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After a few moments in the blissful afterglow, she gets on the couch and lies back. I nestle my head between her orbs atop her naked body. We lie there for an eternity, I nearly fall asleep – so sweetly emptied of built-up cum and so thoroughly satisfied with the show. We are startled to reality by the timer announcing a ready dinner.
We eat with abandon as her clothes finish drying. The food is delicious. We say little but agree to keep our tryst under wraps. Hints are dropped that she might stop by some time to help me with my reading and that maybe my dirty minded roommate was onto something.
When she dresses and leaves after dinner, I wonder if the conditions that brought this day about will ever be repeated. ... I wonder...
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The real life woman who inspired the "Mrs. Schmitt" fantasy, indeed really did allow me to gaze at her bare bush beneath her nightie as she watched television; she probably saw me peeking up her daughter "Greta's" nightie and wanted me to see an adult version of a cunt. Greta had no clue that a pussy was anything special so did nothing to conceal herself – she watched television innocently splayed and without a clue. Mrs. Schmitt's areola and nipples were really visible under the gown too in real life – I suspect now this was fully on purpose. She also ran from the shower to her room naked and sans towel once when she was visiting us; not coincidentally I was alone in the hall to see her.
I was too young at the time (which was actually a series of times) to fully appreciate the intentionality of her actions nor was I old enough to even know what fucking was. So my sexual interest in Mrs. Schmitt did not fully develop until I realized in hindsight many years after her exposures what she was doing.
At the time I was more interested in cajoling her young daughter into showing me her bald snatch. Apparently Greta's mom and dad never advised her not to show her privates when horny lads wanted to see them. I had in real life shown Greta my dick in exchange for seeing her pussy and we really traded feels though we were too young to be able to cum.
It is an active lascivious imagination that brings Mrs. Schmitt back into my life via fantasy during my adolescence and peaking sexual maturity. If you are a real life Mrs. Schmitt, please write to me; I credit her for making me the voyeur that I am today.
