Spring 1971: Carol’s Mom

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Spring 1971 found David struggling along in his freshman year in college. This story is about his next door neighbor and a most unlikely tryst.

David has previously been featured in stories such as: caught peeking in “Summer 1970”, losing his virginity in “Fall 1970 parts 1 and 2”, enjoying the fruits of his labors in the “Summer 1971” series, and other more current tales.

This is an entirely separate story which can be read alone. Hopefully you will enjoy this so much you’ll give the others a read.


1. Introduction.

Spring 1971 found me almost nineteen years old and plugging gamely along in school. I wasn’t doing as well as I’d hoped, or as well as was expected of me by others. I chalked that up to too lofty expectations on all of our parts.

It wasn’t because of too many extra-curricular activities, that much was certain. Fresh from losing my virginity in the fall of 1970, I had managed to avoid getting laid that entire time since, but not from lack of effort.

I was seeing a girl that lived next door to me, Carol. We had been neighbors for a few years, and suddenly had started getting interested in each other. Interested might be an exaggeration on my part. I think it was more a case of laziness than anything else. She was next door and thus very accessable. There’s also something to be said for watching a girl grow up over the years and finally becoming a woman

She was a reasonably attractive blonde with nice legs and apple sized breasts, which I had groped early and often in the relationship. Not a real blonde either, and that I knew by going down on her pussy frequently as well.

Light brown was the color down there, and a wonderfully abundant thicket there was. I was certain that she would have had delightfully appointed underarms as well if she listened to my request for leaving them alone. That was not something she thought attractive, but I was none too fond of the less than religious manicuring she irregularly gave to them either. Hair or bare, I requested nicely, to no avail.

Our activity thus far had fallen short of my objective, which was the joining of hearts, souls and bodies in the rapture of intercourse. I had gone down on her numerous times, which I enjoyed greatly. Carol had returned the favor, twice. The pleasure had not been mine, unfortunately.

My first blow job was destined to go down in history as my worst, or at least that was my hope. My poor member was subjected to the worst abuse imaginable. Carol’s teeth raked my poor dick so badly that I was tender down there for a week. She claimed it was because my cock was too big, or more precisely, too fat for her to suck. I insisted that she didn’t know how to do it, and should ask some of her girlfriends for advice. Carol denied lacking the proper skills and even offered to provide a list of satisfied customers that would attest to her talent. The second attempt was equally uncomfortable for me and I aborted the act before serious damage took place.

We compromised on her giving me hand jobs, with Carol doing a little lip and tongue work on the head. Each night that we would make out, inevitably we would end up naked and I would go down on her. Afterward she would bring out the vaseline and pump away. Carol claimed to enjoy it, especially the times when she would make me shoot high in the air. I enjoyed it more than I would have if I had been doing it myself, but still longed to make love to her, or make like if you will. So far, no amount of condom waving and pleading had met with any success.

Carol was a senior in high school, but I wasn’t robbing the cradle here, as she was a month older than yours truly. She had been held back a year in school at some point; the result of excessive absences she claimed, but you didn’t need to get into a prolonged conversation with the girl to make you have doubts about that.

Carol was a nice enough girl though, and we had a lot of fun when we got together. I knew I was just killing time with her, and think she felt the same way about me. Carol had been making noises of late about me taking her to her senior prom, an event that I was interested in about as much as a hot lead enema. It was almost time to think about parting ways, if only to give her a chance to rope some other sucker into taking her to the thing.

So it was on a warm Thursday afternoon in early April that I found myself in my room trying to study. I had the stereo going and the window open, two sure ways to distract me enough to insure a half-hearted learning experience.

I had Arlo Guthrie’s “Running Down the Road” album playing, and during his rendition of his father’s song, ‘Oklahoma Hills’, I heard a voice singing along with Arlo from across the driveway next door. Not singing well, but she knew the words.

It was Carol’s mother wailing away, and I stuck my head out of the window and applauded when the song was over.

“Thank you Davy” Carol’s mom yelled over at me. “Now there’s music I can listen too. Makes me think about growing up back home!”

I acıbadem escort had thought that she had come from North Carolina, so I didn’t get the connection, but what the hell? I put the needle back to the beginning and cranked it up louder. After it was over and the duet ended she called back over to me.

“C’mon over if you get the chance Davy, I got something to show you.”

