Other Voices - Travis

I had just finished practice when my roommate Pablo came through the door. "Hey, Travis. Wanna earn some beer money?"

Pablo was from Brazil, and like me, he had been recruited to swim for the George Washington University swim team. His specialty was the middle distances, while I wasn't any good past 200 meters. We both only had a handful of meets left before our college careers would be over, and neither of us had a clue what we were to do then.

I had found college to be particularly daunting and for almost my whole time at GW, I had to have tutoring and struggled to keep my GPA high enough to compete. Much to the consternation of coaches, teachers, and particularly my father back in Austin, Texas who feared that I'd lose my scholarship every marking period.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, responding to Pablo's question.

"Help move some furniture and help fix a few things, I think. Maybe a couple of hours in the evening one day next week."

I got up and cracked a couple of beers, and as we drank, Pablo explained that one of his friend's mother had asked if he knew anyone that could help out an older woman friend of hers for $100 apiece for about two hours.

It sounded good to me. My part-time job in the Student Union paid $3 an hour, and because of practice and swim meets, I could only work about ten hours a week. Not near enough to keep our fridge stocked.

Mrs. Boyer lived off a small side street that connected to Virginia Avenue in an exclusive neighborhood in North Cleveland Park which was only about a fifteen-minute drive. So at four p.m. the following Wednesday, we found ourselves walking up the wide steps leading to a nice two-story brick house with a white-pillared porch located next to the Embassy of Uruguay. I turned to Pablo and pointed to the pale blue stripes of its flag and said, "Nice neighbors."

It only took us a few minutes to move and relocate the three pieces of furniture and erect a tall step ladder to clean and replace some burned-out lights in the huge chandelier that hung from the two-story high foyer. Mrs. Boyer, who insisted that we call her Liz, smiled and gave us each $150 in cash. It appeared that she lived alone in the big house since there didn't seem to be any evidence of a Mr. Boyer and Liz didn't choose to enlighten us on that subject. As Pablo went to put the ladder away. Liz pulled me closer and in a low voice said, "I always need a strong man to help out, but I don't need two. If you want to come back, I'll have more again next week." Then she held a single finger to her lips as if that were to be our little secret.

I called her the next week and she said to come on over. When I arrived she had company. She introduced me to her friend who insisted that I call her Lanny, which I learned later was a shortening of 'Dulaney.' Again there were some modest jobs that were easily dispatched, so we ended up just talking. The women seemed fascinated by my swimming career and they had me describe my training regimen in some detail.

Lanny thought my body looked "sculpted" and asked what exercises I did to achieve that. It seemed to surprise her when I said that it was all the result of just swimming, and I pointed out all of the muscle groups that were involved in the freestyle and butterfly strokes I swam. I saw Lanny look at Liz, and some silent communication passed between them, but I was clueless about what it might have been.

That was the same week that I busted up with my girlfriend. Darla and I had been an item for almost two years, and - I guess- like most men, when I was thrusting my seven inches into her, oh so sweet, pussy, I thought I was in love with her. Other times, when she seemed to be impatient with my lack of ambition, not so much.

It had come to a head over that very subject. It had been obvious to me that she was more than ready to get an M.R.S. degree, but she needed some assurance that I was ready to, not only fuck her, but support her and any future children we might have. My lackadaisical response to those needs was the last straw. She called me some unrepeatable names and that was that. I was devastated, then surprisingly... relieved.

The following week, Liz seemed to be 'all ears' as somehow we got on the subject of my breakup with Darla. Liz came over and sat next to me on her sofa and put her arm around my shoulders and rubbed my back. She asked about the prospect of getting back together with Darla or perhaps some other girl, but I said, I'd had it for a while. I would be graduating in a few weeks and, at least for me, the pain wasn't worth the gain.

Her response was a softly uttered, "Mmmm, we'll see." I hadn't done much of anything during my last two visits, but Liz still gave me $150 each time, and she insisted that I return again the following week.

That weekend, I swam the race of my life and ended up qualifying for the Nationals, which would be held in Indianapolis the following month, by which time I would have already graduated. This extended my stay in Washington a couple of more weeks, so I kept returning to help Liz with her 'chores.'

