Nate’s Summer #19: Lady Librarian

Nate's Mom asked Nate to drop off some books at the town library, just as a wicked mid-Summer storm hits. Nate is trapped in the library with one of the volunteers, who turns out to be Nate's ex-girlfriend's grandmother. There is an anal scene so if you don't like that, pass this one by. All characters are over 18

When I finally got out of Mrs. Hartwell's place, it was like 3:30 AM. The walk home was not too bad, and when I arrived, I remembered Mom was going to be at Aunt Peggy's all night. Once I got into the house, I crawled into bed and was dead asleep in minutes.

When Mom woke me, sunlight was beaming right into my eyeballs. That was bad, since the sun didn't hit my room until late in the afternoon. I looked over at my AM/FM TV radio with a flip clock and saw it was 4:21. Mom was not happy.

She stood in the doorway wearing red short shorts, a blue button-up jean shirt with the front tails tied in a knot, and a red bandanna fastened around her hair. With her blonde hair and big tits, she looked like Dolly Parton cleaning up a hen coop somewhere in Tennessee or wherever she was from.

Mom looked and sounded angry. "Nate, are you going to sleep the day away? You promised you would help me take the boxes of your father's junk books to the library to get them out of here. The library is about to close, and a storm is coming. I want those things gone! Get dressed and go!" She slammed the door to my room behind her to show her anger. I always knew she was angry when she slammed doors and drawers.

I pulled on some jeans and my black Led Zeppelin tour T-shirt, along with my topsiders, and walked into the kitchen. There, Mom stood at the stove, furiously scrubbing black marks between the burners, and her bra-less jugs rocked and swayed to the beat under her tied-up shirt. I stood and watched for a moment, grinning at the scene when she looked up at me, wiping her brow with the back of her hand that held a sponge.

"What are you grinning at, Nate?" Then she looked down at herself and shook her head, with a cross look on her face.

Before she could launch into me, I quickly asked, "Where are the boxes you want me to bring to the library?"

That mollified her, and she went back to scrubbing. "I moved them into the carport on top of the workbench. Hurry, Nate, it is almost 5."

There were a couple of boxes left where Mom had said, filled with Dad's paperbacks, his collection of National Geographics with pictures of naked native women, and a few other magazines. I had already pored over everything in the box, so I knew every picture by heart, and I had no doubt why Mom was getting rid of those.

But what did she have against Mickey Spillane and Ian Fleming? I had read all those books and thought they were great, but Mom said they had to go, so to the library I went.

The library was downtown, not too far from the Bishop's offices and the Mayor's residence. It was one of those Carnegie Libraries built back in the 1920s. I had always thought it looked like a castle, with its rounded bay windows and high, pointed roofs. There were like a dozen entrances to the place, so I pulled into the parking lot in the back and parked.

The skies had become dark and ominous. Lightning was flashing in the west, and drops of rain started to hit around me in the parking lot. The weird thing was that directly above my head, it was still bright sunshine. Dad used to say that meant "The Devil was beating his wife with a frying pan." Mom did not appreciate that observation, but I would say it all the time. Like I did right then, but only to myself.

I pulled the boxes out of the trunk of my car and was lugging them to the back entrance when a woman I thought I recognized as one of the librarians came running out of a side entrance. She wore a long blue skirt and a white blouse, holding a tissue to her face as if she were crying. She quickly got into her car, which was parked on a side street. She drove away before I could get close enough to yell at her to find out if she had closed early.

Shrugging, I went to the back door and pulled it open. I had to balance the boxes on my knee to reach the handle, which was one of those you unlatched by pressing the lever down with your thumb. The whole door stuck on the first pull, so I had to give it some effort, but it finally swung open. I walked into the dark hallway and the door clanged shut resoundingly behind me.

Down the hallway to the main stacks, I could see that the library was dark. The only light in the building came through an open door at the end of the hallway, near the area just behind where librarians would do the check-outs.

The lighted room seemed like as good a place as any to find someone who could take the books I was carrying, so I headed toward the light. Inside, a woman with a beautiful voice was singing "I don't care if it's cloudy or bright, 'cause I only have eyes for you."

The woman cut off the song when I appeared, startled by seeing someone in the doorway. She was tall, in her late 60s or early 70s, and she wore a pantsuit with a green, yellow, and blue crisscross pattern, like the Burlington commercials on 60 Minutes. Her hair was short, blonde-gray, and styled close to her head to accentuate her long neck.

Since she was wearing a jacket over her pantsuit, I could not get a good estimate of the size of her tits. Meemaw, my Mom's Mom, claimed that women only wore jackets to hide the size of the girls, as she called her breasts, to keep men from ogling them. With that as my working hypothesis, I assumed the librarian lady was hiding sizeable assets under there.

Her face seemed familiar to me, but I was not able to place her in the few seconds I had to observe her. She had been standing with her back to me, sorting books on a table against the wall while she was singing, but she recovered from being startled and looked at me evenly with her pale blue eyes.

"What is it, young man? Why are you back here? Did Beverly, Miss Baker, send you?"

I was not sure what she was talking about. "Uh, no, Ma'am. My mother sent me. She wanted me to get rid of some of the books my Dad left behind when she kicked him out, uh, I mean, when she told him to leave."

