Chapter 1

I was nervous. The School for Culinary Arts was closing, leaving me high and dry for a place to live let alone finishing my diploma. The administration had arranged for me to continue my schooling at the New School for Culinary Arts in Dexton at the end of the summer but I had to vacate my room immediately. My best friend from high school had moved to Dexton but was away at college, but somehow, he found out about my predicament convinced his parents to let me stay at their place. Gary’s mom was picking me up today.

I remembered Gary’s mom fairly well. She was quite pretty and I’d had a crush on her ever since I could remember but her features were still vague in my mind. She had longish, chestnut colored hair and a nice figure, not skinny but not plump either, and great legs. Breasts, well, what can I say? Gary’s mom had nice ones that were on the upper side of medium-sized but struggled to compete with her big, brown bedroom eyes or, for that matter, the pouty lips typically adorned with soft pink lipstick that blended well with a lightly freckled face. Her whole presence screamed I am woman. Well, maybe I remembered her better than fairly well. I distinctly remembered feeling awkward in her presence but knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

Now, Gary’s dad, he made me uncomfortable. He acted like I wasn’t there but managed to make me feel like I was in the way. There was definitely something about me he didn’t like but I had never been able to put my finger on it. I was apprehensive at the thought of living in his house but the idea of being around Gary’s mom on a daily basis drowned that fear.

Still, I was nervous. What if Gary’s mom didn’t like me anymore? She had always favored me over Gary’s other friends and I was the only one she welcomed for a visit even when Gary wasn’t home. As a matter of fact, Gary had faded in my memory but thinking about his mom triggered strong feelings within me.

I paced up and down the hallway of the dorm from the foot of the stairs to the front door where my bags were waiting, on the inside of course; I wasn’t about to venture outside until someone I knew was there. I heard a car approaching as I turned from the stairs and picked up my pace. My heels were clicking loudly on the shining, waxed floor when the car stopped in front. I pushed the old door open to look but didn’t recognize the car, a new one of a make I didn’t know. The driver’s door opened and a woman got out.

“Allen?” the pretty woman called.

I nodded and she smiled, becoming instantly radiant. I picked up my bags and struggled through the doorway with them. Mrs. Robinson rushed up the steps.

“Here, let me help you with those.”

“I can get them,” I protested, but she took one anyway and I continued down the stairs with a suitcase in each hand and one bouncing on its wheels behind me.

She was opening the trunk, looking more beautiful than I remembered in a demure, summery shift that displayed tanned legs to several inches above the knee and matching, bare arms to the shoulders. Her hair fell over her face and she shook her head to fling it back, stooping to keep it from falling forward again.

“I’m sorry I’m so late. The traffic was just brutal.” She glanced at me and then looked back at the car, fumbling with the key. “Oh, shit. I forgot,” she exclaimed, straightening up. She pointed the keys at the trunk and pinched a button in her hand. The trunk popped up and she turned to me, laughing. “I’m such a ditz sometimes. I should be blonde.”

We stuffed my bags in the trunk and Gary’s mom gave me a hug.

“Anything else? Is that all?”

I nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Still a big talker, hey?”

I nodded again and she laughed as she walked around the car.

“It’s open,” she said.

I ran around and got into the car. She pulled away immediately and adeptly sped through the few cars in the curved driveway, paused briefly at the entrance to the college before turning right, and peeled away.

“I’m glad we heard about your situation, Allen, and I’m so happy you agreed to stay with us.”

“I hope I’m not a bother,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Gary’s mom cried. “I’m so bored at home. We’ll have so much fun.” She flashed her smile, then looked back at the road as she steered around a car that was doing the speed limit but was still too slow for her. “You can teach me to cook,” she laughed.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, then added, “not that you can’t...”

“Oh, Allen,” she said, dropping her right hand away from the steering wheel to cover mine.

Despite the thrill of her warm skin, I looked nervously at the road. She patted my hand.

“I’m so looking forward to this.”

She stomped on her brakes, swerved and swore, lifting her hand from mine to make a gesture.

“Oops, I’d better drive and not talk for awhile.”

