The Summer of '77

You don't need Freud to tell you why I have a thing for mature women. Of course now mature women are my contemporaries or even younger, but that doesn't change my view. No matter what my age, I've consistently been attracted to women five, ten, or even fifteen years my senior, sometimes more. To me, a confident mature woman is sexy as hell. Let me tell you why.

I was 18 that summer of 1977, and just graduated from high school. At the time, I was living with one of my older brothers because my dad had just moved to another city for a new job. My mother died some years before and dad had recently remarried to a frightful woman who was plenty happy to see the last of "his" original kids out of "her" house. So dad allowed me to stay behind before starting college, which gave me a measure of freedom that most teenagers only dream about.

My brother traveled frequently on business, and had a girlfriend with whom he shacked up a good part of the time when he wasn't working. The understanding between us was that I could have considerable latitude but if I started missing work or got into any other trouble, the leash would be yanked, hard.

As it was, I didn't have much interest in doing anything except working my lifeguard job at the nearby country club, giving swim lessons, and enjoying life in my brother's well-appointed apartment in a historic mid-town building nestled in the well-to-do neighborhood where we grew up. When not working, I was mostly learning to be the homebody I ultimately became.

Another way I made some extra cash that summer was doing odd jobs for a lady who lived in a nice house just up the street. Joyce was 45 and divorced from her husband a few years before. The husband had taken up with his young secretary but generously kept Joyce in style.

Her daughter Stephanie was 21 and home for the summer from a fancy college. Stephanie was usually playing tennis at the club or spending time with her boyfriend at the pool. From my high chair I enjoyed ogling her tight body while she lay on one of the chaise lounges in her swimsuit, her lovely skin slathered in suntan oil and her long honey blond hair tied up in a sexy bun. The vision of her athletic body in a bikini was the fuel for many fantasies that helped relieve the inevitable backlog that teen boys experience.

With Stephanie usually gone throughout the day and evening, Joyce was often alone and in need of help keeping up the big house she had shared for many years with her husband. She began to rely on me more and more and with college a few months away her generous wages were very welcome.

Joyce was a stunner; blonde, fit, and with a vivacious manner. I would catch glimpses of her at the club, moving gracefully around the tennis courts, her figure flattered by a short white skirt and sleeveless blouse.

Despite the vast difference in our ages, she was the kind of woman I naturally found attractive. In fact, all men found Joyce attractive. She was flirtatious without being overt, and fond of touch. She would playfully give my shoulder a push when we joked around, and told me it was okay to work with my shirt off if I felt like it. Her hand might linger a bit on my shoulder or arm as she spoke, her striking blue eyes electric with good cheer. When she placed cash in my palm after a day of work she would put my hand between both of hers and say, "You're such a dear."

Joyce's back yard had a wooden privacy fence around a beautiful garden and swimming pool. Joyce asked me if I would see to the pool's regular upkeep, so in the evenings after a day of life guarding, I would come by and check on the water and set the sweeper.

When I was tending the yard we often worked side by side and passed the time in conversation. She wondered why I didn't have a girlfriend and was surprised to learn I had never had one. I was a shy kid, awkward around girls my own age, but Joyce had a disposition that sparkled like champagne and brought me out of my shell. I found it easy to talk with her and she seemed to know instinctively how to relate to me.

Soon I was spending more waking hours at her house than I was at the apartment I shared with my brother. She seemed to enjoy my company, but I refused to let myself think it was anything more than maternal friendship. We would talk during breaks, and developed a regular routine of having lunch together on her broad, screened-in porch.

As the month of June wore on, she told me that I should start bringing a change of clothes with me when I worked in the afternoons so I could shower and change while she made me dinner. Living mostly alone as I did, she was concerned about my diet.

Joyce's only rule was that I use the garden gate that opened onto the alley behind the house. The alley was heavily shaded by trees so I could stealthily make my way down to the end of the block and then cut back over to my building. Even by the alley detour, it was a very short walk.

She worried that if the neighbors saw me spending too much time there they would think scandalous thoughts, but then she smiled slyly, placed her hand gently on my arm for more than a few seconds, and said, "Though I'm sure some of the other women on the block would envy me having such a fine-looking man around." When my face turned a deep shade of crimson at her compliment, she caressed my cheek with her palm. It sent currents through my body.