She crossed her arms in front of her breasts. Her forearms were parallel and a foot in front of her, like she was Jeanie about to blink Colonel Bellows into his underwear or something, but this woman's forearms were still touching her breasts through the jacket.

She was stacked! My brain immediately ceased functioning coherently, devoting all its processing power to imagining her without her clothes. That summer, so far, had been all about getting with older women with big hooters, and when another popped up in front of me, she became my sole focus.

She was talking again, but I was slow on the uptake. "Young man, that is not what I meant. Did the librarian on duty send you back here?"

I blinked at her, trying to stay focused on her face. "Librarian? Duty?"

"Yes, Miss Baker. She is a tiny thing, brunette, wearing a long skirt and a white blouse. Surely you saw her."

That snapped me back into reality. "Uh, yes, Ma'am, I saw her when I was outside. She was running to her car."

The woman dropped her hands to her sides and looked at me with alarm. "Beverly was running to her car? I was sure I had enough time to check in these donations, but it sounds like she left early. She has been on the phone all afternoon, something about her father. But, pish, I thought I could get this done! It is so unlike her, though, to just run off. Things must be bad with her."

The woman looked at the clock above my head. I turned, still holding the two boxes of books, to follow her gaze.

From behind me, the woman said, "It is two minutes to five. The library should still be open. She was the only employee here! And now she has fled!"

I turned around to face her. "What about you, Ma'am? Aren't you an employee? And can I put these boxes down somewhere? They are super heavy."

She looked at me and smiled as she came closer, put her hand on my triceps, and guided me into the room. "Yes, yes, of course, young man. Put the boxes right here on this table."

She squeezed my arm as I did so. "My goodness, you are a fit specimen. Those boxes must weigh a hundred pounds at least, but you slung them around like a stevedore!"

Since older women seemed to get excited this summer when I told them I had enlisted in the Army, I tried that line with her to see what effect it would have. "Yes, Ma'am, I am staying in shape since I ship out to Army Basic training in a few weeks. I signed the contract when I turned 18."

It worked again. She put her hand on my shoulder. "My goodness, a soldier! Certainly a frightening prospect for your mother, I imagine, but I am sure your parents are proud!"

I lifted the top box off the lower one and put the two boxes side by side on the table. I glanced up at the window over the table and noticed the clouds were directly overhead, so black with rain that it looked like it was almost sundown, even though we were still in the middle of Summer and the sun would not set for another few hours.

Then I turned to address her. "Yes, Ma'am, I think they are proud, but things are not so good at home these days, which is why my Mom wanted me to drop off these books as a donation to the library. They were my Dad's."

She took her hand from my shoulder and frowned. "That is sad. I hear about so many couples who are splitting up. You know, young man, in my day, it did not matter what happened inside a marriage; both sides needed to find a way to work it out. By Jiminy, I know there were many times, many times, mind you, young man, when I had to swallow my pride, and be the forgiving spouse." Her face had become grim.

In my mind, I pondered that. But I did not think Mom was prepared to forgive Dad for surprising my Mom by fucking my former girlfriend, who had just turned 18, on Mom's bed, with Mom watching. But I said, "Um, yes, Ma'am, I mean, no Ma'am, I really don't have anything to say."

Her smile returned. "Of course you don't, a polite, well-raised youth that you are. Well, that is enough about that. Show me what you have here, young man. It turns out, to answer your question quite belatedly, I might add, that, no, I am not an employee here. I happen to be the volunteer who receives donated books to add to the stacks. But since you are here and I am here, and I know my duties, let's unburden you of your load."

The woman took her glasses, which hung from a chain and rested on her shelf of a bosom, and put them on. "Let me see what you have. Zane Grey first editions, good; we can use those. Mickey Spillane hardbacks are good, so are these James Bond novels, and these other ones... Solid middle-brow choices, popular with the patrons here at the library."

She took the books out of the first box and stacked them on the table near the wall. "Now let me take a look at these National Geographic magazines." She gazed at me over the top of her glasses as I stood next to her. "Did you know that those of us in the library biz have a little trick when we get donated National Geographics?"

A trick? "Um, no, Ma'am."

"Well, we do. We can hold a National Geographic by the long edge with the binding on the table and let the magazine fall open. Every time, and without exception, if there are pictures of nude natives in that edition, the magazine falls open to them."

She held one of Dad's copies that I knew had some really big-boob New Guineans in there, and let it drop. Sure enough, the magazine fell open to the page with the pictures of those fat women with their bazoombas down to their waists, as Dad described it.

Her laugh was triumphant. "Ha! I knew it! Library science for the win, again!"

She grabbed my triceps once more and gave it a little shake. "Tell me, young man, did you look at these as well? Enjoy the pictures of these desiccated mammary glands?"

Her vocabulary was like what you heard in those 1950s movies they used to show us in science class. I must have looked embarrassed, though, so she laughed again.

"I knew it! But who could blame a virile young man with enough vim and vigor to enlist in the armed forces who also wants to look at the fairer sex? That is the natural order of things, is it not?"

I was unclear what she was asking, so I raised my shoulders in what Dad used to call a "Polish Salute," and nodded.

