A lot has been written about adult/child sex. Most of it assumes the act involved is sinful and it is, in most places, illegal. I agree that forced sex in any form should be illegal, regardless of the age of the parties. Yet, when sex is initiated by an underage girl; or in almost any situation with an underage boy and an older woman, there may be no harm in it as long as the adult is caring and careful. It may even be beneficial to both parties. Especially when the underage participant is male, it can have far reaching benefits. This story is how it helped me to learn from an older woman.

When I was fifteen my mother asked me to devote several summer Saturdays to helping a neighbor friend of hers clean up her garage and back yard. The friend had lost her husband a couple of years before and she had not been motivated to keep things up around the house.

Now, I can't be sure, and I certainly never discussed it with my mother, but I think she probably knew what would happen. My mom wasn't stupid. She knew about the hormones that drive a boy my age. She also knew I had been masturbating for a few years. She knew because she had caught me once when she came home early from work.

Mary and my mother were close, and I have to assume the sudden lack of sex for this woman (she was about my mother's age -- mid forties at the time) had been discussed between them. I know Mary had made snide comments to my mother about having been dissatisfied by the infrequency of sex when her husband was alive because I had accidentally overheard some of them. Once her husband died and even that was denied her she was probably pretty horny. So when you throw a horny fifteen year old boy into a house with a horny woman at her sexual peak (but without a steady outlet for her energies), what would any intelligent person expect? My mom was intelligent. She had to know.

Anyway, I had known Mary almost all my life. She was almost like an aunt, but not quite. A couple of times when I was younger my parents sent me to her house to stay when they went out of town. She was a frequent visitor at our house. I was present on several occasions when Mary made flirtatious remarks to or about my dad and several other men. That had happened even before Frank, Mary's husband, had died.

Mary wasn't thin. She was what is called pleasingly plump, zaftig, voluptuous, a 'BBW'. She was also fairly tall, about 5'9' or 5'10', and she carried the extra pounds well. We had a pool in our yard and I saw her in swimwear a lot. Her red hair fell to her shoulders until after she was widowed, when she bobbed it short so it curled around her ears. I thought she looked better with it short. She never dared to wear a bikini but her one-piece suits always fit her well and gave me a lot to think about.

Yes, I thought she was a good looking woman, even when I was ten or eleven, when I started masturbating. From then on, she figured in many of my stroke fantasies, especially because she was always physically affectionate toward me when she came to visit. I always got a big hug when she arrived, that pressed my face between her large breasts (since I was shorter than she was), and a kiss right on the lips. At five or six years old it was just embarrassing. When she gave me the same greeting when I was 15, however, I always hoped my hard on didn't show.

The first Saturday was overcast so Mary asked me to start in the garage. The house was an older one and the garage was detached. It sat back in the corner of the back yard, about thirty feet from the house. A connecting sidewalk was barely visible in the long grass (mowing it was on my "to-do" list). It ran from the back steps to the back door of the garage. I stepped into the dim garage and inhaled that dusty aroma most old garages have: a mixture of dust, grease, old oil and just general musty air. I looked around and tried to decide where to begin. My eye finally settled on the old workbench against the back wall.

Mary and Frank had a grown son who lived a couple hundred miles away — which was why he wasn't there to help his mother out instead of me. After Frank died, the son had taken what tools of Frank's that he wanted. That still left a good pile of rusted, broken, or simply well-used tools, as well as bolts, screws, pipe fittings, etc. on the workbench and stored in boxes underneath. All of it represented a lifetime of work and home maintenance that (if my own father was any example) Frank must have valued and even treasured. It was sad to me to see how much the son didn't want of his father's possessions.

For that matter, Mary was no more sentimental than her son was. My instructions were to "get rid of the whole mess". There was a supply of empty boxes and a new box of trash bags. I started working on one end of the bench and began the task of separating things into trash and still usable tools and other items. I had separate boxes for galvanized pipe fittings and copper (my dad knew of a recycling place where I could get cash for some of the stuff. I thought it would be a good surprise for Mary.). Frank had box lids of mixed nails and screws -- so many that I didn't even try to separate them, though I thought they would be useful to somebody. I just dumped them into an empty paint bucket I found in the corner.