Over the next few days, I found myself thinking less about Stephanie and more about Joyce. I lay in bed, excited at the impossible dream of her seducing me. Thinking about her fueled some very intense solitary orgasms.

I pictured her first working beside me in the garden, dressed as she often was in short shorts and a halter top, a tennis visor on her head to shield her face from the hot sun. Though not a tall woman at about five and a half feet, she had long, tanned, slender legs, freckles on her small shoulders, and breasts that fit the rest of her figure quite nicely. Cosmetic surgery wasn't nearly as prevalent back then, but even so, Joyce wouldn't have gone for it. What's more, she didn't need it.

One day Joyce lamented the fact that she couldn't use her pool as much as she would like because she didn't want to risk swimming alone. I jumped at the chance, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and offered to serve as lifeguard whenever I was available. She smiled and gave me a little hug that sent a current through my body and into my cock. I was sure it was an innocent hug, but she had to know it would have an effect.

The next day I sat in one of the deck chairs, wearing just my lifeguard suit and aviator sunglasses, enjoying the view of Joyce cavorting in her pool, clad in a sexy white one-piece that showed off her tan and figure. My sunglasses hid the fact that I couldn't take my eyes off her, but watching her was what I was there for.

From inside the house I heard Stephanie come in. She emerged from the backdoor and smiled at me.

"So," she said brightly. "There's a lifeguard on duty!"

"Yep," I replied.

"Mind if I lay out a bit and catch some sun?"

"Not at all."

We were not as up as people are today on the harmful effects of sunlight. Stephanie pulled off her terry cloth top and matching shorts to reveal her bikini. She sat down next to me. Her mom paused a moment, calling in our direction.

"You should come in, sweetie. The water feels great!"

"Maybe in a bit, mom."

"How do you know I was talking to you?"

Stephanie and Joyce both laughed at the joke, then Joyce returned to her swimming. She moved gracefully and unhurriedly from one end of the pool to the other, her wet hair trailing down her back as she went.

Stephanie lay back in her chair a little.

"You know, it's really great that you've been helping mom this summer."

"It's no problem, believe me." I said sincerely.

"She thinks the world of you and I know how much she likes having you around."

I let that pass with a light shrug, indicating that it was no inconvenience. Then Stephanie caught me completely off guard.

"Has she tried to get in your pants, yet?"

I could feel the rush of adrenaline from head to toe.

"What?"

"You know. Has she tried to get you into bed?"

"No!" I said, perhaps a little more indignantly than I intended because Stephanie burst out laughing, as if she had gotten the precise reaction she had hoped for.

"Don't worry, silly. I'm kidding! It's just that mom talks about you all the time and I'd bet if you gave her an ounce of encouragement she could teach you a thing or two."

All I could do was grin, trying to play it cool, but it still shocked me that a girl would talk about her mother that way. It sure didn't work like that in my family!

As young and naïve as I was, I wondered if this wasn't some kind of conspiracy between mother and daughter. Joyce had occasionally hinted at fixing me up with Stephanie because she didn't like her daughter's boyfriend, but the conversation always seemed to run up on the rocks of our age difference -- all of three years. Of course, thinking Stephanie was very hot I didn't discourage such planning on her mother's part, but I knew it would never amount to anything. In my rational mind I was sure Stephanie was wickedly pulling my leg, but it was more than enough to stir my cock, which I tried to hide from her. If she could see the effect of her teasing she would have been merciless.

That evening I returned home after dining with Joyce and Stephanie. In a state of high arousal, I retreated to my bedroom and tried to figure out if I should fantasize about mother or daughter. It really didn't matter since both were so sexy, but I quickly settled on a delicious image of Joyce and me in the shower making love under the warm spray and I was done in a flash.

The next day lunchtime approached as I spread some mulch around the shrubs outside Joyce's living room window. Inside, Joyce was having a glass of tea with a friend of hers, Barbara; a gorgeous woman about Joyce's age, with a slim figure and beautiful red hair tied in a bun.

