Mitzi at Poolside
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Dear readers. Thank you for receiving my first group of stories so positively. It has encouraged me to continue on with this tale, my latest endeavor. This story is VERY close to home, as you will see. More to come…
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Joni Mitchell came out with an album named ‘The Hissing of Summer Lawns’ back in the middle seventies. I was wondering if it was available anymore, some are, some aren’t. What even brought it to mind was my pulling off the thoroughfare and into my subdivision. Seemed like she summed it up pretty good, I reflected, as I drove past sprinklers gently arching their artificial rain onto picture perfect lawns. A landscaper was getting out weedeaters for a group of little brown men two doors down. They stood there patiently in the white hot mid day heat.
My lawn guy was due Friday. I’d gotten his bill last Thursday, reminding me to find out what somebody else might charge. I punched the garage door opener and pulled the car into the shaded confines, noting the azaleas were looking dry in the side yard. Loosening my tie, I got out, leaving the garage, and walked down to the foreman, now standing there mopping his face. The sound of weedeaters receded as his crew disappeared behind the neighbor’s house.
We talked, he said he’d get me an estimate, which usually means he’s too busy already and won’t take on more work. I sweetened the till, mentioning a pair of Black Tupeloes in my backyard that needed attention, along with wanting a fieldstone wall installed to buttress my hydrangeas near the rear of my lot. He could put his sign in my yard for awhile…..I just didn’t want to be overcharged for a guy on a lawn mower.
He loosened up, we talked, he fished out a card. He said he’d be over in a few minutes to have a look around.
I love small victories. They mean more if you don’t have to cajole or plead. Then it’s just pity, you haven’t won squat. When you persuade someone to change their mind and both parties are happy with the result, I exult.
It was on my return to the house that Mitzi called out from next door. I opened her mailbox and carried the mail up the walk to her as she finished unsnapping the leash from her little terrier, Judy.
“So Ted, are you hiring someone new?” she asked, looking down the street at the noisy crew.
I shrugged. “Well, we talked anyway. He’s going to come up in a half hour and eyeball things. But his going rate is less than what I’m paying now.”
Mitzi let the dog back into the house. I think the noise was bothering it. “Thanks for bringing the mail.” she said, scanning through and pulling out one with overseas markings. “Ah, just in time, you can always set the clock by him.” she chuckled, laugh lines around her eyes.
What Mitzi was talking about was the check she got for alimony each month from Paul, her ex. They had it all. The two of them together twenty some years, two kids. Mitzi, a former teacher, stayed home, being Minivan Mom. Paul had a big career with a foreign airline, gone four days out of seven. The big surprise, late last year. Being transferred home, (the two are European born) Paul announced he’s going alone. There is and has been someone else outside of Munich. Has been for years. Mitzi, sitting stunned on our couch, Marie’s (my wife) arms around her, me serving a very light dinner that night.
You spend that much of your life with your mate, then he drops a bomb, it’s traumatic. You just don’t blindside people. Maybe it could have been worked out. I don’t know. Marie knows more than I about the details, but she will keep a confidence. I don’t broach it, neither does she.
Mitzi had been recovering pretty well, I noticed. Her sunniness was returning. She was exercising and was working on a nursing degree. She knew Wednesdays was my half days and invited me in for some lunch. Her idea of lunch involved a lot of diet things, which runs counter to my beliefs.
Patting me on the belly, she said,”You need to eat right Ted, get out from behind that desk, guy! Or some day you’ll be taking pills for this, pills for that, it’s no good, ja?”
That always made me laugh, that “ja” thing. No matter how long you live somewhere, the old country’s just beneath the surface.
I said “Mitzi, lemme go get out of this clown suit. I’ve got some junk in my briefcase that I’ve gotta deal with, maybe I’ll let it slide ’til tonight.”
Mitzi’s eye’s sparkled, “Ah, that’s more like it. You SHOULD goof off more. Put your swimsuit on, leave a note for Marie. I’ll make you a turkey sandwich on rye. WITH a Breda.”
That got me, that last. Mitzi still gets Breda beer from Holland direct. I’ve developed an affinity to it and it probably did go with turkey. Secondly, her pool is an excellent place to be on a hot afternoon. So, we said our for nows, and I trudged across the yard, went in and changed.
