When I was eighteen I was still living with my parents. I worked a double dayshift so I was always around in either the morning or the afternoon. For that reason my mum often used me as an errand boy.
Joyce was a neighbour that lived across the road. She had a reputation for knowing everybody’s business.
Her windows had terylene net curtains. For those unfamiliar with these, they are a type of curtain made from a fine mesh of man-made fibre. If these were hung up over your windows it allowed you to see out through them fairly easily. But it made it impossible for anyone to see in, provided it was lighter outside than inside. Perfect for a nosy person like Joyce.
She was a skinny lady about thirty-five to forty years old. She wasn’t a pretty lady, she wasn’t even attractive, but not ugly either. So she was plain, non-descript. At that age though, I would shag anything, including her.
She wore blouses and skirts with an apron during the day. She had dark, permed hair. Brown eyes that made her look a bit mad, they always seemed like she was opening them wider than they would be if she was relaxed. It might have been nervousness.
She could talk the hind legs off a donkey, (as my grandma would say) she prattled on and on about anything. At times I imagined her passing out through lack of oxygen. It was just a non-stop torrent of words, no pause for breath. Sometimes there would be a bit of spittle-foam in the corners of her mouth. It was impossible to get a word in edgeways.
Her husband Graham was an upholsterer. He had a day job but he always had jobs on the side, re-upholstering people’s furniture in his garage. He was a very quiet, meek man. They didn’t have any children.
I hated it if I was in a rush to go somewhere and my mum said, “On your way out could you pop over and give this to Joyce.” or, “Could you ask Joyce if I could borrow…” get the drift?
I’d hand back whatever my mum wanted Joyce to have or ask if my mum could borrow whatever. Then she would start. She never asked questions, I guess she’d learned that was relinquishing control of the conversation. I was too polite to just cut in and say, “I’m in a rush Joyce, thanks, bye.” and then leg it.
So, I’d just stand there, waiting for her to run out of steam. I’d be looking like I was listening, but I wasn’t.
At this point I’m going to digress, to explain something about my personality that caused Joyce to get the wrong idea.
At school I was bright. Come exam time I’d often finish the paper way before most others. You weren’t allowed to leave the exam hall when you finished. You had to sit there, in silence.
The invigilator, (a teacher or somebody from the education authority) sat at the front to stop cheating, talking etc. One invigilator guy got up and wandered up and down each aisle of desks. Looking left and right at the pupils he was passing.
On one occasion I could hear him coming up behind me, he passed, walking very slowly, hands behind his back. I’d finished and I was bored. I wondered what would happen if I got up quietly, crept up behind him and slapped him as hard as I could on the back of his head, then ran back to my seat.
I sat there with a silly grin, visualising doing that. All the different scenarios. Would I be able to slap him so hard he fell to the floor? Or at least so hard he was temporarily dizzy and couldn’t tell who whacked him, so I could get back to my chair unseen? Would any of the other pupils grass me up?
He started to repeat the circuit, the urge to actually do it was building up in me. I sat on my hands to try and stop myself.
As he passed by me I had my mouth shut tight and ended up making a weird, whining noise in my effort to make myself stay put and resist the urge to slap him. He whirled round and stared at where the whine came from. I was Iooking out of the window. He continued on his way, unaware of his narrow escape.
I think it might be some type of borderline Tourette’s syndrome. Manifesting extreme, involuntary, anti-social behaviour, rather than obscene words or tics. Back to Joyce.
So, I mostly wasn’t listening to anything she was saying. I was imagining how she would react if I just said, out of the blue, something like, “Can I see your tits?” or, “Can I fuck you Joyce?” would she carry on prattling or would it stop her mid-sentence? What would she do? Slap me? Tell my mum? Show me her tits? Drag me inside?
Other times I wondered what would happen if I kissed her, my open mouth right over hers, would she keep talking into my mouth?
The first one was a real effort, all I had to do was say five words, just open my mouth and let it come out, go on, do it, just five little words, not hard, it’s easy, just say it, now, do it, she might say yes… I didn’t.
The second one was easier to resist, she might back off screaming as I advanced, then grab a kitchen knife or something. But the first one, just blurting out something outrageous was really hard to resist.
