Copyright© 2002-2003

There once was a maid from Mobile
Whose cunt was made of blue steel.
She only got thrills
From pneumatic drills
And an off-centered emery wheel.

I'm the luckiest seventeen year old in my town - and I can't even tell anyone. Don't think I haven't tried, just that my closest buddy started to turn real squirrelly when I started to tell him about Dixie, I immediately changed the subject.

You see, Dixie is the slut that lives next door. Well, that does not properly describe her - Dixie is my personal slut next door. That in itself is a great thing. What would you say if I also tell you that Dixie is fifty-eight years old?

I'm no longer a lucky guy but some sick pervert right?

Well read this short written diarrhoea about when we first fucked and how she became my slut and then judge me. Its the only form of bragging I have, as I can't actually talk with anyone about what is going on in my sex life.

Lets start with Dixie - or her real name, Diane Caraway. Before our relationship really took off, I would have classified her as a frumpy luckless old woman who never smiled. She was simply a neighbour and I rarely gave her a second thought. Dixie was a name I gave to her after reading about a retired stripper, from the forties, by the name of Dixie. So that became her 'title' between us. If truth be told, I would guess Diane rather enjoyed her life as Dixie much more than the latter.

Her looks then are different than they are today, though some things stay the same. For one, Dixie always wears skirts or dresses. That was one of the things I noticed about her first - her legs. Back then she never showed her legs bare, but encased mostly in nylons. The skirt, much to my disappointment, was always past her knees back then.

Then, one day, her skirt was the type that ended just around the knee. The first time she noticed me admiring her in a sexual way, I think it shook her up quite a bit. Here I was, a fourteen year old staring at a woman old enough to be my grandmother. If you don't know anything about teenage boys, then let me tell you that everything was sexual. So when Mrs. Caraway crossed her legs and her knee-length skirt was accidentally pulled half-ways up her thighs revealing more of her legs than ever before - I could I not help but gaze in lust.

I remember very little except admiring her nylon covered legs while time disappeared. From what I have gathered though, is that Diane sat there staring in near-shock between her crossed legs up to my wide-eyes and back again, numerous times. It puzzled and amazed her at first - why was this young man looking at her legs so intently?

Over fifty she may be but no one in her whole life, even before she married, looked at her with such open sexual admiration as I did just then. Finally, minutes later perhaps, she pulled the skirt back down to cover her knees. The spell was broken - or at least I was able to turn my gaze away.

Diane did not know much about teenage boys, only having three grown daughters, or she would have realized that that one look was a sampling of my building excitement. If she had more experience with boys and their single-minded desire for anything sexual she would have cut off my interest immediately and turned me out of her home. Instead she returned to the receipts before her, adding the totals before I took the papers to my mom to do the same. It was for some neighbourhood garage sale or something - its meaningless now.

The next time Diane looked up I was standing over her left shoulder, as if patiently waiting for her to finish her task. Except when she looked up she found my eyes staring past her shoulder and down the cleavage that was revealed.

Seeing her legs had started my hunger, seeing soft white tit-flesh added to the fire building in my loins so that I stood again mesmerized gazing at her.

It was not like she was flashing me. Heavens no! The proper mature woman could never consider such an indiscretion! Her breasts were well encased beneath a huge white bra and white silk blouse. The buttons were done nearly to her neck - but the natural thrust of her large breasts pushed the blouse out so that a shadowed tunnel lead to the promised land.

Diane suddenly stood and lead me to the door without even a look in my direction... I followed silently, not even experienced enough to be embarrassed, I did not know I had been caught.

Standing in the foyer, she handed me the bundle of receipts and mumbled something about me going straight home. I tried hard not to look at the pointy bosom before me but when I finally looked up into my neighbours face, I saw that she was very red as if she was about to be sick.

