Kevin's Special Delivery

Note: This story is inspired by true events back in the late 1970s. I first wrote it entirely from Kevin's perspective, and after rereading and revising it several times decided that it would be interesting to also tell the same story separately from Lois's point of view. So I did, and I hope you find that interesting as well.

Kevin

I'll never forget that steamy Friday in July when an ordinary day at work developed into a milestone event for me.

When I got back to the drug store after some mid-afternoon deliveries, Mr. Conrad called me over to the pharmacy area. "I've got one more delivery for you today, Kevin, but it could take you a while to get it done, so why don't you just head straight home afterward." It was about 4:30 and the store didn't close until 6.

Mr. Conrad went on: "I got a call from Lois Green, who's a good, long-time customer. She took a fall a week ago at work and sprained her ankle. She's at home today and needs a few things from us. Since she's not able to get out, I also told her that you'd run over to the grocery store and pick up a few things for her there too. That OK with you?" "Sure," I told him. I didn't really mind, and in fact I often did little extra tasks for customers during my regular deliveries. It also meant I could knock off a little early and head home.

Mr. Conrad handed me a shopping list for the groceries and told to circle back for the things Ms. Green wanted from our drug store. It turned out that the grocery list was pretty substantial, and when I eventually loaded everything up to head off to Ms. Green's the four large and heavy bags completely filled up the basket on my delivery bike.

It was a late July day, very hot and humid and I worked up a bit of a sweat on the pedal over to Ms. Green's apartment. I hadn't ever been there before since Ms. Green usually did her shopping in person, and I was unpleasantly surprised to learn from her doorbell that she lived on the third floor. Since I didn't want to run the risk of leaving any of the bags out on the sidewalk, and also didn't really want to make two trips up to the third floor, I grabbed ahold of all four bags as best I could and huffed and puffed my way up the steep, hot and stuffy stairwell.

Seventy-two stairs in all -- yeah, I counted. By the time I got up to the top, sweat was dripping from my face and my t-shirt was nearly drenched. I put the bags down and knocked on the door of 3S. "It's open," came a voice from inside. I nudged the door aside with my shoulder and poked my head through.

"Hi Ms. Green, it's Kevin from Conrad's Drugs. I've got your delivery and your groceries too. Where would you like me to put them all?"

Ms. Green was sitting on the sofa in the front room reading a book, with her foot propped up on a pillow-topped ottoman. "Would you mind terribly putting them on the kitchen table," she replied. "It's all the way down the hall at the back. If you would be kind enough to put the milk and butter in the refrigerator, I'll put the rest away later."

"Sure thing," I said, and hauled the load of stuff to the back of her large apartment, dripping sweat all the way. After dropping the bags on the table with a sigh of relief and stowing the cold stuff in the fridge, I walked back toward the front room. It was cooler in Ms. Green's tidy apartment, as she had a window AC unit blowing up where she sat.

Ms. Green looked up from her book when I returned and shot me a look of mom-quality concern. "Oh you poor dear," she said, shaking her head, "you're dripping wet! I didn't mean to work you that hard."

"No big deal," I shrugged, "just summer in the city. It's pretty hot out there today."

Ms. Green looked me up and down, smiled somewhat awkwardly and said: "You're a pretty husky guy to have carted all of that up here in one trip." I'm sure she meant it as a compliment, although nobody had ever previously referred to me as "husky." I'd just turned 18 a couple of weeks before, and I was not a big guy by any means: just a shade over six-feet tall, with only about 160 pounds on my skinny frame.

"But you look so uncomfortable," she tutted. "Why don't you pop into the bathroom back there and run a cool cloth over your face."

"That actually sounds pretty nice," I admitted, "as long as you don't mind me getting sweat all over one of your washcloths."

"Don't be silly," she chided, grab a fresh one from the shelf in there and run it under the cold water. I don't want you passing out from heat stroke on my account."

"Thanks Ms. Green," I said as I backtracked to the bathroom and ducked inside. It was a big room with the towels arranged on shelves just inside the door as I entered. I grabbed a fluffy washcloth, ran it under the tap and then enjoyed the feeling of the cool wet cloth on my hot, grimy face. I glanced in the mirror above the sink and noticed for the first time the bathtub behind me at the opposite side of the room. But it wasn't actually the bathtub itself that caught my attention. Rather it was the contents of the drying rack sitting in the tub: the rack was covered with Ms. Green's underwear!