I settled into corner near the door, angling myself so I could observe Mrs. Robinson, pushing back into the seat out of her line of sight to make myself less obvious. I needn’t have worried. Gary’s mom threw her attention into driving even faster as she maneuvered the car down the road as if it was an obstacle course. No wonder Gary had never learned to drive.

Not that I was unhappy. The way she drove let me refresh my memory with her bodily delights. Mrs. Robinson was truly an attractive woman whose physical attributes matched the effervescence of her personality. Her arms were firm and not flabby though there was little evidence of weight-lifting to attain such perfect form. Her legs, were similarly unmuscled yet looked strong and lithe. She was a natural.

The hem of her dress had slipped up her thighs and continued to creep upwards a tiny bit with every movement of her feet on the gas pedal or the brake. Tiny blondish hairs glinted in the sun for the very inside of her upper thighs which were an unblemished expanse of the softest-looking skin.

Mrs. Robinson said something and I jerked my eyes up in panic at getting caught staring at her legs but she was looking to the left, muttering at another driver as she passed him on the right. Her hand lifted from the wheel, delightfully, because it lifted her breasts momentarily, outlining their wonderful shape as they pressed against the summer dress. I hoped it was a long drive to Dexton. I couldn’t remember how far it was.

Sometime later, Mrs. Robinson pulled off the road into a quaint looking gas station. We had been traveling along a scenic road beside a lake for some miles after a frantic hour on the interstate. Not needing to watch the road so intensely, and unable to find anyone to pass, Gary’s mom had slowed down and caught me looking at her several times. I had blushed the first couple of times and tried to keep my eyes on the road ahead but each time they strayed back. She didn’t seem to mind and I gradually lost my discomfort while I talked to her as an excuse to be looking her way. She remarked on my chattiness, teasing me that it was about time I broke out of my shell.

“But be careful,” she cautioned with a good-natured laugh, “or those girls will make a meal out of a good-looking boy like you.”

That made me blush. Did she really think I was good-looking? I couldn’t remember anyone ever saying that about me.

After getting some gas, we bought some ice cream cones and left. Mrs. Robinson drove at a relaxed pace as she licked her cone.

“Try it,” she said, offering her cone to me.

I shook my head and she withdrew it. Immediately, I regretted my decision. Fortunately, she read my face and offered the cone to me again. I leaned toward her and licked her cone. It was good.

“Yum,” I said.

“Have another,” she replied.

I leaned toward her again but she pulled the cone back an inch. I leaned further and she pulled it away again, laughing. I had forgotten how much she loved to tease. I lunged forward and caught the cone, inadvertently sliding my tongue over her fingers wrapped around the base.

“Yum again,” I chuckled, nervously covering up my innocent indiscretion.

“I hope that tasted good,” she said and I flushed red as I realized she was aware that I had licked her fingers.

“Let me try yours,” she demanded, kindly directing her attention away from my embarrassed face.

I offered my cone. Mrs. Robinson stretched her neck out and opened her mouth but not far enough to reach the cone. I leaned closer but she moved back a bit so I released my seatbelt and shifted into the middle of the seat. I touched the ice cream to her lips and she treated it to a small stab of her tongue, licked her lips, then lavished the cone and my fingers with a long, wet scrape of her tongue. She giggled as she closed her mouth to stop the melting ice cream from leaking away but couldn’t prevent a drop from dribbling down her chin. I peeled the napkin from the base of the cone and used it to dab the drip before it fell on her dress.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” I answered, leaning back, feeling somewhat absolved.

“More,” she insisted.

I tilted the cone toward Mrs. Robinson’s mouth. Just before reaching her outstretched lips, the top scoop teetered forward. Quickly, I swung my hand in and up to break its fall but it toppled anyway and bounced off her chin before plummeting downward. Happily, the forward motion of Mrs. Robinson’s chin as she tried to shove the wayward scoop back onto the cone pushed it into an arc that missed her dress. The blob of butterscotch ripple settled into the crease between her thighs near the hem of her dress.

“Oohhh, that’s cold,” Gary’s mom giggled. “Quick, get it out!”

I stared at the ice cream already starting to melt between her hot thighs.

“Grab it G..., Allen, quick.”