I told her I would and shut the books for the day. Mrs. Elliot was a real piece of work, and always entertaining. Besides, I was running low on cigarettes, it was a chance to bum a couple of smokes from her. Chances are she was already half loaded by now, it being a little after one o’clock.

2. A cocktail with Carol’s mom.

I don’t know what time of the day she started drinking, but she could put it away. Four Roses was her beverage of choice, and she would lean on the kitchen counter and put them away like you wouldn’t believe. Straight too, mind you. None of that watering down or mixing it for her. The smell of the stuff alone was enough to make my stomach churn.

When I went next door and knocked, I heard her yell for me to come on in. She had assumed her position leaning on the counter, with a tumbler half filled with Four Roses right beside her.

We exchanged pleasantries, and she offered me a drink.

“You have anything to mix it with?” I asked hopefully, and got a snicker in response.

“There’s some ginger ale in the refrigerator Davy” she told me. “Drink it straight, it’ll put some hair on your chest! Looks like you got that already though.”

Shrugging in embarrassment, I poured a very weak highball and bummed a cigarette as well. Lucky Strikes, no filter and nasty as hell. Free though, which was a lot better than shelling out fifty cents for a pack.

I had brought the Arlo album over and she got excited when she saw it, and put it on the stereo in the living room.

“Here Davy, this is what I wanted to show you” she said motioning toward a picture on the counter.

It was a picture of her taken when she was probably around twenty, which had to be about thirty years ago. She was an attractive woman back then, and I mentioned how good looking she was.

“Wow, you were really a looker, Mrs. Elliot” I said.

“I had them chasing me back then alright” she chortled. “I didn’t run away from many of them either. And do me a favor. Call me Virginia, will ya? All of that Mrs. crap you deal out makes me feel ancient! Enough of that polite and gentlemanly shit! Besides, I don’t get it from anybody living here, so I ain’t used to it.”

I laughed when I thought of her family. Besides Carol, there were two other sisters and a brother. Mr. Ellis was husband number three that I knew off, and was only the father of Carol and one sister. The other two I assumed had been products of the first two marriages, and the three different last names in the household made for interesting but snide comments by the neighborhood gossip guild.

Now about fifty, Virginia was not nearly as good looking, of course, but far from a total wreck. She had put on considerable weight in the passing years, but it had taken a weird distribution on her body.

Mrs. Elliot… I mean, Virginia, was about five foot ten, with long, curly dark brown hair. She was heavy set from the waist up, with solid but large arms bigger than my own. She had a ridiculously small butt in comparison with the rest of her body, and legs that really were pretty nice looking. She had the look of a waitress or a barmaid, with a wisecracking attitude and a world-weary appearance.

You would never notice any of that right away when you first saw her. There was no way you could get beyond her most obvious physical features, no matter how hard you tried. It was like trying not to notice an elephant in the room.

Virginia had large breasts. That statement is just as descriptive as saying Wilt Chamberlain was tall. The sheer size of her breasts was almost scary. It was hard to picture what they would look like without that heavy duty contraption she wore, and I couldn’t imagine where you would be able to buy something like thatanyway.

Her breasts went down to her waist even with the harness, and the way those incredible torpedoes swung in front of her was almost cartoonish to watch. Mrs. Elliot didn’t wear clothes to accentuate that enormous bosom either, usually wearing bulky flannel shirts. Today was no exception, as she was wearing a red and white checkered shirt with the sleeves taken off. The top button of the blouse was undone however, and my eyes were drawn to her astonishing cleavage, causing me to stare despite my best efforts not to.

As we talked, I felt that something was a little different today than other times I had spoken with Mrs. Elliot. She was always friendly, and usually a little off color as well, but today she was speaking with even more of raunchy tone. Maybe it was the fact that no one else was home, or maybe she was a little more wasted than usual. Perhaps a combination atalar escort of both.

“Carol won’t be home until late today” Mrs. Elliot informed me. “Damn wingnut has detention again. They caught her smokin’ in the girls room.”

“Again?” I said. “How many times is that this year?”

“I lost track” Mrs. Elliot admitted. “So, you’ll have to wait to get your rocks for a while Davy!”

I felt my face flush in response to Mrs. Elliot’s insinuation that I would be making attempts at her daughter’s goodies and I assured her that my intentions toward her daughter were throughly honorable.

