Chapter 2

I could hardly keep still during dinner. Who would have thought it would be so easy. Earlier this same afternoon, I couldn’t even get there and yet, just over an hour later, I walked right up to the man and ordered three tickets for the baseball game on Saturday. After that, I had the balls to saunter over to a refreshment booth and order an Orange Julius, then sat on one of the mall benches and casually sipped at it until it was gone, reliving my successful penetration of the mall and wondering why in the world it had seemed so difficult. In the retelling, as I casually sauntered into the mall, I wasn’t walking stiffly and clutching the panties in my pocket, like I was even now. But hey, history is always rewritten to look grander than it really was.

The tickets were burning a hole in my pocket. Mr. Robinson knew something was up. How could he not? My excitement was particularly well hidden. It was Mrs. Robinson who couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Allen went on another adventure to the mall today.”

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Robinson responded, looking from her to me, awaiting further explanation.

I remained silent.

“Yes. He went right down to the bottom floor, deep into the bowels of the mall.”

“Ahhh. What was so important that you had to venture so far, Allen?”

“Show him,” Mrs. Robinson interjected excitedly.

I tugged the tickets out of my pocket. Thankfully they weren’t in the same one as the panties. “These,” I stated casually, tossing them onto the table in front of Mr. Robinson’s plate.

He looked at them, twisting his head to line up so he could read. Then he simply stared.

“Baseball? You bought ... baseball tickets.”

Mr. Robinson’s face lit up.

“Are you sure, Allen?” He looked at his wife. “That’s wonderful, but is he ready?”

“He’s right here.”

Mr. Robinson looked at me.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Allen?”

“Yes, of course. Mrs. Robinson says I am, so I must be.”

“Well ... that’s marvelous, that’s ... awesome! We’ll go to a game!”

Mr. Robinson stood up and his fork clattered onto his plate and bounced onto the table. He leaned forward, grasped my right hand and Mrs. Robinson’s left, and pulled us both up to our feet.

“We’re going to the game. Here’s to the game!” he shouted.

“To the game,” we yelled, then sat down at the same time, laughing.

There was no leg show that evening but I didn’t care. In a way, I felt it would ruin the new spirit in the house by leaving Mr. Robinson out. We all watched a movie together and talked about it during the commercials. It was a great evening and I felt like a real part of a wonderful family. Gary was a lucky guy. I wondered what it would be like to be in a real family where a son and his parents could get along so well. I wished Mr. Robinson knew about what had transpired between me and Mrs. Robinson, and was okay with it. I imagined Gary sitting in my place and being the one with the special relationship with his mother. Would his father condone it? Could they live together sharing this beautiful woman? Could they live with me in that knowledge?

That night, while I waited hopefully for Mrs. Robinson’s nightly visit, I imagined myself with my parents. What if they hadn’t been killed? Could we live like that? Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine it. The problem was disturbing. I couldn’t visualize either of my parents. Their forms were vague, even when I pictured myself doing to my mother what I’d done to Mrs. Robinson that afternoon, I couldn’t see her face or hear her voice clearly. What was wrong with me? They hadn’t died that long ago. Was I still so traumatized that I couldn’t even see them? Had I been in the crash?

I shook my head, tossing the thoughts of my parents out of my mind. Instantly, it was filled with a stark image I had seen the first time I had entered the mall in the afternoon but only now remembered. It was a woman, sitting on a bench at the far end of the side hallway that led to the public washrooms. She was breast-feeding her child but the scene was wrong. A baby rested in a carriage beside her. The mother seemed embarrassed and she looked away as soon as she caught sight of me approaching. Her face was hidden but she couldn’t hide the fact that the child she was breast-feeding was at least four years old, if not more. She was ashamed, I could see that, but why did it disturb me so much?

She was coming, walking sexily toward me though I knew she wasn’t trying to be sexy. The disturbing mall scene melted away.

“Hello, Allen,” she said. She put her knee on the bed but didn’t lie down on top of me as she now usually did. “Mr. Robinson is very pleased. I told him I was going downstairs to make some tea and he asked me to thank you again if you were still awake.”

“That’s very kind of him,” I said.

“Yes, it is but, more importantly, I think he’s too excited to go to sleep.”

“You mean, you can’t stay long?”

“That’s right, but you deserve a reward for your bravery today.”

