A Woman Like Maxine

A long, slowly developing romance in five easily-digestible parts. Please send feedback and, above all, please vote!

Part 1

Most men would remember a woman like Maxine. In my case, she was the one who drove me to a sexual frenzy in my youth. I wasn’t yet a man, being an early teen. In my inexperienced eyes she was a sophisticated woman though, almost 20 years of age. She’d recently married an older man of 28, but didn’t really act like a wife. Instead, she was a temptress, and knew full well how she affected most males, including me.

I’m in my sixties now, which means that Maxine is well on her way to seventy; if she’s still alive, that is…and wasn’t murdered long ago by a jealous woman. When I first met her, she was already sexually liberated, which means that she was called everything from a “flirt” to the less complimentary term, “slut.” At that time – the conservative fifties – everyone was supposed to toe the conventional line, especially women; most especially, married women. But with me she could do no wrong, and in defense of her independent streak, I think of her – in retrospect – as a beautiful, vivacious, strong-willed and ambitious person who knew what she wanted and strove to get it.

She’d married Ken six months before I met her. He was helping my father build our large family home outside San Francisco. I was also helping on the job. My parents had entered their twenties during the Great Depression and, along with many American families, believed that growing sons should help support the household. Therefore, as the only male child – and the eldest – I was expected to labor on the house project when I wasn’t in school. Of course, that left little time for socializing with friends. So, like any other hormone-driven teen who’d had little experience with the opposite sex, my knowledge consisted of merely a vivid imagination when it came to the mystic powers of females.

Maxine was a “script girl” working for a local TV station. Today she’d be called a “Production Assistant.” Her new husband, Ken, was a carpenter…tall, muscular, good-looking, but – to the impressionable Maxine – still a working man and not a true “professional.” On weekends, when Dad and I would be working on the house, Ken would bring his gorgeous wife to the building site...so she could be with him while he earned extra money in addition to his regular weekly paycheck.

Maxine and I got along well while all of us worked as a group. Having nothing else to do, she talked with us constantly. When she and I were alone, though – which was frequently – I usually clammed up, especially when she probed me about my social life…about girls. I was tall for my age, 5’10”, skinny and raw-boned, with a shock of blond hair that she’d invariably push off my forehead as I shyly answered her questions, usually avoiding her eyes. For good reason.

Maxine’s eyes were the largest and deepest blue that I’d ever seen on a woman, much like those of the contemporary blonde actress Heather Graham. They highlighted a perfectly proportioned face that was slightly tanned, along with the rest of her skin; the skin that I could see, that is. Her nose was petite and straight. Her jaw was strong and rather wide, with her chin cutely pointed. Her mouth was full-lipped yet appeared small, and was a deep pink, even without lipstick. It peeled open girlishly, like a ripe fig when it splits as a finger is pushed against its back. Her lower lip protruded temptingly, curving up at the corners to point at a dimple in each cheek. Her upper lip pouted outward in a pert, sensuous bow to reveal perfect, pearl-white teeth when relaxed. Years later I’d discover the boundless joys that her mouth could bring.

Her hair was straight and black, matching her well-tended brows and eyelashes. She wore it scalloped, with a few long bangs, shingled on the sides and combed behind her small ears until it reached down her strong neck in back. Since she often combed her hands through it, its style matched her carefree manner perfectly, yet always looked neat…a welcome contrast to the heavily sprayed mode of the time. On those rare moments when she’d stand alone, silent, and look out at the fabulous view from the building site, my fingers would itch as I imagined them running through that casual, black hair. And at night, of course, alone in the shower and visualizing her, those same fingers would stroke my teenage dick until I spewed semen all over the tile wall.

“You have nice hands,” she said to me one day as I was performing my construction specialty, which was shoveling dirt. “Big…with good veins. Very masculine.”

I’ve forgotten how I first acted in response. It was probably an embarrassed grunt, accompanied by a blush while hiding my eyes behind my forelock. But I remember seeing her with one bare leg bent slightly at the knee, with a hand on her other hip and – tauntingly – tilting her head to one side with an expectant grin on her face, awaiting a meaningful response. My heart was beating so rapidly that I thought I’d collapse from nervousness, yet I wiped the sweat from my forehead and leaned on my shovel, saying, “You look nice all over.” Not exactly a comment worthy of a Lothario, but not bad for a feckless teenager.

