Mrs Townsend buried her nose in my pubic hair. I didn’t dare move, I didn’t dare speak, I didn’t dare do pretty much of anything.

Oh, oh damn.

Mrs Townsend buried her nose in my pubic hair. The ring of her lips tightened around the base of my cock and her tongue performed mysterious and marvelous undulations to whatever part of my cock she could reach.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh...

Mrs Townsend’s buried her nose in my pubic hair a third time and I felt that certain tingle of inevitable release. She alternated the slow impaling of my cock in her mouth with the rapid tongue work on the crown, then back to the slow impaling. I was going to cum and because I dared not move, or speak, or do anything to distract or even worse stop Mrs Townsend from her actions - I was going to cum in her mouth without any warning whatsoever. I saw no other choice that made sense so I just relaxed and enjoyed the getting there.

If I’d been asked this morning - ‘Yo, Tom, how’s your day looking? What’s on tap bro?’ I’d have answered something along the lines of; well today is my run day, so once I’m up I’ll be out the door for a 5 to 7 mile run. This will be followed by a well deserved shower, coffee, and probably a healthy breakfast or early brunch. Might even watch some sports on TV. During which I’ll check around for whatever else might be happening later in the evening. Basically a typical bumming around the house on a hot summer day kinda day.

The thought that early in this same day I would be experiencing Mrs Townsend’s superior oral talents - that would never have occurred to me. Never. I mean c’mon man, the woman is in her 40’s.

So how did I end up with my dick in Mrs Townsend’s mouth, moments away from cumming? You could blame it on my mom and not be far from the truth - let me explain. Those plans I mentioned earlier, they ran afoul of my mom’s plans. She was determined to wrap up the last remaining loose ends from her annual Fourth of July shindig (we have a big pool with a tanning ‘beach’ and our backyard has sight lines that allow us to enjoy three professional firework shows. Pertaining to those loose ends I was unexpectedly tasked with returning a cumbersome collection of chaffing pans and assorted serving trays to its owner down the street - Mr and Mrs Fredrick Townsend.

I’d completed my morning run and was intent on that refreshing shower when my mom’s superlative baking skills distracted me from my intended path. It was the heady aroma of blueberry muffins fresh from the oven that caused me to stop in the kitchen and that just happened to coincide with a pot of coffee gurgling its last drips and beeping its willingness to be consumed. I was one bite into my second muffin when mom, phone at her ear, discovered me mid-devour and smiled the smile of maternal machinations.

“Oh Evelyn, Tommy is back from his run. Right now? Fifteen minutes? Of course he’ll be happy to help you move things about ... I will. Bye.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, so I set my cup down and eased towards the door. My shirt was off, tossed in the laundry and I was just steps from the shower when my escape was foiled. I tried to negotiate shower first, delivery to follow, but Mom was adamant, “It has to happen now. Evelyn is having work done in the garage and doesn’t want to move things about two or three times. Please Tom.”

Mom using Tom not Tommy sealed the deal. Tommy was her ‘c’mon, it’s not so bad,’ Tom was I really need you to do this, I’ll make your favorite dessert. If she had played the Thomas card I’d have been up shit creek, that is “do it now and do not even think of messing with me.” The obvious and expected response was my nodding, smiling acquiesce.

All of which resulted in me being loaded down with a very large cardboard box and sent walking down the street with, “You can shower when you get back. Evelyn wants these stored in their garage and she says the garage is a filthy mess.” Oh goody, that makes this all so much better.

With the Townsend’s garage as my eventual destination I was further directed to go first to the kitchen door off the driveway “not the front door.” Ten or so minutes later I was tapping my toe on the kitchen door while announcing myself, “Mrs Townsend, it’s me, Tommy Jackson, I have your pans and stuff.”

The kitchen door opened with Mrs Townsend striking a dramatic pose - or something to that affect. I mean talk about your typical ‘What the Fuck’ moment - older people can be so inappropriate. Seriously check out this image; her left hand grasped the doorknob to hold the door open, which she needed to do because the door had one of those automatic closures. At pretty much the same time her right hand moved rapidly upwards from her waist to just overhead. I’m guessing she was going to say something “witty” or even flirtatious. My mom’s friends are always doing shit like that - it’s inevitably lame, and more often than not it’s something pretty embarrassing. I mean geez ladies behave yourselves.

Unfortunately, as Mrs T’s arm moved upwards the glass in her right hand. which appeared to be an orange juice based alcoholic beverage sloshed about and splashed out of the glass, dripping down her arm. The slosh and splash captured Mrs T’s attention. I half-expected her to exclaim “oh shit” or assign me blame with “look what you made me do.”

Nothing was said because mid-slosh the upper part of Mrs Townsend’s robe pulled open resulting in the complete exposure of her right boob - her whole right chest was revealed from shoulder to sternum, clavicle to the bottom of her rib cage. Needless to say her right boob was on complete and wondrous display and it wasn’t just a quick - did I just see that - flash! Nope, Mrs Townsend’s breast was revealed in its entirety and it was exposed to the morning air long enough that her dark pink nipple grew and hardened. Sweet.

Mrs Townsend wasn’t the only one with a hardening issue. Between the end of my freshman year, driving home, helping with all the big 4th of July party prep and its continuing aftermath, I was in the midst of my longest dry spell - year to date. I was horny and a bare boob is a bare boob. And truth be told it was a damn good looking boob too - for a woman her age.

In retrospect I can imagine the thought/feeling cascade that Mrs Townsend was attempting to process; did my robe just open up? Is my breast exposed? The whole thing? Is he looking at my boob? Does he like it? etc, etc. I’m sure she had every intention of recovering her modesty in a safe and appropriate manner.