The upshot was I often stood in front of her, Haramidere escort bayan gazing at her with a dreamy smile on my face at the bad, but funny thoughts I was having. Imagining her reaction. She totally misinterpreted this, “Oh the dear boy has a bit of a crush on me, how sweet.” I know this to be the case, because she told me, decades later.
Because she was thinking that, and she had nothing else to occupy her, most of the time. (Graham seemed to be either at work or doing his own jobs in his garage.) I think she started developing her own fantasies. Fantasies involving me.
I was a good looking lad, fit, toned, over 6’0 tall, I guess at that age I wasn’t far off my adult height of 6’3.
It got to the stage where, instead of me standing at her door, fighting the urge to make suggestive, lewd comments. She started inviting me in. This was different!
One thing that was also different is that when I was stood at the door she was higher than me, there were two steps to get into her house. When I was inside I was higher than her and when the angle was right, I could see down her blouse. I could see the swell of her tits, nestling in lacy, white bra cups.
They weren’t big breasts, only tennis ball size or thereabouts, but they were tits. Tits give eighteen year old boys a hardon. Seventies jeans were tight fitting and the bulge of a 7 inch, thick, hard cock was clearly visible. Bulges like that in jeans give fuel to randy old ladies’ fantasies. So it all became a downward, or upward, spiral. Depending on your viewpoint.
My Tourette’s kiss became Tourette’s breast cupping. She always stood so close to me. I noticed if I moved away then she’d slowly close the gap between us and get up really close to me.
My urge was… go on, just hold her tit, give it a little squeeze, that’s all you have to do, raise your hand, cup it and squeeze… I didn’t.
When I look back, my sex life could have been far more interesting if I’d had the courage to act on what I perceived were signals given by the opposite sex.
I wasn’t a virgin, I had fucked my Grandma’s elderly neighbour, May. The first time just a few months prior then twice since then. And she wanted me to go back and do it again. May gave me plenty of signals and encouragement that I didn’t act upon. In the end May had to take matters into her own hand, literally. I was so unsure of myself as a young man.
So Joyce took some initiative to try and progress things. She’d make me a coffee or tea and suggest we sit in her living room. She’d usher me into sitting on the sofa then she’d sit next to me. On one occasion I was sat on the far right of the sofa. My left hand was resting palm down on the cushion next to me. Joyce sat and placed her right hand on the same cushion, palm down, like mine.
Of course she was still gabbling away, looking a bit more mad-eyed than usual, corner of her mouth with spittle-foam. I was thinking, “If put my cock in her mouth would she stop talking and suck me?” and, “Would she suck me and take my come in her mouth?” and, “Would she end up with cum-foam in the corner of her mouth?”
I didn’t put my cock in her mouth, even when I noticed Joyce’s hand moving surreptitiously closer to my hand. Closer, sliding ever so slowly closer. I didn’t move my hand towards hers. Even when she was almost touching my hand I didn’t make a move. She extended her little finger out to the side, until it just touched my hand, still I didn’t react.
The older, wiser me would have taken her hand in mine. I might even have placed her hand on my cock. At the time I was rock hard, imagining her doing that of her own accord. I didn’t… she didn’t.
Sometime later, couple of weeks maybe, errand boy was sent over to borrow something. I think Joyce saw me coming and did a bit of preparation. She took her time answering my knock. I was invited into her kitchen, as had become the norm. She said, “I’ve been sorting some old photographs out.”
On her worktop were some film wallets with photographs in them and a couple of albums. (This is before digital cameras and smartphones were invented.) I went over to have a look at them while she put the kettle on. One was a wedding album, a bit boring, so I flicked through that quickly.
Then there was one with holiday snaps. Some of those were more interesting, photos of Joyce in a swimsuit, nice legs, a really nice bum, I lingered on one or two of those. Her mad eyes noticed me lingering. She had one more button than normal open on her blouse. She was stood close to me looking at the photos. I could almost see all of her bra, the swell of her upper breasts looked inviting. Her nipples would be just inside those lacy cups.
It became obvious that she noticed I was interested in the more revealing holiday snaps of her. She said, “I’ve got some more upstairs.”
She disappeared upstairs and came back with a shoe box with more photos in it. In some of these she was wearing a hideous bikini, decorated with large daisies. Sewn-on, Escort İkitelli three dimensional ones, rather than a daisy print. You couldn’t really make out the outline of her body, bum and breasts properly because of the stupid daisies.