She was not having it. Her smiling face became grim. "Don't shrug and nod at me, young man. If one of your elders asks you a question, it is polite to answer with your spoken voice. Now, tell me, is a young man looking at the flattened, flabby, dried-out, mammary glands of some native in the Congo the natural order of things or not?"

She wanted an answer, so I gave her one. "Yes, Ma'am, I was doing what comes naturally."

Her smiling face returned. She pulled her glasses off her face and let them rest on her bosom. She clapped her hands and laughed. "Excellent, and you even quoted a song from the time when I was sparking with young men."

Standing right in front of me, she launched into a song I had never heard, but she sang it loudly like she was on Broadway:

If you saw my pa and ma

You'd know they had no learnin',

Still, they've raised a family.

Doin' what comes naturally

Doin' what comes naturally

I applauded, and she grinned back at me, putting her glasses on as she asked, "Have you been doing what comes naturally with the girls in your class, as well, young man, hmmm?"

All summer long, the older women I encountered would quiz me like this, to make sure I would not run my mouth. And I had learned the answer they wanted to hear. "Well, you know, Ma'am, I don't think I should kiss and tell."

Her face turned serious, and she said, "Very commendable." She turned back to the boxes. "Well, let's see what other treasures we have here. A pile of Man's Life magazines. Those are always popular."

I liked those. The one on top of the stack had a drawing of a blonde wearing a vest with no clothing under it, aiming a knife at a GI, and the headline, "TRAPPED IN THE HOUSE OF THE NAZI DAGGER GIRLS." I must have read that story a dozen times.

The woman reached into the box and pulled out a few more magazines. "Oh, some vintage Looks." She was about to say something about them when a glossy mag slid out from the midst of the ones she was holding and flopped onto the table, catching her eye. Uh oh.

It was one of my Dad's porn magazines, a Candy Samples and John Holmes special edition, with Candy and some brunette holding John's cock. That one had always been a particular favorite of mine, and I had completely forgotten that Dad had hidden it among his Look magazines.

The volunteer and I both stared at it lying there on the table; me in horrified shock, and the woman, in surprise, then curiosity. She picked up the magazine with her dainty fingers and spoke more or less to herself. "This woman on the left looks like she is in her 50s! And she has let someone take a picture of her while she has her hands on a turgid penis!"

She flipped through a few of the pages. "My goodness, she is acrobatic! And look at the size of that man's member! It is astonishing! I had no idea they came in that size!" After she had thumbed through all the pages, she put the magazine down, sliding it beneath a copy of Look with Nancy Sinatra on the cover wearing a pink sweater.

The woman turned to me with a stern expression. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young man? Was this some kind of practical joke to get your jollies, shocking the sensibilities of a senior-citizen widow? By showing her filthy sex pictures of an older woman having intercourse with a man?"

I stood there, open-mouthed in stupefaction, staring at her. I began stammering, "Uh, no, Ma'am, I had no idea my Dad had... What I mean is that I didn't know someone old like you would look in there. No, I don't think you are old, but I didn't know those were in there or that some old woman... Wait..."

She stared at me with a stern expression for another couple of beats, then began laughing. "Has anyone ever told you, young man, that you are exceedingly cute when you are embarrassed? And flustered?"

I did not know what to say to that, so I stood there, silently, like a cigar store Indian.

She brushed my cheek with her fingertips, with each nail painted a pale pink. "Don't worry, young man, this is not the first time someone has mistakenly shown up with a stack of donations and tried to have us accept a girlie magazine or two. But I have to say, I had never seen one with male nudity. So you have that going for you."

I had recovered a bit, so I said, "Yes, Ma'am, I am sorry about that, I will take it out to a dumpster..."

As I was saying that, there was a loud THUNK, followed by metallic clangs that sounded as if they were coming from every door and window throughout the building. We were both startled and looked at each other. She patted the side of her head and said, "Oh fudge! The security locks have been set in the building!"

I looked at her, still stupefied, but I managed to ask, "What does that mean? Are we stuck in here?"

"Oh, no, there is an override switch on the rear door that we can use to turn off the alarm and unlatch the lock. We are fine." She paused and thought a moment, looking out the window. "That is, unless the power goes out; then I have heard there is no way to open the locks from the inside."

Then, almost as if on cue, there was a huge crash of thunder and a boom as a thick lightning bolt struck a power pole outside the window of the room we were in. The woman screamed and threw her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. Reflexively, I put my arms around her. Immediately, all the lights went out.

She felt good in my arms. She was busty, and she was wearing a solid, sturdy bra encasing her firm titties. She was also slender, so that my fingertips almost reached my own torso as I held my arms around her.

We stayed like that for a few moments, holding each other even after the last few peals of thunder died away. Her perfume smelled like lilacs and fresh linen, and her hair smelled like apples. Then she pulled back from me, again touching her hair as she had earlier.

"Forgive me, young man, for grasping onto you so forcefully. That thunderclap startled me, and I lost myself for a moment."

She straightened her jacket, smoothing the fabric over her hips as she glanced toward the darkened window. Rain was now lashing against the glass in sheets, driven by a howling wind that rattled the old panes. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, followed by a rolling boom that seemed to shake the very foundation of the building.