What she actually did was panic. And people tend to get excessive and over-react when they panic. Mrs Townsend’s panic had her shift her left leg wider to hold the door open. Her left hand released the door knob and reach across her body to grab her errant robe. She gave a powerful pull to bring her robe back across her chest and cover up her boob.

Her first attempt at covering up produced the opposite effect. Maybe she was still thinking about her beverage, because the sure move would have involved her right hand and - viola - boob covered. But her right hand was occupied so she used her left hand and reached across her body to grab her robe. He reaching movement was below her exposed breast, her angle was wrong, and either she didn’t grab enough robe or she grabbed the wrong part. When she yanked to cover up, nothing got covered. She ended up pulling the material against her boob which had the greatly appreciated effect of lifting it toward me in presentation. She actually pulled three times, causing some of the most erotic jiggling that I had seen in months.

Realizing her efforts were in vain, she finally put her drink down and in frustration used both hands to grab some robe and yank it up and over into coverup position. Maybe she yanked her robe too hard, or grabbed too much material, certainly the angle was wrong, probably it was a combination of all three. Anyway, the result of all that movement was two fold, (1) her exposed boob was covered up, and (2) the repositioning of that much material had an unintended consequence but one that I greatly appreciated as the lower half of her robe lifted upwards and pulled open and in that not so brief moment I became one of the few people on the planet knowledgeable enough to answer the question, “In regard to one Evelyn Townsend, does the carpet match the curtains?”

You should know that Mrs Townsend has a reputation of changing her hair color with a frequency akin to the changing of the seasons. It’s really kind of strange. Don’t get me wrong, as far as the neighborhood women go, Mrs. Townsend is one of the better looking ones. Never the less, I doubted that I had ever seen her actual hair color. So when her robe flared open, essentially exposing her from her navel to her toes. It was all there to be seen. Everything was on display, nothing was hidden. So the answer vis a vis curtains and carpets?

The answer was obvious and surprising. Let me put it this way, I’m in the last of my teenage years and in the few years that I have been sexually active I’ve seen my share of pussy. As regards pubic hair, I’ve seen everything from smooth hardwoods, to dye jobs, pussy hair simply trimmed, pussy hair shaped into complex designs. I’ve seen shaved, waxed, tattooed, and pierced (and some with combinations of all of the above.) What I had never seen was what I now saw, Mrs. Townsend had the thickest, darkest patch of unkempt pubic hair I have ever encountered. A big, wide inverted triangle of ungroomed, dark curly hair, so thick as to prevent the barest glimpse of her labia let alone a hint of cliterol hood. It was a dark impenetrable forest - and damned if it didn’t turn me on something fierce. Go figure.

There was nothing I could do as I felt my own exposure problem developing. Remember the early morning run, and the no shower thing, well when it’s hot I run commando, the only thing I was wearing at this very moment besides my running shoes was a pair of super lightweight, baggy nylon running shorts. The personal problem I was experiencing was quickly and easily lifting my shorts. I was involved in my own thought cascade, and right up at the top was a frustrated need to adjust my shorts. Unfortunately the cumbersome burden I carried made adjustment impossible, my hands were fully occupied.

I suppose it was one of those line of sight things. Mrs. Townsend looking down to make sure she was properly covered allowed her eyes to focus directly on my very hard cock. A cock which was yearning to be free. I’m guessing that was the cause of her comment, “Oh my God, is that all you?”

Normally - in most circumstances - those are words any 19 year old would be pleased to hear. This, however, was not a normal situation. But my dick reacted as one would expect with a huge involuntary spasm that overwhelmed the confines of my running shorts and now it was my turn to feel the morning air more directly.

I was preparing an apology of some sort (I sincerely doubt that Ms Manners covers any situation even remotely like this, and it sure as hell isn’t any kind of a Hallmark moment either “I’m sorry you saw my dick so hard, please accept my apology via this simple card”) when Mrs. Townsend disappeared from view. I was perplexed for just an instant until I felt fingers grasp the waistband of my shorts and abruptly pulled them downward - over my butt, down my thighs, past my knees, all the way to my ankles. Hands wrapped round my cock, and a warm mouth quickly enveloped it. A very experienced mouth. I swear this all happened faster than I could comment (or even write about.)

Have I mentioned that Mrs Townsend is a trophy wife? I’m not sure if she is Mr Townsend’s wife number three or number four. I’m pretty sure he is in his late sixties, maybe even early seventies, which places the current Mrs T about a quarter century younger. I’m telling you this both on background and to delay the all too real likelihood of my imminent ejaculation. The counter twisting of her hands and her exquisite tongue work were very accomplished. Her deep throat technique was - well as I’ve already described - in a class by itself.

I’m just saying all this because my personal sex life - so far - had been lacking in the direct personal experience of my hard dick being forced into a hot, moist throat. Some have tried, none have succeeded, and I for one do not find gagging or retching sexy. And I’m not joking about the forced part - check this out - when Mrs T planted her nose in my pubic hair, she had gotten there by grabbing my ass and pulling my pelvis towards her face. I even had to take a couple of shuffling steps to keep my balance. So cock in mouth quickly transitioned to cock in throat. And that was when Mrs T started some kind of humming vibration - BOOM! - and just like that I’m on the fast track toward the inevitable. She did the whole pulling back until just the tip of my dick was in her mouth and then grabbing my ass pulling my pelvis forward and her nose to bury in my pubic hair. Again and again and again, and then she brought one hand around to fondle my balls, and that was that.