Peter's Mother

Peter Ranalli was a close friend of mine back in the 70's; a teammate on the soccer team all through high school as well as a guy that I hung around with frequently after school and on weekends.

Peter had a father that he hardly ever saw and seemed to hold in great contempt for having deserted his mother and him several years ago, and a mother who he loved. I never met his father, so I didn't have much of an opinion on him, but as far as his mother went, we were in complete agreement. I loved her, and not the way Peter did.

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I didn't like sneaking around like a criminal so that her neighbors didn't see me coming and going, but it was worth it. Besides, if I did walk up to the front door and ring the bell, the chances are that she might not open the door. She might just peek out at me through the curtains and wait until I gave up and left so that she didn't have to admit that she wanted me.

Oh, she wanted me to visit her, even though she hadn't invited me - not today or not the time before that - but that was just her way. As I ducked into the driveway and headed for the back yard, I knew what her reaction was going to be when she saw me.

So when I hopped up the steps of the deck and moved toward the sliding glass doors that led into the kitchen, I was hoping she would in sight so I didn't have to knock, and my hopes were fulfilled.

There she was, standing at the sink, finishing up the breakfast dishes. Looking a bit unkempt, with no make-up on, her hair a bit mussed, and wearing a light blue bathrobe that was wrapped tightly around her, she obviously wasn't expecting company. That was just the way I liked her.

Her name was Donna Ranalli, and she's the mother of one of my best friends. She's a lonely divorcee who's in her forties and sometimes looks it, especially in moments like this when she's just the typical middle aged woman going about her daily routine.

I'm about to change that, and while I stand on the other side of that window, waiting for Mrs. Ranalli to notice I'm there, my cock is already becoming awake despite the early hour. Eight in the morning or night - my cock doesn't know the difference, especially when it comes to Donna.

Mrs. Ranalli jumped when she noticed me standing there, and after she recovered from my accidentally startling her, I got the reaction I was expecting. Her head tilted downward, her mouth grimacing a bit and her eyes rolling a little as she went back to rinsing out soap suds from the sink.

That meant the door wasn't locked, and when I went over and slid it open to let myself in, Clyde the cat ran out, as he usually did when I arrived. Maybe he didn't want to see what was going to happen to Mom, or maybe just wanted to give her some privacy, but out he went.

"Morning, beautiful," I said as I kicked off my sneakers and entered the kitchen.

"Up early, Jimmy," she said.

"Nice of you to notice," I said with a grin, and when Mrs. Ranalli let her eyes dart over reflexively, and when she saw what I was referring to, she shook her head and exhaled.

I was only wearing a yellow tank-top and gym shorts, because when I visit Mrs. Ranalli wearing a lot of clothes only complicates things. With the bulge in my snug shorts so obvious that it bordered on obscene, there was no doubt as to what I had in mind.

"You know who's responsible for that, of course" I mentioned as I peeled off my tank-top and pulled down the shorts, which left me naked.

I waited until Mrs. Ranalli had looked over and acknowledged that I was naked, her eyes going right to my crotch, where my fully engorged cock swayed lazily in front of me. The nearly eight thick inches looked even bigger than it really was on my 5'8" frame, and Mrs. Ranalli looked at it like she always did, trying to act like she wasn't excited.

At first I thought she just had a thing for big cocks, but as time went on I had figured out that it wasn't how much I had that excited her, it was the fact that somebody wanted her - someone found her desirable and attractive.

The fact that I wasn't a desperate kid who would fuck anything with a pulse, but was a decent looking guy with an athletic build and there were plenty of girls willing to be with me, turned her on. She feigned disgust and sometimes acted offended at my brashness but she loved it.

How did I know that? Easy. She would have locked the door. She would have told me to go away and not come back, and I would have nodded and wished her well. I'm not forcing myself on her or anybody else. What I was doing was what she wanted me to do. She wasn't going to come on to me and beg me to come over, but instead wanted to be coerced into it.

"Is Peter..."

"Just had breakfast at Mickey D's," I said as I came up behind his mother, my hands on her shoulders and my cock poking at her behind. "Peter himself served me a McMuffin, and even gave me his employee discount. He's there until 1."

