I had been watching my mother’s friend, Mrs. Ajani, for many years. She was about forty-three with a face pretty enough for a movie star and a slender but curvy body that was the envy of her friends. I was what they call “sexually talented,” I guess.
Women’s bodies became an object of curiosity, out-of-focus but intense desire at about the age of seven. Photos in popular magazines such as Thisday fashion drew my interest and caused an unidentified but pleasurable stirring in my chest.
BimboAjani, however was real flesh and blood and was often in our home or we in hers.
Once, when the Ajani’s were visiting I was sitting quietly in a corner of the parlour when my mother and Mrs. Ajani came in. They were chatting excitedly about the trip the Ajani’s had just returned from.
“…And a lot of skirts!” Mrs. Ajani was saying, “See the label…quality!” She raised her skirt almost all the way up her thighs to display theexquisite design. The sight of her long, smooth legs caused a rush in my blood that nearly tore my teen-aged head off. From that time forward, I dreamed of her, planned to hang around her and plotted to see more of her succulent body. I watched like a hawk for her to cross her legs so I could catch a glimpse of leg. I crept around to peek between the buttons of her blouse at the curve of her Bosom. Later, I sort of outgrew those adolescent behaviours but I never lost the desire to see BimboAjani Unclad. When I was seventeen, the Ajani’s hosted a barbeque party and we all ended up swimming in their pool. Mrs. Ajani wore a conservative swimming trunk but I still had to stay in the water most of the evening to hide my excitement. When I was eighteen, I got the chance for more— much, much more!
She called one day and asked me to help her move furniture so she could paint her living room. It was a hot day; she was wearing a tee shirt and a pair of custom-made shorts that left her legs bare — short shorts. They were still long, still smooth and still toned and if they seemed heavier and rounder with a little more soft feminine flesh than they had that day in the family room, that made them all the more appealing and desirable and much sexier. I began to get hard at the first sight of them.
We moved the sofa to the next room, then continued to move furniture out of the living room. As I was attempting to place a heavy end table in the hallway she took hold of it to help me set it down and pressed one of those big soft Bosom hard into my left biceps. It turned me on like a switch! After that, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her figure — the shorts clung to her buttocks every time she bent over and the curves of her butt cheeks were clearly visible to my thrilled gaze.
After about three hours, we were both warm and glad to see the end of the work. She asked if I would like a bottle of beer, which I gladly accepted. I hungered to stay for more. Her Tips were pressing hard against the tee shirt. I was dizzy with desire and couldn’t believe my luck when she invited me to stay for lunch. She had some great chin-chin in the fridge and we talked and laughed as we ate and drank beer. When she was finished she pushed her plate back, placed her forearms on the table and rested both tits on them. It was obvious that she was not wearing a bra.
She suggested that we move to the living room where sat sort of sideways on the sofa so we could face each other and had another beer. She looked down at my Joystick, and chuckled; she could see the bulge in my jeans.
She smiled, “Why Dennis!” she said, “I hope I haven’t stressed you too hard!”
There was something in her smile and her voice that encouraged me so I F***ed up my courage. “I’ve known you since I was a kid,” I said, “and so many fantasies about you.”
“I didn’t know you had those feelings for me, Dennis.” She crossed her legs and the shorts rode up a little revealing the soft under curve of her thigh. I didn’t bother to pretend not to look.
“I’ve always had feelings where you are concerned,” I confessed.
“What would you like to do about it?” she asked, the smile still in place.
“I’ve wanted to make love to you ever since I found out what it means.”
“I’m surprised, Dennis! I thought I was too old to be considered s*xy** by a young man of your age.” I could see that she was pleased with my confession. She placed her arm along the back of the sofa and leaned toward me, her back arched to press her Bosom against the tee shirt. Her Tips were rigid. I gazed openly at them.
“No!” I said, “You’resexier than any girl in my class — or anyone else that I know for that matter.”
Again, she looked down at my growing bulge and said, “So I see”. She moved toward me on the sofa till our knees were touching, then let her hand trail slowly up my jeans and pressed softly on my Joystick. I couldn’t suppress a gasp at the unexpected touch.
“Does this bother you, Dennis?” she asked softly? “Do you want me to stop?”
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