I'm not talking about anything particularly sexy or risqué. Although truth be told, when you're an 18-year-old guy who had just graduated from an all-boys Catholic high school and had exactly ZERO experience with sex, just about anything would pass for sexy.

Ms. Green's underthings were pretty basic: white bras and white cotton panties. Three or four of each on the rack. I slowly turned around for a better view and -- to my great regret and discomfort -- felt an erection start to fill up my pants.

About those pants. They were khaki shorts, about three summers' old. While I was a skinny guy, I had gone through a growth spurt or two over that time and these shorts were on the hairy edge of being too small for me. They were more than tight enough to wear without a belt and -- when I turned back to the mirror -- clearly displayed every embarrassing inch of my raging boner.

"Everything OK in there," Ms. Green called from the front room?

"Uh, yeah... this, um, feels great," I stammered, figuratively kicking myself.

"Glad to hear it," she said in her kind voice, "come on back up here when you finish."

If I come back up there now, I will be finished, I thought to myself as I tried to will my willy to calm itself down already. But my penis was having none of that, and the fact that I was still standing in the room containing the collection of bras and undies didn't help. I tried closing my eyes, but I just could not un-see them.

What to do. For a moment, I seriously considered climbing out her small bathroom window, but the prospect of a three-story freefall convinced me to abandon that strategy. Looking around for something, anything to cover my throbbing shame, my gaze fell on one of the hand towels hanging on the rack by the sink. I grabbed it and determined that if I held it in both hands at about waist level it would pretty much cover my still rock-hard dick. Better than nothing, I decided and stepped out looking like an under-equipped matador.

Ms. Green was reading again when I emerged, but she did hear me come out. "Would you be a dear and grab my wallet off the table by the door," she asked, "I want to give you something for your trouble."

Talk about trouble! I couldn't think of any way to grab and hand her the wallet that wouldn't involve dropping one end of the towel. A quick glance down confirmed that my dick was still flying at full mast. So, I snatched the wallet on my way by and then tried to execute an intricate maneuver involving holding the towel in front of my crotch while stepping sort of sideways toward Ms. Green.

Fail!

Given my height, the fact that Ms. Green was sitting down, and my stupid decision to essentially wave a flag in front of my crotch, Ms. Green's gaze was drawn directly toward the prominent and increasingly painful bulge in my shorts.

For a moment, time stood still.

I had seen Lois Green before around the drug store. She was probably between the ages of my mom and my grandmother: i.e. early to mid-50s. She had red hair and fair skin with freckles. At the store she always looked pretty well put together, usually dressed in what I assume were her work outfits: pant suits or skirt-and-blouse combos. I always thought she looked good for her age. On this day she had on a loose-fitting light green housedress, which frankly looked kinda frumpy on her, but she was still an attractive woman.

I watched in horror as the freckles on her face slowly disappeared because her cheeks and neck were flushing bright red, and I could only imagine that my face was a similar color.

After a brief eternity, Ms. Green broke the silence with a breathy "Oh Dear!" She then looked up at my sheepish face, as if seeking an explanation of some sort.

The best I could come up with was to croak "I'm so sorry Ms. Green, I... I...." I what exactly? I'm a dirty little creep who was scoping out your scanties? My mind went blank. I had nothing.

Ms. Green regained her composure before I could. She actually smiled shyly at me and said in a quiet and low-pitched voice: "Kevin, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Boys your age are... well... prone to such things and that is perfectly natural. Nothing to worry about. What, um, exactly IS your age?"

"I just turned 18 Ma'am," I said in what I hoped would pass for a nonchalant adult voice, but probably sounded like a terrified squeak. Despite my most fervent wishing, I could tell that my erection was still fully loaded, so I tried turning my back on Ms. Green and slowly edging toward her front door.

"Kevin, wait," came her low and confident voice again, "please sit for a moment." I turned to see her gesturing toward the armchair across from where she was sitting.

