Surely you remember Renee? Yes, of course you do.
Well, she called me last week and told me to drop by after work. So I did. I could read her tone clearly over the phone, and I knew she wanted sex, so I wasn’t quite surprised when she pulled me through the door of her apartment and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get each other off.”
Blessed are those warm, friendly older women who generously use their bodies to comfort young men. Who have outgrown modesty and bashfulness and use their ample endowments for the betterment of young manhood. Selfless, they are.
B fell under the graces of such a woman once. She helped him through a hard time, her gentle hands holding him, her billowing warm bosom resting on his chest. She watched him satisfy himself the way a young man sometimes must, and she did not protest when he reached a resolution to his problems all over her clean linens.
I rang the buzzer at Renee’s apartment and she let me in. I knew she’d be home working, and I wanted to see her. I rang the bell with every intention of interrupting her work. She buzzed me in and opened the door to her place on the third floor. “What a nice surprise,” she said, giving me the dozy smile I think about sometimes while I masturbate. “What brings you to this neighborhood?”
“Just wanted to see if I could make you a pot of tea,” I said. This wasn’t a secret euphemism for anything, but I thought it was appropriately coy. She laughed and pulled me through the door.
Joan visited me at the shop where I work the other day, looking very nice. She stops by often, I suspect to flirt with me, although she appears to be in her late thirties. But like I said, she looks very nice.
“Hey there B, how’s it going?” She asked, perky as usual.
“Great, Joan. And you?” I said, really noticing how nice she looked, fresh and pert with her dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “You look great today, by the way.”