Donna's tiny hands gripped the cold metal of the sink as I kneaded her shoulders though the satiny robe before sliding it off of her and onto the kitchen floor. Mrs. Ranalli was wearing the only nightie I had ever seen her in; a plain white thing with wide straps that showed very little.

My hands went up to her shoulders, which were so slender that they bordered on being bony, and then let my hands slide down her skinny arms to her wrists before bringing them back up the same way. I loved the way the downy hair on her forearms fluttered as my fingers went past, and the sight of the goose bumps my touch had caused.

"Jimmy," Mrs. Ranalli said softly as my hands moved under her arms and cupped her breasts, which hung loosely and unsupported under the silky nightie, but her saying my name wasn't a call to stop or continue. Just saying "Jimmy" was something she often did.

Mrs. Ranalli had been very self-conscious about her breasts at first, and it had taken a while for her to believe me when I told her that I found them irresistible. In all honesty, Donna's breasts were not something that would arouse most guys, but I found her tiny breasts sexy. The doughy titties barely filled my palms, and were plaint and drooped a bit as well, but the aureoles were huge and her nipples were plump and long.

"Mmm," I purred as I kneaded her breasts roughly through the nightie, nibbling on the hair on her neck as I ground myself into her.

Mrs. Ranalli exhaled, her body coiling as her head lifted in response to my touch, and when she reached back and took my had in her hands I could almost feel her melt in my arms.

My hands drifted from her little titties and slid over to her upraised arms, and as let my hands slide down from her biceps, I could feel Mrs. Ranalli's body shiver as my fingers slid along the deep pockets of her armpits.

Mrs. Ranalli's underarms were moist and warm, and as my fingers danced through the hollows I could feel that her armpits, which were smooth yesterday morning when I did this very same thing, but were now coated with a faint stubble, a coating that was so dense and thick that it made the pale skin on the inside of her arms appear black.

I heard Mrs. Ranalli sharp intake of breath as I stroked her armpits, a part of her body that seemed very sensitive, and I had noticed her reactions whenever my fingers or mouth would venture around them.

One time I had suggested to her that she shouldn't shave for a while, because I was curious as to what she would look like, suggesting that she might look hot as a hippie chick, but she wasn't up for that idea.

I found it amusing that everything about Mrs. Ranalli that she hated, I loved, from her breasts to her nose and right down to where my hands were now headed, the jungle of hair that she had between those slender thighs of hers, just as much a testimony to her Italian heritage as her olive skin and the prominent bridge of her nose.

The untrimmed forest of coarse black hair that grew so profusely around her pussy made my cock hard just thinking about it. Mrs. Ranalli claimed that I must be a Renaissance Man when I told her how much I adored a woman with a big bush, and while I didn't really know what that meant I knew what I liked.

Apparently she believed me, because after a while she stopped shaving the hair that grew outside of her delta on the insides of her thighs, as well as letting that thin treasure trail grow too.

My left hand was working over her titties while my right hand was headed toward that glorious bush, and I was not surprised when I felt the wetness that had formed around the fur-covered opening of her pussy.

"Here?" I asked, ready to take her as she was, bent over the sink.

We had done it in that very place before, with Mrs. Ranalli bent over the sink and me thrusting into her so hard that her feet were coming off of the ground with each stroke. She likes it like that - from behind. We had done it doggy-style a lot, even in front of the bedroom dresser with us looking at each other in the mirror as we did it.

"No," Mrs. Ranalli said, and led me down to the bedroom.

Mrs. Ranalli had her nightie off my time we got to the bedroom, and we were an the unmade bed seconds later. The curtains were drawn, but there was still enough light for us to see what we were doing. I buried my face between those slender thighs of hers and began to run my tongue up and down her hairy crevice, but Mrs. Ranalli wasn't in the mood for foreplay and practically pulled me away from her pussy.

She wanted me from behind, and as she got on her knees and buried her face in the pillow, I got an intimate view of her most private parts. I liked to look, even though I knew every inch of the area Mrs. Ranalli was offering to me.