"Oh dear," she murmured, stepping closer to the window and peering out. "That strike took out the transformer on the pole. Look, the whole block is dark now. No streetlights, no traffic signals... and with this storm, it's only going to get worse." She picked up the substantial black 1940s-style phone receiver from its base on the table where she had been doing the sorting and listened. She put the receiver down and said, "No dial tone."

She turned back to me, her pale blue eyes wide with realization. "The library's emergency generator is on the fritz, or so I understand. I have asked Beverly to do something about it, but that scatterbrain has been so distracted lately!"

The woman put her hand on my wrist. "If the main power is out, we are well and truly locked in until morning, and we can't phone out. No one's coming back tonight; Beverly was only willing to leave since the last patron in the stacks left half an hour ago. I am disappointed she forgot about me, but she was so distracted with the news about her father, that I am sure she assumed the building's empty. And in weather like this, even the police won't venture out unless it's life or death."

I felt that strange mix of uneasiness and excitement in the bottom of my stomach as the truth sank in. This felt like a date, trapped all night in a dark library with this elegant, busty older woman, who clearly had a playful streak beneath her proper demeanor.

She gave a small, resigned laugh. "Well, young man, it seems we're going to be unexpected companions for the evening. I suppose proper introductions are in order before we settle in for the duration."

She extended her hand, her demeanor smiling and gracious despite the circumstances. "I'm Eleanor Fischer. I volunteer here twice a week, mostly sorting donations and shelving returns. And you are...?"

I took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and the surprising firmness of her grip. "Nate, Nathaniel Stovall, Ma'am, nice to meet you." We shook hands, but she held my hand, putting her glasses back on with her other hand to peer at me closely.

Finally, she said, "Very pleased to meet you, Nate Stovall," her voice regaining its melodic lilt. "Have we met? Your name and your face seem familiar. No? Well, never mind, it will come to me."

She released my hand. "This meeting is under rather dramatic circumstances, is it not? But we will make the best of it. After all, we have thousands of books for company, although admittedly, without the light to read a word. I imagine we may be down to relying on each other for entertainment this evening."

She tilted her head slightly, studying me in the dim glow coming through the rain-streaked windows. Another flash of lightning lit her face for an instant, showing her high cheekbones and a small, amused smile at the corners of her mouth, before the room darkened again.

She continued speaking. "Well, Nate, now that introductions have been made, we should find someplace more comfortable to wile away the hours before someone shows up, or the power comes back on. There is a break room down this hall with a table, chairs, and a sofa. There are also a couple of vending machines. Did you happen to bring any change?"

I reached into my pockets and came out with a dime. I held it up. "Ten cents, do they have anything for ten cents?"

She frowned and shook her head. "No, Nate, I am sorry." Then she sidled up to me, putting her arm through mine, and pressed her breast into my biceps as she leaned her head close enough to me to smell her hair again.

"But why don't you let Mrs. Fischer treat you to some cheese and crackers and an RC Cola?" She leaned in a little closer and spoke in a whisper. "And if you are really peckish, I know how to get into the box where people pay their library fines. We can eat out the whole thing!"

She laughed, pulled back from me, picked up her purse from the table, and took my hand to lead me out of the workroom. She led me down the hall away from the main part of the library before stopping at a door on the left. She rotated the knob and went in, and out of habit tried to turn on the lights.

She looked at me sheepishly in the dimness. "Oh, fiddlesticks! I should have remembered the power is off." We walked into the break room, which smelled of old books and stale cigarette smoke.

I laughed at Mrs. Fischer's failed attempt to turn on the light, but stopped when she pulled up short. She turned to me with a concerned look on her face. "No power means the vending machines won't work! I am so sorry, Nate, I got your hopes up only to dash them."

My hunger fueled my inspiration. "Well, Mrs. Fischer, if you know how to get into the change box, do you know where the keys are to the vending machines?"

Mrs. Fischer clapped her hands and hugged me, again pressing herself into me. I took the opportunity to hug her tightly. She pushed away from me, putting her hand to her head and exhaling. "Oh, my goodness, Nate. You give tight, delightful hugs! I must remember that. But what is of most concern is finding those keys before it gets too dark in here. And I think I have an idea."

She took my hand again and led me out of the breakroom toward the circulation desk. We walked past carts and tables and stacks of books into the Assistant Librarian's office. Mrs. Fischer went around the desk and pulled open the long middle drawer above the leg hole.

Looking at the drawer, Mrs. Fischer said, "Beverly showed me where the key to the fines box was, and I noticed a couple of other keys in their own partitions." She lifted a set of keys out of the drawer and stood, turning a tag to collect what little light was streaming through the window. She smiled triumphantly. "Voila!"

"Did you find it?" I asked.

"I should say so! I will have you know, Nathaniel Stovall, that the tag on this key says Vending Machine, this one says coffee machine, and this one says soda machine. As John D. Rockefeller would say, 'We are in business!' Let's go rob the candy store!"

Mrs. Fischer seemed to be having a grand old time, and I was getting swept up in it. We were again back in the break room, peering through the glass at the choices in the vending machine. We silently pored over the crackers, pastries, and candy, then looked at each other and grinned.

"So what will it be, Nate?"

"I think I will go with cheese and crackers, some Ding Dongs, some potato chips, and the big Tootsie Roll. How about you?"