I also noticed another blouse button had been undone. I peeped and could now clearly see past her whole bra-encased tits to her tummy. I was very hard.
I opened another photo wallet and she was wearing a normal, skin tight bikini. No silly daisies on this one. There was a shot of her standing in the surf. The photographer low down. Her camel-toe clearly visible, the bumps of her nipples poking out. There was also a closer shot of her upper torso and face. The photo framing from the bottom of her breasts to her face. Her nipples were very erect from the cold sea, the fabric over her tit was so tight I could make out her areolas as well.
She was now standing very close to me, my hand brushed against her bum, then she moved really close against me.
“I really love your nipples on this one.”
Who said that? Fuuuuck, it was me, I did! I’d thought out loud, unintentionally, without Tourette’s assistance! What was wrong with me? It stopped her talking though. The silence hung in the air, you could cut it with a knife
I was about to put my hand on her bum when there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it, buttoning up her blouse as she went. It was my kid sister, Becky, “Mum said are you going to be much longer? She needs it now.”
“I’d best be going.”
“Yes, of course, yes, go on. Tell your mum when I find it I’ll pop over with it” she sounded flustered.
I wished I’d pocketed the nipple photo and the camel-toe one. Joyce wouldn’t have said anything. I’d have wanked off over them until my cock was sore.
“You were a while?” said my mum.
“You know what she’s like, you can’t get away once she starts.”
“That’s why I sent Becky over to rescue you.”
I wished she hadn’t. Anyway, that night and many that followed, I still wanked off a lot over Joyce, replaying different scenarios in my head.
That was it for a few months, I couldn’t just go over for no reason. Joyce wouldn’t have minded but my mum would get suspicious.
Then I was nineteen, getting more confident. I’d been fucking May every couple of weeks.
My parents went out one Saturday evening, to some firm’s dinner dance or something. I was out with my mates. I got back about 11:00pm. Joyce was in our house, she’d been babysitting Becky, who was by then in bed asleep.
Now I was back, Joyce could have gone home, she didn’t. I asked when my parents would be back, she said around midnight.
She started her usual talking, wide eyed, as usual.
I was lounging back on the sofa, feet up, feeling randy. Knowing Joyce would be up for something, I grew hard. I had to rearrange it. Joyce watched me do that. She didn’t take her eyes off my cock. I started idly stroking it over my trousers. She just stared at it, never taking her eyes off it. I decided to go for it. I pulled my zip down, she carried on staring. I undid my waist button, raised my hips and shucked down my trousers and underpants. She just stared at my erect cock and my balls.
I started stroking my cock, she stood up and came and stood close to me. I was about to run my hand up her leg and under her skirt when headlights appeared in our drive.
Fuck! My parents were back. Fuck! They had a fairly loose interpretation of midnight, apparently. Fuck! I should have come home earlier. I could have had my cock in Joyce.
Not long after that occasion I left home, then I got married at twenty one. That was it as far as Joyce was concerned, no excuse to go over to her house any more.
My dad had a brother, one of the ten pound poms that had emigrated to Australia in the early sixties.
They planned to go over there to visit, my mum had some friends over there as well. So with a lot to see and do, they went for three months. I was then twenty-four, Joyce had still featured in my masturbation fantasies from time to time.
My parents had a dog, Suzy, a black and tan Cocker Spaniel. Joyce was looking after Suzy until they got back. Because mum considered Joyce to be nosy, she didn’t let Joyce have a key to the house, so Suzy was in Joyce’s house.
My mum said their insurance company required the property to be inspected at least once a week, so would I do it? While I was there she wanted me to move mail away from the door, open any letters that looked urgent and water any plants that needed it. Of course, I said I would.
I can’t remember whether I was working mornings or afternoons the day of the first visit, but anyway I went round during the day, always on a Wednesday. I’d been there about five minutes when there was a knock at the front door. I opened it. Joyce was stood there, with Suzy on a lead.
“I thought it might be good if Suzy could come in and have a wander round? It might be stressing her out being in a different Çapa escort home, this might do her good.”
“Sure, come in.”
They came in and I closed the door, Suzy went sniffing all over the house. I thought to myself that Joyce would like to have done that as well!
