Summer of '72

July 1972

Mitchell Falls Community Center

8:39 PM

Patrick Michael Flynn anxiously checked his watch, only to be frustrated that the minute hand hardly seemed to have moved since the last time he'd looked. He then sought out the large wall clock on the opposite side of the center's ballroom, only to find that it showed the same time.

'Damn, is this night never going to end?' he asked himself.

The party around him, in which everyone else seemed to be having a good time, was being held in honor of his parents' silver wedding anniversary. From his perspective, it really didn't seem much different than any of the usual monthly parties the Community Center held, except for the fact that he couldn't blow it off as he normally did, at least as he had since he'd entered his teens. Given a choice, he'd much rather have gone with his friends to the multiplex to see the latest Planet of the Apes film.

As he looked out on the dance floor, most of the faces he saw were familiar, people he'd known pretty much his whole life. Which in some ways wasn't really a good thing, because many of them still viewed him as the kid he was and not the adult he'd grown into. Never mind that he'd passed his eighteenth birthday almost a year ago.

Brushing back his thick black hair, the length of which was a constant point of contention between his father and himself, Patrick began to make his way toward the exit at the far end of the hall. His mother had promised him that if he stuck it out until at least nine, he could take off after that. It was too late for the movie, but he could still catch up with his friends at the diner they usually went to afterwards.

As the song the revelers on the floor had been dancing to came to an end and another began, Patrick wondered if the D. J. hired for the evening had heard any song played on the radio in the last decade. Okay, it was a predominantly older crowd, but would it have killed him to play something by Three Dog Night or the Rolling Stones? Hell, after two hours of Mitch Miller and Lawence Welk, he'd have even settled for the Partridge Family.

Checking his watch again, Patrick saw he still had ten minutes to go, causing him to consider just saying the hell with it and slipping out the door. After all, he still had to change out of the suit and tie he was wearing into the more comfortable clothes he'd brought along with him for after the party. But, tempting as the thought was, he decided not to risk it. It was doubtful that his father, who was holding court on the other side of the room with his buddies, would even notice, but the way Patrick's luck had been going of late, someone would later mention what time they'd seen him leave and that would just lead to another argument.

Patrick's streak of bad luck had started last month when he'd broken up with Violet Bannon, who he'd been dating since the last days of high school. When they'd first started going out, Patrick had thought he'd hit the jackpot. A short haired blonde who more than filled out her school uniform, Violet was the girl nearly every guy in school dreamed about. They'd gone to prom together, but since they'd only been together a few weeks, it was understandable that they didn't participate in any of the more rambunctious after prom traditions.

It didn't take long, however, a month really, for Patrick to discover that he and Violet had very different ideas as to what was and wasn't acceptable, as far as physical interactions went, while dating. A month into their relationship, she agreed to go with him up to Miller's Point, which had been a popular make out spot since before their grandparents' days. But instead of a hoped-for hand job, Patrick had been presented with 'the rules.'

Kissing was okay, but no tongue until they'd been dating a while. They would have to have an understanding, whatever that meant, before she would let him place his hand under her blouse or between her legs. The same held through for him, so, again, there wasn't going to be any hand job that night. Actual sex was reserved for her wedding night, and she made it very clear that, even after that, oral sex was never something she would do. Just the thought of putting her mouth on a man's thing made her nauseous, she said, as did the idea of a man doing the same to her.

If Patrick had been a virgin, as Violet certainly was, it might have been easier to live within those rigid parameters. Unfortunately, he hadn't been one since he'd briefly dated Janet DeCorvo last winter. The fiery redhead's view of sex was the opposite of the more reserved blonde's, and she had dropped her panties by their third date. Still, Patrick was convinced that, given time, he would get Violet to toss out the rule book. Or at least he was until last month, when he finally decided that the prize wasn't worth the effort.

Patrick had just about made it to the door when he heard someone call out his name, in a voice that was a reflection of his own.

"Patrick," the voice cried out, "Patrick, hold up."

Patrick tried to act like he hadn't heard his brother, but a sudden crush of people between him and a door made it impossible to reach it before he caught up to him.

Sean Michael Flynn had been born twenty minutes before Patrick, making him the older brother, something that he never let Patrick forget. Fraternal rather than identical twins, they looked no more alike than any other set of brothers. Both stood five nine with slim but well developed builds, and weighed within a few pounds of each other. The major difference between the two siblings was that Sean had acceded to his father's wishes and kept his hair at what the old man considered a respectable length.

"I've been standing right here for the last half hour," Patrick said, even though that was technically a lie, "so you can't have been looking that hard."

"Yeah, well, Mom is looking for you," Sean said, a smirk on his face that he made no attempt to hide.

Patrick didn't have to be that close to his brother to know that he'd made liberal use of New York's changing the drinking age to eighteen last year. The drink in his hand was definitely not his first, as evidenced by the smell on his breath and the slight slurring of his words. Despite also being entitled to legally drink now, Patrick had been a bit more circumspect, restricting himself to just the champagne toast earlier in the party since he was planning to go out afterwards.

