I grew up on a very nice street in the suburbs. Father was a professional man, well respected in the community. Mother had worked before she’d had me and my siblings, but gave up when my eldest sister was born. There was a sense of community back then … things are not quite the same these days.
My best friend, Dave, lived on the same street as me and we’d been close since the age of five, when we started school. Over the years, we obviously got to know each other’s families well and were always in and out of the other’s house.
Dave’s father never seemed to be around much. He was a photographer and often away on work. I know now that he was quite respected in the industry and did a lot of work for advertising agencies. His mother – Joan - was … well … a drunk! This was something, again, I came to realise later but in my younger days one rarely saw her without a drink in her hand or close by. I always remember her adding a dash of whiskey to her tea and coffee but, as I said, though nothing of it at the time.
My first intimate encounter with Dave’s Mum happened one hot day in July. I cannot now remember whether I was almost 16 or just 16 when it happened but I do remember that it was near my birthday and definitely during the school holidays
I called round to see Dave and went round to the back of the house, as I usually went in through the kitchen door. I did not see Joan immediately and was just about to walk in when a voice behind me said “He’s not in, he’s gone to Gordon’s”. Gordon was another school mate who lived about half a mile away.
Joan was laid on a sun lounger, face down, wearing a blue and yellow bikini and with a drink on the table at the side. It was only as I walked over to talk to her that I noticed that the top of her bikini was undone, and the straps hung down each side of the sunbed.
“He said he’d be back after tea” she said, and then asked what I was up to. I told her I had been out with my Mum earlier and had just got back. “Well, come here and make yourself useful”. She picked up a bottle of sun tan lotion and said “rub some of this into my back”.
I thought nothing of this request at first, and took the bottle from her. She told me to pour some onto her back, which I did. I then put my hand on her back and it was like a tiny electric shock. Her warm skin, the softness of her, and the feel of the oil under my hand gave me an erection. I remember blushing profusely but fortunately she was facing away from me
I should say at this point that, although I had had a couple of girlfriends by this time, we had never gone any further than kissing (this was the early 60s, after all) and I had never experienced the feelings I had at that point
Joan told me to use both hands and make sure I put plenty of oil on her. Soon my fingers were straying towards the bulge of her breasts where she was pressed down against the sunbed. I stopped at that point but Joan said “This isn’t embarrassing you, is it? Can you do my legs as well?” I poured oil onto the backs of her thighs and started to massage the oil in. By this time I was more sexually excited than I had ever been in my life. It was then that she said “Now do my front” and turned over. The first thing I obviously noticed was her very dark brown nipples, which now looked like little bullets. The second thing I noticed was the smell of alcohol on her breath.
She smiled. “Come on, Bob, you must have seen a naked woman before?” I had … in girly magazines. These were the first female breasts I’d ever seen in the flesh. She picked up the bottle and poured a pool of oil onto her tummy and then let it dribble up onto her breasts. I started to rub it into her tummy and she reached over and grabbed my groin
I came immediately. The most intense feeling made my whole body shudder. Oh, I’d had orgasms before but only by hand or by dry-humping my pillow. To this day, I think I’ve experienced very few orgasms as intense as that one. Joan said “you’d better go in and clean yourself up” so she clearly knew what was happening. I practically ran into the house and into their downstairs toilet. I had never seen so much jism before as I pulled my jeans down.
I stayed in the toilet longer than necessary because I was so dreadfully embarrassed to walk out. When I did leave, Joan had a robe wrapped around her and acted as if nothing had happened. “I’ll tell Dave you called round” was all she said, as I walked back out the kitchen door.
The incident was not mentioned for several years. Four years later, when Dave’s parents had split up and his Dad had left, and Dave was away at university, Joan and I became regular lovers. Today, we’d be called “fuck buddies” but that term had not been invented at that time.
How that came about is for another day, however.
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