My husband and I probably spend more time separately than together at our “lakeside cabin”
(really a shack in the woods about half a mile from an overgrown pond). Like when Cal announced he was taking one of his “big fishing trips,” this one a two-weeker, I had a good idea he’d be shacking up with some floozy and I’d be alone in the cabin.
That Friday, the day before Cal was supposed to leave, the minute I got home from work I threw my stuff in the car, wished him “happy fishing” and hit the road. Even with a stop for groceries, when I pulled up to the cabin there was still some daylight, and I just sat a bit enjoying the solitude. At last I opened the car door. I all but jumped out of my shorts when a man said, “Can I help with anything?”
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked as soon as I could breathe. He didn’t look dangerous. In fact, he looked young and incredibly hot.
“I’m, you know, Glenn.”
“I know Glenn-fucking-who?” I shot back.
“Glenn Willis,” he said, gesturing toward our nearest neighbors, the Willises.
“So how come I don’t in fact know you, Glenn?”
“Oh, I spend as little time out here as I can,” he said. “You know my parents.”
Ah, yes, I did know the boy’s parents. I laughed.
“My mother conned me into devoting a week of vacation to doing some supposed ‘light repairs,’ which turned out to be more like a construction project. I’ve been slaving away and haven’t so much as seen another car around here in five days.”
“Want a beer?” I asked, adding, “Wait, are you old enough? You look, like, 15.”
“You think so?” he said, stepping closer to me.
He looked to be about six feet of rippling muscle. His bulging T-shirt appeared to be painted onto his sculpted chest. “Okay,” I said, “so maybe a very mature 15.”
“Well, do I get that beer or not?” he said, smiling the most irresistible smile, with the most adorable dimple. I thought I would melt.
“Hmm,” I said, “I think there are laws about endangering the morals of a minor.”
“Oh, were you planning on endangering my morals?”
I burst out laughing, then said, “Okay, young Glenn, here’s the deal. Help me get all this stuff in the cabin and you’ve earned your beer.”
He whisked everything out of the car and followed me in. “Dump it anywhere,” I said, then went to open the windows to let some air in.
“So where’s my beer?” he said. When I looked his way, I saw him taking his T-shirt off. I’d never seen anything so beautiful, all magnificently sculpted muscle, with a sexy patch of fuzz between his lush pecs. He added, “Aren’t you supposed to be endangering my morals?”
Unable to resist, I sailed over to him and laid my hands on his chest. I had to feel those incredible pecs. God, they felt amazing — hard, yet fleshy-soft. Naturally I had to taste them. As I slobbered my way all up and down his chest, I muttered, “Beer’s in one of the bags.”
He twisted that massive yet lithe torso around reaching for the table. I fondled every ripple of muscle.
“Beer’s warm,” he said.
“Poor baby,” I said, “Is itty-bitty Glennie too little to drink warm beer?” While he opened a can, I pressed myself against his back and reached around to resume play with his rippling chest.
“So you know,” he said, turning to face me, “I’m 20.”
“Aha,” I said.
“So you’re not old enough to drink!” I tried to snatch his beer. Taking me in his arms and hugging me tight, he said, “I’m old enough to do anything you want me to do.” He made it sound utterly filthy. Then he kissed me. “It’s just your luck that I have a soft spot for elderly ladies.”
“You bad, bad little boy,” I said, gluing myself to him.
“Are you going to punish me?” he taunted.
“Don’t you think someone should?”
I shot back. But he couldn’t answer, because I had my mouth plastered to his. For such a child, he knew what to do with an elderly lady’s mouth.
I couldn’t believe this was happening, but I sure didn’t mean for it to stop. I pride myself on being in good shape for my “elderly” age — 38, actually. Glenn fondled my breasts, tweaking the pebble-hard nipples. Then he seemed to stall, so I took hold of his wrist and guided his hand down my torso until his fingers encountered my bush. He stiffened, making me wonder just how much experience he had had.
