A Student In Lodgings

Copyright © merf68. Please respect copyright.

This story is entirely fictional, any similarity to people or places is purely co-incidental.

~oOo~

I had called a family conference to discuss my future - which university? My grades were good enough to give me quite a wide selection, the main problem was financial. I was very reluctant to start my life with a mountain of debt: student loans are easy enough to obtain but can create a millstone around one's neck that takes years to pay off.

We all thrashed the problem out but it was Dad who suggested a possible solution, "I wonder if Mike and Wendy would take a lodger if Jon went to Bristol? Then he wouldn't have to pay so much for rent."

We tossed the possibilities around for a while and Bristol seemed to be favourite in my mind. Our family had moved from there just three years ago so I knew the area well. Mike had been one of Dad's work colleagues who had progressed to the upper echelons of the company for which he worked. He and Wendy were pretty close family friends - Uncle Mike and Aunty Wendy when my elder sister Sue and I were kids - and they lived in a small village about 15 miles out of the city and there was a good bus service just a mile away. Easy cycling distance too. All in all it seemed an excellent solution, if Mike and Wendy would have me.

Dad picked up the phone and gave Mike a ring. He put the proposition to his friend and Mike said he'd discuss it with Wendy and her father then call us back. It was only twenty minutes later when the phone rang. Yes, they'd love to have me. Dad and Mike later discussed the financial details. My parents would subsidise me to the price of my keep but Mike didn't ask much: well, Dad actually had to talk Mike up to a reasonable figure.

I was granted my place at Bristol Uni. so early in September Wendy picked me up at the coach station in Bristol and drove out to the Old Parsonage, an old stone house which had been added to and extended at least three times since it was built in the early 18th century so it was big and rambling.

The Old Parsonage belonged to Wendy's invalid father and, as Mike and Wendy were childless, there were only the three of them living there. My bedroom was on the same passage as the couple's and looked out past the ivy cladding and over the large back garden shed to a small swimming pool set at the edge of the lawn, all completely surrounded by a large dense hedge and so thoroughly private. The sounds and smells of the countryside wafting in through the open window were so peaceful and the whole house had a wonderful welcoming air about it.

My room had a low ceiling with dark oak beams and a large window framed by bright flowery curtains which wafted gently in the light breeze. The late afternoon sun slanting in illuminated a room furnished in antique oak, including the large bed in one corner with the cover pulled back invitingly. In another corner, in stark contrast to the 'antique' look of the room, was a computer work stand complete with computer and office-type chair. There was a small TV on a wall stand and half-way decent sound system. All the equipment looked new; surely they hadn't gone out and spent that sort of money for me? I knew I would be happy here.

I unpacked my bags and hung up my favourite poster on the wall opposite the bed, by the door: Jane Fonda's Barbarella in that famous pose in the clear plastic 'bra'. A teenager's wet dream! I stood back to check that it was straight and level when there was a knock on the door and Wendy opened it. Her figure curved in just the same places as Jane Fonda but unlike the actress, her attractive bronzed face was framed by thick and glossy blue/black shoulder-length waves. Her breasts strained the crisp cotton shirt and a flowered summer skirt was cinched in round her slim waist and flared over her hips. My eyes flicked back and forth from her to the poster. Wendy's figure was a good match.

A diplomatic cough made me realise I what I was doing and I blushed at her sardonic smile. "So to whom are you comparing me?" She came and stood by my side and looked up at Barbarella for a few seconds. "How do I measure up?" she asked, bumping her hip against mine but didn't give me time either to think or respond. Which was as well because I wouldn't have known what to reply. In the three years since we had last met, Wendy had changed from a happy, friendly 'aunt' figure to a very desirable woman, or maybe the change was in me. But how could I tell her that she 'measured up'? I could feel my face colouring.

"Tea's ready in the kitchen," she informed me, then turned and walked along the passage to the stairs. I waited for a minute to allow my incipient erection to behave itself then followed her down to the kitchen where I was sat down in front of an appetising cheese and ham salad.

Wendy's father – he asked me to call him 'Dad' as that's what his daughter and son-in-law called him – had his electric wheelchair drawn up to the table opposite me with Mike to my right and Wendy sitting to my left. Conversation was lively and entertaining and they me treated as an adult.