"I'm not, um, actually sure I can do that Ms. Green," I replied, turning back to face her, "it's pretty uncomfortable right now when I'm standing up."

"I see," she nodded. "Well, Kevin, I can't have you leaving here in that, uh, condition, can I? I mean, what would my neighbors think if they saw you?"

I gave her something between a nod and a shrug, as she looked directly into my mortified eyes. Shifting in her seat, she spoke again. "If you'll close the front door and come back over here, I believe I may be able to... perhaps... address that, um, 'situation' for you."

Having no better alternative in mind, I did as she asked and found myself moving toward her. "Come closer," she beckoned, as I sidled around the ottoman and stepped nearer to her, until we were essentially face to fly.

"Kevin, that looks very uncomfortable, and I'm going to see if I can help release the pressure for you now," Ms. Green advised me in a steady voice. She leaned forward on the couch, slowly reached up, undid the button on my khakis, and then inched the zipper down. I stood transfixed, not daring to look down, move or even breathe. It did feel much better though.

Surprisingly, she didn't stop there. Without another word, Ms. Green tugged at the bottoms of my shorts and they gradually slid down to the hardwood floor. Her hands then moved to the waistband of my Jockey briefs. Slipping her thumbs into the waistband, she peeled my briefs down until they joined my shorts on her floor. If anything, my liberated cock grew even harder as it bobbed in the open air just inches in front of Ms. Green.

This is the point at which I should probably mention -- in my defense -- that no other person had ever touched my penis before, except presumably for my mom when I was back in diapers.

Before I could process what had just happened, Ms. Green brought one hand up and wrapped it gently around my impossibly hard boner at which very moment -- to my great humiliation and also my great pleasure -- I immediately began to cum.

I came a lot! More than during any prior jerk-off session in my bedroom at home, and more than during any wet dream I could recall. Ms. Green quickly let go of my penis but it continued to shoot thick spurts all over her pale green house dress and my own t-shirt, underwear and shorts.

Appalled, I opened my mouth to say something... anything. But Ms. Green again broke the silence first. "Well Kevin," she said smiling coyly up at me, "no wonder you were having such a problem. That sort of pressure buildup cannot have been healthy!" Then she laughed gently. Not a mocking laugh at my expense, but a tension-breaking sort of giggle that was apparently infectious because I started laughing too -- in relief and appreciation.

After our mutual chuckle, Ms. Green reached up and took my hand and looked at me again. "Unfortunately, we now have another problem," she said in a semi-serious tone. "You certainly cannot go home with your clothing in that state. If you'll help me up, we can take your things to the bathroom and rinse them out. And you and I will need to clean ourselves up as well."

Ms. Green's bad foot was in a walking boot with traction strips on the bottom. So I gently lifted her leg off of the ottoman and moved that out of the way. I took her arm and helped her stand, then started to reach down to pull my pants and underwear back on. She stopped me from doing that, saying "just pick them up and carry them with you."

I can't imagine what we looked like as we shuffled from the couch to the bathroom, me naked from the waist down with an undiminished hardon, and she using my arm for support as she struggled to walk on one good leg. She was a smallish person, probably just a few inches over five-feet tall.

When we arrived back at her bathroom, Ms. Green surprised me again by calmly unfastening and removing her housedress and standing next to me dressed only in one of her white bra and panty combos. Any hope for a change in the state of my still-sturdy stiffy died right then and there.

Ms. Green stuffed her housedress in a nearby laundry hamper and turned her attention to sponging and rinsing the cum off of my shirt, shorts, shoes, socks and underwear. She then limped over and draped my clothes over the drying rack while sliding her own drying underwear to the side. Finally, she took off and wiped clean her own boot thingy.

"I've been doing laundry in here for the last few days," she told me, "since the washing machine is all the way down in the basement."

Ms. Green then turned back to me and announced, "now, let's clean you up shall we? The tub is occupied so we'll have to improvise. Let's go across the hall."

We resumed our comically ungainly march, this time in the direction of her bedroom, me stark naked now with my stalwart schlong continuing to bounce at full attention as we went, and Ms. Green hopping alongside in her underwear. I know it's really impolite to stare, but I couldn't help noticing how Ms. Green's hopping made her breasts bounce in her bra.