"Let's make it a smorgasbord. I will have the peanut butter and crackers, and since the gentleman has chosen Ding Dongs, the lady will select Ho Hos." She winked at me. "And Fritos and some Wintergreen mints to keep our breath fresh. Let's get safe-cracking!"

While she worked the key into the keyhole on the side of the vending machine, I smiled since the tingly feeling in my belly came back. She was talking about Dongs and Ho's and keeping our breath fresh? If the summer had taught me anything, it was that when my gut told me a woman was sending me a signal, I was prepared to receive and act.

Mrs. Fischer laughed in triumph when the lock clicked back. She swung the door open, and we selected the goodies, careful to choose the ones in the back of the machine so our robbery would not be apparent.

Then she opened the soda machine, and I pulled out an RC, and she took a Diet Rite. There was no Coke or Pepsi in the thing. I guess thieves had to take what they could get. We removed the tops with the bottle opener on the side of the machine.

We walked to the table in the breakroom, laying our bounty on top of it, grinning goofily at each other like conspirators. Before we sat, she said, "Wait, I know what this dinner party needs!"

She walked over to the sink in the breakroom and opened the lower cabinet, rooting around in the dim light. She came out with a couple of candles that had been burned down about halfway. She brought them to the table, set them down, dumped the ashtray into the trash, then returned it to the table. She pushed the bottoms of the candles into the ashtray, then took a book of matches out of her purse and lit the wicks.

She announced, "Let there be light!" The candles caught, and the room took on a flickering, orange glow.

"You are pretty handy to have around, Mrs. Fischer!"

She smiled at me happily in the flickering candlelight, lending her face a youthful, attractive look. "You have no idea, Nate. No idea. Now, eat."

I sat down next to her at the little Formica table, the candle flames dancing between us and throwing soft gold light across her face. The storm outside was a constant low roar now, rain hammering the roof and wind rattling the windows, but in there it felt like a cozy, private picnic.

Mrs. Fischer peeled open her peanut-butter crackers with delicate fingers, then passed one across to me in a trade for one of my cheese crackers. I took it, our fingertips brushing, and popped it into my mouth. The salt and sweetness hit just right.

"Mmm," I said, nodding approval. "Much better than Army chow's gonna be."

She laughed softly, that rich, throaty sound again. "I should hope so. Though I imagine basic training will teach you to appreciate the finer things. Like a candlelight dinner in the rain." Her eyes flicked down to the Ding Dongs in front of me, then back up, sparkling. "Or chocolate hockey puck cake with creamy filling."

I coughed at that, and she smiled. Opening the foil on a Ding Dong, I took a big bite, leaving some cream on my lower lip.

"You know," I said, wiping the cream away slowly with my thumb, "These always remind me of being a kid. Sneaking one when nobody was looking."

Mrs. Fischer leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, chin resting on her interlaced fingers. The candlelight caught the soft curve where her jacket met her blouse, hinting at the generous swell beneath. "And now here you are," she murmured, "All grown up, sneaking them with a respectable widow in the dark. My, how times change."

We both sat back a little to drink some of our colas, then moved forward again, bringing our faces back into the light. She leaned a little closer to me, with the smile having disappeared from her face, saying, "Nate, you said your last name is Stovall, correct?"

Nodding, I drank another big swig of RC. She went on. "I just remembered where I know you. You are familiar with my granddaughter, Rhonda Sponset?"

I almost let out a spit-take like in those silent movies they showed down at Shakey's Pizza on Friday nights. This woman was Rhonda's grandmother? That also meant she was Mrs. Sponset's mother. It turns out I had fucked both of them, the mother and the daughter, and now, it turns out, the grandmother knows who I am?

The little pleasant dinner party had suddenly veered into the ditch. I managed to swallow the fizzy pop and said in a rough voice, "Yes, Ma'am, I do."

Mrs. Fischer went on, her face still pleasant, but she was looking at me closely. "There was something about the two of you on a date to the skating rink, was there not?"

Oh yes, there was. I ran my finger around the inside of my collar like Rodney Dangerfield complaining about not getting any respect. "Look, Mrs. Fischer, I am sorry about all that. I tried to explain to Mrs. Sponset when I saw her the other day about what happened so that I could apologize."

Mrs. Fischer's pale blue eyes fixed on me across the flickering candles, steady and unreadable for a long moment. She was looking at me with amusement, although there was something else in her eyes that I could not quite place.

She set her Diet Rite down carefully, folding her hands in front of her on her lap like a schoolteacher about to deliver a gentle correction. "Apologize for what, exactly, Nate?"

"Ah, well, you know, the state, the condition Rhonda was in, after the date, when I brought her home."

Mrs. Fischer's voice was soft, almost purring, but it carried that same melodic authority she had used when scolding me for shrugging earlier.

She nodded and said, "From what I understand, Rhonda came home from that skating rink date looking like she'd been caught in a wind tunnel. Hair everywhere, makeup half gone, clothes... rumpled. I was there, you know, when my daughter, Beatrice Sponset, told Agnes Gianopoulos this sad story after the book club meeting. I think you know Agnes; she is your next-door neighbor, as I understand."