Maxine was about 5’4” tall, with a soft-looking yet firm, willowy body. While at that time I lacked the experience to make such evaluations, I’d now estimate her figure as probably 34B-24-34. Her legs were nicely muscled at the thighs and calves, and she had smooth knees – no bony protuberances – which seemed to actually smile at me, whether she was standing or sitting. She was in the habit of wearing Bermuda shorts and, when my eyes would wander to her crotch, seeking the outlined hint of her feminine mysteries, I’d become erect and have to excuse myself to walk into the surrounding woods. In those days, before it was mandatory to have portable toilets on building sites, we used the outdoors and a shovel. More than once – panting shamefully – I would frantically relieve my aching balls of their contents in that sylvan setting as visions of the shapely brunette drifted before my closed eyes.

Eventually, Maxine and I became conspirators of a sort. We’d tell one another jokes, roll our eyes at my Dad and Ken when they were being what we considered too serious, and even played cards while eating lunch. She took to calling me “Sweetie” when we were alone, which was often. I told her I’d won a couple of contests with some essays and stories I’d written, and was currently a sportswriter for the school paper. She begged to see some of my pieces, saying that writing for TV was an up and coming profession. The following Saturday I shyly gave them to her to review, convinced that I’d die from embarrassment if she didn’t like them. The following day she’d not read them yet, and I was thankful. I got them back eventually…several years later.

It was on that day that I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and made my way into the woods to relieve myself. As I progressed deeper into the trees, I saw Maxine from the rear, with shorts pulled down, peeing. Her lovely ass captivated me – it was so round! – and my breathing seemed to stop. I’d never seen a woman’s naked parts outside of my own immediate family. Well, excluding two amorous teen girl cousins from L.A. who were horny for me. In any case, her butt’s ivory fundament spurred an immediate erection in my pants as I watched. I was surprised to observe a couple of bruises on her globes and more on her upper thighs, assuming that she’d gotten them from being around the building site…a constant source of bumps and such. She clenched her buns twice, reflecting two internal squeezes of her bladder to end her task, and I gasped. She looked around and saw me, smiled slightly as she caught me out of the corner of her eye, then slowly stood up to fasten her shorts. I took that opportunity to trot back to where I was working, with all thoughts of the shit I’d been about to take gone from my mind. Embarrassed beyond measure and knowing she’d walk out of the woods soon, I whacked the bulge in my pants a couple of times in vain, hoping that my stiff dick would subside.

She soon joined me and said, soothingly, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. You weren’t spying on me. It’s not as if you’d seen my pussy.”

I was shocked that she’d use such an earthy term to describe her private female cleft, thinking that that particular word was reserved for use by men only.

“Really sorry,” I mumbled, shoveling dirt as quickly as I could and hoping she wouldn’t see the boner in my jeans. “Sorry about your bruises, too,” I said. “You’ve gotta be careful around here. It’s easy to get hurt.” She stood watching me a minute, then walked past me, brushing her hand lightly on my shoulder before she went off somewhere. When she was gone, I smelled where her hand had been, hoping for a whiff of her sweet scent.

That night in the shower I worked overtime manufacturing a Maxine fantasy, inventing an idealized picture of her pussy as I jerked off.

Sometime later we needed to drive to the city for some reason I’ve forgotten…probably to pick up some unusual tools or building materials. Ken rode in the front seat as Dad drove, and Maxine and I occupied the rear, playing cards and laughing at her jokes. At one point, she won a game and, giggling hysterically, laid her hand on my thigh – quite high up – and squeezed to make some point or another. My whole leg tingled, and felt almost aflame until we reached our destination. But it was later, when she and I were alone in the car and Dad and Ken were inside the materials outlet, that I fell totally under Maxine’s spell. Offhandedly, I asked her if her bruises were gone and she said, “Yeah! Wanna see?” And as I froze and my heart rate doubled, she unzipped her shorts, pulled them down to mid-thigh past her panties, and showed me the pure, alabaster skin under them all the way to her crotch. She then pulled them back up, buttoning and zipping them.

I exhaled quickly and said –very maturely – “Mm, good. Glad to see you’re all better.”

