I have to say, sometimes being a stud gets trying.

Yup, stud. Jimmy Elliott, 17-year-old pussy-poundin' machine; that's me. Hey, what can I say, I like pussy. And since I'm a big football dude at school, and a good student, and damn handsome-well, I get all the pussy I want.

And yeah, most of the other guys at school hate my guts. Hey, who cares? The girls love me, that's all I care about.

It's been like that ever since I first realized why my dick got hard. I lost my virginity at 12. And she was 15. That's right, my first time, an older girl-and she oohed and aahed like I was the second coming. Even back then, I could wow 'em. Hey, when you got it, you got it.

And I had it. Any time I wanted it, all I had to do was snap my fingers. A different girl every weekend-or repeats, whatever I wanted. The girls knew the score-I was out for sex, and not anything else. There were plenty, believe me, that'd go right along with that. Understand something, I'm not the kind of guy who just wants to rip off a piece. The girls I was with enjoyed themselves-I made damn sure of that. And, believe me, that reputation did not hurt when it came to adding to my total. Girls talk. When they talked about me, if they were talking about sex, they were saying good things.

However, at this point in time-being 17, towards the end of my Junior year, I was, frankly, getting a little bored.

Like I said, I'm a good student. I'm no dummy. I wasn't the stereotypical football jock that can't string two coherent sentences together. There are football players with brains. Especially quarterbacks, which is what I was.

Which meant, as much as I liked sex, an intelligent conversation before-or even after-was a good thing. And I wasn't getting much of that. Despite my grades and intelligence, what I was known for was for being The Quarterback. And, because of that, what I got in the way of female talent were the brainless bimbo cheerleader-types.

Oh, sure, that's another stereotype-but that's what my experience was. The girls that mooned over the stud quarterback were usually cheerleaders (or wannabes) and almost always dumb as rocks. Yes, there were smart girls in school. And, yes, I might've even gotten a date with a couple of them. But-the ones I knew, anyhow-that's all I was gonna get off of 'em. And, like I said, a good rutting is still number one on the list of priorities.

What I figured was I needed a new playing field.

And that's when I thought about Stacy.

No, I wasn't interested in Stacy, herself. We'd been friends forever-she only lived a few streets over-and she was fine as a friend. But as a lover? Nope-she was a cheerleader. Blonde, blue-eyed, big tits, prone to mooning and giggling, especially around me. I'd had enough of that.

But I'd been around Stacy's house a time or two, and there I'd gotten a glimpse at the real prize-Stacy's Mom.

See, the way I figured it was this: I was an experienced cocksman, right? My talent was getting wasted on these high school bimbos. It was time for me to graduate to the Major Leagues.

And Stacy's Mom had it goin' on, believe me. This chick was seriously HOT. Yeah, she was older, late thirties or so-who cared? She looked 25, which was fine by me. With all those football muscles, I didn't figure I looked 17, either. And her husband, Stacy's dad, had taken off some years before. I figured she needed a good lover. That'd be me.

So, that spring, the end of Junior year, I became more receptive to Stacy's invites. She always wanted me to come over. I'd do it anyway, in the warm weather, since they had a pool. Now I had another reason.

Stacy tried, of course. I could tell the (feeble) attempts at seduction. I just laughed 'em off. Finally, Stacy asked me point-blank, "With all the girls you've dated, how come you've never asked me out?"

"Ah, c'mon, Stace," I told her, "just wouldn't feel right. I mean, we've been friends since second grade." I love using that one on chicks-because chicks do it all the time. I'd bet Stacy had used the 'I just wanna be friends!' line a thousand times. They all do. And they know it's a slap-but, since it's their favorite slap, they can't say anything about it! And Stacy was no exception. She made grumbling noises a bit, but then backed off. She still kept inviting me over, probably nursing the flicker of hope. And I kept going, lusting after her mother while I was there!

Mrs. Gregory seemed to finally notice me after a while-but not in the way I had planned. She knew me, of course, but didn't seem to pay much attention to me. Until a day a few weeks before school got out for the year. "James," she said, "I have a proposition for you."