When I finished, I went inside to get a drink of water and use the bathroom before going to the club for my afternoon shift. Joyce introduced me to Barbara who warmly shook my hand and flashed a smile that I'm sure melted any man lucky to be the target. While washing up down the hall, I could hear Barbara and Joyce talking about me. Joyce was explaining my situation and how she had taken me on as an all-purpose handyman.

"Honey," Barbara said slyly. "With a body like that he could be my 'handy' man."

"Shhhh," Joyce replied, urgently but playfully. "He's never had a girlfriend."

"Really?" Barbara said, gasping. "It's a crime to waste himself like that. Boys that age have unbelievable stamina and they recover like that."

I could hear Barbara's fingers snap for emphasis.

"The voice of experience?" Joyce asked, archly.

Barbara just giggled.

"Oh, that's just what I hear!"

"I see! The thing is, I've been like a mother to him these past few weeks. I thought about fixing him up with Stephanie, but she's with Danny all the time."

"Yes, but at least you have a man around the house."

"So do you, Joyce! You should make a real man out of him!"

"Oh, you!"

I made some noise to alert the ladies that I would soon emerge. I went into the living room and took my leave. Joyce offered to give me some cash, but I told her it could wait. I told Barbara I enjoyed meeting her, who said she hoped to see me again soon, with perhaps a little too much sparkle for propriety, but I didn't mind. It seemed that Barbara, too, was playing in my mind that afternoon.

"Barbara said you're a very handsome young man," Joyce told me the next morning while I pulled some weeds from around her rose bushes. "She enjoyed meeting you."

I turned a little red at that, but just laughed it off. Joyce continued.

"So, tell me the truth," she said in sing-song manner that was not a reproach. "How much of our conversation did you hear from the bathroom?"

"I didn't mean to," I replied, a little wounded.

"Oh, it's okay," Joyce said impishly followed by a slight playful nudge on my shoulder. "I'm just giving you a hard time. Barbara can be wickedly naughty at times."

She stood up to straighten out her back while I continued working.

"I'll get us something to drink." As she walked toward the house I couldn't help but admire her figure. The tan legs, the round butt. When she returned I stood up and gratefully accepted a tall glass of ice water.

"Why don't you come back after work and have dinner, sweetie? Stephanie and Danny are going out and I'd rather eat with you."

"Sure, that sounds great."

It really did! We returned to our work when I experienced a sharp, electric pain at the tip of my index finger.

"Ouch!" I cried out reflexively.

"What happened, Nick?" Joyce asked, rising from where she was working.

"I stuck my finger on something and man does it ever hurt!"

"Here, let's have a look. Oh, yes, that needs to be cleaned up. Come with me."

Oddly, she took me by the hand and led me into the house. We went into the bathroom on the main floor and she rooted around in the medicine cabinet while I washed my hands.

"We have to be careful. The soil is full of nasty stuff and cut like that can get infected." Then she said something that made my head swim. Reaching for my hand she purred in a very reassuring voice, "Here, show mama where it hurts." She took a cotton ball soaked with anti-septic and dabbed at my fingertip. "We can't have you going to the club wounded, can we?" Then she did something else extraordinary. She pulled my hand up to her face and kissed the end of my injured finger. "There now. All better, baby?" I blushed -- audibly - and nodded. She dropped the cotton ball in the wastebasket and put everything away. "Come into the kitchen, darling, and I'll whip you up a sandwich before you go to work."

As I sat at the kitchen table, Joyce leaned over me from behind and placed a glass of tea at my place, her hand lightly resting on my shoulder for a few seconds more than could be called casual. The glass was soon followed by a home-made chicken salad sandwich. Then she stood behind me for a few minutes, making small talk and rubbing my shoulders. It felt wonderful. Clearly something was different. Joyce was more affectionate than she had been, more flirtatious, and more physical. Being a clueless and inexperienced teenager, I wasn't at all sure what was going on, but I liked it.

Before I melted any further into the chair as a result of Joyce's hands working my shoulders, she withdrew and began to put some things in the dishwasher.

"Listen, Nick, if you'd like to stay in the spare bedroom any time you know you're welcome. I worry about you in that apartment all by yourself when your brother is gone."

"Thanks," I replied. "That sounds great."