Maxine looked at me for the longest time…it seemed like hours…then slid next to me across the old-time plastic seat covers. Her hand reached over my chest for my right shoulder and she leaned to kiss me. As our lips met, the static electricity from her journey across the seat covers – which seemed like miles – sparked, and the blood pounded in my ears so strongly I thought I’d pass out. Her breath smelled like ambrosia, and I tasted a hint of the sweetest saliva from her mouth. The scent of her perfume –White Shoulders, I later discovered – still stays with me as I recount my adolescent experience. Then she slid back, picked up the deck of cards, and we silently started a new game, shortly before my Dad and her husband returned. The trip back to the building site was quiet and uneventful. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her shapely legs…which extended all the way up to that sublime, panty-covered haven that she’d flashed during her impulsive striptease. Maxine won all the games, and my erection pulsed for hours – to the point of bursting – until finally relieved by my furious self-abuse that night in the shower. In those days I worshipped St. Onan a lot, in whose name sexually fantastic miracles often have been performed.

Sometime after that I began seeing Maxine less on the building site. Though she still joined Ken when he came to work on the house, she’d spend a lot of time walking in the woods and otherwise occupying herself. Then, on one Saturday, Dad and Ken had to go to the city once again. Maxine didn’t want to make the trip, so Ken asked me to watch out for her and be the responsible person in their absence. I welcomed the opportunity to be alone with his luscious wife…immediately imagining lewd images of us doing…whatever, as I pined for some glimpse of her unclothed body. Little did I know that my fantasy would soon be realized.

A neighbor of ours – Pierce – had met Maxine on one of her walks. He was a short, stocky guy married to an attractive brunette taller than he, had two young daughters, and was a radio and TV writer…obviously a drawing card for the ambitious young script girl. He was a very arrogant man, the sort who’s reasonably well educated, wordy, and assumes that he’s more intelligent than nearly everyone. He also drank a lot. My parents had joined him and his wife once for drinks – welcoming our family to the area – and he’d gotten falling-down drunk. Years later my overly critical mother would repeatedly recount this episode with all of the witch-burning fury of the archetypal Woman’s Christian Temperance Unionist.

On the particular day that Dad and Ken were gone, I was working very hard, doing pick-and-shovel work in the hot sun. I decided to take a break and look for Maxine – who was wearing her typical Bermudas and sleeveless top – since she’d been gone for some time. Desiring her company and not knowing where she was, I wandered toward Pierce’s property and was heartened to hear her melodious giggle come from the other side of the house, a patio area under a grape arbor. Since Pierce spent a lot of time at his home bar, rather than landscaping his property, the shrubbery surrounding his home was thick and untended. Through some hedge-like bushes, I saw them standing closely together. No, they were embracing, I noticed, jealously, and they soon melded together in a passionate kiss. They were standing next to a redwood picnic table covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth, and two drinks were sitting on it…one nearly full, the other almost empty. Their kissing continued, becoming more fervent, and Maxine soon leaned her head back, causing Pierce to lavish kisses all over her muscular white neck, to which she responded by reaching down to stroke his groin through his pants. My heart pounded in my chest and there was a characteristic tightness in my throat as I watched.

My feet were riveted to the spot. I spread some branches to see better. The two were in profile to me, and the hedge was so thick that they couldn’t see my voyeuristic pose. I then saw Maxine unzip the man quickly and kneel before him, pulling at what I then considered a prodigious, erect cock. She moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue, and planted her mouth over him, causing him to groan and flex his hips forward. As she continued, I noticed that what I’d previously considered her small mouth had expanded to an amazing extent so that she could completely engulf much of his rampant member. As she continued thrusting her head to and fro, Pierce’s pants and boxer shorts dropped to the ground, since he’d unbuckled, unbuttoned and stepped free of them. He left on his tee shirt with a TV network logo emblazoned on the back. And though I’d been jealous of him earlier, I soon became concerned about where his family was – while still becoming excitedly curious – and wondered in a clinical way if there might be more that I could see.