The first thought I had was that she had caught me, the second that she looked ill. My eyes, though, trailed naturally downward - as the second place I always looked after a woman's face was her chest - and saw two very distinct thrusting nipples beneath her white blouse. In those first seconds, as I stared, they seemed to enlarge and point directly at me.

For the first time I realized that I was staring, nearly panting huskily, as I gazed openly at my neighbours chest. My face began to flush and I felt just a little dizzy but I still stared at those thrusting nipples for several more lengthy seconds.

Diane stood there as if a trance, her eyes glassy as she simply looked into my own brown eyes, seeing my hunger within.

I was starting to get nervous and, as was my way, began to break this awkward situation by a little humour. The way I was going to do this was bring up a hand between us and wave it before her eyes - as if to see if she was awake. Instead of making the stupid joke I brought my right hand up and even before I began to wave it before her - Diane suddenly hissed as she sucked in air, closed her eyes and thrust out her chest toward me. I stood there stunned, with my hand mere centimetres from her bountiful chest.

All my inexperience, my naive gray matter told me to turn and run... it was my painfully thrusting dick against my jeans that took that first definitive step toward a new outlook on life for me. For Diane as well, if I should be so bold.

It translates so cold - that simple little movement forward of my open hand and the full breast that it suddenly grasped - yet it was a momentous occasion for me, for us. It changed our lives, from that moment on.

Even as my hand pressed forward, Diane mewed with pleasure and pressed her torso toward me firmly. The breast flattened slightly in my strong hand and I felt the unforgiving thrust of the nipple directly in the middle of my palm.

I look from the aged, but attractive, face to my hands holding the first breast of my life. Writing it now, it reads as so incredible, impossible - and to me, it was. Yet, not so incredible for me to lift my second hand and grasp the other thrusting tit before me. Though too big for my hands, I remember chuckling to myself that they were a perfect fit.

My hands squeezed and held those globes for some time until it was Diane's deep sighs and the quivering of her flesh beneath my hands that brought me back into focus.

It was the first, but most certainly not the last, time that I realized that the gray haired woman before me was old enough to be my grandmother. And though my dick was hard and my hands full of her covered-tit-flesh, it was just not right.

Right?

My hands fell back to my sides and I starred up into Diane's face. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at me with such a pitiful, sorrowful look that I wondered if I had done something, besides the obvious, wrong. Then that look changed slightly, into something one of the girls at school reveals when she looks at her boyfriend. The jock had stood there in the middle of the busy hallway, a group of guys ogling his gorgeous girlfriend as he slipped one hand beneath her sweater and fondles her chest brazenly, while she just looked at him with something like love, submission and acceptance all in one long gaze. Turning toward the general direction of the crowd he brags matter-a-fact, "What can I say, the slut will do anything I tell her!"

That was the look that Diane was giving me right then.

This time I was trembling, my hands quivered as I again brought them up. When Diane saw them approaching, she sucked in a lungful of air and held it while watching my advance.

My trembling fingers, god was I embarrassed that I was not calm and cool as I thought I should, began to unbutton the round pearl buttons on the white silk blouse. The old womans eyes were watching me but I ignored her - else I may not have had the fortitude to complete my chosen task.

As I pressed the blouse wide, all the buttons undone, and awkwardly pulled the tails from the waistband of her skirt - I was confronted by a white undergarment that was both functional and rather unappealing, to my innocent eyes. Diane wore what I thought was a bra, like my mother wears, but instead it was like a bra on top but the bottom went down her stomach and disappeared beneath the edge of her skirt.

Diane cleared her throat and said rather huskily, "Do you want to leave?"

Had I shown disappointment at seeing the hopelessness of, at least, getting to to her naked chest in the next few moments? The undergarment was functionally and not overly attractive but I knew with a certainty that it would be a bitch to remove! I looked again into her eyes, and though they held the same contradictions as before, I saw, with a certainty, that she thought I would leave.

She was wrong.