The lawn guy came up as I was cleaning up the kitchen. I pulled on a loud shirt over my trunks and went with him out to the trees I’d told him about. I won’t bore pendik escort you with that. He told me way more than I wanted to know about trees, bushes, grass. Once he got going, it was a torrent. But, alas, he was reasonably priced. I went inside to my office and made a sticky note to fire the overpriced lawn guy.
The phone rang. Mitzi. “So, you’re not hungry? Your beer’s getting warm, oh wait, bring that Corningware that Marie borrowed with you. OK, come on, Bye!”
I came through the back gate in her side yard. There was a path well worn from our kids, their kids, going back and forth through the years. Now the grass was reclaiming it and the gate rubbed some when I opened it.
Mitzi was already seated at the white wrought iron table near the pool. “OK, take that Corningware and just set it on the breakfast table. I’ll get up our lunch.”
I was flattered she’d waited for me. “Mitzi, you should have eaten already. I got tied up with that guy. I’m sorry.”
She waved it away. “No biggie, I saw you talking, or listening to the man. Are you sure you don’t want some sprouts?” She led me through the sliding door into the kitchen.
“I think I could just do the beer.”
Mitzi chuckled. “Diet foods are good, you know. Just see what YOU think about this.” With that she snapped her wrap off and I beheld the new, improved lady next door. Her hair was still the same and she still had the scar from her elbow operation. This was a slim petite woman in front of me now, smiling coquettishly as she displayed her first two piece in recent memory. As Rod Stewart sang, she wore it well.
I looked her up and down. “Jeez, Mitzi, you’re gonna give some old guy heart failure looking like that.”
I could tell that was the right response. “Don’t need an old guy, no. I did this for me. When I start working I must be fit. So, do I look fit?”
I nodded. “Knocked my socks off girl, no doubt.” I left her casting puzzled glances at my bare feet as we went back to the poolside table with food and brews. It’s an old game I played with her, using slang euphonisms. She adjusted the slant of the umbrella to give us some shade. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her breasts rise and tighten as she reset the position.
“Ok, that’s better. And thank you Ted. I saw you looking at me just now.”
I leaned back with my beer. “I forgot, mom’s have eyes in the back of their heads, they see all, know all.”
She chuckled and swigged her beer, “Ah Ted, life is different. All these years, you looked at my legs, not my top.”
“I thought I was discreet,” I protested. “Plus, you’ve got great gams, always have in my opinion.”
I left her dwelling over what gams were as I pulled off my shirt and dived into the pool, without so much as a toe nudge in the water. It felt so cool and cleansing after the stifling humidity of mid afternoon. By the way, Mitzi’s not her real name. In my mind, I named her that long years ago after Mitzi Gaynor, truly a lovely woman with spectacular legs. I surfaced and called to her to jump in.
“No Ted, you swim. I don’t want the chlorine on this. I still swim in my one piece.”
“So Mitzi, is the bikini a show just for me?” Oh, that was dumb. I could tell she got self concious. “Hey, if so, I’m glad you did. You can give me heart failure anytime you want, OK?” With that she brightened, and moved to sit at at pool’s edge, feet dangling in the water.
She took a swig of her beer. “Now, don’t pull me in. Whew, I need my sunglasses, it’s so bright.” Looking at her shoulder she murmured, “Don’t need to burn either.”
I got out dripping, wiping the hair out of my face and made for the table. “Are they in your bag?” indicating her straw purse.
“Yes, and find the sunscreen too, will you, it should be in there.”
I fumbled around, digging for the items requisite. If I was a woman, I would have this stuff organized. But, most gals go digging when ever it’s time for keys, glasses, whatever. My wife’s the same way. That’s why I drive when we go somewhere. We can usually be well along our way by the time she comes up with the car keys.
Mitzi had lain face down on the folding cot by the time I came over with the stuff. I took my time sauntering over, just enjoying the long graceful legs curving up to her firm rump, her long pale back naked save the tiny string holding her top. She raised up when I approached, thanking me for the sunglasses and putting them on.
I pulled my shades back on and sat facing her on the other lounge chair, after retrieving the beers. A lawn mower started up in the distance and some finches flitted around in the shrubbery. The beer was relaxing me as the sun beat down. Mitzi got up and put some sunscreen on my shoulders. Then she sat back down on the edge of her cot and rubbed some on herself. Again, I got to watch her jiggle as she shook more of the goop out.
“Mitzi, I’d say you’ve been working out from the looks of things. You’re getting all sleek and sassy.”
“Ah, maltepe escort I know that one, Mr. Words. You’re trying to say I’m cute, right?”