I reached down and, digging my fingers underneath, tried to lift the ball of ice cream but it skidded further up her legs instead.

“Whoa! Don’t get it on my dress,” she cried, dropping the hand holding her own cone down to drag the dress away from the ice cream with her three outer fingers.

Three things happened. First, the remaining rum and butter ice cream in Mrs. Robinson’s cone fell out onto the offending scoop from my cone. Second, Mrs. Robinson’s dress skidded up her thighs until a narrow strip of panty appeared. Third, my mind stopped working.

“Allen. I have to drive. You have to get the ice cream off my legs.”

My eyes were locked onto the narrow strip of panty stretched over a puffy expanse of very female anatomy characteristically demarcated by an intriguing central groove.

“Allen.”

“Allen!”

“Yes,” I answered thickly.

“Don’t push, scoop it back.”

“Okay.”

I turned my fingers around and used them like a hoe, digging the tips between her legs and lifting a finger full of ice cream up and out. I looked around for somewhere to get rid of it, then popped it into my mouth.

I lowered my hand to get some more. I looked at the mess between her legs but my eyes quickly glued onto the strip of pink panty again. Following my eyes and erroneously thinking her dress was in the way, Mrs. Robinson pulled it up further until the whole strip of underwear was revealed and a narrow expanse of sexy, pouting tummy above it. Tentatively, I put my fingers on her legs, close to the panty, and dug them in the groove of her pressed-together thighs, then scooped backwards to retrieve another batch of ice cream. About to get rid of it like before, in my mouth, Mrs. Robinson stopped me.

“Hey.”

Startled, I looked to see her waiting with an open mouth. I turned my hand around and ladled the ice cream onto her protruding tongue and inadvertently followed it inside to keep the ice cream from falling off. Her lips closed over my fingers before I could pull them out and she sucked them. I froze, shocked, until she mumbled for me to pull my fingers out. I did but she didn’t loosen her hold to make it easy.

“That was good,” she said when my fingers were finally free. “Get the rest of it.”

I was disappointed when I looked down. There was hardly any ice cream left. It had almost all melted into her legs.

“There isn’t much left,” I said.

“That’s too bad,” Gary’s mom laughed. “They’re good together. I think we’ve discovered a new flavor.”

I laughed too as I dug my fingers between her thighs again, almost touching the pink panty, and dragged them away too slowly. I lifted the little there was left to Mrs. Robinson’s lips and, this time, I moved my fingers over her warm tongue to help her clean it off.

“Mmmmmmm,” she murmured.

“Last one,” I said.

“Awwww.”

Why hadn’t I said there was more. She wasn’t counting. When I pulled away to return to my seat, her voice stopped me.

“Can you use this to clean my legs while I drive?”

I leapt at the chance, taking the proffered napkin and immediately began wiping her legs.

“Gently,” she said. “I’m not a table.”

So for several minutes, we drove down the country road while I sat next to Gary’s mom, licking the napkin and rubbing it gently up and down her thighs, but I didn’t dare brush against her panty again.

“Thank you, Allen. You’d better buckle up, we’re coming into town.”

I wondered how long she would have let me fondle her legs if the town hadn’t come. It wasn’t until I buckled my seatbelt that I noticed my robust erection. Startled, I glanced at Gary’s mom but she seemed oblivious. Seeing her dress still bunched up on her lap didn’t do anything to relieve the pressure in my pants and it wasn’t until we pulled into the driveway that she pulled the dress down.

She turned off the engine and twisted my way.

“Welcome home, Allen.”

Perhaps she was trying to make me feel at home to brace me for the cool reception I received from Mr. Robinson. He didn’t outright object to my presence but was obviously not thrilled with it either.

“He’s getting grumpier every year,” Mrs. Robinson whispered as she led me to the spare room downstairs in the basement. “Do what Gary does and act like he isn’t even here,” she suggested.

“Gary doesn’t get along with his dad?” I asked, surprised. Gary used to love playing ball with his father.

“They grew apart,” Mrs. Robinson said, then added, “it wasn’t Gary’s fault.”

