The Late Bloomer and The Pilot’s Wife

I was 18 and just out of High School, I had no delusions about being a “ladies man” I was a virgin with a capital V. I had the misery of being a lower income kid in an affluent school district. I took the bus everywhere. The limit of my sexual experience was gleamed from a sheaf of well-worn and glued together pages of some 70’s era European porn mags that I found in an alley. I was the jerk-off king. No kidding. I would do it as many times as I could get alone with my dick. Added to all this was the fact that I was a very late bloomer. I swear I didn’t have pubes until I was almost 17 (thank you God) I was also short (did I mention chubby?)

The thing is I was always a cut-up, I literally could slay my friends, family and even my teachers with humor. To this day I have had people who I’ve long forgotten, tell me they still remember something I said or did that made them laugh. It was probably a defense mechanism for being a pre-pubescent, short, fat, poor kid. I’m also smart (excuse me if you don’t find my erotica exceedingly verbose and over-intellectualized but you have to write to your audience!)

I was on my way to a big East coast university and was working at a landscape center to save some money for college. Miraculously, that Spring and Summer I had grown and in a very short time: I was almost 6’ tall, my metabolism must have kicked in because I was suddenly trim and starting to get results from the weights in my garage. I also noticed that I was getting a better response from girls. I still wasn’t making out or having sex, but at least they weren’t repulsed. My dick was getting bigger and my chest was getting some fuzz.

At the home center I started getting friendly with a regular customer named Nancy. Nancy was in her early 30’s and very good looking with frosted blond hair and a California tan. She was tall with a dancers ass and a small but bouncy chest. She usually wore shorts and tight top (always bra-less). Every time she came in I would crane and strain to look at here. I used her as jerk-off fodder more than once. She was so out of my league that I didn’t get nervous when I saw her, for to be nervous would have meant that I thought there was a chance for me: there was no chance for me.

She was an avid gardener, and was always in the center buying something. She’d ask me about this and that (like I was an authority) One day, I finally confessed that I literally knew nothing about gardening and that the only reason I had the job was because I knew my way around the lawn mowers and gas powered equipment. Sometime later she asked me if I could look at her lawnmower that was on the fritz, I said I could. She lived nearby and told me to come by the next day after work.

She and her airline pilot husband lived in a small house not too far from the ocean. She answered the door in her normal outfit of shorts and t-shirt but her hair was wet and she said she had just been running and needed a shower. She led me through the house to the garage and showed me the mower, she said she’d be back and left me with the ancient artifact that probably hadn’t run right in 20 years. She came back in a gauzy robe that was loosely tied. My mind was wandering and I tried to be calm as I explained to her that it needed more than a gas line and a spark plug and that for the repair cost and reliability: she’d be better off with a new mower. I nearly died when she squatted across from me and held her knees while we talked. There were folds of fabric and shadows but I could see her honey blond pussy. It was the first time I’d ever seen one up-close and personal!

I was looking between here legs while we spoke when I looked at her eyes and realized that she caught me staring at her and was looking at me looking at her. She said, “My eyes are up here” I was humiliated at being busted. I stammered something about having to go. Normally, I’m the least tongue-tied person I know. I could easily have written something clever here, but the truth was, I was a flushed mess, incapable of being witty. I mumbled an excuse about having to leave and skedaddled from her house. Over the next few days I rubbed my cock raw visualizing that muff and labia.

The next day at work I told one of my co-workers, an older (and more worldly) college student named Johnny, what had happened. He said, “You’re an idiot, she wanted to mess around. How many more signals and clues do you need?