” Yeah, doing good.” I paused. “You missed a spot there between your shoulders, you want me to get it?” She handed me the creme and laid down again. I kneeled beside her and squeezed some out of the tube and slopped it on her mid back. Then rubbing it in, doing circles, kneading gently down to the tie in her bikini.
“Untie that if you would.” Came her muffled voice. I complied and lathered her down to her bottoms.
Then I sat down and we talked, just about the normal things parents talk about. Her daughter Elf, (what a nick name!) was considering law. She’d been on the Dean’s List for three and a half years. I thought about our insular society, I guess just musing. Her girl would be free from want forever, armed with that degree. She’d always be able to make a decent living whether times were good or bad. Everything she did now held her future, and she was doing right.
“Are you hearing me Ted? Ted?” Mitzi gazing at me with one eye. “Where ARE you?”
I told her what I was thinking about and the difference between the haves and have nots and how things really did matter.
“OK, so today we’ll talk philosophy.” She shifted on her towel. “So tell me Mr. Thinking Man, what do you think I am? A have, or a have not? You know the history, tell me.”
We got going deep then. Probably some things that Marie knew and I didn’t, at least until now. At a break in the conversation, she felt of her legs. “Am I getting red back there? Put some lotion on, would you, I can’t rise up like this.” Then the conversation resumed as I started applying the sunscreen to her legs.
I sat on the concrete and started at the bottoms of her feet, lathering her toes, rubbing them at the same time. She continued with her discourse over the changes in her life as I rubbed her nicely turned calves. This old girl was fresh shaved, no stubble, I noticed, not even at her knees.
I stopped and swigged my tepid beer, wishing I had a cigarette. Mitzi’s breasts were belled out on her sides. I could see their paleness contrasting her tan sides and back. I thought about my pack of smokes hidden in the car’s glove box, thought about composure. Then I was rubbing those soft gorgeous thighs. I could see the imprints of my fingers as I continued towards her backside.
It was silent. I don’t know when she quit talking or if she’d asked me something. I was just gently rubbing her, no I wasn’t, I was caressing her. my fingertips were on her inner thighs. Mitzi sighed then and spread her thighs just a little. There was no mistaking it. My neighbor, who sat with Marie and me through countless Little League games, carpooled the kids, sat on my other side at the symphony, was spread before me to view as I pleased.
There were a couple of stray blonde pubic hairs showing where her legs and torso joined. They were the same exact color as the short blonde hair on her head. My hands, pausing for more oil, renewed their quest. All I could do is watch them. They weren’t my hands. No, I took certain vows twenty three years ago, (twenty four?) that I must keep in the sight of the Lord. My heart was alarmed and my breath was shallow.
Another twitch from those snugly encased hips, so round and inviting. My hands were at the elastic keeping the bottom of her hips from view. I hooked my little fingers just inside, rolling them back. Pale flesh showed. The contrast startled me. Another sigh from below, another twitch.
More lotion. That’s the answer. My hands rolled the fabric away from her entire bottom, remaining only in the middle, where I should not go, where I shouldn’t be now. Just running my lotion dripping fingers up and down, the slightest touch with my nails. Fearing to grab those beautiful twins, lest the spell be broken. Her legs couldn’t spread anymore without them falling off the cot.
I really needed another beer. And a CIGARETTE! Mitzi girl, you’re so trusting, but what are your limits, Mitzi? What are mine? Sudden resolution. I will not conceal this from my wife. I will not lie, I will not betray. My hands, smoothing her bottoms back to their original location. Good hands, you did good, oh God where are you going?
A long sigh from Mitzi. My hand only fractions from her cleft as she pushes into it, wiggles. My finger tracing the shape of her latent arousal, the chubbiness apparent as I press against the thin last line of defense. A dark spot magically appearing at the most private spot a woman has.
I’m aroused, and it’s very obvious in the swimming trunks. The far off mower continues to moan, a loud truck goes by on the highway. The sun beats down.
My hand, in total betrayal, begins rubbing that wet spot. My eyes, witnessing these traitorous acts, watch the dark spot spread in response to my ministrations. In deja vu, unreality clashes with the given, I’m happily married, did she just kartal escort moan?
Her bottoms tie on each side. My suddenly nimble fingers untie them in one fast act, laying the back over her parted thighs. That pale, sunscreened pert ass greets me, a dark swollen vagina peeking from underneath. As I watch, juice issues from her, forming a sticky current up her labia to her still- encased mound. Her inner lips hang open slackly, already prepared for penetration.