The bedroom was brightly lit by the afternoon sun. Ms. Green led us both to the bed where she proceeded to sit, while directing me to stand again in front of her. Looking directly into my eyes she carefully took hold of my persistent prick and said "now, let's get you tidied up." Before I knew what was happening, she bent her head and began to carefully lick the remaining residue of cum from my tingling penis, turning it this way and that to make certain that she was doing a proper job.

A spontaneous low groan escaped my lips as Ms. Green suddenly took my throbbing cock fully into her mouth. "Just want to be thorough," she mumbled with her mouth full. "You don't mind do you?"

"Um, no ma'am," I croaked, marveling at the new sensations running through my penis and the reverberations I felt throughout my body. Ms. Green hunched over as she performed her cleaning process, and I couldn't help looking down to convince myself that this was really happening. I could see from this vantage point that her coppery hair was dyed and graying at the roots, and that the freckles ran all over her small, fair-skinned body.

I moaned a little louder as Ms. Green ran her tongue and lips over the sensitive underside of my cock, making my legs shake. There was another load of cum building up in my balls for blastoff and I felt that I should warn the nice lady. "Um Ms. Green," I stammered, not really sure what the etiquette was for announcing an impending cum shot, "that, uh, feels so good, but if you keep that up I'm going to, uh, you know,...." She broke the delicious seal between her mouth and my penis just long enough to look up at me with a mischievous little grin and said: "That's just fine dear. I already know that it's delicious, so why don't you give me some more whenever you're ready."

Ms. Green then ducked her head back down and resumed her oral attentions, while also bringing a small hand up to give my nuts a squeeze. That set off the explosion. My knees buckled as I cried out, probably too loudly, and started filling Ms. Green's mouth with repeated spurts of cum.

I could hear, and feel, her humming appreciatively as she gamely swallowed it all, continuing to suck and lick me until the spasms stopped and she pulled her head away.

She smiled up at me through moist lips and said, "Well! It has been quite a while since I did something like that. I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Was it a nice experience for you too dear?"

I smiled meekly back and confessed, "Ms. Green I can honestly tell you that that was the best experience like that I've ever had... since it's also the ONLY experience like that I've ever had."

Her green eyes widened and she asked, "Do you mean to tell me that none of your girlfriends has ever helped you reach an orgasm before?"

My second explosive climax in around 20 minutes had taken some of the edge off of my mortification by that point and I felt comfortable enough to have a confessional chat with the woman who had just finished sucking my dick. "Well ma'am, I've never actually had a steady girlfriend to this point. Apparently one of the downsides of being an awkward, skinny kid who goes to an all-boys school is that you don't get a lot of dates. I went to my senior prom a couple of months ago, but that was with my best friend's sister, so I didn't get so much as a goodnight kiss."

"Not for lack of desire, but to this point my sexual experience with women has been limited to... well... today."

"Good lord," Ms. Green responded, "Do you mean to tell me that I've not only been consorting with a much younger man today, but also a virgin? If I had known, I would have added a bottle of champagne to your shopping list!"

"I don't think I could have carried one more item up all those stairs," I quipped back. "But if this is 'consorting,' I have to say I like it... apart from the embarrassment, of course."

"I think we should both be beyond the point of embarrassment by now Kevin, don't you," she asked? "As I said earlier, there is no need for you to be ashamed of a perfectly natural bodily function. I have to say, though, that my efforts at solving your, er, problem don't appear to have been very successful so far," she noted, gesturing toward my still fully erect penis. "I may just have to employ some more extreme methods," she added with a wink. "Why don't you sit down here next to me before you poke my eye out with that thing."

She patted the bed next to her and I sat down. Ms. Green reached over and gave my dick a little squeeze. "I have to tell you Kevin," she went on, "you have a very nice penis. Of course I haven't seen any other one since my husband left me over ten years ago, but I'm pretty sure yours is bigger than his was, and I have no doubt at all that you've got more -- hmm... let's call it 'stamina' -- than he ever did. But then again, he was considerably older than me."

"You'll probably think I'm just flattering you, Ms. Green, but I can't imagine why anyone would leave you. I think you're very pretty. I also can't imagine why you haven't, um, been with other men since."