Cum, Give Mrs. Eicholtz Her Bath

It began in the quiet backyard of our farmhouse on Mulberry Street in our little New England town. Well, usually quiet. I had been shoving the rotary lawnmower across almost an acre of grass, row after row--one of those rotaries with a whirling blade but not self-propelled. Propelled by me.

A hot day in a hot August, my back home for summer after my freshman year at Bucknell University. Kind of boring, but also reassuring: Touching home plate, a man back from the big world.

Our white farmhouse had maybe 14 rooms, not counting the laundry room or the upstairs halls, rooms accreted ever since the Colonial Period after the Revolutionary War. Plus a four-room apartment tacked on long to ago to accommodate my mom's parents.

Now, Loren Eicholtz lived there. Both Eicholtz's, in fact, but he was off fighting the war in Vietnam. Mrs. Eicholtz was a temporary war widow.

I had about had it, pushing that mower. Sweating. Shorts and T-shirt plastered to my skin. Also, getting a little hard. Mrs. Eicholtz lay on a chaise lounge under a pear tree. Complicated, pear trees. Our place had at least four types, all with different shaped fruits. They all looked sort of like breasts, though--round and fat at the base, tapering off to the stem. But everything looked like breasts to me, back then.

I stopped, killed the engine, gazed at her. She lay on her side, her long, bare legs together, her green short shorts gripping hard at her ass. Above her full hips, her long torso was bare except for a bra holding her breasts--barely. And then, a face so pretty that I never could stop from staring at the chestnut hair full and fluffed around her face, wide brown eyes, perfect jawline, a wide mouth. But her expression too often spoke of patience, enduring, waiting.

She was in the early stages of myasthenia gravis. Everyone knew it. "I'm just a little weak," she would say, with just a hint of her delicious smile. In her perfect legs and long sensuous torso, I saw no "weakness." I guessed it was coming.

Now, as the rotary conked out, she lifted her head, turned her body, the breasts protesting constraint, and called, "Hi, Buddy!" My nickname, those days, was "Bud."

She seemed to study me. I hoped the boner in my sweaty shorts wasn't obvious. What can you do? Then, she called, "Can you help for a minute?"

At Bucknell, I had not given up my virginity. I was sure that I was the only freshman guy who not given it up back in high school and then held onto it through freshman year at Bucknell. I walked toward her. I was staring at the perfect legs, the abrupt hips, the long, bare torso, and the over-loaded bra. And that wonderful face. Did nothing to tame my hard-on

"Sure, Mrs. Eicholtz." I came under the pear tree, momentarily shaded from the brutal sun. My hands kept wanting to slide down to cover my bulge. It felt in there as though I could dive on top of her and tear off her shorts and bra.

"Can you just help me inside?" Even as she spoke, she struggled, thrusting apart her long legs to set her feet on either side of the chaise. Her belly rippled with the effort to sit up. She grimaced. She said: "Getting hard to do this."

The arms she lifted to me were perfect, revealing no fateful weakness.

I took her hands and drew her up. Her feet on either side of the chaise heaved, so she came up fast and almost crashed into my arms, laughing. I felt the big cushions crushed against me. Her face was inches from mine. I could see the texture of her lips, the shine of her pink lipstick.

Was she a companion on my arm or a package? I compromised. My arm went around her waist; I held her to me, slightly lifting her. We headed for the apartment door. I felt my face burn. She was looking down as though watching her step, but I knew she could see the ridge beneath my shorts. For a second, the duration of a grin, her eyes caught mine. To say the least, I was an obvious guy.

We crossed the kitchen toward the bathroom. At the heavy yellow door, Loren said: "Okay, I'm good, now--I think." She turned, "Oh, thank you, Buddy!"

"So that's it?" She could interpret that any way she wanted. I didn't know myself what I meant.

"You want to help me?" Her tone was neutral.

"You mean a bath?"

"Well, you do have an erection, right?"

"Oh! Oh, I mean..."

"You do?"

"Can't help it!"

"Maybe I can." Now, she turned and smiled at me. "I want to see it, Buddy!"

"No! I didn't mean it. Don't be mad, Mrs. Eicholtz. Yes, I admit, I do, I do have one."

"Okay." She crooked her arms behind her back, unhooked her bra, hung it on a hook. Released, her breasts swayed for a second. They were full, big as melons side by side on her slender torso, with two pink nipples, now stiff. She look down at them, then at me.

"Hold me up, my arm." She was bending, shoving her shorts over her hips and down her legs till they dropped to the floor. She had nothing underneath and in a second I saw the same chestnut hair, full and fluffy, on her belly.

Naked, she turned to me. "I just need this," she sighed. "Okay, put me in."

Then, she said, "Wait, let me turn on the water." She faced the tub, bent almost double, reaching for the faucets. Her buttocks parted, the perfect cheeks opening, so I saw that the pussy hair had split to leave a wet pink slit. Suddenly she said, "Nope, nope, can't do it!"

I put her arm around her, so her plump breasts pressed my chest. I half lowered her into the tub. She held on for dear life, giggling.