I had been working for about two hours when Mary poked her head around the door. "Are you thirsty yet?" she asked. I turned around and wiped my forehead. Overcast or not, the air in the garage was close and hot. It was July and humid.

"Yeah, I am," I told her. She came in carrying a tall glass of iced tea. There was a slice of lemon stuck to the rim of the glass. Her other hand held a sugar bowl with a spoon. I declined the sugar but squeezed the lemon into the tea with my grubby hand. Mary tried to stifle a grimace.

I sucked the tea down almost in one gulp. Mary laughed and said she'd bring a pitcher next time. I grinned at her and felt the icy ache spread across my forehead. She smiled and patted my shoulder before she turned and left the garage. I watched her butt as she walked out, noticing that she had changed her shorts. I was pretty sure she'd had on green ones when I had arrived. The pair she wore then was white and tighter across her hips. They cupped and molded her butt cheeks nicely. At least I thought so. I could see her panties under the thin material.

I went back to my work still picturing the way her ass cheeks rolled when she walked. My dick began to grow as fantasies unrolled in my mind. I was so distracted that several times I had to retrieve a piece of copper tubing I'd accidentally tossed into the galvanized box, or vice versa. The next interruption came when Mary called to me from the house. My mom was on the phone and she wanted to talk to me.

"Your dad went downtown and the pickup broke down. I need to go pick him up and see what we have to do to get it running again. I'm not sure how long I'll be, so Mary said she'd feed you lunch -- and dinner, too, if we're that late. I just wanted to remind you to wash your hands and use your manners." My mom was a stickler for manners. Like any fifteen year old, I responded with disgust that she thought she had to tell me. "Are you working hard?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm cleaning off the workbench in the garage. It's gonna take a long time. There's lots of junk -- I mean stuff -- out there. There are a lot of tools that still work. Mary doesn't want any of it, so I was gonna ask her if I could bring some of them to Dad to see if he wants them." She said it was a good idea. She also told me to call before I came home in case they hadn't returned. I wondered about that, but I said I would.

When I hung up, Mary, who had overheard my side of the conversation, told me I could take anything I wanted. "I don't plan on doing any remodeling or repair work. I'll just pick up the phone and call somebody to do it. I want the garage empty so I have a sheltered place to park the car for the first time in twenty years," she laughed.

After I peed and drank another glass of tea I started back out the door. Mary said she would call me for lunch. "What do you like on your ham sandwiches?"

"Just mustard, please," I told her. My stomach said it was lunchtime already but I didn't let on. I went back out to the garage. A few fat raindrops hit my head and shoulders as I crossed the yard. It proved to be the start of a summer rainstorm. After I had been in the garage a little while I heard the rain begin to hit the metal roof with force. A few minutes later a growl of distant thunder rolled through the sky. I turned on the overhead light because the clouds had turned the garage gloomy even though I'd opened the big main door.

I filled up three boxes of junk and one each of pipe, copper tubing and their fittings. The paint bucket had also filled up so I just started shoving the loose screws and nails to the back of the bench. I stood back and took in the whole bench. I was almost two thirds finished, I thought. Just then Mary's voice came to me over the noise of the storm, calling me in to lunch.

As I said, it was only about thirty feet from garage to house, but I still got soaked to the skin as I ran through the downpour. I stepped past Mary as she held the screen door open for me. I stood on the porch wiping the water from my eyes and dripping on the linoleum. My tee shirt and shorts were soaked through.

"You look like a drowned rat," Mary laughed. "Let me get you a towel and something dry to put on," she added. That made me wonder a little bit, but I obediently stood and dripped. A few minutes later she returned with a thick fluffy towel and a pair of boxers that obviously had belonged to Frank. "Just strip down out here and throw your wet things into the dryer," she said. She disappeared into the house but left the door open.

I wiped my face, scrubbed my hair damp-dry and stripped off my shirt. After drying my chest and back I peered into the kitchen. There was no sign of Mary. The back wall of the porch where I stood was all windows but the sheeting rain would prevent anyone passing by in the alley from seeing anything so I took off my shoes and socks. My shorts and briefs followed. I made a quick job of drying before practically jumping into the too-big boxers. I felt for the fly button and found only threads where it had fallen off. I would have to be careful not to accidentally flash my hostess. I put my clothes into the dryer, set it for a half hour, and started it.