"Did she say what she wanted?" Patrick asked, concerned that it might be something that could prevent him from leaving as planned.

"Not a clue, little brother," Sean replied. "I just know that she wants to see you before you go."

Patrick had long ago learned that, whenever his brother stressed the minor difference in their ages, caution had to be his watchword. He had no doubt that Sean knew exactly why their mother wanted him, but was keeping him in the dark so as to give him less time to think of a way of getting out of whatever it was.

They quickly found their mother and, once Patrick approached her, he started off the conversation by reminding her of her promise that he could leave after nine.

"I know, that's why I wanted to catch you before you left," Mary Flynn said. "I need you to do something for me first."

Even as he told himself that he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear, Patrick glanced in the direction of his brother, who was standing off to his right. The grin on his face reaffirmed his belief that Sean knew exactly what their mother was about to say.

"Before you head off to wherever it was that you were planning to go, I need you to drive Kit McCormick home," Mary said. "She's not feeling well."

Patrick immediately noted that his mother had said 'need' rather than 'could you,' making it more of a command than a request. At such times, it was almost pointless to argue about it, not that he couldn't still try.

"Can't Sean do it?" Patrick asked, recalling, but not mentioning, that the woman his mother was talking about lived in the opposite direction from the diner.

"As I'm sure you've already noticed, your brother has had a few drinks, enough that I'm not comfortable with having him get behind the wheel of a car," his mother firmly stated in a tone that reinforced the idea that she considered the matter already settled. "So, to answer your question, no, he can't."

The obvious solution, at least to Patrick, was to let her take a cab then, but he knew that his mother was never going to go along with that. So, reluctantly, he asked where he might find her.

"She's back in the game room watching your grandfather play cards," Mary said, a small smile of victory on her face.

The game room, Patrick knew from previous visits to the center, was behind the kitchen pantry, an add on to the original building that had originally been intended for storage. Far from the festivities in the main room, it allowed players to concentrate on their game, whatever it might be at the time. Tonight it was poker.

As he made his way back there, Patrick considered that it could've been worse. It had been five years since Michael Flynn had introduced Kit McCormick to the rest of his family as his 'lady friend.' -- an anachronistic term that Patrick always found funny. Even funnier was his need to introduce her at all, seeing that both his children and grandchildren had known Kit all of their lives. In fact, the two seniors had been friends long before any of them had been born.

Kit McCormick or, as she had been at the time, Katherine Grace Henderson, had been the maid of honor at the wedding of Michael Flynn and Joyce Brody. Joyce had returned the favor when Katherine married Pete McCormick years later. In the decades since the four were nearly inseparable, until Pete died in '65 and Joyce followed him two years later. Given their history, it seemed natural for the remaining spouses to turn to each other for companionship.

As he stepped into the game room, Patrick saw that all three of the octagon shaped poker tables were in use; not everyone had come to the center to attend the party. He didn't have to even look for his grandfather to know which table he was at, as his gregarious laugh could be heard all the way across the room. Following the sound, Patrick found the seventy-two year old sitting at the head of the furthest table, a cigar in his mouth and several stacks of multi-colored chips in front of him.

Standing just behind him, looking over his shoulder at the cards in his hand, was Kit McCormick. There were no other women in attendance, as none of the other participants' wives or girlfriends held any interest in the game. Kit on the other hand, not only enjoyed watching, but playing as well. If it were any other crowd, she'd have pulled up a chair and asked to be dealt in. But that, she knew, would be a bad idea. It was bad enough, based on the smaller piles of chips in front of the other players, that Mike Flynn was cleaning their clocks, but to have a woman do it would add insult to injury.

Patrick waited until the hand was finished before announcing his presence, coughing just loud enough to get his grandfather's attention. The old man looked up from the pot he had just added to his winnings and smiled broadly when he spotted the young man.

"Honey, your ride is here," he said as he then glanced over his shoulder.

It didn't escape Patrick's notice that, with the game momentarily paused, half of the men at the table turned to look at her as well. With rich chestnut hair, cut shorter than Patrick's, Kit stood five foot six and weighed about a hundred and thirty pounds. She had a solid frame and small but well defined breasts that were visible in her low cut green dress. Compared to other women her age at the party, the seventy year old certainly stood out.

"You're letting this lovely lady go home alone?" Tim Conner, who was sitting to Michael's left, asked, a noticeable admiration in his voice.

Michael looked at Tim and smiled ever so slightly when he saw the envy in his eyes. He had no doubt that his friend still loved his wife, but it was an affection that had been born half a lifetime before, one long stripped of passion. Dorothy Conner was a good woman, but she more resembled the grandmother she now was than the adventurous girl she'd once been.

"Can't leave while you gentlemen still have chips on the table," Michael offered with a grin.

"That's my man," Kit laughed as, leaning downward, she kissed Michael on his cheek. "Do you want me to wait up?"

"Nah, I'll be here a while," Michael replied. "I'll come over after the game."