My fingers slid along the crack of her ass, and when I rubbed the anus, which had a ring of hair around it, Mrs. Ranalli shivered, perhaps out of the memory of me having her anally.

It had been her idea, but even though I had made every effort to prepare her properly, I hurt her quite a bit. There was no way of telling while we were doing it, because she gave no indication that I was causing her pain, but after I had coated her bowels with my seed and rolled her over, I could see that she had been crying.

"Wanted to try it," Mrs. Ranalli had said when I asked her why she let me go on. "Didn't want to ruin it for you."

Because the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, I was never going there again, so my hand continued its journey down between her legs. The hair kept getting thicker as my fingers kept going, and then I was at her opening, which was practically dripping. Pulling myself up close to her, I swiped my erection up and down her pussy a couple of times before sliding it into her.

She was every bit as tight as usual, and I heard her familiar groan as I sank myself in to the hilt before pulling my cock back out of her and repeating the insertion.

Donna Ranalli liked it hard and fast, and when she had told me that, I wondered whether she was going to be able to handle it, but she was a lot tougher than she looked, so when I dispensed with the gentleness after a couple of long and slow strokes and grabbed her hips, she was ready.

In and out, hard and fast was no problem for me, and for the next ten minutes that's what she got. The only variation was that occasionally I would crouch down and reach my hands around her so I could squeeze her little hangers while pounding myself into her before straightening up and jackhammering away.

Mrs. Ranalli came twice, the second orgasm seeming to be ever stronger than the first, and after than she climbed out from under me to finish me off. She didn't seem to like me to cum inside of her; maybe she was afraid of getting pregnant, or maybe she just liked the taste of my cum, but that's how I came.

Her tiny fist pumped the shaft of my cock while her lips moved up and down the rest. I emptied my balls into Mrs. Ranalli's mouth and throat, and she took all I had and seemed to want more, not stopping until I was spent and limp.

Only after she had cum would we get affectionate, with our mouths and hands becoming tender. We cuddled for quite a long while, and when she felt me getting hard again, she asked me when her sun was done with his summer job.

"One, you said?" she asked, and when I nodded, she jumped out of bed, her little butt wiggling as she ran out of the room, returning in a minute with the clothes we had shed on the way to bed.

It was a good idea, as was Mrs. Ranalli locking the door behind her. There was always the chance that her son could come home early for some reason. He had almost caught us once before, and I don't think he would have taken it well, seeing me fucking his mom.

This time we made love with Mrs. Ranalli on top, her lithe and lean body riding my re-energized member until she came, and came hard. Drained, she rolled off of me and let me take over. I pounded her pussy hard and fast until I was about to cum.

Pulling my throbbing cock out of her steamy bush, I scrambled up to Mrs. Ranalli's face, squeezing my cock hard in an effort to hold back my orgasm. I succeeded for the most part, with only a small squirt of semen splashing her cheek before I put it in her mouth and erupted.

Mrs. Ranalli took it enthusiastically, swallowing it willingly until I was drained, and she kept on sucking my dick until I was totally limp. Even then, I pretty much had to pull it away from her eager mouth, playfully slapping my cock against her cheek as I did.

"Ooh!" Mrs. Ranalli said as she stood up, waddling like I was still inside of her while making her way to the bathroom.

By the time she emerged from there, I was already dressed and ready to go. I gave her a hug, squeezing her butt as I did. Mrs. Ranalli put on her robe and walked me back to the kitchen, and after I answered her question about whether I would be coming back tomorrow with a knowing smile and a wink, I slipped out the same way I had come in.

The summer of 1972 was a great time to be 18, and Mrs. Ranalli wasn't the only older woman I would ever make love with, but she was the best. We kept meeting like that every morning and the occasional late night rendezvous all summer until I went off to school, and although we had occasional meeting in the next year or so, eventually we just became friends as my close relationship with her son continues to this day.

Mrs. Ranalli passed away recently, and when I paid my respects, the sight of that frail and elderly woman in peace was unfamiliar to me. To me, she would always be that modest woman in the kitchen who turned into a animal in the bedroom, and made my summer of 1972 one that I would never forget.

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