Mrs. Robinson put her knees on the bed, one on each side of me, but kept herself lifted up on outstretched arms. Her breasts hung down and pressed so hard against the flimsy material of her nightgown that her nipples were clearly evident. It made me think of the woman in the mall breast-feeding her four year old son. Before I could think, my mouth went into action.

“I saw a woman in the mall breast-feeding her child today” I blurted out.

“Oh,” Mrs. Robinson seemed amused. “What made you think of that, Allen?”

She shifted her weight from one arm to the other, making her breasts sway from side to side.

“It wasn’t her baby,” I said.

“Of course it was. I’m sure she wasn’t breast-feeding someone else’s baby.”

“No. I mean she had a baby in a carriage but she was breast-feeding an older child, her son.”

Mrs. Robinson looked startled, and suddenly uncomfortable.

“How old?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Four, maybe older.”

“Did that bother you?”

“I guess so.”

“Why? Did your mother breast-feed you when you were older?”

I hadn’t thought of that. A weird feeling overcame me but no memories popped into my head.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was wrong of the woman to comfort her son?”

“I don’t know. I guess, maybe.”

“It’s never wrong for a mother to comfort her son, Allen.” Mrs. Robinson’s voice was firm, filled with conviction.

“I guess not.”

Mrs. Robinson lifted her left hand, holding herself up with only her right. Deftly, she slipped a finger under the bodice of her nightgown and pushed it aside, freeing her left breast which immediately dangled lower, bouncing with the sexiest motion I had ever witnessed.

“Here, Allen. Try to imagine how comforting it might be for her son.”

On that note, Mrs. Robinson lowered herself until her nipple nudged my lips. Though dry, they opened readily and let her stiff nipple poke into my mouth. The feelings that hard nipple stirred within me was incredible. I lifted my head from the bed, straining to get as much of Mrs. Robinson’s tit into my mouth as I could as she released a low, throaty, I-told-you-so chuckle. Her hand curled under my neck to hold my head tight to her breast and she arched her back to feed me more of her tit. My hand slipped inside her nightgown and closed over her other breast.

“Do you like it?” she hissed.

I nodded and mumbled enthusiastically around her tit.

“Can you remember, Allen, what it was like to suck your mother’s tits?”

I shook my head full of tit. The throaty laughed rolled forth again.

“I bet you loved it. I bet you sucked your mom’s tits as long as you could, long after you were a baby.”

I shook my head but her words somehow ringed true. Had my mother breast-fed me after I was a baby? Had I harassed her for a tit whenever I was anxious? I’m sure the woman’s little boy pressured her for a tit because he saw her feeding the baby but I didn’t have a younger brother or sister like that woman, so why would I do that? Why would my mother let me? Already, in my mind, I was accepting it as true. Somehow, I knew I had, but how did Mrs. Robinson know. She and my mother weren’t close friends but they must have know each other. Had they confided? Had Mrs. Robinson let Gary breast-feed far longer that the norm, like my mother? The thought of it made me so fucking horny.

I pulled away. “I love sucking your tits, Mommy,” I cried, then buried my face in them.

Mrs. Robinson grasped my head in both hands and rubbed her tits across my face, feeding one nipple into my mouth and then the other. My hands slipped around her waist and then up onto her ass. Clutching my hands, I bunched her nightgown higher and higher. I wanted another pair of panties.

“Oh, Mommy,” I cried, whenever my mouth cleared for a breath.

Mrs. Robinson went wild whenever I said it, grinding her pussy onto my cock. We were both getting carried away. I hoped she wasn’t aware of it as I was because I didn’t want it to stop. The nightgown was up. I pulled it over her bum and slid my hands over her almost naked cheeks. Almost? They were completely naked. I couldn’t feel any panties!

I pushed my hands together until my fingers met in the crack of Mrs. Robinson’s ass. I kept one there while I explored downward, the heel of my fingertips sliding over her little asshole and beyond, finding and slipping through a very hot and wet pussy. Plunging a finger into her cunt from behind, I lowered my other hand, index finger seeking, finding, then probing into the treasure the other had passed over. I nudged into it, listened to Mrs. Robinson’s grunting appreciation, then shoved a second finger into her cunt.

