tagMatureThe Widow Parsons

The Widow Parsons

byCharles Petersunn©

This story is about Christopher, one of the members of the Templeton chess club, and Betty Parsons, a woman who lives nearby. It is classified within the Mature, May-December section, for persons who may like this theme. The story is long, but it doesn't have to be read all at once. There are demarcated sections, allowing you to read just parts of it at any one time. And, please do note, all of the characters in this story are at least eighteen years old.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Betty Parsons' husband, Jack, had been deceased for a few years. They had been married for quite some time. The loss was naturally very difficult for her. The first few months were really terribly painful. Every room in the house brought back a different memory. They were lovely to remember, yet also so painful to recall.

But, time does heal wounds, even ones as deep as these.

And that's how it should be, how Jack would have wanted it. He would have wanted Betty to move on. He had even said so, in no uncertain terms in the last few months of his own struggle. The purpose of life is not simply to mourn and grieve. There really is so little time. Nobody knew that better than Jack.

Betty's friends were in fact encouraging her to now reenter the world, to start a new life, with someone else. She had mourned. It was time to move on. She was only half way through her own life. She should find a new partner to share the many good years that are yet to come.

Betty was still a very attractive woman, with much to offer a man. She was vivacious, engaging, bright, full of life, and very loving.

But, she wasn't quite ready for that yet. Somehow it did not yet feel right, or appropriate. She wasn't ready for that type of commitment, at least not yet.

Still, she did miss the company of a man.

Betty was a very healthy and active woman, with a very healthy and active body.

Of course, she was not adverse to a woman's helper. In fact, she was becoming quite skilled and adept with them. Until the last few months she had not realized how many different shapes, sizes, colors, and textures were available.

She liked using little ones to imagine that she was doing it with a young, innocent man. Of course, a young man doesn't necessarily have a small penis, but it did help with the fantasy. She also at times used the little ones for her bottom. She was rather embarrassed to admit that. Her husband had never tried or even suggested doing anything with her bottom. She realized now that they probably should have experimented a bit more.

She also had a really big black one for a fantasy that she wouldn't ever tell anyone.

She didn't like very much the battery operated vibrators. The vibration was nice. In fact, real nice. But she found the noise way too distracting, interfering with her ability to become absorbed within her fantasy. The sound was frankly unpleasant, just short of a dentist drill. Whenever she did use one her pussy would have to be buried in a ton of blankets to try to muffle the grating noise.

She would feel a bit embarrassed whenever she opened up her private box of helpers. Goodness, what if somebody stumbled upon them?! She kept the box well hidden within her closet, but what if she also suddenly died. She couldn't help but wonder what the reaction of her friends would be if they were to discover this shameful collection as they cleaned out her closet, or worse yet brought it out during one of these estate auctions in which the auctioneer roams through the house, selling each item as the crowd comes upon it within each room. Of course, why should she really care what their reaction would be, as she would be dead, unaware of and impervious to their shock. Still, one doesn't want to leave a legacy such as that.

The likelihood that she would die soon was, of course, pretty remote but, of course, that was how her husband had felt about his own life.

Then again, one can't live as if death was right around the corner. She was alive now and obtaining quite a bit of pleasure from her toys. She would get rid of them someday, when there was no real need for or interest in them. That day would come at some point. For now she relied on her little (and big) helpers.

As she did so one hot summer afternoon.

It was a nice day, in that it was sunny, but the temperature was a bit on the warm side. Well, actually, it was in fact rather hot. There was though a nice strong breeze.

She loved growing flowers. They were all just so pretty, so gay, so pleasant. Flowers spoke of fresh young vibrant life, growth, and feminine beauty. That helped, at least a bit. Gardening could provide such a nice boost to her mood.

However, the deeper into summer the more the work could become difficult and tedious, even exhausting. Today she was weeding. Pulling weeds in the hot sun can be rather draining, to say the least.

One of the more difficult plants was the milkweeds. Milkweeds were very nice for attracting monarch butterflies. She in fact had a garden devoted specially to milkweeds. But, this plant was indeed a weed, and very difficult to control. It was always attempting to spread to her other gardens, and its root system was horrific once it got a foothold. It spread in part by new sprouts coming up from the deeply embedded roots, and unlike most weeds the roots were next to impossible to fully extract. They were so deep and bulbous, and would invariably snap in the process of extraction.