Still she lays there passively, my old friend, trusting me even on a planet we’ve never explored, she and I. Mitzi stirs, half rising, to lay on her back. Her eye’s are closed behind her sunglasses, her nipples are pointed and the front of her bottoms are solidly dark. She casts them beside the cot. With with the soles of her feet pressed together, her legs part, forming a diamond shape. Still no words emanate from her lips. My cell phone rings beneath my cot. I knock over my empty beer bottle, answering, knowing it’s God. Knowing life as I know it is over.
It’s Marie. Her voice sounds strange, unfocused. “I’m watching what you’re doing to her.” She breathes in the phone. “I’m in the upstairs bedroom looking at you.”
I started to mumble apologies, “I’ll be right home, God, it just got out of hand” etc. I’m a FUCKING WIMP! I scream in my mind.
“No, baby, don’t stop.” That same distracted tone in her voice. “You mustn’t fuck her, but DON’T STOP. When you touch her, I’ll touch me the same way. Put your finger in her. I can see, I’ve got the opera glasses. Move to your right just a little. Good. There. Know that whatever you do to her, I’ll do to me. You musn’t cum in your trunks either. I love you”. The phone went dead.
I mumbled something about a sales call, replacing the phone under the cot. Mitzi reached and handed me the sunscreen, ever silent. Holding her hand out for some, she accepts and begins rubbing her neck and shoulders.
I lather her shins, knees, arriving quickly to her thighs. She is spreading the sunscreen on her breasts, lifting their heft, cupping, squeezing. To her nipples, lathering them, pulling the tips taut, pinching, enhancing their hardness.
I’m at her V. A deep breath as I squirt more lotion in my hands. Then to her pubis, laying out the cream, rubbing it into her blond fur, the pale scar from a long ago C-section still just visible. I watch her engorged lips move wetly as I rub. Then down the creases flanking her swollen burgundy womanhood, squeezing the outer lips together against her clit, her nubbin standing proud in Mitzi’s seas. Her hips jerk, “Ah, yes, Ted. Your cock” she gasps, “Show it to me. Take off your trunks. Now.”
Numbly, I comply, standing, easing the waistband out and around from my member as I drop them to the concrete. She beckons, pointing to the other chair beside her. Now we both face the privacy wall, with my house, my bedroom windows, looming forty feet beyond. I dare not look. I’m startled as her lotion slick hand encases my manhood, her thumb rubbing my glans. My balls contract almost painfully, the first extra- marital touch on my person. Slickness issues as I watch, from my tip. Her palm recieves it, glides it down my shaft. I groan. My need begins building.
Her legs are still hanging open as they were. They are the siren’s song, so enticing. Two of my fingers enter her slick, wet opening, drawing out, beginning their travels, swirling, probing. Mitzi’s thighs tighten, sweat popping out on her forhead. She begind fisting me, watching my cockhead appear and disappear in her hand. I feel that distant tingling, my early warning of an orgasmic future.
My hand is soaked as my fingers glide around her clit, gently tugging, descibing circles, then to and fro. Mitzi’s hips snap off the cot, a maiden’s offering of her treasure in exchange for vital release. There is no modesty in times of need. With the fingers of my other hand, I plumb her depths, her fluid walls grasping, as my other fingers massage the thickness of her clit.
I AM aware of that upstairs window over there in the shade of the spreading pin oak. The reflection makes it impossible to ascertain my wife’s presence. Is she standing there, still in office attire, her chic dress up around her waist, panties and hose pooled on the floor as she peers into our secluded sexual arena? Is she disheveled, a hand massaging her nipple as her other soaks in her juices of want? Or does she have the opera glasses trained steadily on my oozing cock as Mitzi furthers her relentless assault. My inner warnings are sounding, along with that Marie’s last message. Thou shalt not cum. Forgiveness rests with your compliance.
Mentally removing myself from my impending orgasm as I watch Mitzi’s mount, I remember the night we bought the new Jaguar. We had gleefully traded in the Volvo, giggling at the ignomious trade-in value, signing a check for the difference. Life is good! Later that night, Marie and I in our robes celebrating, tipsy with wine on the screen porch, talking, passing a number back and forth like it was the seventies again. Getting sexy, talking about what turns us on, keeping it real, making us horny. She, whisking back her robe and wetting her fingers, telling me to tell her what I would do if I was touching her.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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