the underside of my mower.

“I can’t stand on the bed to change the bulb,” she said, “because I’d have to stand on the edge, and it would crush and dump me off. And the ladder is too far to one side, and I have to lean a lot to get to the bulb, so I need you to hold the ladder so it doesn’t tip over.”

I don’t know why I didn’t suggest moving the bed so the ladder could be directly under the fan. Actually, I do know. I didn’t think about that. Whenever I was around Mrs. Pastrianni my brain was kind of jumpy, or something.

“Why don’t I just climb up and do it?” I asked. “I have long arms.”

“Thank you, but if you fell and got hurt I’d never forgive myself,” she said. “I’ll do it. You just hold the ladder steady.”

“Got it,” I said.

Now, she lived in an old house that had high ceilings. It was probably built in the twenties because it had to be at least seventy years old. It was well kept up, but everything in it was old fashioned. Like the high ceiling with the fan hanging up there. That fan was ten feet off the floor, and her step ladder was barely going to let her reach it. She had pretty long arms, though, but when she got up there and reached, one of her feet came off the step and stuck out to one side for balance.

That was when I found out Mrs. Pastrianni was not wearing any panties. Her pussy was wide open, with her leg out like that. She had curly hair that was red, with blond highlights in it, the opposite of her head hair. Her skirt didn’t stop the light and I could see clearly. I could even see two fat, pink lips in all that hair.

I froze, except for the muscles in my throat, which gulped, and the muscle between my legs, which kept getting harder.

In my peripheral vision I saw the bulb come out of the socket and her leg swung back in to cut off my view. She looked down and saw me, slack-jawed, with a little drool running down out of the right side of my mouth.

“What are you looking at?” she asked. Then I saw comprehension flood her face. “You were looking up my skirt!”

She started down the ladder, which gave me glimpses of Nirvana, but she wasn’t happy when she got to the bottom.

“You were staring up my skirt!” she said again. Then her eyes went out of focus, kind of and I saw her figure it out.

Her hand went to her groin and she moaned, “I forgot to put on my panties!”

“I’m sorry!” I barked. This was my go-to response for any situation I found myself in when any of the women in my family were unhappy with me. Sometimes I said I was sorry for something I had no idea I should apologize for. Once in a while I had expressed remorse for something I didn’t even do.

She stopped feeling sorry for herself (or maybe guilty?) and looked at me.

“No you’re not, young man. I’m going to have a word with your mother!”

I felt panic seize my heart and grip it like my dad gripped other men’s hands when they shook hands. He had taught me that firm grip.

“Please, no,” I moaned. I knew my mother would tan my hide. “Getting along with white people” was big on her list of things we had to do. We had moved here from the south and things were a lot better, here, but there weren’t all that many black folks who lived in town, so we were told to represent our race well. Peeking under a white woman’s skirt (or any woman’s skirt) would be considered an infraction that required severe punishment. “My mom will kill me!”

“As she should,” grumbled Mrs. Pastrianni. Her glance fell to the front of my cargo shorts. I knew what she was seeing before I looked down. Somebody had taken another half of a coconut and stuffed it in my pants. “And what is that?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. She pointed at my pants, under which my penis was not behaving itself. I noticed her fingernail had a tiny palm tree painted on it. You notice the oddest things when you are in mortal danger.

“Nothing!” I gasped. “There’s nothing there!” I said this like I was using The Force, telling her the droid she was looking for was not in my pants.

“That is not nothing, Bobby Richards! Do you have an erection?”

“I’m soreeee,” I whined. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened! Honest!”

“Riiiiight,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. “You looked up my skirt and saw something you weren’t supposed to look at and now you have an erection. I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.”

All of a sudden I realized she wasn’t screaming at me. Nor had she called my mother. In fact, her anger seemed off, somehow. For the first time I thought about how she could have gotten dressed and forgot to put her panties on. Didn’t a woman put her panties on first, and then her skirt or whatever? That confused me, because something just seemed ... off. All I could think of was trying to keep pleading my innocence.

