Writer's Note: This is a story for adults over eighteen years of age about adults over eighteen years of age. While the story line is true, the dialog has been compressed for the sake of time and space. Safe sex was not an issue in the early sixties and seventies but should be a concern for everyone today.
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As the saying Biblical goes, "To everything there is a season . . . ;" that applies especially to women. They have a season to be a child, a season to come of age, a season to become a young woman, then a season to mature; my personal, favorite season for women. The season where many women begin to search for more personal freedom and to explore the pleasures they have missed out on.
I was only three when my father was drafted during World War Two and our family moved from Tampa to San Diego. I do not remember much about that time, but I do remember our next door neighbors. The mother, Marcie, and my mother worked opposite shifts at the shipyard and took turns keeping us kids; Marcie had a boy and a girl; my Mom had my older sister and me. After the war, Marcie and her family moved to Tampa with my family instead of returning to their former farming life in the mid-west.
Both of our families used their VA loans and built homes next to each other in a new subdivision on the north side of Tampa. Ray, Marcie's husband, transferred from the Navy to the Merchant Marines and was assigned to a ship stationed at the Port of Tampa; he would spend three months at sea then he would be home for a month.
Marcie and Ray's kids had the run of our house just as my sister and I had at their house. We were more like an extended family than two separate families. When I misbehaved, I could count on getting a spanking from Marcie just as quickly as from my Mom.
Of course, there were some advantages too. We thought nothing about barging into each other's homes without knocking. On many occasions, I would see Marcie hurry from the bathroom in the hall to her bedroom, wearing only her panties and trying to cover her bare breasts with her arms; I was maybe six or so, but seeing her shapely bottom in a pair of white, cotton, granny panties, left a lasting impression on my psyche and defined my standard of sexy for my entire adult life. While I did not comprehend my attraction for my shapely, dark-haired, Italian neighbor at the time, I treasured the images like a rare gem.
Many nights Marcie would babysit us and we would all snuggle up close to her as she read us stories; she was warm, soft, and had the most wonderful aroma. I could sometimes get by with laying my head against her soft breast; If my hand accidentally rested on her breast, she would gently remove it without saying a word.
By the time I was a junior in high school my interest in Marcie began to change; I had already gotten laid and had a better understanding of my attraction for her. I guess she realized the change too and I didn't get to see her in her panties as often, especially if her kids were home. One afternoon I stopped by to borrow something for my Mom; Marcie was alone and getting ready to get into the shower. She called out from the bathroom and asked me to hand her a fresh towel from the linen closet in the hall; rather than handing it to her through the slightly open door, I took full advantage of the opportunity and walk into the bathroom to hand her the towel. Surprised by my audacity, she made an attempt to cover her breasts with her hands and arms, but she didn't turn away from me.
Marcie gave me her stern look as my eyes captured the image of her wearing only a pair of white, cotton, full cut panties, "Will, shame on you; you shouldn't walk in on me when almost naked."
"I'm sorry, I thought you were already in the shower," I stated my apology slowly to give me a few more seconds to admire her.
Once I left home for college and my active duty tour with the Army, I only saw Marcie during occasional holiday visits for almost six years; rarely more than once or twice a year. During that time she completed her nursing degree and began working at Tampa General Hospital. Each time I visited her, our welcome home hugs lasted a little longer and included more of our bodies touching before we sat down with a cold beer and caught up on the goings-on in our lives. If she had just gotten off of her shift at the hospital, she would sit on the sofa with her feet in my lap while I massaged her feet. I made no bones about my affection for her by giving her sweet bottom loving pats when I could get by with it; she would smile and scold me mildly then squeeze my hand or hold me close to her chest.
Marcie matured as a woman as I grew into a young man; her once slender figure became fuller and more curvaceous as she entered her forties; her mature figure did incredible things to her starched, white, nurse's uniform. Her once thin face became fuller; her emerald, green eyes and sultry smile gave her a more sensuous look.
With her kids out of the house and on their own, we usually had the house to ourselves when her husband was at sea. After her shift at the hospital, she would remove and hang up her starched, white, uniform dress and ware her slip and underwear. We would sit on the sofa to watch a movie and eat pop corn, but would end up snuggled together. Eventually that led to some kissing, which over time led to some light petting.
I would kiss her nipples through her clothes or just cup her breasts in my hands; when we snuggled together, my hand would roam over her hips and firm round bottom; when she would admonish me, I would lay her hand over the swollen bulge in my pants. She would squeeze me gently and wiggle closer to me before removing her hand.
Occasionally, we would have to have a serious talk about "going too far," "Will, I hope you don't think I am leading you on," she would say rubbing her fingers through her black, curly hair, "but sometimes, I need a man's touch so badly I could scream."
"Marcie, I'm having the time of my life enjoying your company; I have adored you since I was a kid. Let's just enjoy our journey together where ever it leads us," it wasn't a case of my not getting laid enough, so why push it.
After college, I got a job teaching high school American History in a rural town about thirty miles north of Tampa. I made sure I saw Marcie when I visited my parents or after my graduate classes at the university. We would talk for hours; she liked asking me about the rumors of my affairs with older women. She delighted in hearing the details about what I did with them, especially if it had to do with my oral talents. Several times when she approached me sitting on the sofa, I pressed my face against her slip covered pubic mound and kissed her. If we had one of our hot and heavy make out sessions I could smell her aroma. She would hold my face against her.
After a moment, she would push me away gently, "Will, I can't take much of that."
I continued to push the envelope; after massaging her feet, I slid my hands up to her calves then higher up her smooth legs until I could unfasten her stocking from her garter belt clasp. I slowly slid each one down her creamy smooth, shapely legs. She would caution me, "Not too close," if I moved my hands above the top of her stockings.
Marcie's resistance faded completely one evening when I pushed my leg between hers then pressed it firmly into her crotch. She froze for a moment then began to grind her crotch slowly against my bare thigh below the leg of my shorts; a few minutes later her grinding increased. I felt the heat and dampness from her treasure vault as she achieved the sexual release she needed from being just a part time wife.
In time, we found out that we didn't need the sofa; we could do the same thing sitting or standing. It was easy for her to get off; she could go from one orgasm to another. Marcie wasn't selfish either; before we said goodnight, she would take me in her hand and let me spew my hot, creamy semen on her smooth thighs or her panty encased pubic mound or bare tummy.