I would have liked to hear more but she didn’t offer any further explanation. I decided it wasn’t my business and settled for watching Mrs. Robinson’s bottom as she descended the stairs ahead of me. She directed me to a large room that used to be a big, open play area when Gary and I were younger but had been finished into a large bedroom. Gary’s mom deposited my suitcase on the bed and I set the others down near it.

“What do you think?” she asked, slowly waving her arm in a wide arc.

“It’s great, awesome,” I said.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, clearly pleased. She had obviously gone to a lot of work to make it nice.

“There’s is bluetooth speakers there for your phone, and the TV, of course,” she indicated the flat screen mounted on the wall, “with a Blu-ray player, and a laptop.”

I was blown away. “I don’t know what to say,” I said, overwhelmed by her kindness.

“Don’t say anything,” she said. “If anyone deserves it, you do.”

I didn’t follow her logic but when she stepped close to me and rose up on her toes and kissed me on the lips, all potential argument melted away. She was gone in an instant and I was left wondering if she really had kissed me on the mouth but the tingle on my lips and the lingering press of her breasts against my chest were hard to ignore. I found myself wishing Gary would never come home. I had to get Mr. Robinson to like me, or at least not dislike me, so I could stay forever.

That proved to be a difficult task. Mr. Robinson barely spoke at dinner other than asking to have the potatoes passed and even then, he didn’t ask me. Afterward, while helping Mrs. Robinson clean up in the kitchen, more to avoid being alone with her husband in the living room, she advised me to ignore him until he started to warm up to me on his own.

“He’ll come around,” she said. “He just doesn’t like change. Anyway, Gary and I want you here, so he’ll just have to adapt.”

I barely heard the last part because when she said, ‘Gary and I want you here’, she had nudged her knee against mine. At that particular instant, Mr. Robinson happened to come into the kitchen. He deposited his empty dessert plate on the counter and turned to go away, looking even grumpier than he had at dinner. I was sure he had seen Mrs. Robinson rub her leg against mine.

“Can we at least have some coffee?” Mr. Robinson asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“Sure, honey,” Mrs. Robinson replied sweetly.

As he passed through the doorway, Mrs. Robinson nudged my knee again with hers as if it were a secret method of communication she had devised just for us. The next few days were like that. Mrs. Robinson always found ways to make me aware of her, usually by nudging me with her knee but also by placing her hand on my arm or, a couple of times, stretching her foot out to poke my leg when I was sitting on the same couch as her.

She would ask me to fetch or do something for her, like asking me to check the patio for dishes when she was loading the dishwasher. That was okay. I could go that far outside by myself when someone I knew was close but then she asked me to go farther afield, still in the yard, but out to the very end to get a hand trowel from the shed or to move the sprinkler. I handled those quite well. I was a mess inside the first couple of times but managed to hide it from Mrs. Robinson. She was always very pleased when I finished one of her little tasks, and spoke to me in a flirty voice and rewarded me with an intimate hug which I loved.

Still, I found myself trying to avoid Mrs. Robinson when her husband was home. That was hard to do because she had begun to wear dresses of thinner material that hugged her body so closely it didn’t look like she was wearing any underwear, or at least, stuff that was so flimsy it didn’t show through her clothes. The lack of undergarments on her upper body was obvious because the summer dresses she favored were the type with a loose, low neckline that separated into wide straps that curved over her shoulders before joining again low on her back, under a wide expanse of bare skin.

My nervousness about Mr. Robinson’s presence wasn’t so much that she flirted with me when he wasn’t around but rather that she didn’t stop even when he was there. True she didn’t flirt as overtly but she still did it. I wasn’t afraid that Mr. Robinson would get violent but rather that he would make me leave.

Mrs. Robinson’s more muted flirting in her husband’s presence was usually something like adopting a provocative posture such as reclining on the couch in a way that presented a long expanse of bare leg, or sitting in a way that forced one of her breasts to thrust against her dress to starkly define its form. If I wasn’t looking, she would make a movement or a sound to draw my attention.

One way or another, I was in a constant state of arousal, whether walking around or sitting down. I gave up trying to hide the affect she had on me, that is, to hide my erections, at least from her. It was impossible because I always had one to some degree. When it was harder, usually after an extended display of some part of her body, covered yet not hidden by clothing carefully chosen to be incapable of true disguise, or the casual nudge or light touch of her hand which was becoming more frequent and lingering.