Because of extended practices, I wasn't able to go at 4 p.m. the next week, but when I called, Liz said to just come over when I finished. There was a team meeting after practice, so I didn't get there until after seven that evening, but when I arrived, I was in for a surprise.

Unlike all of my previous visits, Liz wasn't dressed as she usually was. Normally, she was attired in an expensive-looking skirt and blouse with low-heeled comfortable-looking shoes and her blonde streaked hair pulled up in a bun or fastened with a clip. This evening, it appeared that she was dressed for bed!

For a fifty-something woman, Liz Boyer was damned good-looking. She wasn't tall enough to be considered 'statuesque,' but her thin, delicate frame could give one that impression. Her figure curved in all the right places and as I now regarded her, dressed in a flimsy white silk nightgown, I noted that her alabaster breasts were much more than the proverbial 'mouthful."

Liz had also slipped on a green dressing gown, but it was only loosely tied and did nothing to hide Liz's female charms. She said she was just having a drink after dinner and she invited me into a small room just off the kitchen that I can only describe as a sitting room. There was a loveseat and two chairs in front of a small fireplace and a sideboard with an impressive array of liquor bottles. Liz didn't bother asking, but just poured me two fingers of Drambuie in a crystal glass and led me to the loveseat.

She took one of the other chairs and asked me about the Nationals. I was pleased that she seemed genuinely interested in the one thing that I was really good at, but her questions always left me a little puzzled. As a general rule, unless you happened to be related to one of the swimmers, I didn't think there were many fifty-year-old women fans of the sport.

We had been talking for about twenty minutes when I started to feel the strong liqueur go to my head. It was about then that I saw Liz reach behind her and pick up a small glass bowl filled with assorted nuts. There was a low coffee table nearby and she leaned over to put the bowl between us. It could have been just a sociable gesture, but her silk nightgown was cut low enough and it was loose enough that when she did, the silk fabric fell away and I could see her unencumbered breasts hanging in space. They were perfect pear-shaped mounds capped with delectable pink nipples surrounded by large areolas.

Liz had been looking at the spot where she intended to place the nuts, but as I gazed at her naked boobs, she raised just her head and looked into my eyes without changing her position. She was very aware of what I was staring at and made no move to raise up or to cover herself. If ever there was a naked invitation that was it.

Finally, Liz rose to her feet and came over and sat on the loveseat next to me. She placed one hand on my thigh and touched my shoulder with the fingers of her other one. I had come straight from practice so I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with the GW swim club logo. The tee had been washed enough times that it fit like a second skin and revealed the hugely developed muscles of my shoulders and arms.

I started to say, "Mrs. Boyer, I... uh... " but I didn't finish because I had no idea what I wanted to say after the "uh," but Liz placed a finger on my lips and leaned in a little closer.

"I'm sorry about Darla, I truly am, but I'm glad I can be here for you. Do you understand?"

I thought that I was beginning to. Like most people my age, I had never been the object of seduction and I knew I lacked the talent to pull one off myself. In truth, I never had to. I was always one of the best-looking guys in school and my muscled body and 6'1" frame put me near the top of a lot of girls 'most desired' list. Lack of female companionship had never been one of my problems. What was a problem, however, was the cattiness and possessiveness that most girls my age brought as part of the package.

Perhaps it was the effect of the Drambuie, or the scent of Liz's perfume which I began to notice now that she was closer, or the image of her gorgeous tits hanging, or the fact that it had been three weeks since I'd last had sex, or probably all of those, but I didn't pull away when Liz said, "Women have needs too," then leaned forward and kissed me softly on my lips.

While she used one hand to guide our lips together, her other one grasped one of mine and pressed it against the softness of her tit. Even though I was feeling her through her nightgown, the sheerness of the fabric actually accentuated the eroticism of the act, and she moaned a low "Mmmm," when she felt me squeeze.

We kissed and I fondled her for a few minutes until Liz broke our kiss, took my hand, and led me uncomplainingly up a flight of stairs to her bedroom. It was a huge room with a small sitting area in one half and a beautiful king-size canopy bed in the other. She flicked a switch close by and the room was softly illuminated by some cleverly placed indirect lighting. Then she turned a knob near the bed stand and I heard soft romantic music. All that was missing from this iconic romantic image were the rose petals covering the bed itself.