Instead Joyce started her incessant talking. The spittle-foam appeared. I was now a bit older, a bit wiser, more experienced, more sure of myself. So I just pulled her into my arms and kissed her. The worst that would happen is I’d get my face slapped.
She stopped talking, her arms went round my neck, her mouth yielded and moulded to mine. Our tongues entwined. She was moaning softly.
The kiss broke after a minute or so, her head went into my neck. I cupped a breast.
“Oh, yes. That feels good.” she breathed into my ear.
I put my hand under her bra and cupped her breast, it was firm, smooth and warm. The nipple hard.
“Oh, so good.” she breathed again.
My other hand was lifting up her skirt behind her and bunching it up at her waist. I couldn’t manage it. I released her warm tit and used both hands. When her bum was uncovered I ran my hands over her cheeks. She was wearing tights, panty-hose. She was breathing with short, shallow breaths in my ear.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, also getting the waistband of her knickers. I pulled them down over her cheeks so that her lovely bottom was fully exposed. The elastic was now under her cheeks.
I ran my hands over her globes, they were firm and smooth and a lovely pear shape, as far as I could tell. She was gently biting my ear, still breathing rapidly.
I knelt down, reached under her skirt and pulled the rest of the waistband down, working her knickers down and her tights down and off her legs completely. So she could step out of them.
Once they were off I gently but insistently pulled her down, lifting the front of her skirt in the process. I lay her down on the carpet in the hall. The dog came sniffing back, I got up and shut it in the kitchen. I stood over Joyce and unbuttoned my jeans. For once she was silent, still mad-eyed, who could blame her?
She was lying on the floor, skirt around her waist, long legs apart. Displaying the full, black bush between them.
I just pulled my jeans down to mid-thigh, my cock was sticking out at forty-five degrees from vertical. Joyce was staring at it. I lay over her and easily entered her wet pussy. She was very tight. She was staring into my eyes with her mouth open as I slid my whole length into her.
“Yessssss!” hissed Joyce.
I started fucking her with long, insistent strokes. She started moaning softly. It didn’t take long before I was shooting my load inside her, an orgasm that made my whole body tingle. I gave no thought to protection nor her pleasure. It was just urgent, raw, animal sex.
I wish I could be more graphic for you, but that wasn’t how it was. I don’t think she had an orgasm. For her it wasn’t as good as it could have been. Perhaps she’d imagined it being much better. She didn’t complain though. She put her clothes back on carefully and checked herself in the mirror before fetching the dog.
“Do I look OK?” she asked.
“A bit flushed, but otherwise yes. I’m sorry that was so rushed and you know, a bit selfish.”
“It’s OK, it was wonderful.”
I’m sure it wasn’t, but if there was going to be a next time I was going to make sure it was.
“I’ll be here every Wednesday, it’ll just alternate, in the morning one week, in the afternoon the next.” I said, as I opened the door, forever hopeful.
“I’ll bear that in mind and look out for you.” she smiled, “See you next week.”
And off she went.
Yes! During the week I wanked myself a few times, reliving that encounter and looking forward to the next.
Wednesday arrived and I went to the house. Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. I let Joyce and Suzy in. Suzy being consigned to the back garden straightaway. Suzy was only there in case neighbours said anything, to Joyce or my mum. She wasn’t stupid wasn’t Joyce.
I turned and Joyce kissed me, insistently and passionately. Her hands were feverishly fumbling with the buttons of my jeans. I helped her, she held my cock in her hand and stroked me while she kissed me.
She pushed my foreskin all the way back and looked down, “I love how big the head is. I could tell it was when I saw the outline of it in your jeans, when you used to come round. I wanted to do this with you back then.”
“So big, so thick.” she panted.
I lifted her skirt. No tights, no knickers.
“It makes it easier for us.” she murmured in my ear.
I felt her slit, she was soaking. I led her upstairs. My old bedroom still had my bed in it. I scanned the room making a mental note of where everything was. I didn’t want anything out of place, my mum would spot it instantly if there was.
The window wasn’t overlooked so there was no need to close curtains. I removed Joyce’s blouse, she just stood there, head down, watching me do it.
Then she removed my shirt. When she’d done that she removed her bra. Her breasts were small, but very round and pert, almost like they actually each contained a tennis ball and they only hung down slightly. Her nipples were very erect. The nipples that I’d seen outlined in that photograph.