It was on one such occasion, that Mrs. Robinson was lying on the couch with her feet stretched out along it, while Mr. Robinson sat in the chair behind her and I in another across the room. She raised her knees up and that caused her dress to fall from her knees and slide way down her thighs. I hadn’t seen so much of her legs since the day she drove me home but this time my vantage point allowed me to see the glorious curve on the underside of her leg from the knee down as it thickened into her ass.

Almost instantly, I became rock hard and peered over the top of my book at the backside of her legs. Mr. Robinson grunted. I glanced at him, guilt flooding through me. The set of his jaw was stern but he wasn’t looking at me. I had the feeling he was aware of the state of his wife’s dress. I looked back to enjoy it anyway. I simply could not avert my eyes for more than a few seconds.

Mrs. Robinson lifted one foot up and stretched her leg out until her toes pointed toward the upper corner of the room, tensing her calf prettily. Slowly, she let it settle back into its former place. A few minutes later, she repeated the exercise with her other foot. Over the next half hour, she did this several times and my cock got harder and harder.

Once, she let her knees fall apart, opening her legs wide. Sitting directly to her side as I was, I couldn’t see between her legs but I imagined what it would look like anyway and almost came in my pants picturing her exposed pussy, or better, one hidden only by that narrow strip of pink panty I had seen in the car with tufts of chestnut hair peeking out the sides.

I was not particularly interested in sex and wasn’t one to seek porn on the internet but I wanted to fuck this woman so badly I leaked in my underwear. Mrs. Robinson eventually pulled her dress up closer to her knees and braced it with the book she was reading. A few minutes later, she looked over at me and asked if the book I was reading was good, then asked I wanted some tea. I declined, saying I was tired and wanted to get an early night.

After I went downstairs, I heard Mr. and Mrs. Robinson talking. He didn’t sound happy and whatever she was saying in response didn’t ease his mood. Sometime after the altercation ended, I was in bed with the lamp turned on its lowest setting, watching TV with the sound down while my hand absently twiddled with my cock which I had long ago emptied into the toilet. Mrs. Robinson entered the room and moved quickly to the bedside.

“You’re sure you don’t want some tea, Allen?” she asked.

I shook my head, barely able to speak. Mrs. Robinson had changed into her bed attire, a long nightgown that flowed around her legs as she walked. The top was the same shape as the dresses she liked: wide shoulder straps bordering a low neckline. She bent down over me.

“You forgot to give me a kiss goodnight,” she said, hovering over me with pouting lips and dangling breasts.

“I didn’t know ... but, we haven’t...”

“I know, but we should start. I’ve been trying so hard to make you feel comfortable, to feel at home. You do like me, don’t you, Allen?”

“Yes, of course,” I stammered.

“Then, kiss me.”

I stretched up and brought my lips to hers, giving her a quick kiss. Mrs. Robinson followed me down as I sank back into the pillow, her lips regaining contact with mine. She kissed me more firmly on the lips but it lasted only a little longer than mine. She pulled up an inch or so.

“Is that all?” she asked, her breasts brushing my chest.

“I ... I, uh, I...”

Mrs. Robinson stood up.

“Goodnight, Allen.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Robinson.”

“In real life, Allen, you have to reach for what you want and, if at first you don’t succeed, you must try again.”

Mrs. Robinson walked away. Her back was bare and the filmy nightgown couldn’t hide the fact that nothing else covered her bottom. I guess I was supposed to think about what she meant but my thoughts were captured by her derriere.

The next morning, Mrs. Robinson wore a short skirt and t-shirt top that curled around her neck but left her breasts hardly covered. Mr. Robinson looked even less pleased than he had the night before. He seemed torn after breakfast, looking reluctant to leave but sufficiently angry to stomp out of the house, though he left without saying anything.

Mrs. Robinson went out into the backyard to sit in the sun but I stayed inside, afraid that Mr. Robinson would return, angry enough for action. After an hour or so he hadn’t come back and my desire got the better of me. I went outside and sat on the lounge next to Mrs. Robinson. She was reading but as soon as I sat down she dropped her book and started rubbing oil on her legs. It was extremely erotic, the more so because I knew she was putting on a show for me. I wanted to touch her, to offer my services to apply the oil for her, but I couldn’t summon the courage to do it.