We talked about the routines of the house. 'Dad' had a small suite on the ground floor where he spent much of his time at the computer. He related a couple of amusing tales about some of his internet friends. Mike would be out at work most days and Wendy kept herself busy with the household chores and her great love, her gardens. She had flower beds everywhere and a fairly large vegetable patch which kept them almost independent of the greengrocer. Mike told me he had set up a network connection on the computer for me. I'd need that for my studies.

They asked me not to play my music too loud which was no problem, I don't want to be deaf in my mid-twenties, and not to run up big phone bills on premium lines. They also asked me not to login to any of the peer2peer groups on the computer, or download anything pirated, but again no problem as our parents had always placed the same restriction on me and Sue at home. I could entertain girlfriends in my room but no parties or overnight stays.

"Otherwise, Jon, we want you to be part of the family." Wendy had a twinkle in her eye as she said this. God, she looked sexy! For the second time in less than an hour I was rendered speechless, but managed to mumble my thanks. Conversation then drifted into a three-year general catch up, as if our two families hadn't phoned each other regularly in the meantime.

In the evening I phoned my family and reported that I had arrived safely and that I was settling in nicely. I retired to my room, put some music on and lay back on the bed looking idly at Barbarella with vague erotic thoughts drifting through my mind. It had been an exhausting day so it wasn't late when I turned in. As I beat my meat before dropping off to sleep, Barbarella somehow transformed into Wendy and I soon had to throw some sticky wet tissues out of the bed.

I guess I'm one of those people who wakes early with a full set of wits but I was disorientated for a few seconds until I recognised the room. Checking the bedside clock I saw it was 6:45. Swinging my legs out of bed, I pulled on some clean boxers and threw the curtains open. The morning sun cast long shadows across the lawn and it promised to be a glorious late summer day. Maybe I could spend most of the day in and around the pool. "Excellent thought!" I thought.

Humming to myself, I opened the bedroom door and walked next door, to the bathroom. There was no lock on the door, I noticed. As I sat on the toilet, I noticed a couple of sets of Wendy's underwear hanging over the bath. I couldn't resist them: before I took my shower I picked up a pair of dark blue lace panties and pressed the crotch between my fingers. I brought them to my nose but they only smelled of hand-washing lotion.

I reluctantly put them back in place and picked up the matching bra. I lightly curved my left hand and pushed the back of it into the cup and caressed it with my right hand. I checked the label: 36 C it informed me. The ivory-coloured set was very skimpy, not much more than a g-string and two triangles. As I imagined Wendy's breasts bulging out of that bra, my prick stood to attention. I replaced the lingerie and stepped into the shower where I soaped up, pumped my throbbing tool and watched my seed swirling down the drain.

I towelled off and pulled my shorts on but as I made my way back to my room Mike and Wendy's door opened and she walked out dressed in a thin housecoat. She obviously had nothing on underneath because her breasts moved freely and her nipples poked out.

"At last you're out!" she hissed as she rushed past me into the bathroom. I heard her groan of relief through the door she had neglected to close and even the tinkle of her peeing excited me strangely.

I returned to my room and dressed in baggy shorts and t-shirt then made my way down to the kitchen where I put a kettle of water on to boil. I was pouring the water onto the instant coffee when I heard Wendy call from the kitchen door, "Make me a coffee please, Jon." She flopped onto a chair by the table and continued to dry her hair. She was still dressed in her housecoat but I could see the vague shadowy outlines of what looked like the blue bra underneath. My tool twitched as I remembered that my hand was resting, not many minutes ago, exactly where her breast was now filling. I caught myself staring and quickly turned back to my task of getting her a coffee.

I sat across the kitchen table from her as we sipped our coffee, talking about what we were going to do today. If I wanted I could come into the local market town with her to get her groceries. Sounded like a good idea as I wanted to be in her company. Wendy then asked a favour of me: would I cut down a big bank of nettles in the ditch near the hedge running adjacent to a commercial stables? I would walk through hell for her, I felt, so I agreed.