It seemed innocent enough. The two spare bedrooms were on the opposite side of the hall from the master suite, where Joyce slept, and Stephanie's room, which was next to her mother's.

After closing the door to the dishwasher, Joyce said, "There. All done for now. Sweetie, I need to run upstairs. I'll see you for dinner tonight, okay?"

"Okay, thanks!"

She walked behind my chair and paused, placed her hands on my shoulders again and leaned over. She startled me a little with a light kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, for your help today." She tousled my hair a little and said, "Such a cutie!" then left the kitchen to go upstairs.

I finished my sandwich wondering if Joyce knew that her physical affection toward me had stirred something in my pants.

The afternoon was hot and muggy and the evening promised more of the same. The air conditioning in Joyce's house was a welcome relief after spending the day in the hot sun. I showered upstairs before dinner and by the time I got back downstairs the kitchen table was laid out with a lovely dinner for two. I was starved.

Joyce wore a yellow golf shirt with the front buttons undone revealing a nice amount of cleavage, and blue shorts that showed an enticing amount of her shapely thighs. As we ate, Joyce asked me about girls I knew, and if I had a crush on anyone at school. I told her I did, but the girl didn't even know I existed. Joyce was sympathetic.

"You know, if there's anything you want to talk about, you can share it with me. I know you're not close to your family, so if you want to be close with me I'm very happy to do that."

"Thank you, it means a lot."

She reached over and put her hand on top of mine.

"You're such a dear. You're going to meet a girl someday and she'll be sweet and beautiful and madly in love with you and you'll be perfect together."

I blushed a little. At the time it seemed to me a long ways off.

We cleared the table, rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. It all seemed rather domestic. After closing the dishwasher door, Joyce stood and opened her arms wide.

"C'mere and give mama a big hug."

It felt very nice. We stood for a long moment, our arms wrapped around one another. I could feel my cock getting harder. Joyce was pressed in so close that I was sure she could feel it against her tummy. I tried to subtly open a little distance between us, at least in the nether regions, without breaking our hug, but Joyce wouldn't let me. Smiling slyly, she pulled her head back a little, but kept me pressed closed.

"Oh my, I think you're happy to see me!"

"Sorry," I muttered, somewhat abashed, but not too much.

"It's okay, baby. It's perfectly natural." She gently caressed my cheek. "Do you trust me?"

"Sure," I replied, curious as to what she meant.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"Of course."

She pulled away. I thought the delicious hug was over, but she took hold of my hand and led me through the dining room, down the hall, and into the downstairs bathroom. She had me stand in front of the vanity.

"Close your eyes for a minute." I did as Joyce told me. "Are you okay?"

I was a little nervous, but said I was fine. She put one warm around my waist and then I felt her free hand work its way inside the front of my shorts. My breathing quickened when she found my now fully erect member.

"Oh my," Joyce whispered. "Very impressive!"

There wasn't room in my shorts to wrap her hand around it, but I relished the sensation of her fingertips moving slowly up and down the shaft.

"Sweetie, why don't you take off those shorts, okay?"

In nothing flat they were on the floor. I still had my t-shirt on, and thought I should wait for Joyce to tell me to take it off. I was more than willing to submit to whatever she said or did. As I straightened up, my cock plopped onto the front of the vanity, a fair length of it stretching out over the open space of the sink bowl. Joyce's eyes grew wide at the sight.

"That is truly impressive," she said admiringly. "You are a real man!"

I didn't have enough experience to know where my manhood fell on the scale of size, but Joyce assured me I was above average, especially for one so young. Again she had her left arm around my waist and returned her right hand to my dick. She stood next to me and I placed my arm around her delicate shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked at me.

"Have you ever kissed a woman before? I mean really kissed?"

I confessed I had not. Her face got closer to mine.

"Here, let me show you how."

Slowly, gently, our lips met. I thought I was in heaven, but it would be some days before I knew the true meaning of heaven. Then I felt the warm wetness of Joyce's tongue pass my lips. I couldn't help but moan. I'm not sure how, but my tongue reflexively found hers and we began to swirl them together passionately. By now my cock was pointing up at a 45-degree angle while Joyce cupped my balls in her hand.