After her legs were done, Mrs. Robinson did her arms. She applied the oil in long, slow strokes, much as she’d done her legs. My cock was burning but it got even harder when her hands slipped under the lapel of her shirt to bathe the inner swells of her breasts with oil. Mrs. Robinson lifted the material away and rubbed the oil over her breasts and paid no attention to her enraptured audience who was staring openly at her partly bared breasts. She surprised me when she suddenly swung her legs toward me and sat up, looking directly at me. Boldly, though I felt no courage, I didn’t look away.

“You’re starting to come along, Allen.”

I didn’t know what to say or do. I thought I knew what she was talking about but was afraid to acknowledge it. Luckily, she relieved me of the obligation to respond.

“I’m hungry. Should we have some lunch?”

I nodded, relieved.

There was no further teasing that day until after supper when Mrs. Robinson repeated the leg show on the couch. Mr. Robinson seemed particularly unhappy but after I went to bed, surprisingly, there were no angry voices.

This time, when she leaned down to kiss me goodnight, I tried for a longer kiss and even reached up to lightly grasp her shoulders when she started to pull away in an effort to keep the weight of her breasts on my chest.

“Do you like kissing me, Allen?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like looking at my legs while I’m reading?”

I thought about denying it but her expression demanded honesty.

“Yes.”

“Gary’s father doesn’t like it.”

“I know,” I acknowledged.

“But you look anyway?”

“I can’t help it,” I admitted, blushing.

“That’s alright, Allen. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No. It makes me feel pretty and warm inside.”

“It does?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Robinson leaned down to kiss me briefly again, increasing the weight of her breasts on my chest so much I felt them flatten out.

“Do you feel warm inside when you watch me?”

I blushed again.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Mrs. Robinson whispered, “but you’re not allowed to look at my legs again unless you do something for me.”

“What?” I asked.

“Go to the store for me to get a few things.”

“By myself?”

“Yes. By yourself, but it’s only to the corner store. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Mrs. Robinson’s breasts became heavier and her lips nuzzled mine.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Good,” she sighed, and kissed me, lingering longer than before.

The next day, I went to the corner store and returned with a small carton of milk. I didn’t tell Mrs. Robinson that I ran all the way back and she didn’t ask why I was breathing so hard. I was disappointed that she had changed from the short skirt she had been wearing into a longer dress. She noticed me looking at her covered legs.

“Tonight, Allen, after Mr. Robinson gets home.”

My disappointment showed.

“There, there. You can wait for a few hours, can’t you?”

The sadness that had enveloped me did not diminish with her promise. I had gone all the way to the store, on my own. I was expecting an immediate reward.

Mrs. Robinson relented. “Would you like a quick peek?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

Mrs. Robinson bent over slightly and grasped the hem of her skirt. She lifted it up a bit, smiling when my eyes became more intense.

“You do like my legs, don’t you, Allen?”

“Yes.”

The dress lifted higher, half way up her thighs.

“Do you really like them?”

“Yes, I really like them.”

Higher.

“Really, really like them?”

“Yes, I really, really, really like them.”

“That much?” Mrs. Robinson laughed. “Oh, my.”

I forgot to nod because her hand had continued to pull the dress up, and up, and up, and finally bared the lower part of her panties, yellow ones this time. The dress kept rising until Mrs. Robinson’s belly appeared and the arms of the panties arching over her hips.

“Do you like my panties, Allen?”

I nodded speechless as Mrs. Robinson twisted her torso very slowly, just far enough to show the jut of her ass before turning back.

“Would like me to wear them tonight, or do you prefer the pink ones?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t believe her admission that she knew I had seen the panties she had worn the day she picked me up.

“With Mr. Robinson sitting right behind me?”

My cock lurched at her acknowledgement that she had knowingly teased me in front of her husband.

“Yeah!”

“Okay, if you really want me to.”

Mrs. Robinson dropped the dress, walked over, and leaned against me.

“It does make me feel warm inside when you look at me like that.”