Wendy is one of those people who tend to be quite mobile when they speak, Her arm movements were slowly loosening the top of her garment and the way she was sitting, half-sideways on, meant I was seeing more and more of the smooth bronzed swell of her upper breast and the edge of her bra was peeping out. I'm sure she saw me watching because there was a little smile, almost a mischievous grin, shaping her mouth as she discretely closed the gap and got up to make us both another coffee.

But as we talked some more it crept open again and this time she did nothing to close it until we heard Mike coming down the stairs. She smiled straight at me before restoring her modesty and rising to get her husband's breakfast ready. I just had some cereals and orange juice and listened to Mike telling us that he would be late home tonight as they were planning a major sales drive in the run-up to Christmas and the whole team was getting together to thrash out the details. Dad arrived a little later, had a coffee and announced he was going out for the day and left. Apparently he had a vehicle which had been adapted for his disability.

I was in a state of semi-erection right through the meal but thankfully Wendy kept her chest covered all the time. As soon as I could decently make my exit, I went to my room, locked the door and pulled out my prick to wank it to temporary relief. If I was going to be around Wendy very much I reckoned I'd need to lay in a good supply of tissues.

I heard Mike's car pull out of the drive and, shortly afterwards, I heard Wendy walking down the passage outside the door. She seemed to stop outside my door for a couple of seconds then on to their room. A couple of minutes later I opened my door and went to the bathroom to pee. It was just flowing nicely when the door opened behind me. Shit, I'd been unable to lock it. Wendy said, "Oops, Jon. Sorry. There's no lock on the door!"

Too late to remind me now. My piss stopped as my body clamped up in shock and mortification. I turned my head and saw Wendy just leaning against the open doorway watching me with that enigmatic smile on her face and making no attempt to leave. "Come on," she said a little impatiently. "I'm waiting to go myself."

I don't know about you but I can't go while somebody is watching me. I always had problems in a public urinal ever since I was a kid. We were on a family day at the seaside and I went to the toilets where there was a big queue. I waited my turn and when a cubicle became vacant I dashed in there and had started to pee when to my discomfiture an elderly man came into the cubicle and started pissing into the pot. The shock had stopped my flow but he just said in a broad Northern accent, "Meck watter, son. Tha's awreet, meck watter." But I couldn't get started again until he had finished and gone in spite of his repeated instruction to 'Meck watter.'

Now Wendy was having a similar effect. It seemed like it took me an age of trying to relax before a trickle pushed its way down my piss tube and then it was easier. I zipped myself up, flushed and went to the wash stand to rinse my hands. Wendy almost ran to the pot. Ignoring me, she pulled her shorts and knickers down to her knees and sat down. The tinkle of her urine splashing down almost drowned, if you'll pardon the pun, her deep sigh of relief.

Although I really wanted to look at her, confusion kept my eyes averted as I left her to finish. I returned to the kitchen, grabbed a can of cola from the fridge and wandered out into the garden with erotic thoughts and images in my mind and my prick was reacting predictably. It wasn't many minutes before I heard Wendy's voice from the kitchen calling, "Are you ready to come?" I was rooted to the spot until she followed up with, "You said you'd come to the store with me. I'm going now."

I hastily realigned my over-eager member, made my way back inside and noticed how she was dressed. A pair of skimpy denim shorts which left the cheeks of her bum just poking out and a white cotton shirt tied off just below her breasts. Her bare midriff was as deeply tanned as her arms and legs. I half-managed to suppress a gulp and John Thomas twitched as if it wanted a better look.

As she drove us to the store Wendy said, "Sorry about barging in on you like that. With just me and Mike there was never a need for a lock."

"Well, at least you could have turned away."

"Pffft," she dismissed my complaint, "It doesn't worry me seeing a man peeing."

"Well it bothers me. No woman has seen me peeing since my mother used to take me to the toilet."

"You never had any trouble then, did you? Why should it bother you now?"

"It's just different," I said but I couldn't really think of anything to refute her argument.

She reached over and patted my thigh. "Don't worry, Jon. I'm only teasing." She started chuckling to herself and I began to see the funny side of things so pretty soon I was chuckling myself. The whole joke built up on itself until we were both laughing out loud.