"Be sure to bring your appetite," Kit said with a mischievous grin, "I'll make us a special late night snack."

As Michael picked up the deck in front of him and again began shuffling the cards, just about every man around the table looked at him with envy.

-=-=-=-

Using the delivery entrance at the back of the game room to avoid having to go through the crowd again, Patrick and Kit exited into the rear parking lot, which was where he had his car. The 1953 Corvette actually belonged to his grandfather, but he let both brothers use it whenever they wanted. It had close to ninety thousand miles, but had been maintained with such care that it was still in good condition.

"My mother said that you weren't feeling well?" Patrick asked as he opened the passenger door for Kit.

"Just a little headache," Kit explained as she slipped into the red leather seat and Patrick closed the door behind her. "It's actually pretty much gone already, but I still thought I should call it a night."

"Glad to hear," Patrick said, feeling a small relief that he wouldn't have to worry about her barfing all over the car.

As he moved over to the driver's side, Kit ran her hand across the red trimmed dash, remembering that the car had been a gift from Joyce to Michael for his fifty-third birthday. She recalled Joyce saying at the time that her husband had reached the point where men usually had a mid-life crisis, resulting in either running out and getting a sports car or having an affair. Not that she was worried, but it didn't hurt to make the choice for him.

"I hope I'm not taking you away from the party," Kit said as Patrick began to back the car out of its parking spot.

"Nah, I was about to leave anyway," Patrick smiled.

"Hot date?" Kit inquired.

"I wish," Patrick laughed as he swung the car around in the direction of the exit that led to the county road. "I'm just going to catch up with a few of my friends."

"Well, it was nice of you to offer me a lift home before you do," Kit said as the car passed through the open gates and turned onto the paved road.

"My pleasure," Patrick replied, thinking it best not to mention that he'd hardly been given a say in the matter.

Still, even if he had, it was more than likely he would've volunteered to drive her home. Of all his grandfather's friends, Kit McCormick was the one he liked the most. She had a way about her that set her apart from her contemporaries, an enthusiasm for life that hadn't faded with age.

"I was surprised that you didn't bring anyone to the party," Kit said as they traveled the nearly empty road. "I thought you were seeing Violet Bannon, or at least that's what your grandfather told me."

"Were being the key word," Patrick replied, glancing toward her just long enough to flash a smile. "Things just didn't work out."

"That's a shame," Kit offered. "I've seen her in the store a few times; she seemed like a lovely girl."

After her husband's death, Kit had continued to operate the popular confectionery the two of them had opened shortly after marrying. While not exactly a woman of means, she had a secure enough income that she didn't need a man in her life if she didn't want one.

Kit's home, which Patrick had visited a few times when younger, was about a half mile past the town limits, an old farmhouse centered on an acre and a half tract. The farmland around it had long ago been sold off, but the remaining spread was still large enough to give her all the privacy she could want. At this time of night, most people were already where they wanted to spend the evening, so there had been little traffic to slow them down. By a quarter to ten, they were sitting in front of it.

"I want to thank you again for the ride," Kit said as she gathered her things.

"I was glad to do it," Patrick replied.

Kit began to open the passenger door, but then paused, turning back to again face Patrick.

"Are your friends already waiting for you?" she asked. "What I mean is, could you take a few minutes to help me with something?"

Patrick knew that the movie his friends had gone to see didn't let out for another half hour, so he had plenty of time to meet up with them.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"I have a storage box that I need to have moved up to the attic," Kit explained. "Your grandfather said he would do it, but I really think it's too heavy for him to lift and I'd rather he didn't try."

"Sure, I'll do it," Patrick said, thinking it should only take a few minutes at best.

Patrick followed Kit through the front door and into a large living room, which was decorated in what she described as mid-century modern, although most of the pieces had been made before the teenager had even been born. One item in particular, even older than the rest, caught his eye, as it hadn't been there the last time he'd visited. An upright piano that had once graced a turn of the century saloon -- an establishment that had belonged to Kit's father. Resting atop it was a row of framed photographs, snippets of memories that spanned a lifetime.

All but one of the images were familiar to Patrick, and it was the new addition that drew his attention now. It showed two young women dressed in outfits that were no doubt considered risqué for their time. Both dresses were black in color with fringed hems far above the knees and spaghetti straps on top. A double band of pearls completed each ensemble, along with headbands capped with a single feather. Patrick remembered seeing costumes like that in an old gangster movie about the roaring twenties. In fact, there was a small handwritten inscription in the lower left corner that read -- The Green Mill, Chicago 1924.

"Is this you?" he asked, indicating the young woman on the right as he noticed a familiar smile.

"Yes it is, " Kit replied with a broad smile. " Wasn't I a dish?"

Patrick didn't say it out loud, but he had to agree.

"What was the Green Mill?" he asked.

"That was Al Capone's favorite speakeasy," Kit replied, "back in the bad old days."

"Wow, did you ever see him there?" Patrick asked excitedly.

"A few times," she answered, "but just from a distance."

