The Merry Widow Ch. 02A

David arranged my, well, "initiation" is a good word I suppose, and told me a month before my debut. I thought I was mentally prepared. I understood that what David and I had was temporary. I understood what Doctor Bob and I had talked about and accepted my Placiosexuality, even accepting the ugly word for such a wonderful thing. I knew, logically and intellectually that my need to give a man pleasure was, if not normal, a fairly common condition among women of a certain age and background.

I knew all of those things and yet, from the instant I woke up on Friday morning, I was nervous.

After I kissed him goodbye and sent him off to class I had an extended conversation with myself.

"Marie," I started, "this is crazy."

"But you watched that video," I said back to the crazy woman in the mirror, "and you know how much it got to you."

"But this is real life," I told her, "and I'm not a porn star."

"Oh, aren't you?" she asked, a smirk on her face.

"Oh, God," I moaned.

The conversation went on like that. I won't bore you.

In the end, as I had known it would, the conversation ended with me telling the woman in the mirror, my conscience perhaps, to just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.

I think I did my normal stuff. Anyway, the dishes weren't piled up in the sink the next day. I watched TV, but couldn't tell you what I watched. I read some of my latest Space Opera, but had to reread it a few days later.

I took a long, hot bath, not really washing, just relaxing, letting the hot water support me with its buoyancy and relax me with its heat.

Then I stood for a half hour with my tweezers in my hand. I had come to terms with him throwing away my razor and accepted the tufts of coarse black hair in my armpits and the incipient mustache along with the hair on my legs. But I WAS getting older and part of that process is that hair will pop out in the weirdest places. It was like I'd go to bed and when I woke there would be a single new hair sprouting from my earlobe, or an eyebrow, or right in the middle of my chin. Those, I carefully plucked.

I showered, carefully washing between my legs although even as I did that I realized it was silly. What we had planned wouldn't change whether I was clean and sweet smellin' with perfect makeup or just wandered in off the street.

But I'm a vain old woman on some level, so I inspected and plucked hairs from my ears, eyebrows, chin, and one that had popped up on the ball of my shoulder.

Satisfied with that, I read my book for a while, waiting for him to get home.

I was naked on the couch, coffee on the little table, the news in the background, and my book in my hand when he walked in.

He came to the couch and sat beside me. Then he did that two-fingers-under-the-chin thing all men seem to know instinctively, and turned my head until our eyes met.

"Marie," he said, "I hope you won't but I want to give you the chance. You can still say 'no' if you are having second thoughts."

I smiled.

"David," I said, "I'm so nervous I think I might literally die, but I damn sure ain't sayin' 'no.'"

"All right, then," he said, "let me grab a quick shower and we'll get you ready."

I joined him in the shower, not that I needed it but that I enjoyed it.

Clean and dry, I watched him dress in what I thought of as his date-night outfit. He put on a T-shirt, one of his collection of about 50, this one with a silhouette of a handgun and the words "Molon Labe" under it, his jeans, his white socks, and his tennis shoes.

"Okay," he said, taking my hand and leading me to my little makeup desk, "let's get you fixed up."

I love it when he does my makeup. And he's good at it. By the time he was done, when he told me I was beautiful I still didn't believe him but I thought I might accept "pretty."

"And this," he said, laying out one of those outfits we had bought. This one was bright blue with a halter top and a short skirt.

"Underwear?" I asked although I knew the answer. Who says there are no stupid questions?

"Hardly necessary," he said, flashing that grin of his.

So I put on the halter top, more a titsack because I didn't have a bra on, and the short skirt barely covering my ass.

"And these," he said.

I sat while he put the blue shoes on me and did the ankle straps. These were what he always called "fuck me" shoes, and I was always nervous wearing them. Oh, I thought they did pretty good things for my legs, but I was afraid I'd break an ankle.

He walked me to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door.

"You look terrific," he said.

"Oh God," I moaned, "I look like an over-the-hill whore."

He grinned. "You look terrific," he repeated.

I took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let's go before I lose my nerve."

In a way, I felt more naked than I would have if I didn't have any clothes on. The halter top emphasized the size of my breasts and the way they sagged, and the skirt just showed how big my ass was now.

We made it about four blocks before I knew I was going to be sick.

"Pull over," I yelled, covering my mouth in case I lost my battle with reverse peristalsis.

I barely got the door open before I lost the battle and started throwing up.

I was aware of him standing there, his hands light on my back, telling me it would be okay.

When the dry heaves passed I looked up at him and offered a prayer of thanks as he used one of those little blue towels to wipe my mouth.

He sat behind the wheel, patiently, as I fixed my ruined makeup.

I turned and smiled at him.

"Okay," I said, "I'm really ready now."

The Vets Corps house turned out to be a big old farmhouse on a rural county road.

I had second thoughts when I saw the two dozen or so cars parked around the yard but took a deep breath and pushed them back down to the bottom of my brain.

The back door of the house opened into the kitchen where I was introduced to Randy.

"David," I said, "do you think you could find me some Listerine, a couple of beers, and maybe some of that pot I'm smelling."

He chuckled and led me into a bathroom. As we passed through the corner of the big front room I caught a glimpse of several men seated on chairs and couches and my heart skipped the proverbial beat.

He handed me a bottle of Listerine and waited as I rinsed my mouth carefully. Then he led me down the hall to a bedroom said, "Two beers, one joint, coming right up," and disappeared.

I sat, alone with my thoughts and, surprising me completely, found myself getting excited.

When he came back I drained the first beer in two long pulls. I had developed quite a taste for beer over the past few months. Then I took three quick hits on the joint he produced. I had developed quite a taste for pot too. He stayed with me as we sat in silence and I finished the second beer.