“It is a misunderstanding!” I yipped. “I really didn’t see anything! The light was in my eyes!”

She stared at me and tilted her head, like she was examining a bug and trying to figure out what kind it was.

“I know you’re lying, young man, tell me the truth,” she said.

I knew I was fucked. About two weeks before, my mother had caught me looking up my older sister’s dress when she was lying on the couch sleeping. She’d told me if I ever did that again she was going to give me a beating that I would never forget.

“Please Mrs. Pastrianni don’t tell my mother, I’m very sorry. It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t help it. It’s not my fault you forgot to put on your panties.”

“That’s no excuse,” She replied. “Even though I forgot to put on my panties, you should have at least shown me some respect and not looked up.”

“I couldn’t help it,” I moaned. “Once I realized you didn’t have panties on I froze solid. It was so ... Please, I didn’t do it on purpose I’ll do whatever you want me to do to make things right, I’ll cut your grass for free all summer.”

Then she stepped back and said, “You said when you saw me it was so ... and then you changed the subject. What didn’t you say?”

“I don’t remember,” I moaned.

“Yes you do. You looked at me and thought it looked what?”

Sometimes the truth will get you some mitigation, so I just told her the truth.

“It was really beautiful,” I sighed.

“What?”

“It was so pretty I couldn’t stop looking,” I said. I was begging now, and we both knew it.

“Is that the truth, Bobby?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry, but the way she said that made it sound like my answer might be the most important one of the day.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said. My voice was barely above a whisper.

The front of my pants was still bulging out. I was really embarrassed. I just stood there. It was quiet in the room for a moment. I was fully cognizant of the fact that I was black and she was white, and something had happened that could have been really bad, back where we came from. I had heard all the stories. My parents educated both my sister and me about lynchings, and why they had happened. That kind of thing didn’t happen anymore, but if she made a formal complaint I knew the reaction would be super negative.

“I’m sorry,” I said, one more time.

The pause extended, and then she said, “Okay Bobby, I’m not going to tell your mother this time.”

I was finally able to take a breath of relief. ‘I guess I’ll be cutting her grass for free this summer,’ I thought.

Then she said, “But I am going to have to teach you a lesson young man.”

Oh shit! What the hell is she talking about?

“I’m going to teach you a lesson about sneaking peaks at women’s privates. I want you to take your shorts off right now.”

I was stunned, did she just say what I thought she said?

“But Mrs. Pastrianni...”

But before I could say another word she said, “No buts young man, you get those pants off right now or I’m going over to tell Gina that you’re a little pervert!” Gina was my mother and I was more afraid of my mother then I was of Mrs. Pastrianni, so I slowly pulled my pants down. Mrs. Pastrianni stepped back a few steps and folded her arms watching.

After I pushed my pants to the ground, I stood straight up with my hands in front of my crotch trying to hide my still stiff cock.

Then she said, “the underwear too!”

“But Mrs. Pastrianni...” I said.

An angry look came across her face, “I didn’t have any underwear on, and you looked at me! Come on young man I don’t have all day,” she said.

Out of fear I slowly pulled my underwear to my ankles and stood there with my hands over my now naked crotch.

She said sternly, “Move your hands away so I can see.”

With no fight left in me, I moved my hands to my sides and my fully hard black cock was pointing straight at her. Her eyes locked onto it. I felt my body getting really hot all over. She just looked intently at my dick.

Now instead of being scared, I was even more aroused then before. My cock seemed to have a mind of its own, it started to pulse, and move all by itself.

Mrs. Pastrianni said, “Why is your penis moving around like that, boy?”

“It does that all the time,” I mumbled.

Then she said in a much softer tone, “I’m a little astonished at your size. You sure do have a big one for a boy your age.”

I kind of felt the attitude in the room change. Then she walked over to me and said, “Did looking up my skirt cause you to get like this, Bobby?”

I said, “I can’t help it, my umm ... thing gets hard all the time.” With that I felt her hand wrap around the shaft of my cock. A soft moan escaped my lips. It was so completely strange to have this happen. For the first time in my life, someone else was touching me.