When we got to the shopping centre Wendy wanted to call in a couple of the smaller shops and I trailed round after her admiring her swaying buttocks straining the tautly stretched denim until we eventually reached the supermarket. I pushed the trolley while she walked through the aisles picking up the packages she needed from the shelves.

Me? I just followed her round but couldn't keep my eyes off her. When she stretched up to the top shelf (she's only 5' 2") I could see the top of her blue panties peeping out of her shorts. But the best was when she was bending over either into the freezer cabinet or to a low shelf. Whichever way she faced I got a wonderful sight, either right down her shirt with her dark blue bra in full view or, if she was facing away, the way her shorts stretched over her bum, pulling tight round her cheeks.

We checked out and loaded all the bags into the car boot and she drove us back home. Again she started the conversation, this time with a question. She turned to look at me and said, right out sternly, "Did you enjoy yourself in Tesco's?"

"What do you mean?" I blustered, knowing just what she meant although I hadn't noticed her catching me staring.

"You've been ogling me all morning." Then she snapped sharply, "Haven't you?"

Considering silence to be the least incriminating, I didn't answer and for the rest of the short journey I just stared at my hands resting on my lap, feeling my face flush up. Back home I helped her with the bags out the car, never looking at her, then shot upstairs leaving her to pack it all away. I rested on my bed, recalling the highs and lows of the day so far. Even though Wendy had made me feel ashamed coming back in the car, I couldn't get my mind off the sight of her bra-covered breasts.

My prick was bulging inside my shorts and I was just about to pull it out and start stroking it with those images in my mind when there was a knock on the door. Hastily I tried to reposition my tool so it wouldn't be obvious then called Wendy to come in. She entered and sat down on the end of my bed, keeping a discreet distance between us.

"Jon, Jon, Jon. I was only teasing you again." I looked up to see that mischievous grin back on her face. "I knew you were looking at my boobs at the breakfast table this morning. And you knew that I knew.

"I know you thought you were getting away with it but do you think I didn't see you in Tesco's? Jon, women always know when men are peeking! Here's a thought for you: men don't ever see what women don't want to show." She shrugged, "Except if it's purely accidental of course.

"Now listen to me, Jon." She looked me straight in the face and held my eyes. "I'm not vain but I know I look good for a thirt ... for a woman old enough to be your mother. I don't mind men looking; in particular I don't mind you looking at me if you like what you see. So don't try to hide it, you look at me as much as you like." She leaned close and lowered her voice conspiratorially, "And if you want to come back here and masturbate in private, that's entirely your business."

She stood up, casually untied and opened her shirt wide to show me her well-filled bra, leant over and patted the bulge in my shorts with the whisper, "Enjoy yourself." She opened the bedroom door then turned her face back to me and winked her eye lasciviously. I hauled out my prick and enjoyed myself as soon as the door closed behind her.

Later we both had a salad lunch on the picnic table then Wendy showed me where the large strimmer was in the shed. She suggested that I cover myself properly as she didn't want to treat me for nettle rash. Covering up meant an old boiler suit, floppy hat, goggles and steel-toed green wellies which Mike kept in the shed. It was already baking hot outside so I decided to strip to my boxers in the shed before dressing in the over-large suit, Mike was bigger than me, and even the wellies were a size too big.

Wendy showed me where the bank of nettles was. It went right along the hedge and filled the ditch: a daunting task! She told me to rake the nettles, when I had cut them down, to a pile in the corner of the field. She left to go weed her flower beds so I fired up the strimmer and set to work. I sure was glad of my protective gear with those bits of nettle flying everywhere.

When I finished cutting it all down I cleaned the strimmer and returned it to the shed. As I emerged with the large leaf rake, Wendy appeared with a glass of cold beer for me. Never has beer tasted so good and I downed the lot in three gulps then handed her the glass back to her with heartfelt thanks.

Raking up all that debris was harder than the cutting down and by the time I finished my clothing was wet with sweat, my back, shoulders, abdominals and arms ached and I was exhausted. I returned the rake to the shed, took off all the protective gear and was standing in just my boxers, which were soaked and sticking to me, when Wendy appeared at the door with another welcome beer which lasted no longer than the first.