She could use a weed killing spray. But, she hated poisons. It risked harming some of her flowers, and was generally poor for the environment. So, she had to dig, dig, and dig some more.

It was really very difficult work out in a hot sun.

Betty did not wear a brassiere when she gardened, particularly when she was in the backyard. Modesty while weeding was not really a priority. Comfort was her primary concern.

Betty though did have good reason to be concerned about modesty. She had been blessed with relatively large bosoms, which have also held up well despite the fact that she was no longer in her twenties (she would not reveal her precise age), and they were not particularly well hidden in the t-shirt she was now wearing. On the contrary, the t-shirt might in fact be a bit small for her, as it clung to her breasts like it was almost painted on. Every wriggle and jiggle of her bountifully buxom boobs was readily evident, as well as quite frequent, given her struggles to remove deeply ensconced roots with a shovel and spade.

Nor did it help that she was working up quite a bit of sweat. In fact, it eventually appeared that she might as well be entering a wet t-shirt contest, as the thin cotton became thoroughly soaked with perspiration to the point that one could even discern skin and nipple through the tightly clinging fabric.

She was at first a bit self-conscious about it, as she should. Certainly no one in the neighborhood would approve of one of the mothers providing such a wanton display of essentially naked breast flesh right out in the open. But, with the exception of the Hansun home, whose backyard was separated from hers by a picket fence, she was well hidden from view. The backyards of her next door neighbors were hidden from view: on one side by a tall hedge and on the other by an equally large privacy fence.

Betty continued her work, not wanting to take unnecessary time to go back into the house and change her t-shirt, only to have that one inevitably become soaked as well.

But, she was soon given a reason to question her laxness. As she lifted up a wicker basket full of extracted milkweed she turned toward the Hansun house, and saw Christopher Hansun standing in the backyard, staring at her, or more accurately, her boobs, so clearly evident through her titty-tight t-shirt, her breasts even lusciously squeezed together by her arms holding onto the heavy basket.

Betty quickly put the basket back down, her boobs bouncing and wiggling with the sudden movement, and now hanging down from her chest like giant water bags as she was bent over the basket. She was simply making matters worse.

Her face flushed with embarrassment, wondering what she should do. Of course, it really wasn't anything so terribly bad. It was an honest wardrobe accident, and it's not like the boy hadn't seen a woman's breasts before. Well, of course, she didn't really know what he had or had not yet seen. But, she did know the young Mr. Hansun.

She used to babysit for him.

Those were nice days, pleasant days. As she sat with him, playing cards, perhaps some board game, or watching TV, she would at times imagine how nice it would be to have a child of her own.

When he became older he delivered her newspaper. One summer he mowed the lawn for them, although Jack felt that he didn't do a very good job of that.

He must be at least eighteen now. In fact, she understood that he was even attending college, Templeton no less, a local college with impeccable standards.

She smiled as she thought about Christopher, as the young boy. He was always so considerate, rather shy and insecure perhaps, but also really very sweet and cute, truly a harmless young man.

Her smile grew larger as she recalled how he used to try to peek up her dress when she was babysitting. He was too young to really appreciate what would be there. He was just so curious as to what he might find. The fact that she resisted him so adamantly just made him even more persistent. He must have figured that she had some candy hidden there.

Betty squatted down, pretending to be studying some of the milkweeds within the basket, but in fact peeking up at him across the backyards. She could see that, as he was watering his mother's flower garden, he was also sneaking glances at her. Her face flushed again, realizing that he was clearly very interested in her exposed breasts.

It was a little awkward, to say the least, to have him ogling them, as she did still think of him as the boy next door. But, she wasn't really offended by it. It wasn't like he was peeking through her window or anything, and it was clearly her fault for not going into the house to get out of the wet t-shirt and put on a brassiere.

Plus, it was, well, frankly, more than a little flattering. It was nice to see that she could turn the head of a young man, even at her age. She looked down at her breasts and pulled back her shoulders, helping them to stand up a bit more proudly. Yes, they had aged well. She had always been so very proud of them.