In what seemed like a few seconds the whole situation had changed. Mrs. Pastrianni slowly moved her hand back and forth; ever so gently making my foreskin thin and disappear, before it covered the head of my bone, again.

I looked up at her and then she said, “Good grief, Bobby. I haven’t felt one of these for years. It’s so hard. Does it hurt?”

“Yes ma’am. A little,” I croaked.

Then she said, “Do you like it when I rub it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Her hand was so soft, much softer than my own. Then she said in a very sexy voice, “That’s what you get when you look up an old lady’s skirt young man,” as she continued to stroke my cock.

“You’re not old,” I said, by reflex.

“Oh, really?”

“Heck no. Mrs. Paulson, down the street is old, but not you.” Mrs. Paulson was in her sixties.

“Hmm,” she said. Mrs. Pastrianni then asked me, “Do you jerk off Bobby?”

How the heck had things changed to this? She obviously wasn’t mad, anymore. I had never had such a strange conversation.

“Yes ma’am,” was all that could come out of my mouth. I was totally lost, I started sweating. It felt like it was 110 degrees in that bedroom. I just closed my eyes and put one hand on the ladder to keep from tipping over like a falling tree while she stroked my cock.

Then I felt something warm and wet engulf my dick. I looked down and Mrs. Pastrianni was kneeling in front of me and sucking on my cock! It was impossible! Her mouth was warm and wet and I could see my black cock sliding in and out between her pink lips. I would have shot off except I was paralyzed.

After a while she pulled my cock out of her mouth and asked, “Do you like that, you nasty young man?”

At this point I could only tell the truth.

“Oh yes Mrs. Pastrianni, that feels really good.”

“Has any girl ever done it to you before?”

“No, Ma’am,” I panted.

She then licked the shaft of my cock and started to tickle my balls with her wet tongue. I could hear the slurping sounds that her mouth made as she sucked my black cock. I was in ecstasy. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer.

I guess she felt the same way because she started really sucking my cock a lot faster. I put my hands on the sides of her face and started to hump her face. The sound of her moaning with my cock in her mouth, and the slurping sounds of her saliva coating my thrusting dick sent me over the edge.

“Mrs. Pastrianni I’m cumming!” I shouted.

She grabbed my ass and pulled me deeper into her throat. My cock exploded sending a big thick blast down her throat, ropes of hot cum shot out of my dick. It felt like I would never stop cumming. I shot so much cum into her mouth that it started to overflow and run down her cheek, it was thick and heavy looking. Big goops of cum were leaking out of her mouth and landing on her skin just above her cleavage. It started to drip down between her breasts. It was really cool to watch, but at the same time I felt like I had left my body and was watching all this from above.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. My cock was all shiny, cum still slowly oozing out of the head. Mrs. Pastrianni continued to kiss and lick the tip. She’d squeeze my cock and when a dollop of white came out she’d lick or suck it in. She looked like she was eating a black licorice ice cream treat. Her pink lips moved all over my black cock and it just looked crazy.

“Well!” she said. “I did not expect to have that much fun today. Did you like that Bobby?” she asked.

“Oh yes Mrs. Pastrianni, that was great, thank you so much.”

Then she said, “Damn, Bobby, you’re still hard as steel!”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Pastrianni, I can’t help it, you’re such a beautiful woman.” Then I said, “You’re the best looking woman on the block. I’ve always gotten excited whenever I see you.”

She replied in a soft voice, “You’re just saying that Bobby, I’m old and used up. There are a lot of pretty girls around here.”

I said, “You’ve always been so nice to me Mrs. Pastrianni. When we first moved into the neighborhood, the other white people wouldn’t even talk to us. You’re the first white person to accept my family into the neighborhood. And I’d much rather be with a woman who looks like you than some dumb girl.”

She started stroking my cock again, and then she looked at me and said, “I always knew you liked me Bobby, I could always tell by the bulge in your pants.”

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