My curiosity was soon satisfied, as Pierce brought Maxine up from her knees and began undressing her. “Gotta taste that gash, girl,” I heard him rasp crudely, as he drew her shorts and panties down her lissome legs. He then quickly removed her top, and she pulled up her bra – leaving it on – to reveal her firm B-cup breasts, topped by small pink nipples and quarter-sized aureoles. He nibbled at her tits – not nearly long enough, I thought – then sat her on an angle at the edge of the table, whereupon she spread her legs widely...directly open to me. The soles of her canvas tennis shoes partially blocked my view of the sexy tan lines that a bikini swim suit had made on some previous, sunny afternoon. But the beauty of her pussy – the first aroused one I’d ever seen – erased all other thoughts and had me entranced, as, inexplicably, the frontal lobe of my brain seemed to go numb.

Her bush was black and beautiful. It was full, though not so full as to obscure the pink slit nestled in its center, with swollen, parted lips and – in retrospect – an unusually large clitoris near its top. I’d never before seen cunnilingus performed, and soon learned of the excitement its promise could cause as I heard Maxine gasp, “Ooh, God, yeah, Pierce…I want it!” Imagining myself standing in his place, I thrust my hand under the waistband of my jeans and grasped my hard prick.

Pierce then placed his right foot on one of the table’s redwood benches, bent his leg at the knee, and offered his cock to Maxine’s pink open mouth. She took it with alacrity. As his buttocks flexed, I noticed several prominent zits on them…something that I knew would be repulsive to her had she known they were there. Then he leaned down and to the left and – with little ceremony – stuck his tongue in her pussy, at which she moaned and grasped his short, sandy hair with her free right hand. My right hand was busy as well, pulling at my dick, which I’d bared through the button-fly of my jeans.

The two of them undulated against one another for several minutes, their ridiculous position causing me to grin to myself, partly out of nervous, voyeuristic guilt. But that giddy feeling vanished as Maxine began showing obvious joy at what they were doing. I was fascinated by her moaning and limber contortions, at the same time imagining what she might taste like. She pulled her free right leg up and over his head, pulling his mouth into her crotch with her heel on the back of his neck, until finally she erupted into muffled squeals. Her lower body pushed repeatedly against his face – his head bouncing back at me as she thrust upward – and finally stopped, trembling as she mewled to completion. My own orgasm peaked just after hers, and I sprayed my youthful seed deeply into the center of Pierce’s hedge. A few wipes with a bandana and my prick was back in my jeans as I anxiously prepared to watch some more.

Pierce broke from her, pulling his cock from her gaping mouth, and I witnessed the rise and fall of her flushed chest as he quickly stepped between her splayed legs to sink his red cock into her. He took a few deep thrusts and reached for his highball glass to drain it. Then he reached for hers and – in three or four deep swallows – finished its icy amber contents to resume his mechanical plunges. From my position I couldn’t see much, but didn’t dare move. His buttocks clenched and her feet bounced on either side of his chubby waist, since she’d lifted her legs in the conventional pose that I’d later hear attributed to missionaries. And soon he grunted, “Aaagh…aaagh…aaagh,” a few times and his butt contracted as he spent himself in her.

I stayed where I was, still curious. He pulled out of her and bent to pick up his shorts and pants to dress. Maxine appeared momentarily confused…disappointed, I thought…and drew her legs together, pulling down her bra to cover her tits, and grabbed for her panties and shorts. She was frowning slightly, and I detected trembling hands as she slipped into her clothing.

“Want another drink?” he asked, breezily.

“Umm, no thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m okay.”

“Well, I’m gonna have one,” Pierce said, and turned to enter his house. That’s the last time I ever saw him.

I ran back to where I’d been working. Soon Maxine returned from her adulterous sojourn. She was unusually quiet. When she left with Ken that day, it would be over four years before I’d see her again.

Part 2

I was an 18-year-old freshman at the local university, and still living with my folks, when Maxine drove up to the house one afternoon. I’d heard that she and Ken had divorced several months after that day I’d watched her fuck our neighbor, who had since been divorced by his wife.

As is the case with most college-age kids, my patience had worn thin with living at home, and I’d resigned myself to working so that I could maintain my own apartment. That was all still yet to come, though, on the day of Maxine’s visit. My Dad was outside, in front of the house, and my judgmental, Puritanical mother peered out to see the attractive young woman talking with him. She muttered, “What doesthat slut want?” Though she’d never approved of Maxine – thinking the girl’s husband, Ken, to be a prince – I’d never heard Mom refer to a woman in that way.