Finished, I handed him the two bottles, the remainder of the joint, and the Bic lighter he had provided.

I took a deep breath and stood. He stood with me.

"Promise me," I said, my palms on his cheeks, my eyes holding his.

"Promise what?" he asked.

"Promise you won't hate me," I said.

He chuckled, smiled, and kissed me.

"I promise I won't hate you," he said.

"Okay, now git, let me get my courage up and make my entrance," I said, literally pushing him toward the door.

I stood in the middle of the room. I didn't need to have one of those conversations with myself. Hell, I was all talked out. But I did need to gather my courage.

Finally, I took a deep breath, huffed it out, and reached up and pulled the tie behind my neck and then the one at the middle of my back.

I folded the halter top and laid it on the bed before unbuttoning, unzipping, and pushing the skirt down, and taking it off.

Naked, in just my shoes, I took a half dozen deep breaths while playing with my nipples, wanting them perky and hard when I made my entrance.

"Okay," I said aloud, "Shit, old woman, or get off the fucking pot."

I pulled my shoulders back, held my head high, and walked into a new phase of my life.

As I entered the front room I almost stumbled. Jesus, there were so MANY of them. But I was committed now and so I took the final steps to stand in the middle of what appeared to be an old quilt laid in the middle of the floor. I did a very slow turn, trying to meet every pair of eyes as I did it, but not saying anything.

The turn complete, I eased to my knees, a move that I had been practicing in secret since David had forced that "yes" out of me.

"Okay, Boys, come and get it, Gramma needs some dick," I said, happy that my voice didn't squeak in my nervousness.

And nobody moved.

"Oh, God," I thought, "you stupid old woman, nobody wants you after all."

I lifted my breasts and played with my nipples, looking around.

"Nobody wants it?" I asked, fighting to keep from crying.

When one of them stood and unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped them, pushed them off, and came to me I almost cried in relief.

And there it was, his cock.

I knew then, on a level where no thinking was involved, that this is what I was born to do. It was beautiful and I knew how to give the pleasure he wanted. I took him into my mouth, using those skills David had carefully taught me.

When I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a second beautiful cock I took it in my hand, loving the feel, the weight, and the size of it, and began masturbating it, again using those skills David had carefully taught me.

I remembered the pornographic movie David and I had watched together, what he called my training film, and was monitoring the cock in my mouth as I played with cocks in either hand. When I felt those little shivers and the throbbing that meant he was ready I released the two with my hands, pulled my mouth free, and took the cock in my hand just as he started to come. I guided his ejaculation onto my hair, down my forehead, and across my face. The second pump, weaker but still a real ejaculation, wound up on my breasts. I leaned forward and caught the final few little contractions with their thick drops, on my tongue.

I looked up, met his eyes, and said, "Thank you."

He stepped back and I turned to one of the others. By then I was surrounded, and I had a clear thought. "This must be heaven for a girl like me."

Time had no meaning for me. All that mattered was that I pleased those men. I moved from cock to cock. Masturbating and fellating and accepting the mangift from each in turn.

Some were big. One was so huge I could barely open my mouth enough to bring him to his climax and was surprised when such a monstrous and beautiful cock could only produce a couple of drops.

Some were small, thin, and short. Most were kind of average, which is to say much like David.

A couple were uncircumcised, and I loved the feeling as I pushed his foreskin back, exposing the glans, and bending forward, inhaling the delightful scent I found there before I took it into my mouth.

And all were beautiful.

By the time all had been satisfied I could feel the way I was literally covered with semen. My hair hung lank and I could even feel it dripping from my hair onto my back. My face was completely covered, my eyes burned, my nose was packed, and my lips were slick. My breasts and belly and the tops of my thighs were all coated.

I was surprised when they started wanting seconds, and not, necessarily, my mouth.

The first one for seconds pushed me back, well, gently laid me back, and took me missionary style. I was surprised when he kissed me.

As he pulled out a second man was there and he rolled me onto my belly, lifted my hips, and took me, doggie fashion. I barked and howled.

A third took his place and entered me anally, something I had realized I enjoyed over my months with David, and another beautiful cock was offered to my mouth. I took it willingly, hell, I took it eagerly, and for the first time of many, I was spit-roasted with a cock up my ass and one in my mouth.

As each of them took what he wanted and I gave what I was anxious to give I said, "Thank you."

And I got my share of orgasms too. This level of constant sex seemed to be what my body demanded to truly achieve climax.

Finally, there were no more at me. I was on my back when the last one finished. I said "Thank you, baby," and just laid back, fully satisfied and, well, content.

I think I dozed.

Then David was there, singing in a reasonably good Frank Sinatra imitation, "It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place, except you and me."

I giggled weakly.

"Come on, love muffin," he said, chuckling, "I'll take you home."

He walked me, naked, to the car. I giggled a little as he carefully spread a big towel over the seat before he held my hand as I climbed in.

We had gone a mile or so when I said, "Please don't hate me, David."

He chuckled and said, "Why would I hate you?"

I finally turned to look at him.

"Because I loved it, David," I said and once I started talking it was like I couldn't stop.

"I loved it ALL, David. I loved those cocks, making them cum, sucking them, holding them, feeling them getting hard, hearing those grunts and hisses as they came." I took a deep breath and went on. "The only thing I didn't love was that it ended," I said, "that there weren't more."

I reached over and touched his hand with mine. "Please don't hate me, David," I said for the second time.

"Are you happy?" he asked and I hissed a long, sibilant, "Yesssssssssssss."

"Then how could I hate you?" he asked.

To that, I had nothing to say.