Mrs. Fischer put her fingertips on my forearm. "Everyone calls her Mrs. G, you know. Agnes and I are great friends; we go way back. We talk on the phone pretty much every day. Oh, my goodness, the amount of gossip that woman knows about the goings on in this town, and does she ever have the desire to spread! The gossip, I mean."

I froze as my world started spinning around me. I was locked in the library with a woman who knew all about how I blew a load all over Rhonda, her granddaughter. Not to mention the fact that she may have known about me fucking her daughter, and probably knew about the handjob I got from Mrs. G. I could not come up with anything to say, so I sat there like a bump on a log, not making eye contact.

"Cat got your tongue, Nate?" She paused, grinning at me in the smoky candlelight. "I have heard so much about this Nate Stovall from all those women. In my imagination, this Nate Stovall character was some kind of Eastern Pennsylvania teenage Alfie, preying on women like Michael Caine in the movie."

She smiled and patted my arm. "But now, here you are, locked with me in a dark library, all alone, and I find out you are nothing at all like that. You are a polite young man who humors an old woman and blushes when she fingers your naughty book."

She smiled broadly and patted my arm again. "But tell me, Sir," she murmured, voice dropping to that velvet whisper again and her face becoming mock-serious, "Your reputation precedes you. You are plowing your way through the distaff side of entire families and any senior citizen you meet with a D-cup. And yet, you have never shown any interest in me. I think I qualify on both counts, seeing as how I am one of your girlfriend's grandmothers, I collect social security, and I have these." She grabbed the lapels of her jacket and gave her breasts a jiggle. "Wouldn't you agree?"

The signal was coming in loud and clear, but I knew I had to be cool, as the Fonz would say. I tried to be earnest in my response. "Uh, well, Mrs. Fischer, I don't really talk about my dates. And I never met you, so I didn't really know you were Rhonda's grandmother. And I did not notice the size of your, you know, bra cups before the lights went out."

She threw her head back and laughed, then reached into her purse to pull out a tissue that she used to dab at the corner of her eyes. "Oh, my Nate. I asked if you were going to plow through the whole family, and you said, 'You didn't know I was Rhonda's grandmother.' And don't expect me to believe that a young, red-blooded man who has been looking at the pancake-flat tits of natives and those fat bazoombas on that old broad in that magazine didn't notice these ta-tas even in the dark. They should meet your standards, Nate, did you not realize that?"

She reached into her jacket and rubbed her hands over her breasts, which made my eyes pop out of my head like I was a cartoon wolf. Even in the dim light, she noticed. "I guess I got your attention, huh, Nate?"

I nodded and smiled. "Mrs. Fischer, yes, you got me. I guess I did notice."

She pulled the lapels of her jacket forward, then closed them around herself, and nodded. "I thought so. Now, let's finish our picnic, and we can discuss how we are going to spend the rest of the evening."

I took a slow sip of RC, trying to buy a second to collect myself while the candle flames danced between us. The storm outside had settled into a steady, heavy drumming, almost hypnotic, with periodic flashes of bright white lightning.

"Mrs. Fischer," I started, setting the bottle down carefully, "You're making it really hard to concentrate on these Ding Dongs."

She arched one perfectly shaped brow, lips curving as she nibbled on a Frito. "Is that a complaint, Nathaniel?"

"No, Ma'am, I am just saying." I crunched five or so potato chips, watching her, washing them down with some RC Cola. "You seem to have a lot of talents: safe cracking, singing, and it is hard to keep up."

She laughed that melodic laugh again. "Let's see what we can discover, Nate. But all that can wait. Finish eating so we can put out the candles. We should save them in case we need them later."

"Yes, Ma'am." I poured the crumbs of the potato chips into my mouth, then ate the rest of the crackers. Smiling, Mrs. Fischer handed me her half-eaten bag of Fritos, and I scarfed them as well.

Once I poured the rest of Mrs. Fischer's Fritos into my mouth and crunched them down, I smiled at her in the candlelight. She smiled back at me and handed me a Lifesaver as she popped one into her own mouth.

"Since we don't have toothbrushes, mints will just have to do." Another signal that was telling me a make-out session was about to happen. I got that familiar fluttering feeling in my stomach, and my cock started to swell.

Mrs. Fischer stood and began collecting the wrappers to stuff into the orange foil Frito bag so she could toss them into the break room waste container. I picked up the cans and followed her to the trash. I was too close behind her, though, in the low light, and I bumped her with my crotch on her hip as she was turning back from the trash can.

She stepped back and straightened her pantsuit jacket, then she touched her hair again as she had earlier, clearly a nervous tic she had. "Oh, my Nate. You are certainly eager to assist an old woman! But I hope my hip did not injure you. Although from what I understand, you are formidable down there." She paused for a moment, smiling a little, and moved toward the couch. Did she wink at me?

On her way to the sofa, she stopped. "You know, Nate, I seem to recall there is a transistor radio in one of the drawers next to the sink. Get one of those candles and let's look."

I pulled one of the candles, which was by then only about three inches long, out of the ashtray and brought it over to where she had pulled out a drawer. I held it where she could see, but she dismissed the first tray.

