You don't need Freud to tell you why I have a thing for mature women. Of course now mature women are my contemporaries or even younger, but that doesn't change my view. No matter what my age, I've consistently been attracted to women five, ten, or even fifteen years my senior, sometimes more. To me, a confident mature woman is sexy as hell. Let me tell you why.
I was 18 that summer of 1977, and just graduated from high school. At the time, I was living with one of my older brothers because my dad had just moved to another city for a new job. My mother died some years before and dad had recently remarried to a frightful woman who was plenty happy to see the last of "his" original kids out of "her" house. So dad allowed me to stay behind before starting college, which gave me a measure of freedom that most teenagers only dream about.
My brother traveled frequently on business, and had a girlfriend with whom he shacked up a good part of the time when he wasn't working. The understanding between us was that I could have considerable latitude but if I started missing work or got into any other trouble, the leash would be yanked, hard.
As it was, I didn't have much interest in doing anything except working my lifeguard job at the nearby country club, giving swim lessons, and enjoying life in my brother's well-appointed apartment in a historic mid-town building nestled in the well-to-do neighborhood where we grew up. When not working, I was mostly learning to be the homebody I ultimately became.
Another way I made some extra cash that summer was doing odd jobs for a lady who lived in a nice house just up the street. Joyce was 45 and divorced from her husband a few years before. The husband had taken up with his young secretary but generously kept Joyce in style.
Her daughter Stephanie was 21 and home for the summer from a fancy college. Stephanie was usually playing tennis at the club or spending time with her boyfriend at the pool. From my high chair I enjoyed ogling her tight body while she lay on one of the chaise lounges in her swimsuit, her lovely skin slathered in suntan oil and her long honey blond hair tied up in a sexy bun. The vision of her athletic body in a bikini was the fuel for many fantasies that helped relieve the inevitable backlog that teen boys experience.
With Stephanie usually gone throughout the day and evening, Joyce was often alone and in need of help keeping up the big house she had shared for many years with her husband. She began to rely on me more and more and with college a few months away her generous wages were very welcome.
Joyce was a stunner; blonde, fit, and with a vivacious manner. I would catch glimpses of her at the club, moving gracefully around the tennis courts, her figure flattered by a short white skirt and sleeveless blouse.
Despite the vast difference in our ages, she was the kind of woman I naturally found attractive. In fact, all men found Joyce attractive. She was flirtatious without being overt, and fond of touch. She would playfully give my shoulder a push when we joked around, and told me it was okay to work with my shirt off if I felt like it. Her hand might linger a bit on my shoulder or arm as she spoke, her striking blue eyes electric with good cheer. When she placed cash in my palm after a day of work she would put my hand between both of hers and say, "You're such a dear."
Joyce's back yard had a wooden privacy fence around a beautiful garden and swimming pool. Joyce asked me if I would see to the pool's regular upkeep, so in the evenings after a day of life guarding, I would come by and check on the water and set the sweeper.
When I was tending the yard we often worked side by side and passed the time in conversation. She wondered why I didn't have a girlfriend and was surprised to learn I had never had one. I was a shy kid, awkward around girls my own age, but Joyce had a disposition that sparkled like champagne and brought me out of my shell. I found it easy to talk with her and she seemed to know instinctively how to relate to me.
Soon I was spending more waking hours at her house than I was at the apartment I shared with my brother. She seemed to enjoy my company, but I refused to let myself think it was anything more than maternal friendship. We would talk during breaks, and developed a regular routine of having lunch together on her broad, screened-in porch.
As the month of June wore on, she told me that I should start bringing a change of clothes with me when I worked in the afternoons so I could shower and change while she made me dinner. Living mostly alone as I did, she was concerned about my diet.
Joyce's only rule was that I use the garden gate that opened onto the alley behind the house. The alley was heavily shaded by trees so I could stealthily make my way down to the end of the block and then cut back over to my building. Even by the alley detour, it was a very short walk.
She worried that if the neighbors saw me spending too much time there they would think scandalous thoughts, but then she smiled slyly, placed her hand gently on my arm for more than a few seconds, and said, "Though I'm sure some of the other women on the block would envy me having such a fine-looking man around." When my face turned a deep shade of crimson at her compliment, she caressed my cheek with her palm. It sent currents through my body.
Over the next few days, I found myself thinking less about Stephanie and more about Joyce. I lay in bed, excited at the impossible dream of her seducing me. Thinking about her fueled some very intense solitary orgasms.
I pictured her first working beside me in the garden, dressed as she often was in short shorts and a halter top, a tennis visor on her head to shield her face from the hot sun. Though not a tall woman at about five and a half feet, she had long, tanned, slender legs, freckles on her small shoulders, and breasts that fit the rest of her figure quite nicely. Cosmetic surgery wasn't nearly as prevalent back then, but even so, Joyce wouldn't have gone for it. What's more, she didn't need it.
One day Joyce lamented the fact that she couldn't use her pool as much as she would like because she didn't want to risk swimming alone. I jumped at the chance, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and offered to serve as lifeguard whenever I was available. She smiled and gave me a little hug that sent a current through my body and into my cock. I was sure it was an innocent hug, but she had to know it would have an effect.
The next day I sat in one of the deck chairs, wearing just my lifeguard suit and aviator sunglasses, enjoying the view of Joyce cavorting in her pool, clad in a sexy white one-piece that showed off her tan and figure. My sunglasses hid the fact that I couldn't take my eyes off her, but watching her was what I was there for.
From inside the house I heard Stephanie come in. She emerged from the backdoor and smiled at me.
"So," she said brightly. "There's a lifeguard on duty!"
"Yep," I replied.
"Mind if I lay out a bit and catch some sun?"
"Not at all."
We were not as up as people are today on the harmful effects of sunlight. Stephanie pulled off her terry cloth top and matching shorts to reveal her bikini. She sat down next to me. Her mom paused a moment, calling in our direction.
"You should come in, sweetie. The water feels great!"
"Maybe in a bit, mom."
"How do you know I was talking to you?"
Stephanie and Joyce both laughed at the joke, then Joyce returned to her swimming. She moved gracefully and unhurriedly from one end of the pool to the other, her wet hair trailing down her back as she went.
Stephanie lay back in her chair a little.
"You know, it's really great that you've been helping mom this summer."
"It's no problem, believe me." I said sincerely.
"She thinks the world of you and I know how much she likes having you around."
I let that pass with a light shrug, indicating that it was no inconvenience. Then Stephanie caught me completely off guard.
"Has she tried to get in your pants, yet?"
I could feel the rush of adrenaline from head to toe.
"What?"
