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I closed the door; undressed and turned on the shower.

I was naïve. I had no idea what was going on. Like I said, I never dated, and as far as what I had in my pants, I had no idea and no way to compare. I didn’t play sports, and after gym class, took a quick shower and got dressed. I never checked out other guys, and I never thought any of the guys were checking me out.

I had the shower curtain closed when Mrs. Wilton came in. “I’ll have your clothes washed and dried in no time,” she called.

Moments later, she was back. “Marty, I forgot to bring you a towel and washcloth.” This time, she opened the shower curtain and handed me the washcloth.

“Oh, my, oh Marty.” She stared. “You are indeed a man, not a little boy.” I was standing in the shower facing her. My cock wasn’t hard; just hanging there.

“MRS. WILTON!!!!”

I turned away.

“I’m sorry, Marty, it just happened, but I must say I am impressed. I mean, you have a very impressive penis. So big.”

“MRS. WILTON!!!!!!”

“I’m sorry, Marty. Look at you, you even have dust down on your back. Come over here and let me wash it for you.” Again, there was that commanding teacher’s voice.

I backed up and handed her the washcloth and the bar of soap.

“I can’t believe how dusty those fans were; Marty, you’re going to have to come by two or three times a year to help me dust them, but right now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

To my surprise and embarrassment, my cock was getting harder by the minute.

I was a teenage boy. Of course, I masturbated, but given all the times I did it, I never felt my cock get so hard, so quickly.

Then I did something that looking back was stupid.

I turned around. “Mrs. Wilton, you should . . .” I started to say leave because I was embarrassed.

“My God, Marty. I’ve never seen a penis like yours. Standing tall like that.”

She got on her knees, and giggled, “it probably needs a good washing, too.”

Her hands were soapy from washing my back, and she slid them up and down my shaft. “Marty, you’re magnificent, majestic. Mr. Wilton did not have what you have.”

“I-I-I. . .”

“Don’t say anything, Marty. Just let me enjoy. For a woman my age, this is the rarest of treats.”

While one hand was sliding up and down my shaft, the other was cupping my ball sack. “Hmmmmm, Marty, you have man-size testicles. You must shoot a lot.”

I didn’t say anything. I mean, it’s not like there’d been any girls who did what Mrs. Wilton was doing. The only shooting I did was when I masturbated and I wasn’t going to tell her about that.

My eyes focused on Mrs. Wilton’s hands. The one hand stroking my shaft was now massaging my circumcised cockhead.

I looked at Mrs. Wilton’s face. She was glowing as she played with my cock. ‘Played’ was the only word that made sense. I mean when I masturbated, I didn’t use masturbate, nor did I say I jerked off. I played.

“Marty, thank you. Mr. Wilton’s been gone ten years. I haven’t enjoyed the pleasure of a man far longer than that. You know he was sick for five years before he passed. You have the most beautiful penis, and so, so big and hard.”

Kind of like I did when I played with myself, Mrs. Wilton played with my cockhead, my stiff shaft, and my balls with her slippery hands.

And then kind of like I did when I played, I shot while Mrs. Wilton played.

Of course, I had no idea how other guys shoot, but I always felt good when I finished. I never concerned myself with how much or how long I shot. Having said that, I never remember shooting so much: one, two, three good blasts, so high, and then even more dribbled out. The first must have shot a foot in the air. A long, thick white rope.

“Oh Marty, oh Marty,” Mrs. Wilton sighed as she watched each blast. “That’s the most amazing, incredible thing I’ve seen in decades. Thank you.”

When I played with myself, after I finished, I let go of my cock, and rested, enjoying the euphoric moment. Sometimes, I jerked off a second time, but even then, it was at least an hour before I got hard again.

Maybe Mrs. Wilton didn’t know that, or Mr. Wilton was different. Mrs. Wilton kept stroking my cock and exploring it with her eyes.

Finally, she stopped, “Marty, why don’t you finish in the shower? I hope you’re discreet about this.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Wilton.”

“Thank you, Marty. You know I have a sterling reputation to maintain. I’ll see about your clothes. The washer is probably finished, but remember they still have to dry. I’ll find you something to put on until then, although I’d be happy if you walked around like this.” She smiled.

I blushed.

When I was finished, I found an old bathroom hanging behind the bathroom door. I tied it as tight as possible and walked into Mrs. Wilton’s living room.

I know it was silly. I mean she’d already seen it all. More than seen it, right?

“It’s going to be a while before your clothes are dry, Marty, why don’t you come over and sit next to me?”

I did.

“Now, Marty, I had so much fun with your penis. While we wait for your clothes, would you mind terribly if I played some more? Please, it’s been a long time.”

The truth is that Mrs. Wilton didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand was inside that bathrobe in no time.

I thought she was going to just use her hand like she did in the shower. I was wrong.

Mrs. Wilton scooted on to her knees. “Now Marty, you did promise that this is just between us.”

“I won’t tell a soul, Mrs. Wilton, promise.”

The next thing I knew Mrs. Wilton’s mouth was all over my cock.

I was naïve about sex but not stupid. However, I’d heard guys talk about blowjobs, but I didn’t believe girls did that; couldn’t believe it.

This was no girl; it was sixty-year-old Mrs. Wilton, and in the next few minutes I realized that this was not the first time she gave a blowjob.

I was mesmerized watching her lips slide up and down my cock. “Hmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmm, thank you, Marty,” she mumbled.

Even though I’d just cum a while ago, I could feel my cock throbbing; I was getting close. I started groaning.

The noises I made must have been a signal for Mrs. Wilton; she bobbed up and down faster and faster.

I felt myself spurt. When I masturbated a second time, it never felt like it felt now and Mrs. Wilton didn’t let a drop escape. “Marty, I can’t thank you enough. That was the best thing that’s happened to me in ages. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do it again in a few days.” Her voice and eyes told me she was pleading.

TO BE CONTINUED

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