"Who's the other girl?" he then asked out of curiosity.

"You don't recognize her?" Kit said, pausing long enough to give him time to take a second look before answering. "That's your grandmother."

"For real?" the young man said in disbelief.

"You mightn't realize it, kid, but back in the day, Joyce Brody was the cat's meow."

As awkward as it felt to admit it, Patrick had to say that his grandmother had indeed been a babe. He'd seen photos of her when she was young before, but nothing like this.

"When did she live in Chicago?" he asked, having thought his grandmother had lived in Indiana her whole life.

"The two of us shared an apartment there after high school," Kit explained. "Two girls in the big city, searching for fame and fortune. We didn't find either, though. I dug that photo out after Joyce passed, a reminder that we were once young and beautiful."

"I think you're still beautiful," Patrick said almost automatically.

"I think I'd have liked it more if you'd said I was still young," Kit laughed, "but I'll take what compliments I get."

Actually, Patrick thought that was also true. Which was a funny thing to think about someone that was nearly four times his age. There was something about Kit that seemed timeless, as if the years had no hold on her. No one was going to mistake her for a fifty year old, but neither would the age on her driver's license be anyone's first guess either.

"You know, I never really thought about it before, but you really look like your grandfather," Kit said, interrupting his musings. "I mean, how he looked back when that photo was taken. There was another one just like this with only him and Joyce, but I don't know what happened to it. Probably locked away in a drawer somewhere, if it still exists."

"Grandpa met grandma in a speakeasy?" Patrick said, surprise in his tone.

"Well, they were hardly grandma and grandpa back then," Kit laughed.

"I guess not," he had to agree.

"I actually was the one who introduced your grandparents to each other," Kit offered. "Did they ever tell you that?"

"I believe they might have mentioned it a time or two," Patrick chuckled, realizing now that there was more to the story than he'd been told.

"It wasn't as simple as that," Kit unexpectedly added, almost as if she could read his mind. "Truth to be told, I was dating Michael first and Joyce stole him away from me."

"What?" Patrick said, his surprise even greater than before.

"Oh, I'm probably making it sound worse than it was," Kit now also laughed. "To be honest, we'd only gone out a few times, but the moment I introduced him to Joyce, he was totally smitten. To the point where, after that, I don't think he would've noticed me if I'd been standing there stark naked."

Almost involuntarily, Patrick glanced back at the younger version of Kit in the photograph, finding himself imagining what that might've looked like.

"But you remained friends?" Patrick said, his comment a mixture of both statement and question.

"Joyce and I were closer than sisters." Kit replied. "I wasn't going to let a silly thing like a man change that. Another one would come along soon enough, and eventually one that looked at me like Michael did at her."

A pause filled the air, during which a brief look of sadness crossed Kit's face. It wasn't hard for Patrick to think that she was acknowledging the fact that both the people she just mentioned were now gone.

"The box is up in the second floor hall," Kit then said, drawing Patrick away from the photo display.

The box was indeed heavier than it looked and Patrick almost dropped it as he carried it up the drop ladder to the attic. In fact, he also nearly lost his footing as he shoved it into the opening, only to have Kit reach up and press her hands against his ass, helping him maintain his balance.

"You were right, that would've been way too much for my grandfather," Patrick said as he stepped back off the ladder, ignoring the fact that the unexpected contact between them had caused an involuntary reaction that he hoped didn't show.

"Again, thank you so much," Kit said, giving no indication that she had noticed anything.

"It was nothing," Patrick replied, just as a painful twinge in his shoulder demonstrated that it had been anything but.

"Oh, you hurt yourself," Kit said, having noticed the flash of discomfort on his face.

"Just a twinge," Patrick replied. "It's already passed."

'Nevertheless, let me take a look at it," Kit insisted.

She led him down the back stairs that led to the kitchen, sitting him down on one of the metal chairs around the Formica table. Reaching into one of the cabinets, Kit removed a small bottle of liniment.

"You're going to have to take your shirt off," she said as she spread the ointment across her hands.

Patrick had removed his tie and jacket before attempting to lift the box, so it was a simple matter to undo the dress shirt he'd worn beneath them. Anticipating changing into a t-shirt after the party, he had forgone wearing one under his suit, giving Kit a clear view of his smooth muscled form.

"I have to say, working for your father's furniture delivery service certainly has done you wonders," Kit remarked, comparing the body of the young man before her to the child of only a few years before.

Patrick winced slightly as he felt the pressure of Kit's hands on his shoulder, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed. The pain and look of discomfort soon faded, however, as the older woman moved her hands back and forth, with a strength he hadn't expected.

"A little more of this and you should feel fine," Kit commented as she massaged his strained muscles. "I can't tell you how many times I've done this for both my husband and later your grandfather."

Patrick had to admit, her hands did feel good.

"There, that should do it," Kit said a few minutes later, "good as new."

Patrick smiled as he flexed his shoulder, pleased to find it no longer hurt.

"It feels great, thank you," he said.