Liz stripped me of my t-shirt first and then took a minute to admire my bare arms, shoulders, and washboard abs. As a competitive swimmer, I shaved off all my body hair, so Liz's eyes regarded my naked torso with admiration but with a bit of amusement as well. I did like the fact that she decided to inspect every square inch with her lips.

I had no problem with just letting Liz take the lead and do what she wanted to do. She asked me to remove my shoes which I easily kicked off just as she began to unbuckle my belt. She had a moment of difficulty with the snap, but finally got it unhooked and she slid my jeans down and off. Now clad only in my racing thong. Liz stepped back to just look at me. While I saw her eyes scan my whole body, they fixed on the obvious bulge in my shorts.

At just this moment, the music playing in the background morphed from a soft lilting melody to a stronger and more demanding rhythm and saw that Liz picked up on the change. Her breathing turned huskier and her eyes narrowed and focused on my straining and still-bound cock. She extended one hand and placed it on my chest to steady her as she dropped to her knees, and a second later, Liz had pulled my thong to the floor and my manhood sprung to bounce just inches from her face. Liz looked up and said, "I see you didn't shave everything."

If the average male penis is six inches, I'm a little above at around seven, with proportional girth. I've often heard that it isn't the size of the tool that's important, but how well it's used. While I can't remember any complaints from the ladies, I knew that I was still only a raw apprentice in the carnal arts and as Liz looked at my shaft, I idly thought that I might learn some things from this seductive creature.

I expected Liz to take me into her mouth as most of the girls I'd dated had after they exposed me, but she didn't. Instead, I saw her nostrils flare as she inhaled the strong masculine aroma from my crotch. She moaned and closed her eyes as if to limit her sensory input, and I realized that I'd just gotten one of those lessons that I'd hoped for.

The second lesson came a minute later. Instead of sucking me. Liz pushed me back and I sat on the bed as I watched her undress. The green robe, she just shocked off and let it fall to the floor. Then she reached down and grasped the hem of her nightgown and in one smooth motion pulled it up and over her head. Underneath, she was naked.

When she saw my lustful look, she took a step back and allowed me to just leer at her nude body, and then, as if to tease me, she slowly twisted first left, then right letting me fully appreciate her femaleness. If she intended to arouse me quickly, she succeeded in spades. My cock rose to its full extension as she let me gawk.

As I gazed at Liz's poses, it dawned on me that Liz was from my parent's generation, and had my mother still been alive, she would actually be a couple of years younger than the woman I was looking at. All of my girlfriends had been my age, but as I looked at the picture Liz was painting for me, I realized that none of them came close to her erotic appeal.

When turned to the side, the fullness of Liz's breasts was exposed with a dramatic effect. Even though they had begun to sag, I found their 'maturity' more arousing than I'd ever thought about Darla's proud mounds. Nicely rounded hips emphasized Liz's pussy which was covered with sparse (brown?) pubic hair. It was enough to give her a womanly look, but not enough that it obscured the tiny slit that peeked through at the apex of her delta.

Based on her pubes, I assumed that brown was Liz's natural hair color, but her head was covered with streaks of blonde which I now assumed was courtesy of her hairdresser. Her skin looked flawless from a distance, but closer, I could see small wrinkles, but they did nothing to detract from her overall attractiveness.

Just then, Liz broke the spell. I thought she had a sort of bemused smile, when she took a step towards me and said, "Wanna touch." Boy, did I ever! Liz sat down and leaned back against me. She had positioned herself in such a way that I could easily reach her breasts and I cupped and gauged their weight with my right hand, while the left rested on a thin delicate shoulder.

Liz let me play with her soft tits and teased me with muffled mews of pleasure as I found and then pinched her eraser-hard nipple. "That's nice," she murmured and it seemed she was enjoying what I was doing. I sure knew that I was.

In my position, it was easy to just push on Liz's shoulder and roll her onto her back. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she seemed pleased with this sudden initiative on my part.

When our lips met for the first time it was like sinking into warm quicksilver. There was motion, like small waves in a warm pool, but I felt myself sinking deep into the warm, moist cushion of her lips. When I felt her tongue press flatly against my lips I literally groaned with the sensation. I opened my mouth and applied gentle suction to draw her into me. She allowed herself to be pulled, and my own tongue pressed against hers.

