Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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You may not know it, looking at me now, but I used to be quite something. Thirty years ago, Jim Callaghan was in No 10, Jimmy Carter was in the White House, and I was in my prime. Late thirties, the kids leaving home, and a body shaped by tennis and swimming. Well, there wasn’t much else to do, I didn’t have to work, not with the salary Derek was earning, so I spent my time keeping the home and toning myself. For what, I don’t know, since Derek’s workload left little left for me other than a Sunday morning Missionary. I had to get good with my fingers, since “marital aids” were so hard to come by, and so crude compared with what’s available now. Frustrating? Oh yes.

I’d managed to persuade Derek to take a holiday. We’d rented a gîte in the Dordogne for three whole weeks. It was in the middle of nowhere, nothing much to do but enjoy the local restaurants (I’ve never eaten so much foie gras in such short time), drink the local wine, and lounge by the pool reading trashy detective novels.

The gîte itself consisted of two separate holiday homes, sharing the pool. We were in the smaller of the two, since it was just me and Derek. The other had been rented by a typical nuclear family — father, mother, older boy, younger girl. Pretty dull, really, the father was into dragging them around the countryside every day when it was clear the others just wanted to lounge by the pool. The boy was interesting though — eighteen, just finished his A-levels, and impossibly shy. Ben, his name was. After a few days, I managed to get him to talk to my face rather than my (admittedly) magnificent boobs, and he got quite chatty. I don’t think he’d had much experience of girls, he’d spent seven years in an all boys school, and was waiting for a University place.

Eventually, we all settled into a routine in our little community. Derek, bereft of his work, and out of contact with the office, would drink most of the morning, and sleep most of the afternoon. Ben managed to get out of the family trips, and stay behind while they spent the day going round churches and vineyards. And I would keep him company by the pool.

It was hot that summer, and the pool was welcome. Ben and I would alternate between dips in the pool and lounging in the sun. We’d talk, and read, and doze when it got too hot. And, of course, I would flirt. Well, what’s a girl to do? After all, Derek was useless to me. Either drunk or asleep, I was reduced to sneaking off at times during the day to take care of things myself, not helped by continually seeing Ben in a pair of almost-but-not-quite-too-tight swimming trunks. He wasn’t bad looking, I was thinking, and not just because he was only shaggable male within a five mile radius. He was also a good conversationalist, once he got going. Just needed the practice, I suppose.

One afternoon, the third, I think, I asked him to help me with the suntan lotion. Inevitable, really. I lay on my front, waiting Escort Kız while he fussed with the bottle, and had to suppress a sigh at the first touch of his hands. Very tentative at first — I could actually feel him trembling — but firmer once he realised that I wasn’t going to break. I started to drift off at the touch of his hands on my back, although it was clear that the straps of my bikini top were hampering his stroke. As I raised myself to reach behind and undo them, I found myself face to face, as it were, with a very interesting bulge in his trunks. Maybe that was when I made my decision.

I’m afraid I made my intentions obvious that evening. Ben’s family had gone out for a meal, Derek and I had stayed behind, and eaten by the pool. Eating had merged into the disposal of a couple of bottles of burgundy, and we were well into the third when the others returned. Only Ben took up the invitation to join us, and soon Derek was snoring, leaving the remaining bottle to just Ben and me.

I went to powder my nose, and having done the necessary returned to my sun lounger, Ben’s eyes following me all the way. I had thrown a cotton wrap-around dress over my bikini, stopping above the knee, and as I sat back I put my feet up, raise my knees and nonchalantly allowed my knees to drift apart.

There was no mistaking the moment Ben realised what I’d “forgotten”. Now, these days, I gather, there’s a thriving industry in pubic barbering, but back then it wouldn’t have occurred to us to do anything but to let that area run free. Being a natural redhead, I was blessed with a lush, fiery bush around my nether regions — so much so that on those rare occasions I could get Derek to go down there he’d always make the same joke about jungles and machetes. Now, I was displaying this jungle to this innocent young lad. And was he taking in the display? Oh yes.

I could feel myself moistening, and my lips swelling and opening, preparing for the animal act of mating. He too was getting into the feral spirit, the shape of his generous equipment becoming deliciously defined in his light cotton trousers. I was looking straight at his crotch, and licking my lips, when I noticed that we’d both gone quiet. I looked up. He looked up. Our eyes met.

That was the point Derek decided to wake up. I snapped my legs shut, and made myself decent, and Ben moved to hide his predicament. The moment was lost. I allowed Derek to drag me to bed — alas, to sleep, although I did wait for the snoring to resume so I could take care of myself again. Looking back as I went into the house, I blew Ben a goodnight kiss, and winked.

The die was cast.

The next day, the trip to the market having left without an oversleeping Ben, I suggested to Derek that he might want to go and spend a day tasting wine at the cave in the next valley. I cried off with a hangover-induced headache, and by about 9:30, Ben was left alone to my tender mercies.