“Aw, cut the B.S. Davy, and anyway Carol ain’t my daughter, she’s Ted’s!” Mrs. Elliot cackled loudly while pouring another belt of whiskey, and splashing a little in my glass before I could stop her.

What a freakin’ convoluted family this was, I thought to myself. I had always assumed that Mrs. Elliot was Carol’s mother, with Carol calling her mom all the time and everything. Apparently Ted, her current husband, had brought Carol into this low-rent Brady Bunch from a previous union of his own. Geez, you needed a scorecard to figure out who was who in this place. I was getting stange vibes about this whole situation.

3. Cornering David.

“Don’t play innocent with me Dave” Mrs. Elliot said while leaning forward and exposing more of that Grand Canyon cleavage. “Bet you ain’t gotten into Carol’s snatch yet either, have ya?”

I mumbled a response that seemed to suggest once more that I wasn’t after Carol in that way, a statement that sounded even dumber than it reads.

“Ah, she’s too tight assed” Mrs. Elliot said in derision. “Says she’s trying to save herself for her husband. Damn, ain’t no way she’s gonna get a husband unless she puts out. Girl ain’t no rocket scientist, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there and watched an ice cube do laps in my glass as I jiggled it around. I was starting to feel really nervous, and almost choked when I belted down the drink, forgetting that Mrs. Elliot had spiced it up before.

“You gettin’ anything off her Davy?” Mrs. Elliot asked, walking away from the counter and coming over to me.

Mrs. Elliot reached toward me and went into my pocket, pulling out the match book that I had stashed in there. She smiled wryly as I jumped at her touch. Mrs Elliot then lit her cigarette, taking a deep drag before putting the matchbook back in my pocket.

I felt sweat cascading down my spine, and I was feeling a little lightheaded in response to what I feared was about to happen. I considered saying goodbye, turning around and walking out. Briefly considered it, and didn’t do it. Why didn’t I? I wasn’t attracted to this woman. Or was I?

“You play with her titties, dontcha Davy?” Mrs. Elliot said, standing so close to me I could smell the tobacco and booze oozing out from her pores. “She’s got a cute little pair on her, I got to admit that Davy. ‘Course, it ain’t the same as grabbin’ on to a real woman, though. You know what I mean?”

“I guess… uh… I don’t know” I stammered lamely.” Carol’s a great girl and umm… “

“Sure she is Davy” Mrs. Elliot said while leaning toward me even closer. “Except I don’t think she’s giving you what you need. If she was, you wouldn’t be staring at my jugs like you’re always doin’, would ya?”

“Er… um… I’m sorry. I… I… didn’t realize I was staring at you” I spit out almost incomphrensively, my eyes looking around for an exit.

“Don’t be sorry boy. You lookin’ makes me hot. Feels nice to have a young buck like you giving me the once over” Mrs. Elliot said with a little slur to her voice. “Big strappin’ boy like you, I’ll bet you’re packin’ a lotta pecker down there too. Carol said you’ve got a big one, but you don’t mind me checking for myself, do ya?”

I started to laugh at that crazy terminology but my laughter was choked off when Mrs. Elliot’s hand swung down and grabbed a handful of me. Grabbed it quick and accurately too, and I fell backward halfway into the pantry in shock.

“Where you goin’ there Davy?” Mrs. Elliot said while she kneaded my crotch with an iron grip.

“What if somebody comes home, Mrs. Elliot?”

“You worry too much Dave,” Mrs. Elliot said, “and for the last time stop calling me Mrs. Elliot. It’s not nice to call somebody by their last name when they’ve got your stuff in their hand. Mmmm… feels nice too. Nice and big.”

“It’s not big” I grunted, becoming aroused despite my terrified and intimidated self.

It wasn’t big, measuring at barely six inches every time I measured it if I strained enough, and what the hell was Carol doing talking to her mother about my dick anyway? You never heard Marcia Brady talking to Florence Henderson about cocks, at least no Brady Bunch episodes that I had caught.

“Lemme be the judge of that Davy” Mrs. Elliot said. “Why don’t you get your hands busy, boy? You’ve been staring at them long enough. Go ahead, you know damn well you want to.”

Mrs. aydınlı escort Elliot grabbed my hands and put them on those massive breasts, squeezing my hands into those oversized pillows. Meanwhile, she had managed to get the blouse unbuttoned the rest of the way and parted it for me, allowing me to grope her through her bra, which felt like it was steel reinforced when I grabbed it.