There was a dark brown shade beneath the thick white flowered fabric of each thrusting nipple, it was enough to cause the trembling to reach my shoulders so that my torso shivered. My hands, also trembling, again reached up, and I felt the old woman's surprise and pleasure as I again grasped her chest firmly in hand. This time I was more brazen as I kneaded them roughly, trying to press them together, to flatten them to squeeze them into cones - all while Diane gasped and sighed in response.

A new self assurance began to take hold in my brain and any thought of embarrassment or of flight was not in my conscious. Here was a woman, a live breathing woman that not only allowed me to touch her in ways that I only fantasized about but seemed to enjoy and even desire more. It was like a ten year old getting handed the keys to the candy store.

My body was trembling violently now - out of desire. Those wild barely-contained teenage hormones were breaking free and I found my mind starting to cloud over with my white hot lust.

By rough handholds I pulled Diane toward me by her covered breasts and thrust my face before hers. I had kissed girls before, but never so violently so carefree. Diane in her favour, took it all and accepted, nay, enjoyed my ravishing inexperienced attentions. I speared my tongue past her dry lips and raped her orally while I felt my teeth randomly grind into hers painfully.

My hands though, had not been idle. I gave a earnest and useless attempt to ripe the front of that god damned contraption that hid her large sexy chest, then gave up in frustration. Then I reached down and non-too gently pulled her knee-length skirt up to her waist so that my hands could reach beneath. Using aggressive and totally amateurish fumbling I pushed down both, her panty hose and panties, undergarments in a single shove.

That most impossible of fantasies, what seemed so distant yet desired so often by myself and by so many of my peers was there naked before me.

My hands slipped between us and I fumbled with my jeans.

Forcing her head to the side, as I was distracted with getting my own sex free, she gasped into my ear, "Not here... please... in the bedroom... ?"

Diane's request was not only denied but I barely registered those words till afterwards. Instead, we became a tumble of limbs and clothing as I found myself above and between Diane's spread soft thighs upon the cool spotless hard-wood floor.

My dick was free and painfully hard as I held it as if my hand knew the path better than my one-eyed hungry love pole! The skirt was getting in the way, my jeans and underwear down around my knees hindering my movements... and Diane just lay there watching me while breathing rapidly and deeply.

Suddenly the circumcised head of my cock felt the rough tickle of coarse pubic hair. It had to be her pussy right? I pressed forward and little more and felt the extreme warmth envelope the head of my dick. Using my hand, I moved myself, with difficulty, downward and suddenly I simply slid into what I had always known in fantasy, as heaven.

I was not disappointed. Rather it was a magical moment - rather humorous in retrospect, but one that I would never have changed, given a chance.

Diane seemed to find pleasure in that moment as well, as she had screamed out and then stared at me in wide-eyed and open mouthed surprise - as if she too were a virgin. She watched me as I roughly jack-hammered in and out of her rocking body - her sex boiling and anxious, though in my innocence I took that for granted.

I lasted less than a minute until I ground my sparse pubic hair against the shaggy bush between Diane's legs and groaned as I felt the explosion take control and release within that elder body.

My load spurted again and again, feeling as if every nerve of my body was radiating with fantasy-like pleasure as I collapsed upon the top of my half-naked neighbour.

The first realization, after my senses returned to near-normal, was that I could hear the fast beat of Diane's heart. Then I felt the warm liquid envelope of her sex clench my soft dick as if she did not want me to leave her.

Guilt - that was what hit me, more than the realization that I was no longer a virgin, that I seriously enjoyed the last few minutes - that I may have raped Mrs. Caraway... on her fucking foyer floor for gods sake!

I quickly rolled away from her body and fumbled with my jeans, suddenly embarrassed and feeling way out of my league. Stealing a quick look, I saw Mrs. Caraway slowly and carefully roll up to a kneeling position facing away from me and begin to return herself back to normal.