He was lounging by the pool already. I went to change into the same sundress I’d worn the night before, and then went out to join him. I felt as taut as a wire, desperate for what I was about to set into train, and I was in no mood to wait.

“Ben, it looks like it’s going to be hot,” I said, handing him the Ambre Soleil. “Could you do the honours for me again?”

“Er, sure”, he replied.

I stood in front of him, loosened the straps holding my sundress up, and let it slide to the ground. He looked. He swallowed. And went bright red.

“Er, you’re, er … you have no clothes …”

“No, I haven’t,” I told him, softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll look after you.”

We stood, a few feet apart. He was looking at my breasts, stiff-nippled and flushed, and my pudenda, streaming damp beneath the foliage. I was looking at his rapidly tightening trunks.

I dropped a towel on the hard slabs, in front of him, and dropped to my knees. He groaned as I slipped my fingers into his waistband and slowly drew his trunks down his thighs. Gradually, the object of my desire came into view, shaft pointing downwards until completely free, when it sprang up, pointing skywards with the vigour of youth, hard as iron, with a gentle tear resting on the tip. Fully exposed too, my first encounter with a circumcised cock — I remembered him mentioning his family were Jewish.

Wrapping my fingers around him, I relished the velvet rigidity, the heat and the slight twitching engendered by my touch. Unusually for me, I had an overwhelming urge to taste him, and washed my tongue to gather up the drop of precum at the end. We both moaned simultaneously as I opened my mouth, engulfing him and tipping him deep into the back of my throat. This was too much for him, and probably with fifteen seconds of my first touch he was spilling himself into me, and I was frantically swallowing.

He slumped back onto the nearest sun lounger, gasping and catching his breath. I sat next to him, putting my arm around him.

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you,” he said, eventually.

“Hey … no problem. I liked it. And don’t worry about being too quick. That’s natural at your age. It’ll slow you down for the next round. Here. Let’s go.”

I stood, took his hand, and dragged him up to the bedroom Derek and I were sharing. Not that he needed much dragging.

I could go into all sorts of details of our antics over the next few days. I taught him the finer points of cunnilingus, and eventually, when he stopped rooting around like one of the local truffle pigs, he got exceptionally good at it. I managed to do down on him and get him to hold on long enough to make it enjoyable for me, for probably the first time in my life.

And, of course, he fucked me.

The first time, I made him lie back and let me do all the work, crouched over him, talking him softly through the exquisite removal of his virginity. He lasted almost two minutes before filling me with his hot seed — this was before the days of HIV and pill scares, of course. Having got that out of the way, he was treated to an intensive Fucking for Beginners course, graduating with flying colours. On top, from behind, swinging from the chandeliers, you name it, we did it. Derek was usually out at the bar — I was amazed how easy it became to give him a few francs and not see him until dinner time — so we had hours to ourselves. We could even hear any approaching car, warning of someone’s return and giving up enough time to make ourselves decent.

Mind you, we didn’t bank on Derek having a fit of conscience one afternoon, and decide he’d had too much to drive. The first we knew of his return was the slamming of the front door. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast as Ben as he leapt from the bed and onto the balcony, just in time before Derek burst into the room. Seeing me in bed in the afternoon, he go completely the wrong idea, tore off his clothes and jumped on me. By now, I was used to the enthusiasm of youth, so Derek’s rather feeble effort rather paled into comparison. Still, I was receptive. Well lubricated too. I wonder if Derek noticed.

Ben had to stay on the balcony until Derek had finished, and, flushed with alcohol and endorphins, started his usual snoring. When we were sure he was out for the count, I beckoned Ben through and he tiptoed out of the room and back out to the pool. I joined him a few minutes later, and we behaved ourselves for the rest of the day. Well, apart from the quick blowjob behind the bushes, out of sight of the house, that is.

I was sad to see Ben go home at the end of the week. But I noticed the difference when he shook my hand goodbye, watched by his unsuspecting family. He stood taller, more confident.

I went home, and pined for a while. This was in the days before the Internet and mobile phones, before long distance illicit relationships were as easy as they are now. But then I met Adrian at the tennis club, and soon got over it all. I may have taken Ben’s innocence, but he also broke a duck for me, and Derek never suspected the succession of young lovers I took over the next few years. Mind you, shortly after he keeled over with a heart attack I discovered that he’d been keeping a mistress even before that long hot holiday, so I didn’t feel too guilty. And we had remained good friends right up to the end of our marriage, so our dalliances didn’t seem to have caused much damage.

I heard from Ben just once. He sent me a birthday card about six month after the holiday, and tucked inside was a photo. Taken at some Christmas party from the looks of things, Ben was shown surrounded by seven or eight pretty young girls. Five of them had red circles drawn around their faces, and on the back was an inscription.

“Guess what the circles mean. Thank you for the confidence you gave me. I’ll never forget you. Ben xx”

Well, if you can’t have fun at that age, when can you?

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32