Mrs. Elliot grinned at my efforts in hefting her tits and shrugged the blouse off her shoulders. As she reached back to unhook her bra, I saw immense tufts of dark brown hair peeking out from under her arms. While I would have enjoyed a more prolonged view of that, my attention was diverted when her bra came unhooked and her breasts fairly exploded out of their restraint.

“Bet you ain’t used to anything like those, are ya Davy?” Mrs. Elliot asked pointedly, and clearly I hadn’t. Who had, besides all of her husbands, I figured. One girl I had been intimate with had big breasts, but nothing like these.

Mrs. Elliot’s breasts hung down to her waist, the huge bell shaped jugs capped with aureolas the size of drink coasters. I grabbed them and tried lifting, but the sheer weight and size made that nearly impossible, so instead I squeezed and kneaded the doughy globes as Mrs. Elliot went back to groping me.

I pulled on her thick brown nipples, and was instructed to be as rough as I wanted with them. Soon I was pulling and twisting them like I was milking a cow, and all Mrs. Elliot did was let out a soft moan.

My belt was getting undone, and Mrs. Elliot had my jeans down around my ankles before I knew what hit me. As her hand went back to grabbing me through my fruit of the looms, I was embarrassed when I felt the wetness where my cock had drooled in excitement. Mrs. Elliot was kind enough to not mention it, and was more interested in getting underneath my briefs.

She bent down and tugged them down roughly, and I felt my cock spring out from under the passing elastic, where it was immediately seized by Mrs. Elliot pudgy hand. She held it by the base of the shaft and pulled on it with a swift and twisting motion that seemed intent on removing it from my body. I groaned in response, which made Mrs. Elliot snicker.

“Like that Davy boy?” she asked as she milked my cock with an intensity that made my knees weak and threatened to cause a premature end to the fun.

“You ain’t so long down there Davy, but man oh man, this sucker is really thick!” Mrs. Elliot commented. “If you ever put this log into Carol you’d split that little girl in two.”

All I could say in response was to make little grunting noises, as I squirmed and tried to get Mrs. Elliot to ease up on me.

“What’s the matter Davy? Gettin’ a little excited are ya?” Mrs. Elliot cackled and acknowledged my affirmative nod. “Ever had your cock sucked? Really sucked, I mean?”

The croaking noise I made was supposed to be an I don’t know, but it didn’t matter to Mrs. Elliot. She knelt down with a little difficulty and as I looked down, she turned her head as if to cough, and fiddled around like she was taking gum out of her mouth. When her head emerged from behind her hands, she looked different, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

In any case, it was irrelevant as I watched her lips slide over the mushroom crown of my cock. She was nibbling and working her tongue around it, while working her way down. Her head began to bob up and down the length of my tool and soon her nose was disappearing into my pubic hair.

Now she was grinding her face into my crotch, having taken the entire thing into her mouth and seemingly looking for more. As she went up and down, it felt like my cock was going through a series of rollers, and the feeling was indescribable. There was no way I could hold back much longer, as her head kept crashing into my groin, driving me back further into the pantry.

I reached up to brace myself on a shelf, and sent a lazy susan spinning around by mistake. A box of Aunt Jemima pancake flour went over the edge and the Vermont Maid syrup girl kept spinning past me on that merry-go-round as I felt my orgasm begin. I had no chance to warn Mrs. Elliot, and I don’t think she was interested in one anyway.

My cock erupted into Mrs. Elliot’s eager mouth, and she pulled me deep into her as my cock jerked wildly. She seemed to be sucking harder, as if to siphon the seed out of me, and it kept spurting out in what felt like an impossible quantity.

My orgasm gradually faded, but Mrs. Elliot seemed not to have noticed, as she kept sucking madly away on my slowly deflating dick. It was starting to feel uncomfortable but her mouth kept sliding up and down energetically on my soon rubbery instrument. I thought about pulling her head off of me, since there was no way I was going to recover from that very quickly, and this was not very pleasurable for me.

Maybe it was the fact that I so rarely had the experience of such a wonderful act, or the fact that I was not sure when such a thing would ever happen again, but for whatever reason I let Mrs. Elliot keep going. I tried to lean into the shelves of the pantry in a more comfortable way, and even started straightening out the things on the shelf as Mrs. Elliot’s mouth pulled and stretched my cock relentlessly.

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