"Yes?" I said, hoping.

She blew that hope right out of the water. "I need some help around here during the summer. Lawn mowing, cleaning the pool, trimming the hedges, that kind of thing. You're a strapping young man, you shouldn't have any problem handling the tasks. I'll pay you, of course."

Not the kind of proposition I was angling for-but, still, I eagerly accepted. It was another excuse to hang around the house, right? Plus, I could use the money, and Mrs. Gregory promised a generous rate.

So, I spent a lot of that spring, and into the early summer, at Stacy's house. I'd hang with Stace, do the yard work, and ogle Stacy's Mom. The pool was always available, too, a good thing after I worked up a sweat doing yardwork.

And Stacy turned out to be cool, after she stopped flirting with me every seven seconds and started acting like an actual person. She must've taken that 'we're good friends' crap to heart, because she started acting like a friend. And when she did that, she turned out to be good company. We talked a lot-about a lot of different stuff. Stace had a brain in her head, surprise surprise. We even talked about football. I had said something, and she went right with me.

"You know that much about football?" I said, flabbergasted.

"Of course," Stacy grinned. "Why do you think I'm a cheerleader?"

"So you can shake your pom-poms," I grinned.

"Not hardly. You've got me confused with the rest of those twits. I'm a cheerleader because I love football!"

"You learn something new every day," I laughed. I found I enjoyed talking to her. Yeah, she still had a tendency to wear the skimpiest string bikini around me, to entice me. Frankly, I didn't mind. Of course, I didn't tell Stacy that her mother wearing a sharp business suit was sexier!

So, things were good. Stacy was all right, I was making some money, I had a pool to swim in, and I got to ogle Stacy's Mom.

Now, I just needed to find a way to fuck her.

I didn't have a set schedule for the yardwork. You know-if the pool was dirty, I cleaned it. If the lawn was getting long, I mowed it. I was over there so much it didn't seem to matter.

One day, I went over, and there was no answer at the door. But I took a look at the lawn and noticed it needed to be mowed. So, I went into the shed-I had a key for it-and got the riding mower out and started doing my bit.

I was in front of the house, when I noticed a motion. I looked up-and there stood Stacy's Mom-wearing nothing but a towel! Jesus Christ, I thought I was going to fall right off the mower!

She waved, and I turned the mower off. "Hello, Jimmy," she said. "I was coming out of the shower and heard the noise, and was just making sure it was you."

"It's me," I grinned. She stood there on the porch smiling at me. The towel covered the important places-her boobs and her snatch-but just barely. I popped a boner in record time. And I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it.

She noticed. And then did something weird. She lifted her right arm, pointing. The motion made the towel slip-and I got a glimpse of her right nipple. "You missed a spot over there," she said, laughing, pointing to a spot across the yard. I didn't even see where she was pointing-I was too busy looking at her nipple peeking out over the towel! She lowered her arm-slowly-and very nonchalantly readjusted the towel. Then she smiled at me, turned, and headed back through the door-sashaying her hips as she did. The bottoms of her ass cheeks peeked out from below the towel-and she made sure I saw 'em. She turned back over her shoulder and grinned at me-and then she was gone.

Man, what a tease!

I like that in a woman.

How on earth I finished the mowing that day, I'll never know.

After that, Mrs. Gregory got more, I don't know, free around me. I'd be doing the yardwork and she'd be lying around the pool in a bikini, grinning at me. Not around Stacy, mind you-never around Stacy. But if I were there doing stuff and Stacy wasn't, she'd tease me.

I guess she was interested. I also guess she was flattered by my attentions-because I'd stopped trying to hide them. She'd be out in the bikini, and I openly ogled. She didn't seem to mind.

And, in hindsight, I guess she was waiting for something-Stacy's departure. Every year, at the end of July, Stacy went away for two weeks, to visit her father, who lived a couple states away. Stacy, I had found out, adored her father.

A week after Stace had left, I went over there, to check things out. The hedges were getting wild, so I decided they needed a trim. I got out the hedge trimmers and went to work. It was an awfully hot day, so I was just wearing a pair of shorts-my shirt was off, in a ball at my feet, it was too damn hot to wear it.