Her nipples were thrusting out nicely through the thin wet cotton fabric, stimulated by the coolness of the water's evaporation, as well as perhaps by the boy's eyes. They were clearly enjoying his admiration, trying to draw his attention, his interest.

Betty smiled mischievously as she took hold of the basket once again and stood back up, facing him.

Christopher quickly looked away.

Betty smiled. He was apparently rather embarrassed by having been caught staring at her breasts.

She called out to him, "Christopher, Christopher Hansun, well, goodness, hello! Looks like your mother has you working in her garden!"

Chris looked up, keeping his eyes focused specifically on Mrs. Parsons' face, but his pupils were widening at the presence of those lusciously full swaying milk jugs in his lower field of view. "Oh, hi! Mrs. Parsons, I didn't know you were there!"

Betty strode up to the small picket fence that bordered their yards, carrying the basket, her boobs jiggling like Jell-O with every step, her nipples stiffening as they were tickled by the bouncing and swaying of her breasts within her tight t-shirt. She rested the basket on the fence, and rested her breasts on the basket.

"My goodness, Christopher," Betty said, "you are all grown up now, aren't you!"

"Well, yeah, I guess," Chris modestly replied, trying to keep his eyes averted, but how could they really avoid such a gift. He could even discern the skin of her areola and the pointiness of her nipples through the sweat-soaked cotton.

"You're quite the strapping, handsome young man now, I must say. Are you breaking lots of little girls' hearts?"

"No, no," Chris replied, feeling a little self-conscious, as well as embarrassed by the fact that he hadn't managed to break even one girl's heart. He was not particularly popular with girls. Not too many girls liked chess club enthusiasts.

"Well, I can't imagine that. How old are you now anyway?"

"Eighteen," he answered.

"Eighteen!? Really?! Time does fly but, then again, I would have guessed you were in fact 24 or 25."

Chris smiled at that.

Betty continued, "You just look so handsome and manly." She was laying it on pretty thick, but she could see that he liked it. He actually looked to her younger than 18. He still had a boyish face and build.

Chris did indeed like the flattery, very much so. He was in fact getting rather excited, his eyes occasionally drifting down to Mrs. Parsons' breasts. He had always admired them, as any young man would. In fact, over the past few years he had been trying to get a peek at them. Well, not trying real hard, but he couldn't help but notice her at times through her bedroom and bathroom windows. Mrs. Parsons had a one-story ranch house, with her bedroom apparently facing the backyard. He never really saw much, but his eyes would at times linger, his mind drifting into the fantasy that perhaps he might see something, his dick slowly swelling within his pants as he contemplated the possibility, which was now more real than ever before.

Mrs. Parsons was absentmindedly scratching one of her breasts as she spoke to him, the movement of her hand naturally drawing the young man's eyes.

Betty smiled. Didn't boys realize how obvious it was when they were looking at your boobs? That had always amazed her in high school. Of course, given her early and considerably development, she got quite a few looks. She asked, "Christopher, I wonder if you would be willing to do a little work for me." With her eyes remaining focused on his she shifted her fingers along her breast to scratch a nipple, causing it to distend even further.

Chris' eyes widened in shock. Mrs. Parsons was actually scratching her nipple?! Right in front of him?! He tore his eyes away, knowing that he really shouldn't be staring at it. "What? Yeah, sure, sure Mrs. Parsons. I'd be happy to."

Looking her in the eyes though did not diminish her appeal. Mrs. Parsons did have very pretty large brown eyes. They always looked so gay and cheerful, with long fluttering lashes, a thin perky nose, rosy red cheeks, and long flowing brown hair that draped casually along her shoulders. He wondered if some day he might marry a woman as beautiful, and sexy, as Mrs. Parsons. But, of course, there was little likelihood of that.

Betty continued to rub and pinch her nipple, as if it was simply an itch from some bug bite. "Well, that would be so helpful, Christopher. It's been difficult, of course, with Jack having passed away."

"Oh yeah, I heard. I'm really sorry about that, Mrs. Parsons," feeling now a bit guilty about noticing her playing with her nipple.