My hips were churning underneath her and only her flexing knees kept Mrs. Robinson positioned atop my throbbing cock. The thought of my cock made me aware of its desperate need. I withdrew my fingers from Mrs. Robinson’s cunt and slipped my hand underneath her left hip. On the next upward withdrawal of her pelvis, I deftly slipped in and, grabbing my shorts, yanked them down, freeing my frantic cock.

“Oh, God, Allen. No,” Mrs. Robinson cried upon feeling my bare cock on her tummy.

Still, she didn’t try to get off and on the next upward withdrawal of her hips, I angled my cock up. Mrs. Robinson landed above it and it skidded along her pussy lips. Immediately, she clamped her legs around it. I returned my hand, reaching over the back of her thighs to find and explore her soaking wet lips. Mrs. Robinson continued grinding her mound on my pelvis, her thighs squeezing my cock. Obviously, she was okay with our bare genitals rubbing together. We would rub ourselves until we both came.

But I wanted more than that. I kept meeting Mrs. Robinson’s downward grinds with upward, twisting thrusts of my own, my sex sounds matching hers with increasing intensity and abandonment, but I didn’t try to get inside her and I think that’s why she let her guard down. It was only later, when it felt like she was starting to get there, reaching the place of no-return, that I quickly grasped my cock between her legs and shoved forward, discovering her entrance with a blind man’s luck.

Oh, heaven of heavens. What a feeling. So exquisite, so overwhelming. So new and yet so familiar. Mrs. Robinson protested with a loud groan but, if anything, she welcomed me inside her with such a vigorous clutch I don’t think I could have pulled out if I wanted to.

“Nooooo,” she wailed, but when I started in for my second thrust her muscles grabbed me and lifted my cock, so hard my hips rose off the bed.

“Noooooo,” she cried, following me down, her hips flexing quickly as she threw half a dozen mini thrusts at my next invasion and a half dozen more on the way down.

“Fuck me, oh Jesus, fuck me,” she whimpered as I countered with my own rapid series of hard upward thrusts, our bodies slapping together.

I circled her waist to hold her while I fucked hard and fast, delighting in the way I threw her body all around. She was gone, in her own world, swinging wildly above me like a rag doll. I was losing control. Who was I kidding? I had already lost control, heaving my body up mightily, as if I was trying to fuck right through her. I felt as if I had been reborn, that I had lived before and fucked this same woman, my favorite woman in the world, of all my former lives. This one, this woman, was the best!

I grabbed her hair and tugged as gently as I could, tilting her head back. She moaned in abandonment, looking for all the world like a wild animal. I loved it. She loved it. We came.

We must have laid there for ten minutes without saying a word. The first five minutes, neither of us could have spared the breath to speak but the last five must have been out of reverence for what had just happened. I had no regrets and I sensed she had none either. Maybe, we just didn’t want to part, didn’t want to end our first time. She felt so fucking wonderful, even now, sweating on top of me, her hair a mess in my face, the odor of our sex wafting over us.

“Whew,” I finally spoke.

“Whew,” she agreed.

“That was incredible,” I gasped.

“You shouldn’t call me Mommy.”

“I called you Mommy?”

“Yes, you shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s just that it makes me go wild.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice.”

Mrs. Robinson laughed loudly. “Uh huh.”

“Can I call you Mommy again?”

“At your peril, but I prefer Mom.”

“I like living dangerously.”

“I know. It makes you hot to call me that doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I don’t know why. Mom,” I added.

“Forget it,” Mrs. Robinson said. “There’s no repeats, not tonight, anyway.”

“Mom,” I cried plaintively.

“Whining won’t do it,” she said.

“Mom,” I said more forcefully.

“Don’t wear it out.”

I took her advice and remained mum.

Mrs. Robinson got up and tugged the nightgown down her legs, then pulled the lapels over her breasts, making sure each was properly covered.

“I know why you like calling me Mom,” she said, then quickly turned and walked rapidly away.

“Why?” I called, but she didn’t answer. She was gone.

Why had she said that? Why had she known that my mother had breast-fed me past babyhood? I mean, she could have just seen my mother doing it, but I had the feeling she knew more than that. If my mother confided in each her, that implied Mrs. Robinson must have breast-fed Gary too.

So what it mean when she said she knew why I liked calling her Mom? Did Mrs. Robinson know something else about my mother and me? Is that why it made her go wild when I called her Mom?

My God, had she had sex with her own son? No, no, that couldn’t be. Or could it? No, she couldn’t have actually done it with Gary, but maybe she fantasized about it. Maybe that was why he seemed unhappy about my presence at first, thinking her fetish, if he knew about it, could actually lead into something with someone other than their son. But then he seemed so happy about me getting better, and anyway, I wasn’t a very good-looking guy. I was pretty geeky-looking. Surely, I wasn’t a real threat?

I fell asleep wondering about many things and had some very weird dreams.

It was game day. I had slept in. At first, I thought about rushing upstairs to see if calling Mrs. Robinson ‘mom’ would instigate another session like last night but then realized it was Saturday and we wouldn’t be alone. I forgot all about golf.

Lazing around, I twiddled with my dick, thinking about Mrs. Robinson and, more hazily, possible liaisons with my unremembered mother, until I had to get up to take a leak. While I was pissing, I remembered that Mr. Robinson liked to golf on Saturdays. I yanked on some shorts and half ran upstairs.

Mrs. Robinson’s wasn’t there, an absence that was distinctly disappointing. I rubbed my cock and opened the fridge. I was hungry. I was almost finished my second bowl of cereal when the door opened.

“Hello, I’m home.”

She breezed into the kitchen, carrying a bunch of bags and deposited them on the table, then turned toward the kitchen counter where I was sitting with a spoonful of cereal, dripping milk back into the bowl, halfway to my mouth.

“Ta da,” she exclaimed. “Do you like it?” she asked, twirling around.

I looked her up and down. You betcha I did, but I guess she meant the new sporty blouse and skirt she was wearing.

“Yeah, it looks great ... Mom.”

“Allen, don’t start.”

“I was just kidding. Your new outfit looks really good on you, but what wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you flatterer. Wouldn’t you rather have pancakes? I was hoping to get home earlier.”

“Nope. Cereal’s okay.”

“Are you sure. It will only take a minute.”

Why was I saying no when she wanted to do something for me?

“Okay, that would be great.”

Mrs. Robinson bustled around the kitchen, getting pancake mix, milk and eggs, then a frying pan and a bowl. I watched as she mixed it up, enjoying her sporty outfit with its short, pleated skirt and tight t-shirt. She put the mix onto the counter to let it sit for a while.

“I’m kind of hungry myself,” she said, lifting herself up onto a stool beside me.

I looked down at her almost completely bare legs.

“Are you ready for the game, Allen?”

“I think so,” I replied, not bothering to look up even though I knew it was rude. My morning hard-on hadn’t quite worn off.

“There will be lots of people. It can be a little overwhelming but I’ll be there, and Mr. Robinson too,” she assured me.

She patted me on the leg and I patted hers in response.

“You have to wait until after the game, sweetie.”

“Even if I call you Mom?” I half-joked.

“Yes, even then,” she answered, but I noted a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay, Mom. Are the pancakes ready to cook yet?”

“Let’s see.” Mrs. Robinson slid off her stool and went to check the bowl. “I don’t mind you calling me that, Allen, but not when Mr. Robinson is around.”

“Okay,” I agreed, slipping off my own stool and standing behind her while she looked at the bowl of pancake mix, which was starting to blister.

“It looks like it’s a little early yet,” Mrs. Robinson said.

I put my hands on her hips and nuzzled her the nape of her neck.

“That’s okay, I’m not in a hurry,” I said, my right hand sliding down over her buttock.

“Allen, you must wait.”

She pulled away but I followed her into the counter.

Twisting away, she said, “I think we can eat this now.”

I sat on the stool again and acted like a good boy while Mrs. Robinson cooked the pancakes. I made no further suggestions but managed to sprinkle a few Mom’s into our conversation while we ate. When we finished, I followed her to the sink to put my dishes on top of hers. I pressed against her.

“Allen, we really have to wait. Mr. Robinson will be home from golf soon.”

“I know,” I whispered close to her ear, my hands encircling her waist and rubbing along the swell of her breasts, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to the game like this.”

“Like what,” Mrs. Robinson leaned forward to get away from me which only pushed her bum into me.

“Like this,” I hissed, bulging my cock firmly into her ass. “I think Mr. Robinson will be angry if he sees me like this and I can’t control it. You’ve got to help me.”