"Well, it's the least I could do," Kit smiled, "seeing that you hurt it doing me a favor."

"I was glad to help," Patrick insisted.

"Still, I feel responsible," she replied, rubbing her hand across his bare shoulder as if to wipe away some last remnant of the lotion. "I know you said you were going to meet up with some of your friends, but could I make you something before you go, just as a sort of thank you?"

"No, I'm fine," the young man smiled as he reached over to the adjacent chair where he'd draped his shirt.

"Are you sure," Kit asked again, "there's nothing I can get you?"

"Nah, I'm good," Patrick replied as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his shirt and began to redo the buttons.

"Really?" Kit asked as, reaching out with her hand, she laid the palm of it on the still exposed center of his chest. "You wouldn't even like a little blow job?"

-=-=-=-

Patrick's first reaction was that he had heard her wrong, and then, when he realized that he hadn't, he assumed that it had to be a joke. His grandparents always said that Kit had a sometimes wicked sense of humor.

"You're kidding, right?" he said, forcing a smile.

"No, I'm quite serious," the older woman insisted. "I'm quite good at them, you know. Then again, I've been giving them for fifty years."

'This can't be real,' Patrick thought, but then had to admit that it was.

"But you and my grandfather..." he started to say.

"... are just friends," Kit replied. "Good friends, but just friends. Oh, I let him act otherwise so he can impress his buddies, but to be totally honest, his days of satisfying a woman were already over back when your grandmother was still with us."

"I don't understand," Patrick said.

"He really didn't make a big deal of it at the time, so you might not even remember, but your grandfather had cancer surgery about ten years ago," Kit explained. "Surgery that made some things no longer possible."

Patrick barely remembered that, but then again, he would've only been eight at the time.

"That's sometimes hard for a man to deal with," Kit went on. "It became even more difficult after Joyce passed away. So, since it made him feel better that his friends still thought he could, I agreed to play the girlfriend."

"So, you don't love my grandfather?" Patrick said.

"Of course I do," Kit smiled. "He's always been very dear to me. But, because of his limitations, it's a platonic love, and while that might be enough for some women, it's not for me."

"I still don't understand," Patrick said, visibly confused. "What do you get out of this?"

"Well, I get his companionship, which I treasure greatly," Kit replied. "Also, having people think we're in a relationship helps shield me from, shall I say, unwanted attention. You'd be amazed how horny some of these old buggers still are."

Recalling the looks of the men around the card table earlier, Patrick wasn't surprised by her remark.

"I'd always had a rather robust sex drive," Kit continued, "and menopause, which I went through rather late, did little to dampen those desires. In fact, I think it actually made them more intense. So much so that there were times when Pete could barely keep up with me. He did his best though, and because I loved him, that was enough. But then, after he was gone and other men made their interest known, it occurred to me, why trudge along in a Pinto when I could race down the road in a Ferrari?"

It took a long moment for the light bulb over Patrick's head to go off, but when it did, it did so with an alarming intensity.

"You're talking about younger lovers," he said, the response landing between a question and statement.

The smile on Kit's face said that was exactly what she meant, to which she added, "A surprising number of whom, I've discovered, find find the idea of being with an uninhibited older woman quite exciting."

As he tried to digest what Kit had just said, Patrick thought of the celebrity gossip magazines that his mother loved to read at the supermarket checkout counter. Specifically, those with photos of older actresses constantly being linked with younger men. But that was Hollywood, not Mitchell Falls. Things like that didn't happen here -- yet it seemed they did. Then, another thought filled his head, eclipsing any other.

"Does my grandfather know that you see other men?" Patrick asked, concerned that he might not, and would feel like a fool if it ever came out.

"Well, first of all, I wouldn't exactly call it 'seeing anyone,' because that implies a continuing relationship, whereas what I'm talking about is the occasional tryst," Kit replied. "But, to answer your question, yes, he does. Joyce did too."

That, Patrick realized, meant that Kit has been doing this for over five years -- and no one else had any idea.

"I can see the surprise on your face," Kit smiled, "but it's not as hard to keep something like that secret as you might think. You just have to be judicious in selecting partners."

"Why me then?" Patrick asked, while thinking that doing so could hardly be called prudent.

"That's an excellent question," Kit admitted after a pause, "and I wish I had an answer. Believe me when I say that I'm more surprised at what I did than you are."

For some reason, Patrick did believe her.

"The men I usually have my little tête-à-têtes with tend to be older than you, by at least ten to twenty years," she added. "And I'm usually a firm believer in that old adage about keeping indiscretions far from home. So I don't include anyone within my social circle. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I seemed to have abandoned both precepts in your case."

Again she paused for a long moment.

"But as I think about it more, it's possible that I did so because you remind me so much of your grandfather, or at least how he once was," she said. "A silly thing to do, I know, because you're certainly not him. Although, if anything, I think you're even more handsome."

Patrick couldn't be sure, but if he were to look into a mirror right now, he wouldn't have been surprised to see he was blushing.