I just held his hand there, and in time his fingers began to comb through my bush. I released his wrist and his hand remained there while I moved mine up and pulled his ear to my lips, then whispered in it: “That’s it, sweetheart. Now touch my pussy and feel how aroused it is.” He twirled his fingers in my bush for a long time. Eventually his curiosity and male instincts took over, and his fingers moved slowly lower until they encountered my moist folds. His hand froze for a half-minute, then continued exploring.
He didn’t penetrate my vagina, but gradually his massage of my ragged lips became more aggressive. He was moaning, which told me his needs had reached the same level as mine. I kissed his ear, twirling my tongue in it, then whispered, “I’m ready, Glenn. I need to feel you inside me before I go insane wanting you.”
He buried himself in the cradle of my open thighs, and his blunt cockhead probed for the mouth of my vagina. When he found it, the pressure against my vulva told me he had a thick cock. Through persistence, he achieved penetration and sank into my folds. His cock, despite its girth, wasn’t all that long, but that girth felt delicious — way better than being rammed by a ten-inch cock that rearranges your internal organs.
Glenn began thrusting gingerly in and out. I was aroused, but not enough to climax in the short time before he muttered, “Damn, I’m going to come,” then rammed in once more and froze, and with his cock buried to the hilt fired jet after jet of jism into me.
I didn’t think Glenn’s cock would ever stop throbbing as the warm wetness of his spunk spread throughout my inner walls, then began to seep out of my cunt when his erection began fading in my pussy. He collapsed on top of me, crushing my breasts. I held him until he recovered enough to move off and lie beside me.
I was the first to speak. I said that had been one of the best sexual experiences of my life and I couldn’t tell him how much I loved the beautiful thickness of his unit. Glenn propped himself up on one elbow and said, “I didn’t have sex until two years ago when I went to a brothel in Nevada and an experienced prostitute serviced me. I’m glad you enjoyed it, Griselda. I’m just sorry it was over so soon.”
I kissed him and said, “There isn’t anything to be sorry about, love. You got me off too, and we’ve got all the time we could want to do it again — and again.”
He startled me by asking already if I felt like trying it again! I said, “I’m all pussy, sweetheart, ready anytime you are, day or night.”
Our conversation hadn’t just rejuvenated his erection it had also boosted his confidence. It was a different man who mounted me seconds later. Obviously sex is a natural instinct, but Glenn was eager to learn, and he picked up on anything I so much as hinted at.
We had a fabulous time, engaging in just about every possible sex act throughout the night (a notable exception being anal), and finally crashing as morning sunshine filtered through the blinds. I woke up about noon needing to use the bathroom and tried to get up without disturbing Glenn. Only he stirred as soon as I moved, reaching to pull me back in bed. I told him I had to hit the head, and I did.
I thought about taking a quick shower, but knew that in a few minutes I’d just be working up a new sweat, so I merely freshened up my crotch a little and went back to bed. It was three hours before my lover wore himself out. Then we showered and saw to getting some much-needed nourishment.
Glenn was like a different man now. For one thing, he was more outspoken, and in general he showed way more self-confidence, like the way he would slip behind me and grab both of my ass cheeks, or reach around and cup my breasts lustfully, anytime he felt like it while I was doing assorted chores around the shack.
Each day of our time together we had sex two or three times during the day in the form of quickies, then at night indulged in passionate marathon sessions. I was amazed by the young man’s stamina. He could maintain an erection for a full hour before drenching my vagina — then rest for 15 minutes and be back for more screwing!
We had such a wonderful time that when Cal finally returned home from his “fishing trip” I told him I’d hired some help locally and was getting things done around the cabin we’d talked about for years, so I was staying another week. He was probably thinking that he could have spent an extra week with his floozy, or found a new one, but congratulated me on getting that stuff done. “Just don’t work the hired help too hard,” he said.
I was really sorry when the extra week ended. For all I knew I might never see Glenn again. I told him that words truly couldn’t describe how glad I was that we’d met, and we embraced. There might even have been a tear or two shed.