I rose to drink in the sight of her, lying naked beside me, but then leaned in to kiss her again. Our joining this time was more urgent. Her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled me hard into her. As our tongues thrust against each other, her hands weaved themselves into my hair, not pulling, but simply tousling and caressing.

When we broke the kiss, I gazed into her eyes. I could see the glowing embers of an inner fire waiting to be stoked into a full blaze. A small light in the corner of the bedroom allowed a view of her naked beauty. Her seductive sensuality was achieving her goal. I was hot, bothered, and horny as hell.

I picked out a point on her face, the outside corner of her eye, and aimed my lips there. I kissed her softly for a second or two, pulling back and selecting a new site. As my lips traveled down her warm, firm body, various reactions emanated from my new lover.

At first, I heard a gentle sigh, a sign of relaxation, perhaps of surrender to the moment. When I kissed the joint between her neck and shoulder, there was a sharper intake of breath, a tightening of her grip on me, and a general shift of her body position. While my lips traveled across to her shoulder, my hand caressed her waist and slid effortlessly down to the top of her hip. Her own hand covered mine.

I caressed one of her fragile shoulders softly, my finger tracing the outline, then the ridge of the collarbone underneath her resilient, smooth flesh.

My hand cupped the curve of her breast from underneath, and Liz pushed her tit into my hand, arching her back with another sharp gasp as my fingers slid across the erectile tissue of her nipple.

I bent my head down and planted a warm kiss on the pale skin. My tongue teased the tiny nub gently, moistening it, then lapping up the moisture. She groaned.

"I can't believe this," she whispered.

"Already?" I asked.

"I think so. It felt like it. Just a little one."

I was pleased with myself. Women had always seemed to respond to my touch, but somehow, with Liz, it seemed a thousand times more important that she found my touch arousing.

"More," she whispered. "I want more."

I was happy to oblige. My lips left her breast and skidded slowly down her torso. I kissed each of her ribs, then dragged across the top of her flat belly. My tongue circled the exterior of her navel. She pressed her hips upward. I closed my lips around the circle I'd made, then pushed my tongue deep into her navel. My hand, resting on her hip, felt the twitch and thrust as she pushed against me. She moaned lowly as my tongue flicked and probed at her belly.

"Please," she begged. "I am aching down there. Please!"

"Down here?" I asked, then slid my tongue deep into her slit, encountering an amazing amount of damp, slick juices.

"Yes, there!" she almost screamed, her hips rising again to force my tongue into her. Liz whimpered and then I felt her grasp my shoulders as a second small orgasm ripped through her body.

Since I had initiated our first kiss, Liz had been content to follow my lead, but what she didn't know was that inside I was trembling with uncertainty. Did she like what I was doing? And, if I wasn't satisfying her, would she kick me out? such was my mental state, that I actually considered that to be a possibility.

It didn't take Liz to recover from her mini-orgasm and she rolled on her side to face me. "Are you going to fuck me now?" she said in the same tone that she might have asked what I might want for dinner.

"Well, I was going to try to entertain you more," I offered.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head. "I want to be fucked. I want your cock inside me." She leaned toward me and pushed. I rolled backward on the huge bed, and before I could move, Liz straddled my legs."We're going to fuck now, Travis" she ordered.

She reached behind her and found my cock, then placed it in the entrance to her vagina. Liz glanced down, then, she settled on my ramrod stiff shaft. As I penetrated her, my cock was imprisoned, and her walls felt like hot honey. Liz moaned, "God! You feel sooo good," and she gazed directly into my eyes as she accustomed herself to the flesh that was buried in her cunt. The fires had been kindled.

Her motions were unlike other women I had felt in this position. Usually, when they were on top, they would bounce and twitch, pound their hips and wail. With them it was all fast, furious and violent. Liz, on the other hand, was like a cat. Instead of thrashing, She slowly stretched upward, withdrawing my cock until just the head remained inside, then sank backward, impaling herself to the hilt once again. Her motions were languorous and deliberate, pulling, then pushing, squeezing and releasing, all the while moaning and, I swear, purring. As she slid her body onto my shaft, I could hear a low moan of pleasure deep in her throat, and her vaginal muscles would clamp on me, squeeze me, and clench as if to announce that I was hers, and only hers.