Then, I turned the handles, adjusting hot and cold. When I hit the sweet spot, I look at her, again. She was the summation of all desire. Laid out in the rising water, she was pale but for two nipples breaking the surface, stiff, and a triangular tuft of dark hair beneath the surface.

After a moment, Loren said, "Okay, Buddy, your turn." She smiled up at me. "Take it out. You can do it. I have to get a really good look at you."

I stood there. I stared down at her.

"Take your pants down. I want to see your dick." Explaining to a baby.

"I can't," I began idiotically. "I shouldn't."

"You've seen all of me. Besides, you're dying to."

With a effort, like a wallowing whale, Loren sat up in the water. Her breasts changed shape from smooth mounds on her chest to big, swooping cones with thick pink tips. She reached with dripping hands, unfastened my belt, unsnapped my trousers, and worked them down. Her long fingers with pink nails caught my drawers, too. I almost seized my pants to keep covered.

"No, Buddy!"

Peremptory. A snapped command.

Then, she stretched my underwear away from my belly and my dick popped up. The whole congested, swollen apparatus jerked to attention. "Oh, God," I murmured.

"It's nice," she said. She let herself slosh back into the tub. Then, she looked up, studying me. Not my dick, my face.

"What do you want, Buddy?"

"What?"'

"To squeeze my boobs?"

I didn't know women talked that way.

"Play with my boobs, if you want to."

I dropped to my knees beside the tub and began--uncertainly, gentle, my hands in the warm water on her deliciously slippery breasts. I pinched stiff nipples and stretched them. A boy exploring a new toy.

Loren closed her eyes, sighed.

My dick felt as though it might melt down. Once, it brushed the cold side of the tub. I reached down to grab it in my fist, squeezing. I wanted to rip it off.

Sleepily, with a smile, Loren said: "Get in here. But be careful."

Exactly what I wanted. I swung one leg over the side the tub. Used my arms to shift my weight so that I knelt with one knee on either side of her hips. To feel the warmth and softness of Loren pressed between my legs was Heaven.

"What do want to do to me?"

I let myself fall forward, my torso covering hers, and my lips met hers. I kissed her in a frenzy. Went on kissing her. My hands grasped her head and pressed it to my face. There was no resistance. Her lips on mine, her tongue in my mouth.

Then, her fingers were down between us, holding my shaft. I groaned with all the yearning in me. The grip around my prick tightened and her hand slid the skin up and down.

Suddenly, she was whispering in my ear. "I'm not going to whack you off, Buddy." I heard in her gentleness a demand. "Stick it in my mouth or my pussy. Stick it somewhere!" She giggled.

I panicked. Do something! I started, "But what do you want...?"

Her hand grabbed my balls. I yelped.

Loren hissed: "Shut up!"

She was dragging me by my nuts till I was sitting on her face. And gasping at the strength of her grip on my nuts. As I looked down at her perfect face, hair floating around it, her lips parted, I got the message. My first time, after all.

My hand pushed down my rigid rod, and I leaned forward, till it touched her lips. I jerked my hips to thrust it in. I expected a cry of indignation, protest, but there was none. I felt my shaft sinking deeper into Loren's throat till my wet belly hair was against her face.

The face was serene. I wanted to drill her. But she had taken in all I had. Her tongue was at work running in little circles on the underside of my dick.

Her wide brown eyes never left my face.

"No!" I groaned. "No!"

Of course, I meant "Yes! Yes!"

With her mouth stuffed with prick, she only nodded: It's okay, Buddy.

Her hands grabbed my butt check suddenly and squeezed. She gazed up at me as I cried out, squealed, thrust, coming. I felt a wet finger shoot up my ass. First time for that, too.

I fell forward, clutching the faucet handles, my forehead against the cool tiles. A sublime sensation infused my belly as she gently sucked clean my shrinking dick.

Then, I almost shot to my feet. I thought I heard the apartment door open. No, couldn't be. Must be my guilt.

No mistaking, though, the sounds of it closing. And I heard a sweet voice call out: "Where are you, you big hairy pussy?"

Loren's lips released my penis and said: "It's fine. It's fine, Buddy."

"Someone is coming!"

"My girlfriend, Cindy Read."

"Girlfriend?"

"You aren't supposed to have a boyfriend when your husband is halfway around the world in a god-forsaken jungle, risking his life for freedom."

She grinned and raised her voice. "In the bathroom, Big Tits. I have a guest, so undress appropriately."

"Okay, undressing appropriately."

I felt whacked in the side of the head with a hammer. I felt myself give a mighty heave, rising to my feet. I looked down at the serene face. "Is that Cindy Read?"

"I said."

Cindy Read: "The body." The glory no man in town had failed to notice, no man had ever seen. The Bitch. The Lesbo... Some smalltown sex goddess. But, still...a goddess."

I reacted as though to an air-raid siren. "She's coming in!"

"Did you ever want to see Cindy naked?"

"But she'll see me naked!"

"Your dick is definitely okay."