"Nothing but cake cutters." She pushed in the top drawer and opened the second one. "Aha! Indeed, there is a wireless and a couple of loose nine volts! Just as I suspected!" She lifted the little yellow plastic radio out of the drawer by the vinyl wrist strap and said, "Let's see if we can pick up Rangoon!"

She moved the station selector up on the side, then turned the volume control. She heard nothing, so she moved the selector down and fiddled with the volume again. No sound came from the speaker. She looked up at me. "We need to effect repairs, young man."

She pinched and twisted the plastic box, and the radio broke open. She pulled the old battery out of the connector, tossed it into the trash can, and held out her hand to me and barked, "Battery!"

I handed her one of the Evereadys, and she worked it into the holder, then snapped the two parts of the radio back together. She moved the selector up, and static blasted us.

She turned down the volume and quickly scanned the AM dial, but neither local station was broadcasting. She murmured, "I guess the power is out all over town. Let me see if I can pick up 1210 out of Philly."

She managed to dial it in, and it came in clearly. We landed on the station during a weather update. We learned that the storm had knocked out power across eastern Pennsylvania, with no expectation of service resuming until the morning at the earliest.

I said, more to myself than to Mrs. Fischer, "Oh, wow, at least until tomorrow? I hope my Mom is going to be OK."

Mrs. Fischer got serious and moved close to me so she could pat my hand. "You are a good son, worrying about your mother. That shows great character. I am so proud of you. But I am sure she will recognize that everyone around here is in the same situation and we will just have to hunker down wherever we are, until morning."

I nodded, still worried a little bit about Mom, but that was soon overridden by the smile and nod Mrs. Fischer gave me. Besides, given Mom's recent history, she had probably drunk a bottle of wine and would be passed out all through the storm.

Mrs. Fischer grasped my forearm and gave it a little shake. "Don't look so morose, Nate. We need to make the best of things and trust your mother has candles and enough water to make it through the night. You know, if we had wrist telephones as they did on Dick Tracy back in the good old days, we would never be caught out like this."

That made me laugh. "Telephones on your wrist? That is cloud cuckoo land crazy talk, Mrs. Fischer. That is never going to happen."

"Oh, Nate, don't be a fuddy duddy. Time to come into the Space Age. Heck, Paul Drake had a phone in his car on Perry Mason; before you know it, phones will be small enough to fit in a briefcase or carry in a purse. We will have wrist phones before we are in the 1990s, trust me! We will never be out of touch!"

I smiled at her patronizingly, then said, "Sure, Mrs. Fischer, if you say so."

She patted my hand again, then shushed me, saying she wanted to hear the rest of the broadcast. After it ended, the station resumed its original programming: "The Champagne Hour" or some such. It sounded like the Lawrence Welk show Nana insisted on watching. Mrs. Fischer turned down the volume so it was low but still audible and then walked over to the table to blow out the candles, plunging the room into darkness.

I laughed during her movements, saying to her back, "Now who is the fuddy duddy, listening to the Champagne Hour?"

She said to me, matter-of-factly, "You think you are such a smarty. I will have you know that I lost my virginity in the back of a Model T after a soldier who had returned from the Great War had taken me to a concert in the bandstand playing these kinds of tunes. And all 6 of my kids were conceived after a night of dancing to this." She winked at me. "So I have a real fondness for this kind of music. It puts me in the mood, you might say."

I had been following her around the breakroom haltingly in the dark, but I came up short when she started talking sex, unsure if I had heard correctly.

But by then, my eyes had begun to adjust, so I watched her work her way over to the old sofa. It had three cushions, and she sat on top of the crack between the cushions on the right-hand side. She leaned over to put the radio, tinkling out old big band songs, on the end table beside the couch, and then she patted the cushion next to her with her right hand. "Come sit, Nate. Let's tell stories."

"Uh, sure, Mrs. Fischer." Moving carefully in the dark to where she was sitting, I sat next to her so our hips touched. As I sat, I bit down and crunched on the Lifesaver she had given me, making little sparks shoot out of my mouth. The tricks we learned at camp were paying off!

Mrs. Fischer clapped and laughed. "That is impressive, Nate. Let me try." She pulled her roll of candy out of her purse and used her dainty fingernails to take one of the little doughnut-shaped mints out of the sleeve to pop into her mouth. She patted me on the thigh, smiling at me with the Lifesaver between her white teeth. "Now, watch." She bit down with her teeth bared, and a couple of blue sparks resulted.

Before she could say anything, I said, "You did it, Mrs. Fischer!"

"Add it to my list of talents, Nate. Although I will have you know, back in my day, before there was a Mr. Fischer, I was known for my sparking, in a different sense, of course."

I had never heard the term before, so I just said, "Is that so?"

She patted me on the thigh, her pinky finger dangerously close to the head of my stiffening cock, which had snaked down the leg of my jeans. She asked innocently, "Have you never heard that term? It is what we used to call courting back in the olden days."

She wiggled a little next to me. "But I will tell you a story, Nate, since we, you and I, just had a picnic, and it is so dark and cozy. When a gentleman caller would come over to our house, looking to do some courting, Father, Mother, and I, and the young man would sit together at the formal dining room table, so my parents could get to know him."