"But as they say, what's done is done," Kit said as she took a step closer to his chair, cutting the distance between them in half, "and having been done in this way, it can't be taken back. So, I guess the question still is, are you interested in having an old lady suck your cock?"

-=-=-=-

Looking back later, Patrick couldn't recall if he'd ever actually said yes. What he did remember was Kit lifting out of the chair and, with his back up against the metal framed table, her dropping to her knees in front of him. Taking his belt buckle in hand, she slowly undid both it and the zipper of the pants beneath it. She paused for a breath, looking up at him in search of any objection, then reached inside those pants and pulled out his cock. A cock that was rock hard, which probably said more than anything he might have voiced aloud.

"You have a beautiful cock, has anyone told you that?" Kit said as, cradling his balls in one hand, she gently ran the fingers of the other one along his length.

'God, is this really happening?' Patrick thought as he looked down and watched the septuagenarian caress his cock, the excitement of her touch sending electrifying ripples across his body.

Moving closer, Kit extended her tongue and ran the tip of it along the underside of his shaft, from the base to the underside of its crown. Then, after swirling the flat of it over the mushroom shaped cap, she wrapped her lips around its width, sliding it into her mouth.

The warmth and excitement of that embrace was almost enough to make him come right there and then. Janet had sucked him briefly before climbing on top of him, and there had been a 'professional' at his brother-in-law's bachelor party who had demonstrated her talents on the groomsmen, but neither experience compared to what Patrick felt now. Kit's declaration about her cocksucking skills proved true as she slid his hardness in and out of her mouth. Again rolling her tongue back and forth across its length, the older woman effortlessly swallowed him whole, bringing forth previously hereto undreamed-of pleasures.

Pleasures which only grew as, sliding his pants down a bit more, Kit exposed his balls and, even as one hand continued to pump his cock into her mouth, the other stroked the highly sensitive flesh below. Patrick stretched his arms back onto the table for support as his legs began to feel weak.

"Oh that feels so good," he softly moaned.

Pleased with his reaction, Kit let his cock slip from her mouth and shifted her position further downward, replacing the caress of her fingers against his balls with that of her tongue. Using the hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, she lifted it higher, allowing her to reach even further under it. At the same time, she reached around to his back where, taking hold of the waistband of his pants, she pulled them further down, taking with them the white briefs beneath. They came to rest along his thighs, leaving the cheeks of his ass above exposed.

Closing her mouth around it once more, Kit continued to suck his cock, while at the same time, she ran her free hand across his hip to take hold of his right mound, squeezing the pliant flesh. She then moved her extended hand to between both cheeks, holding him steady as she quickened the pace of her ministrations.

Her hand took hold of his balls, holding them lovingly as, after sliding his cock in and out of her mouth a few more times, she released her hold on it and again ran an extended tongue up and down its length, this time continuing down to the small orbs, taking them one at a time between her lips.

It went on for a few more minutes, then she released her holds on both his cock and ass, pulling her body just far enough back to allow her to lift herself back upward. The move surprised Patrick, but not much as the one that followed as, taking a step back toward him, Kit slipped a hand behind his head and pulled his mouth to hers.

The strangeness Patrick had felt, in having a woman Kit's age perform fellatio on him, paled next to that of having her slip her tongue, first along his lips, and then into his mouth. The move startled him for a moment, but then, reflexively, he found himself responding to the penetration, reaching out with his own tongue, caressing the underside of hers, and then following it back into her own mouth as it withdrew.

They kissed a second time, then a third, each lasting longer and becoming more intimate than the one before it. Adding to the excitement that filled him, Kit took hold of one of his hands and laid it against her breast, inviting him to feel both the harness of her stiffened nipple through her dress and the softness of the flesh around it.

"Would you like to see my boobies?" she asked after another kiss.

Patrick heard himself say yes without thinking about it.

Kit took two large steps back, reaching for the top button on the front of her dress. She could see Patrick's eyes following the movement of her hands, his attention shifting back and forth between their progression to the ones below it and the exposed flesh above them. As more came undone and the dress fell off of her, the teen could see not only the white bra and panty girdle combo under it, but the suspender straps that connected it to the old fashioned stockings beneath them. Most girls he knew had abandoned such nylons in favor of pantyhose, so to actually see them outside of a department store catalogue was a treat.

Reaching behind to the small clasps holding her bra right against her chest, Kit undid them with well-practiced precision. The now loose undergarment fell forward slightly, now only held in place by its shoulder straps. Bands which the older woman slowly glided down her arms while holding the covering over her breasts in place with one hand. Once that was all that was keeping them hidden, she released her hold and let it fall by the wayside.

Like most of his friends, Patrick had done an extensive survey of women's breasts sizes during his formative years, relying on both the aforementioned clothing catalogs and the occasional nudie magazine, as well as hours of personal observation of almost any girl that came into view. He quickly decided that Kit's would be considered of medium size, and if he could read the small tag on the now discarded support top, he would've seen that it was a size 32C. While most guys claimed to prefer big boobs, Patrick could see the advantage of smaller mounds as, while they understandably didn't display the same resiliency that they did on that old photograph on the piano, they still held up pretty well. His opinion, he later realized, might've been influenced by the fact that they were the first set of breasts he'd seen fully uncovered, but even so, he was suitably impressed.