"Oh, that's alright, Christopher. It's been a good deal of time now. My friends even suggest I should start dating again, but I think I'm a little too old for that." She finally let go of her nipple, its taut stiffness pointing directly at Christopher.

Chris' own stiffness was pointing in return at Mrs. Parsons. He sorely hoped that she had not noticed it. "Oh, you're not that old, Mrs. Parsons, really."

Betty though had most definitely noticed it, and found it rather flattering. "Now, don't you try to flatter me, Christopher. I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Well, you don't look it, Mrs. Parsons, really." It was the obvious thing to say in response to her self-deprecating remark.

"Goodness, Christopher, are you flirting with me?"

"What?! No! Golly, no." His face reddened and he nervously glanced around, feeling terribly self-conscious.

Mrs. Parsons smiled. He was such a cute boy. "Well, in any case, I need someone to put a fresh coat of stain on the railing of my deck. I wonder if you could help with that, tomorrow perhaps?"

"Well, yeah, sure, Mrs. Parsons, I'd be happy to."

"That's very sweet of you, Christopher. I'll get the supplies today and, well, let's make it a date, say, at 2:00 PM, tomorrow?"

That was sort of an odd way to put it, but he didn't think too much of it. "Uh, yeah, sure, sure."

"Well then, excellent! See you tomorrow then!" She lifted up the basket and turned away, albeit looking back over her shoulder to say, "You be a good boy now."

Chris smiled, feeling rather undeserving of that suggestion, given that he had been ogling her boobs. "Yeah, sure, Mrs. Parsons, of course."

Betty smiled as she made her way back across her yard, providing an extra swing to her hips, figuring that the boy was following her every move, and finding it rather flattering to be so watched and admired. She was indeed much older than him, but it kind of made her feel as if she was just eighteen again herself, albeit this time with considerable experience, and substantially more self-confidence.

When she reached her garden she stopped, and bent over to put the basket down, bending in a way that was much more suggestive than necessary, thrusting her bottom back at the boy. It was difficult to say what was in fact her best feature. Her boobs did always draw the most attention, but her bottom was pretty darned firm and perky. She gave Christopher a very nice opportunity to obtain his own evaluation as she bent over and thrust it back out.

She maintained her provocative pose as she pretended to be rummaging around in the wicker basket, purportedly looking for something, perhaps a missing trowel, her rear turning left and right.

The trowel was actually resting right on the top of the weeds. She eventually picked it up and turned her head back to look at Christopher, who was indeed still looking at her. She even caught him with a hand on his crotch.

She smiled and waved at him, the trowel in her hand. "Found it!"

Chris quickly looked away but then looked back and returned her wave. It was a very feeble effort at pretending that he had not been staring at her butt. Well, at least she didn't look angry or upset.

Betty was in fact now feeling more than a little randy. She would at times feel that way anyway after a long stretch in the garden. For some reason all that manual labor would get her a bit excited. Jack knew that a good time to approach her was right after she finished exercising. One might think that she would be tired, perhaps even exhausted, but it was all that blood flowing through her, just got her so pumped and excited.

Betty decided that it was time to get a bit more exercise.

She left her gardening tools behind and made her way into the house. She did stop to get a glass of ice water, but she knew she needed more than that to cool off. She proceeded to her bedroom, her heart racing with excitement. Sometimes it's so nice to be alive, when there is nothing on one's mind other than providing oneself with joyful pleasure.

She smiled as she entered her bedroom, putting the ice water on her bedside table.

She looked at her bed. She normally would do this lying on the bed, but she was feeling a bit sweaty and dirty. Plus, she had something else in mind.

She strode over to her large bedroom window, currently hidden by fully drawn pleated window shades. She peeked through a couple of the slats. Christopher was still in the backyard.

Her eyes fixed on him as she undid and opened her jeans and then reached down into her panties. She took a deep breath upon making contact with her swelling clit. Her eyes half-closed as she continued to focus on the boy working in the back yard as she worked on her clit.

Report Story

byCharles Petersunn© 27 comments/ 191881 views/ 97 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

10 Pages:123

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: