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 sixties and early seventies, but should be a concern for everyone today.
*
One of my favorite lawn mowing customers was Faye. She was a widow, probably in her early fifties, based on the many stories she told me about her life prior to World War II. She was about five-foot-five, hundred and ten pound; she was a dynamo who swam laps daily in her pool, played tennis, and taught Latin dancing at the community center. She always had time to sit with me and talk while I ate her homemade cookies and drank milk. Once I turned eighteen, she weaned me off of milk and substituted sherry in its place as she told me stories about living abroad.
She loved to dress up in period styles of the thirties, forties, and fifties. On one visit I might find her dressed as a thirties flapper listening to jazz music and showing me how to dance the Charleston or the Black Bottom. Another visit I might find that she had just returned from her bridge club dressed like June Clever; I never knew what to expect.
She and her husband had traveled Europe extensively before the war and her home was a museum of those travels. She had bunches of photo albums she shared with me, but my favorite was one from Paris which was filled with photos of her as a young woman; a very pretty, sexy, young woman.
While Faye was an elegant lady with class, she had a bit of a naughty streak which she revealed as I grew older; she delighted in showing me risqué French photo cards of nude women through an antique viewfinder. She described going to the Follies' Bergere where the dancers performed bare breasted and to Jazz clubs along the Left Bank where the music was loud, the lights were low, and libertine couples lingered in the shadows sometimes engaging various naughty acts.
"My husband loved to watch people, whether they were having coffee at a street side cafe or engaged in other activities in the dark, smoky cabarets; he was a correspondent and a writer who used his observation of people in his stories."
Sometimes Faye would answer the door wearing a light housecoat as if she had just gotten home and I had interrupted her just as she was about to change. She would grasp the top of her house coat tightly as if trying to be modest, but once I was inside, the garment would often fall open briefly to expose a stocking encased thigh or a lace covered breast. She would smile and feint embarrassment, then recover quickly, but only after I had time to relish the treat.
"Oops, I must be more lady like, I hope I didn't embarrass you," she would say then mention something her late husband might have said, "My dear, late husband often said that a quick peek left the most lasting impression."
I smiled and replied, "I certainly agree with him; I have many lasting impressions of you."
"Will, don't be naughty; I am a lady," batting her eyes and showing a coy smile.
Faye was, also a touchy, feely person; she rubbed her hand over my shoulder or pat my thigh. She would brush against me, often with her breasts as she greeted me or sat beside me showing me her photo albums. More than a few times I saw her glance toward my crotch as she showed me the risqué photos or told me stories about their adventures. As most teenage boys do, I often slouched with my legs splayed when I sat and since I usually only wore my cut-off jeans; I had no doubt that she frequently got a good view of my equipment.
My fondest and most lasting memory of Faye happened one afternoon when I stopped by to collect for my lawn mowing that week. She answered the door wearing her usual light housecoat tightly clenched closed in her hands; as she showed me into the sunroom her housecoat caught on the corner of a small table and exposed her entire stocking encased leg all the way to her firm round, panty clad cheek. It was a beautiful sight; again, she recovered just as my heart skipped a couple of beats and my cock quickly pulsed in my cut-off shorts.
"You can sit here and look at the new Life magazine while I slip on my dress; it will only take me a moment."
She went into the adjacent bedroom as I reached for the magazine. I noticed that she only partially closed the door behind her so I assumed that she was changing in a corner of the room not visible from the door; my assumption was wrong, she stood in direct view of the mostly open door. I watched her from the back as she slipped off her house coat and tossed it aside. For a moment, she just stood there with her hands on her hips looking into a free-standing, corner mirror. Her high heels gave a shapely definition to her black, seamed, stocking encased legs; a pair of full cut, red lace panties hugged her well rounded, firm bottom.
The suspenders of a black garter belt slipped beneath the leg of her panties and extended to the tops of her stockings. She reached behind her back with both hands and unfastened her matching bra with her fingers and let it slide down her arms; I got a side view glance of her small, B-cup sized breasts as she turned to toss her bra to the side.
I put the magazine down on the table and decided that the reason the bedroom door was mostly open was that she wanted me to see her; just as I knew the accidental exposure of her stocking encased thigh or partially covered breast was meant for my benefit. I moved to the door opening, leaned against the door frame, and completely took in the beautiful sight before me; the angle of her mirror also gave me a full view of her front. Her rose pink nipples were pointed extensions of her small cone shaped breasts. She didn't seem to notice me as she lifted one foot to a nearby stool; she bent over and carefully stretched her arms down her long, shapely leg until her hands were around her ankle. She proceeded to smooth her stocking upward as she moved her hands slowly up her leg; I studied every curve and movement she made. Once her hands were on her thigh, she readjusted the clasps of her garter on the top of her stocking then set her foot down and turned slightly to make sure her seam was perfectly straight in the mirror.
Much to my delight, she repeated the same process on her other leg. I was certain she knew about my presence; maybe she was performing for me, or maybe she was teasing me. Either way, my staff was bent double in its effort to stand up straight; I slipped my hand into my cut-offs to make a quick adjustment for comfort. Once she confirmed that both seams were straight she picked up a brush and brushed her curly, shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair; the rose, pink nipples of her small, but still firm, breasts seemed to dance as her arms moved the brush through her hair. She slipped on a navy blue, fitted dress that buttoned up the front, but she only buttoned it from her breasts down to the top of her stockings; she checked her image in the mirror then turned around.
"Will! You surprised me; I didn't know you were watching me," she said with all the proper voice inflections and body movements to show her surprise.
"I'm sorry, it was such a beautiful sight I could not resist watching."
She gave a coy smile and replied, "Well, you must be desperate if you have to watch an old woman in her private moments."
"No, I'm neither desperate nor did I see an old woman; I only saw an amazing display of beauty. Are you telling me you didn't want me to watch you?"
Faye patted my cheek, "Of course not. You are so sweet! A bit naughty, but sweet. My late husband would have approved of you."