“How?” Mrs. Robinson’s head bounced as I rubbed hard against her ass. “There isn’t time to ... do it.”

“Could you, you know, do like I did to you before I went to get the tickets?”

Mrs. Robinson froze, then pushed herself up straight. I loosened my arms to let her turn around. She was blushing.

“You mean, you want me to ... suck you?”

Those words spilling from her mouth almost made me come in my pants.

“Yeah,” I said, already pushing my shorts down.

“But Allen, I can’t...”

“I need something. You’ve got to do something before Mr. Robinson gets home.”

I shoved my shorts down far enough that my cock sprung forth, fully armed.

Mrs. Robinson looked at it and the look in her face made me proud. I may be a geek, but I was a well-armed geek.

“Please, Mom,” I whispered, putting my hands on her shoulders and pressing gently down.

Mrs. Robinson was reluctant but I could see growing acceptance forming on her face.

“Please, Mom. I really need it.”

She bent over and I stepped back, my hands slipping up from her shoulders to gently cup her face, guiding her down. Oh, God. Her lips skidded over my helmet, her tongue tickled underneath my glans, licked, and then her mouth enveloped my head slid down my shaft.

“Oh, Mom. Oh God. Mom,” I cried.

She was pulling up already, then sinking down, pushing farther. Fuck, it was so fine, so very, very fine. Up again, her tongue swirling around my tip, her lips squeezing, then sliding down, gripping. Her fingers appeared out of nowhere, one circling my root with forefinger and thumb while the other started tickling my balls.

“Suck it, Mom, suck it,” I groaned.

She sank to her knees but her head didn’t miss a beat as it bobbed up and down. I lifted her hair and smoothed it back over her head so I could try to see her face. Mrs. Robinson looked up at me and smiled, holding my eyes for a few bobs before returning to her task. I wasn’t going to last long, maybe a dozen or so strokes, if that.

Mr. Robinson’s car squealed into the driveway.

“Shit!” Mrs. Robinson cried, yanking her head off my cock.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” I yelled. “He always puts his clubs away in the garage. You can finish,” I cried, desperately trying to pull her mouth back onto me.

“Please, Mom,” I pleaded.

Mrs. Robinson let me pull her mouth back onto my cock. She closed her lips firmly around it and started bobbing again but I was now frantic to finish. I grasped her head tighter bent my knees, pulling her lower before thrusting in and out of her mouth. She loosened her lips and opened her mouth wide, keeping her head still, instinctively knowing that I was almost there and it was better to simply let me fuck her face. The sound of my cock wetly sliding in and out of her mouth sent me over the top. I exploded. She gagged and swallowed. I burst again, another gag and swallow, then I held in deep, squirting the rest of my spunk into Mrs. Robinson’s throat, trying to empty myself before her husband came in the door.

Please, oh please, don’t forget to put your clubs away.

I heard the clubs clatter as the bag was pulled out of the car. The trunk slammed and the clubs rattled as Mr. Robinson carried them into the garage. I had time. I kept hold of Mrs. Robinson’s head with one hand as I slowly fucked away the remnants of my orgasm, holding her hair back with the other so I could look at her gorgeous face with my cock sliding in and out of her mouth. She hadn’t spilled a drop.

I stumbled sideways as I tried to pull my shorts up and barely stayed upright until I hit the wall with a bang. Mrs. Robinson, despite knowing her husband’s arrival was imminent, burst out laughing. I didn’t find my predicament so funny and ran down the stairs just as the front door opened. I stopped at the bottom to listen, in case I needed to run farther away.

“Ready for the game?” Mr. Robinson yelled.

“We don’t have to leave for an hour,” Mrs. Robinson complained.

“I know, I know, but the traffic might be heavy. Where’s Allen?”

“I don’t know. He must be downstairs. No, you go up and get a shower and I’ll find him.”

I heard a loud kiss as Mr. Robinson kissed his wife. I hoped I was right and she hadn’t spilled any of my spunk. I couldn’t imagine a woman kissing her husband and not smelling the scent of another woman on his lips but I guess us guys aren’t so clever.