"Do you like them?" Kit asked as, bringing a hand up to the underside of each mound, she ran her thumbs over the dark areolas, tweaking the stubby nipples in the center of each.

"They're beautiful," he replied.

"Nicer than Violet's?" Kit asked humorously as she dropped her hands and stepped back toward him.

"I think so," Patrick replied.

"You think so?" she responded, even though she'd only asked the question as a joke.

"I've never actually seen Violet's breasts, well, at least not like this," he admitted. "She was still only letting me touch them under her blouse when we broke up."

"And you were going out with her for how long?" Kit asked.

Patrick took the question to be rhetorical and merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, feel free to touch, or do anything else you like with these," Kit offered as she closed the distance between them even more.

Patrick reached out and placed the palms of his hands on her breasts, duplicating her own actions of a few minutes before. They felt warm in his hands, warm and soft as he gently squeezed them. He didn't have a lot of experience to compare their feel against, but they felt nice to him. Feeling emboldened, he lifted one upward and tilting his head to meet it, kissed its nipple.

His tongue washed across it, twirling around the circumference of the halo around the excited nub. Then, wrapping his lips around its length, Patrick pulled it into his mouth.

"Mmmm," Kit moaned softly, reaching out with one of her hands and stroking the back of Patrick's head. "You do that well."

The teenager suckled on her breast for a few moments more, then shifted his attention to its twin, repeating his actions on the first. Kit responded accordingly, encouraging him even more. At the same time, she reached down and took his still hard cock in hand, playfully giving it a few hard tugs before settling down into a gentler stroking motion. They continued for a bit, with Patrick continuing to move back and forth between her breasts and Kit pumping his cock up and down with her hand.

"Why don't we get out of the rest of these clothes?" Kit abruptly suggested.

The unexpected suggestion gave Patrick pause, but only for a moment, especially after Kit's follow up.

"Well, you can't really fuck me if we're still half dressed, can you?" Kit said with a wicked smile.

Before Kit could even have her girdle off, whatever remained of Patrick's best suit was scattered on the kitchen floor.

It took a bit longer for Kit to divest herself of her remaining undergarments and her stockings, taking care not to tear the latter while doing so. Unlike her young lover, she took the time to carefully set her ensemble down on the edge of the far counter.

As Patrick watched her do so, he had time to fully take in her body. It was hardly the stuff of the magazines he and his brother kept hidden in the bottom of their bedroom closet, but it did have its attractions. Most notable of which was the thick white and grey thicket of hair covering her pubic mound. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen in those periodicals.

Reaching into the cabinet above where she'd set down her clothes, Kit removed a small bottle filled with a white liquid. After pouring a good measure of it into her hand, she reached down between her legs and, pressing her fingers in and out of herself, spread the fluid along the walls of her pussy. As he was only able to see part of what she was doing, the action confused Patrick.

"When you get to be my age, you sometimes need a little help for things to run smoothly," Kit explained when she saw his mystified expression. "There are better things to use, but in a pinch coconut oil works just fine."

After putting the bottle down on the counter and rinsing off her hands in the sink, Kit leaned her body forward, resting one hand on the side of the stove and the other against the countertop. Spreading her legs, she looked back over her shoulder and gave Patrick an inviting smile.

"Any time you're ready," Kit said as she focused her gaze on the erect manhood jutting from between his legs.

The incongruity of having sex right here in the kitchen, rather than moving upstairs to her bedroom, filled Patrick with a strange excitement, one that caused a slight hesitation.

"You do know which hole it goes in, right?" Kit laughed in response to his vacillation.

"Yes," the young man responded with a grin as he crossed the room.

Patrick laid his hands on the cheeks of her ass, rubbing his fingers against the plump mounds as he spread them open. Then, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock while using the other to keep his path clear, he laid the head of it against the folds of her pussy.

It had been Janet who had, quite literally, initiated his entry into manhood, guiding his cock into her as she'd lowered her body onto his and then controlled the pace of their brief joining. Still, between the stories he'd heard and the stag film he'd seen at the bachelor party, Patrick had a good idea what to do. He rubbed his cockhead back and forth against her sex a few times, coating it with the slippery oil she'd applied. Then, slowly pressing forward, he leaned into her until first the tip, and then the shaft behind it, disappeared within her.

"Oh yes, that feels good," Kit moaned loudly as she felt him fill her.

Patrick also moaned, although somewhat more softly, as he felt the walls of her pussy close around his cock. As he slowly moved his cock in and out, holding Kit tightly by her hips, he considered that, among his friends, it was practically common wisdom that an older woman couldn't be as good a fuck as a younger one -- due not only to age, but to the number of times they'd done it. If that was actually true, Patrick didn't have the experience to tell. All he knew was that, at this moment, he was in heaven.