I certainly had gone a little crazy, not including the obvious the sex stuff, as her nylons and white panties lay in disarray around one leg, about her thigh. Her blouse was still upon her shoulders, the rear of it tucked into her skirt, but it appeared very wrinkled. The back of her normally well groomed gray hair was messy and from the side I could see the worried look upon her face coupled with the soiled lipstick, saliva covered lips and chin - all making her look her age. Her posture was less than her normal perfect, but of course I had never seen her sit on the floor half-dressed before. She looked tiny, old and humiliated.

Mumbling my fear, I said, "You won't tell mom about this will you?" I was thinking of jail, of the embarrassment of my peers learning about this single loss of control, about what my mother would say... I also realized I may be carted away in handcuffs for having sex with a woman whom I had not even seen naked!

Mrs. Caraway did not stop in trying to achieve some sort of normalcy in her appearance as she half-whispered her reply, "I will not tell anyone what happened here today."

Other than my immediate relief at her words, I realized that she had said them with such conviction that I knew she did not want anyone else to know what we did with as much conviction as I did.

My jeans were quickly re-buttoned and my soiled cock back in its place, as I knelt upon the floor and began to gather the long forgotten receipts that mother had sent me over for. At some point Mrs. Caraway had dropped them from her hand and they had scattered the width of the room.

As if age was a weight of burden, Diane slowly rose to her feet and I stopped in my gathering to watch her in pity. What I had done to her could never be forgiven and I had no idea what to say or do to make it better - or even if I could.

A whisper even as she was doing up the buttons on the front of her blouse, "I'm sorry what happened here today."

Even though she was not even facing me and the words were barely audible, I knew they were for me. My eyes filled up and watered in guilt as well as pity, "I'm sorry too Mrs. Caraway!" And I was - I truly was!

"I am sure your next time will be more memorable for you... !"

What? Memorable. What does that have to do about having forced myself upon her. Why did she not stop me even before I had half-torn her blouse off? Those nipples though, they were indeed hard and Mrs. Caraway has certainly sounded pleased as I played with them. Then why did she not even move as I fucked her, not a finger or a foot, as I slammed in and out of her body?

I just had to ask, "Memorable?"

Her hands trembled and she was having trouble with the last button, "Someone your own age... pretty... ?" I had seen photos, about the walls of her home, and Mrs. Caraway was never a pretty woman - plain yes, but never noticeable in any sense. In some ways I would say she was more attractive now that she had been twenty, thirty years, before.

Mrs. Caraway had given up on the last button and started to step out of the room - and she had to go past my kneeling form to do it. I reached out and grasped a smooth soft naked calf just beneath the edge of her skirt. She stopped immediately and sobbed, "Please go!"

I almost let go of her leg, so desperate was her plea, until I saw the discarded tangled brown nylons and white panties on the floor where she had left them after pulling them off her leg. I held upon the calf of the woman I had admired so brazenly earlier, and that leg lead upwards to a treasure trove where I had sacrificed my virginity only seconds before. And it was now bare!

I had to know, "Did you enjoy it Mrs. Caraway?"

What I expected was an immediate denial and a rapid retreat from the room, or at least from my grasping hand. The seconds turned into a minute and I knew that it had not been rape after all, that she desired... no, needed the attention I gave her. The truth of it made me feel dizzy with awareness.

My hand moved up to the back of her knee and rubbed it openly. "I enjoyed it Diane."

A single trembling wave rolled through her but she never gave me any other indication that she heard me. Yet I knew she had - in fact I was guessing that it was my own sexual awareness of her, the excitement I received from her, that caused her own pleasure. She was an old woman - but still held hidden and secret volumes of potential eroticism. Perhaps Diane was a woman who had never been allowed, who had always thought it dirty to feel... pleasure?

The receipts dropped, yet again, forgotten to the floor about her feet and my hand moved up further to the back of on thigh. It was warm, soft and smooth and I enjoyed it immensely. I knew, with a certainty, that she was mine for the taking.