Remember, I'm a football player. Muscles, I got.

Stacy's Mom came home while I was in the middle of it. She was wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top. Damn, she looked good. "Hello, Mrs. Gregory," I said.

"Jimmy," she smiled, shaking her head, "we're friends. You can call me Sharon."

"OK, Sharon."

"It's a hot day for doing this," she said, pointing to the hedges.

"That's OK. I don't mind."

"Well, OK, but you're all sweaty," she said, grazing her hand over my (sweaty, she was right) shoulder. I shuddered at that, believe me! "When you're done, come on in. I'll fix you some lemonade."

I quickly finished the hedges and scooted inside. Sharon had the lemonade all ready. She handed it to me and I sipped at it gratefully.

"My, my," she said, "look at all those muscles. Now I know why my daughter is after you." I just chuckled, and she went on. "Have you slept with Stacy?" she asked.

"No," I told her, truthfully. "Stacy and I are friends."

"She doesn't see it that way," Sharon chuckled. "And from what she tells me, she's one of the few you haven't slept with."

"I'm tired of them," I said. "Silly teenaged cheerleader types. I'm ready to move up." There it was-she had to know what I was talking about.

"Oh, you think so?" she said, grinning.

"I know so."

"So you think you can handle more, do you?" she said. Before I could get a word out, she had reached for the hem of her tank top-and had stripped it right off. "You think you can handle this?" And she wasn't wearing anything under the tank top.

Oh my fucking head! She was magnificent!

I only allowed myself a second to goggle-the lady had asked me a question, after all. "Yes, I think I can handle that."

She gave me a wicked grin, and waggled a finger at me in a 'come-hither' motion. I followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom. When we got there, I pulled her into my arms and gave her a kiss.

"Hmmm, you're not shy," she said with a chuckle.

"At my age, if you're shy, you don't get any," I told her.

"Good point," she said, and pulled me back into the kiss. We made out for a while, sitting on the bed, while my hand fondled those magnificent tits. After a few minutes of that, I reached for the waistband of her shorts. She helped me get them off.

Hot damn, she shaved!

I took my lips off hers, and started working my way down. I looked up at her, and she was looking down at me, a question on her face. "I need a taste," I chuckled, and moved in between her legs.

"Hmmm. I didn't expect that. Most men have to be trained into that."

"I was trained young," I chuckled. "Besides which, I'm not selfish in bed. One good way to make sure the reputation spreads." She laughed at that, and I dived in.

I'd seen trims before. Hey, I dated cheerleaders, and they tend to like things neat and clean-short skirts, tight panties, and a lot of jumping around were involved, and they didn't want pubes showing. But completely shaved? Hadn't seen that. This was the smoothest pussy I'd seen since I was 14 and bagged a 12-year-old. And this on the oldest woman I'd ever been with! I dove right in.

I got my whole face buried in that bare pussy, and started lapping at her labia with my tongue. Then I went for the clit, dragging my tongue over it with every upstroke. Sharon started yelping.

Then, I zeroed in, taking her clit between my lips and sucking on it, tickling the top of it with my tongue. She howled! Damn, this woman was old enough to be my mother, and I was making her cum up a storm!

Shit, I'm good.

I let her come down a bit, and then I did it again. After the second screaming cum, she tried to pull me up on top of her-by my hair. "Dammit! Fuck me! Fuck me now!" she howled. She didn't have to ask twice! I got my hair out of her death-grip, and started climbing on top of her. Remembering myself, I stopped, reached down to my pants, and grabbed my wallet.

Realizing what I was doing, she said, "You don't need that, Baby-I'm on the pill."

I shrugged. "I sleep around," I told her. "As far as I know, I'm clean, but why take chances?"

"Oooh, smart and considerate, too," she purred. "Fine. Gimme." She took the package out of my hand, and opened it. Then she took the condom herself and started working it onto my dick.

Well, that was a first. And a hell of a nice one, too!

She got it on, grinning at me, and I got into position between her legs. I aimed, and plunged right in.