The dark haired teen quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of Kit's pussy, his thrusts growing in speed and confidence with each repetition. A continuing series of vocal praises added to that as the older woman balanced herself against the countertop with one hand while reaching down between her legs with the other. Her eager fingers quickly sought out her clitoris, stroking it in a well-practiced motion that sent repeated waves of delight washing over her quivering form.

Patrick reached under her body as well, closing a hand around one of her breasts, his fingers playing against her extended nipple, alternating his attention between it and the supple flesh around it. Kit soon timed her movement to his, matching the motion of his body with that of her own.

After a while, though, that wasn't enough, at least for Kit. She told him to pull out of her, which he did reluctantly, then set him down on one of the table chairs, which she had pulled out into the center of the room. Standing before him, she leaned down and kissed him softly, her tongue briefly making contact with his lips as it brushed across them.

Then, turning herself around, Kit straddled his sitting form and, after taking hold of his cock, guided it back inside of her. The feel of her core again engulfing him was as pleasing to Patrick as it had been the first time, a pleasure that grew in intensity as the older woman repeatedly massaged his hardness with her own sensitive flesh.

With her hand set firmly on her own hips, Kit bounced on his cock with abandon, her unrestricted breasts swaying to and fro. Patrick leaned back against the hard back of the chair, his hands tightly gripping the bar under the seat as resounding waves of pleasure raced across his body. At one point, he again brought his hands up to her breasts, repeating his earlier performance, this time in stereo. He didn't think it could get any better, but soon enough learned he was wrong.

Lifting herself off of him, Kit lifted him out of the chair and, after pushing off in the direction of the table, stretched out on the linoleum covered floor. Patrick quickly joined her, settling in behind her and, guiding his hardness with his own hand this time, once more filled her with its entirety.

Reaching across her chest, he again gripped one of her breasts, holding it tightly as he repeatedly drove his cock as far as it would go inside of her. Kit, whose own hand had gripped and raised the lower half of her right leg to allow him better access, cried out for him to go even faster, urging him to fuck her like a cheap whore.

Patrick was shocked to hear Kit speak like that, but not so much that he hesitated in complying. As he did so, Kit dropped her other hand down between her legs and added to Patrick's efforts by once more seeking out her clitoris, bringing forth the pleasures that only a lifetime's familiarity with it could bring.

"I'm going to come," Patrick cried out in warning.

"No, not yet," Kit called out in response, even as she began to untangle herself. "I want you to come on my face."

After everything else that had happened tonight, the unexpected request barely fazed the young man as, lifting himself onto his knees, he took hold of his cock and began furiously pumping it, aiming its length in the direction Kit had requested.

As he did so, the same time, Kit continued her own ministrations, efforts that carried her just as far down the road to orgasm as Patrick's had brought him. The explosion within her paralleled that inside the teenager, both their bodies rocking in response to the explosive climax while streamlets of white splashed across Kit's breasts and face. A climax that didn't end until the younger man was fully spent.

Lifting herself off the floor, Kit reached out for his cock and, bringing her mouth to it, used her tongue to lick away the last vestiges of his eruption. Then she swirled the flat of her tongue across her lips, gathering up those remnants as well.

"God, that was unbelievable," Patrick said once he'd regained his equilibrium.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Kit said with a broad grin. "I know I certainly did."

"It was amazing," Patrick said, with the risk of sounding redundant.

"Was I your first?" Kit asked out of curiosity.

"No," Patrick replied a bit hesitantly, worried for a second that the response might disappoint the older woman.

"That's okay, I didn't expect it to have been for a good looking young man like yourself," she said with a broad grin. "But was I at least the best?"

"There was no comparison," Patrick stated with complete honesty.

That made Kit smile even more.

"You know this is our little secret, right?" she then said.

"Oh absolutely," Patrick immediately replied, thinking that no one would believe him anyway.

Kit continued to lightly stroke his cock, slightly surprised that it was still half hard. But then again, that was one of the advantages of someone Patrick's age. In fact, his resilience was impressive enough to make her want more. She hadn't planned to take this as far as it had gone, but now that it had?

"Patrick, do you know how to eat pussy?" she asked him.

"No," he said.

"Would you like to learn?" she added.

Remembering what Kit had said earlier about exercising caution, Patrick reminded her that her grandfather had said he would stop by once the game broke up.

"Oh, that was just for show," Kit laughed. "After staying up all night playing cards, I'd be surprised if Michael showed up here until after lunch."

"Then could we do it in bed this time?" Patrick asked, realizing, now he was no longer in the throes of passion, that the floor had hardly been the most comfortable place to do it.

"I don't see why not," Kit replied as, rising to her feet, she extended a hand to help Patrick do so as well.

As they headed, still nude, back up the stairs to the second floor, both knew they were going to have to decide if this was going to be a one-time thing or something longer. But that was a question for tomorrow; tonight would be for whatever she could teach him before that.

END