The game was fantastic. We drank cheap, stale beer and ate crappy hot dogs but it was up there with the best meals I had ever cooked. I made a point to whip up a special meal for my new ‘parents’. Mr. Robinson was ecstatic and drank too much beer. He even finished mine when I admitted I couldn’t finish it. We drove home in a merry mood; our team had won. Mr. Robinson rode in the back, singing some old songs from his college days. Mrs. Robinson looked in the mirror whenever he fell silent and smiled. The first few times she looked, he burst into song anew, but as we neared home, the silence was more permanent.

I stretched out my hand toward Mrs. Robinson and she took it. When we pulled into the driveway, I turned to wake Mr. Robinson but found him sitting up, looking between us straight out the front window. I had no idea how long he’s been awake and was worried because Mrs. Robinson still held my hand. She only let go to put the gearshift in Park.

We got out and walked to the door. Mr. Robinson slapped me on the back.

“Thanks for the game, son.”

“Thank you and Mrs. Robinson for giving me the courage to get the tickets, and paying for them,” I replied.

Mrs. Robinson opened the door, stepped inside the house, and waited for us to come in. Mr. Robinson walked past the closets in the entranceway with his shoes still on and went up the stairs to the main floor.

“I think I’ll head straight for bed,” he said, “but don’t let me stop you two from celebrating.”

Mrs. Robinson and I watched him walk unsteadily up the stairs. I peeled my jacket off and she kicked off her shoes one at a time. Mrs. Robinson turned to look at me as soon as her husband disappeared. She removed her cardigan sweater and I admired the way her breasts pushed out as each arm pulled out of the sweater. I took a deep breath and brushed my eyes over her entire body, lingering on her legs and that sexy, short pleated skirt.

“Thank you, Allen. He had a great time, better than he’s had for years.”

“You’re welcome. I did too.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

I looked upstairs. The air was heavy with unfulfilled expectation. Mrs. Robinson followed my gaze.

“I bet he’s asleep already.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do, Mom.”

“The light is still on.”

“He’s gone,” I said.

“I hope so,” Mrs. Robinson said.

She turned her head away from the stairs and walked into the living room but stopped beside the small couch to the right that I usually sat in. She got onto it with her knees, facing the back, and turned to look at me.

“Don’t you want me?” she asked.

I was there in two steps, kneeling behind her. She wouldn’t let me nudge her knees apart so I straddled hers. I wasn’t capable of finesse and both of us knew it. I shoved my shorts down for the second time that day and grabbed my cock with my right hand. My left hand flipped the skirt up onto Mrs. Robinson’s back and then skidded her panties onto her left cheek. The tip of my cock was already bumping behind her, searching for her entrance. I had been aware of her sitting beside me all night and I was more than ready, too ready.

“Oh Allen, so much foreplay,” she chuckled but she arched her back and pushed her bum back to help her pussy find my cock.

I slid my hands inside her t-shirt and grasped her tits just as her pussy began squeezing down my shaft. With her knees together like this, she was tight. I got all the way in, slid out part way and pushed back in twice more, then started stroking steadily in and out.

“Oh, you naughty boy, fucking your mommy when Daddy’s sleeping upstairs,” she cooed.

It sounded childish but it still made me even hornier than I already was. I grabbed her by the shoulders and started heaving into her with gusto.

“Yeah,” I cried. “You haven’t seen nothing yet. Take this,” I grunted, “and this,” I gasped, lunging hard.

Mrs. Robinson was shoved into the wall and her head slid up and down it a few inches.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Give it to me,” she cried.

So I did. I fucked her hard and didn’t slow down even when my thighs slapped loudly against the back of hers. It was rough and desperate. I pulled her away from the wall and twisted her length-ways on the couch, quickly crawling behind her without losing her pussy. She bent right over, her face falling into the couch and I crouched over her, pumping my cock wildly in her hole. Her elbows were tight by her sides and I realized she was hanging on, waiting for my release. Had she come already or had she lost it because of my roughness? The thought of her being finished, and possibly wanting to quit, spurred me on. I lunged deeper and deeper and she cried out. Before the sound died away, I found my release and grabbed her sides as my leg muscles clenched hard with each gushing deposit.

Finished, I stretched over Mrs. Robinson and followed her down as she stretched out and settled onto the couch. I was surprised to find her still dressed. I was wearing my shirt too but had lost my shorts. I nuzzled her neck for a couple of minutes and tried to kiss her.

“Get off me you big oaf,” she said.

I rose up enough to let her twist around, then settled between her legs, holding my weight off her by resting on my elbows.