I felt almost naked since the shorts were so large. As I stood there the only point of contact between the shorts and my body was the waistband. The legs ballooned around my thighs and my dick and balls hung free. Echoes of my garage fantasies tried to assert themselves but I choked them down and entered the kitchen just as Mary came back from whatever part of the house she had been in.

We talked about her late husband's habit of never throwing anything away as she sat me at the kitchen table and put a thick ham sandwich before me. There was a scoop of potato salad on the side and a bag of potato chips next to my plate. From the refrigerator Mary brought a fresh pitcher of iced tea and a glass with ice cubes in it. She poured it full and set it next to the little plate of lemon slices. Mary pulled a beer from the refrigerator and drank it while I ate. By the time I'd finished eating she had finished it and another one.

Mary was surprisingly easy for me to talk to. She had a great sense of humor and didn't seem to care what she said or who heard her. She claimed it was her Irish heritage and the red hair. She had me laughing about some of the other neighbors and their habits. I felt completely at ease around her. It was like she was my friend rather than just a friend of my mother's. I had almost forgotten that I was sitting there wearing only a pair of boxers until she passed behind me on the way to the porch to check on my clothes.

She let her hand slide across the back of my shoulders and gave my shoulder a squeeze. I looked up at her and saw a different look on her face. She was smiling, but it was a different kind of smile. In later years I'd learn what that smile meant, but right then it made me think of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, or the wolf in Red Riding Hood. She turned away and I watched her butt again. My cock twitched.

I heard the dryer door slam and she came back in holding the warm clothes to her cheek. I saw with embarrassment that my underwear were right on the top, next to her cheek and lips. I hadn't washed the clothes, just dried them. So whatever soil -- and other stuff -- they'd held was still in them. The idea that some of the fluid that oozed from my cock when it got hard was next to Mary's lips sort of excited me. I'd heard about blow jobs but my own sexual experience was limited to my hand. The twitching threatened to become a full erection, so I hurried to take the clothes from Mary.

I went to the bathroom to pee and change back into my clothes. I toyed with the idea of beating off, but pushed the thought aside. When I came out Mary said she had to go out for a bit. The rain had stopped and the sun was out again, making everything steam. I saw that she had traded her shorts and top for a sundress. The top was cut square and low. It showed off the tops of her large breasts. I wasn't sure, but I figured that since there were no straps visible, she wasn't wearing a bra. The dress stopped about the middle of her thighs. I wondered if no bra meant also no panties.

I tried not to stare but it was difficult. "Just make yourself at home, Danny, like always," she said, running her hand through my hair. She had always said she was envious because my hair was so blond. She gave me a smile and leaned over to kiss my forehead before leaving. I could see the outline of one nipple then and I knew for sure she wasn't wearing a bra. She walked out the front door and I went back to the garage.

I had finished the work bench and was just sweeping it clean with a small hand brush that had been covered up by some other stuff when I heard the back door of Mary's house close. I peered through the dirty window and saw Mary coming toward the garage. She still wore the dress. I had taken my tee shirt off since it was so hot. When she came in she looked at my sweaty, dirty chest and gave me a grin. Then she looked at the workbench. "So there was wood under there all this time! You've done a lot of work. I'm going to have to talk to your mom again about paying you."

Mary had offered to pay me but my mom had told her she wouldn't hear of it. It kind of pissed me off at the time, but I knew it was the right thing to do. She'd never taken a dime for all the favors she'd done for us over the years. So I said, "Nope. We won't let you pay me. This is what friends do for each other." It was what my mom had told her, too. She gave me a big hug and this time she patted my butt. I felt my cheeks get hot because her hand stayed there when she looked at me. Her left breast was crushed against my bare chest. I swear I could feel her nipple through the dress.

"You're quite a sweet young man, Danny," she said in a strange voice. "And you're becoming quite a strong, handsome young man as well!" She let me go and cleared her throat. Then she fanned herself with her hand and said something about how hot it was in there. I thought her cheeks were kind of pink, too. "Anyway, why don't you come in for a while and take a break? I bought some ice cream for us."