Mrs. Fischer straightened her pantsuit and wiggled her hips a little, then replaced her hand where it had been on my thigh, patting me. "Are you comfortable, Nate? Good. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Sparking. Well, anyway, if after this introduction, my parents thought the young man was of sufficient quality and might make a fine husband, my mother would say, 'Would you two like to retire to the parlor for limeade?'"

Mrs. Fischer patted my leg. "If the young man could not pass the dining room table test, mother would say, 'Thank you so much for calling, young man,' and usher him out the door. I hope I am not boring you, Nate."

Although I said, sincerely, "Oh, no, Ma'am," I was wondering when she was going to stop talking so I could make a pass at rubbing that big titty that was right there. But I had learned over the summer with these women, my grandmother's age, that I needed to let them talk until they paused; then it was time to be bold. We were not there yet.

"Good, because I think you will like this part. Just because my parents had a favorable opinion of the boy, it did not mean I did, so my older sister and I had a signal when we got to the parlor. Oh, wait, I need to explain. There were eight of us girls in the family, no brothers. I was the sixth oldest. By the time I was 18 and courting, my parents had worked out a system. The next oldest girl would be the chaperone in the parlor for the younger sister."

"If I liked the boy, because I liked him, or because he brought me flowers, I would tell my older sister Mildred, 'Look, it is that Nate I have been telling you about.' That would be her signal that he and I would be doing some necking. But that was it. She would politely look the other way while we kissed, then after a half hour or so, she would break it up, and I would send the boy home."

"If I said, 'This is that cute Nate I was telling you about,' that told Mildred he had brought me a gift and we would be doing some petting. Then, as soon as the door to the parlor closed, I would let those boys take my titties out, and they would be going to town!"

This story was getting interesting. I asked, "So your sister stayed in there while they played with your tits, your breasts? Weren't the guys weirded out by that, your sister staying in the room?"

She laughed, "Oh, Nate, you can't tell me that if some girl said you could feel up her boobies, but her sister was going to watch, that would matter one iota to you. You know, and I know you would rip that bra right off her to get to those tatas!"

Shrugging one shoulder, I smiled sheepishly. "You got me there, Mrs. Fischer."

She went on with her story. "But if we were heading to the parlor, and I said, 'This is the gentleman I told you about,' it meant that he had brought a flask, and we were going all the way."

I coughed and turned to face her. "All the way? Like, as in you would have sex with the guy right there in the parlor? With your sister watching?"

She spoke in a business-like tone, but her eyes were shining, even in the low light. "Oh, yes, Nate. Mildred got some pulls on the flask, too, but once we had downed the gin, the rotgut, or whatever he brought, it was fun time! Nate, that is when I developed my taste for 'doing it like the beasts' or like the natives in your dirty books, until the missionaries corrected them."

She sensed my confusion, so she clarified. "From behind, Nate. I would lean over the arm of a chair, and Mildred would flip my dress onto my back, and the young man would take me right there, standing up. Oh my goodness, were they ever ready in a hurry. But you know what?"

I shook my head, eager to hear more, my cock straining to get unleashed. She went on. "My slutty, drunk sister would sometimes, instead of just flipping my dress and petticoats up, would also rub those men, and guide them by the willy into my fanny. Oh, they loved it, but I was always resentful since they were there to see me! And one time, I turned around to see what was going on since it was taking so long, and she was sitting on the divan, with his penis in her mouth! I grabbed her by the hair!"

"I guess that guy blew it with you, if you forgive the pun."

"Well, no, Nate, I am ashamed to say that after a hurried, whispered conversation, and after he produced another flask, we all agreed that both of us sisters would have... relations with him, with our dresses and petticoats up, side by side, leaning over the divan. I was still a little angry, so I told him not to issue into me, but he grabbed me by the waist, after he had been in my sister. Do you know that little slut held my hands while he spent his load deep into my fanny? He groaned so loud I thought my parents would burst in, but they were long asleep by then. He said that because we had drunk up two pints of his best gin, he was going to get his full measure."

"Wow, that is a really hot story, Mrs. Fischer. Was that guy with the two flasks Mr. Fischer?"

She laughed. "By no means! Mr. Fischer was a teetotaller and thought any sex was strictly for procreation and strictly with the man on his knees between the woman's legs while she looked away and thought of England. He would have made a fine missionary in one of those naughty National Geographics you are passing off to the library."

"Oh, OK, I guess you never saw that guy again, the one with the flasks."

Another laugh. "To the contrary, Nate, I would see him pretty much every week. He is, or I guess was, before he died, one of the prominent citizens in town, even if he was sadly less than prominent down there, if you know what I mean. He ended up marrying a roundheels classmate of mine, Gladys Svoboda, and became the daddy of the Mayor and the Police Chief, or the former Chief, before she went on the lam, as Jimmy Cagney used to say. Even without much to work with, he still managed to put Gladys in the family way ten times."

"The Zimmermans?" I guessed that my surprised exclamation, and the look on my face, gave me away, since Mrs. Fischer leaned to the side and turned to peer at me. We sat that way for a few moments, until she faced forward and leaned into me again.

"Nate, Nate, Nate." Mrs. Fischer shook her head and made the "tut-tut" sound with her tongue. "I should have suspected that a young man with your predilections and charm would have caught the attention of that blousy slattern. So, tell me, Nate, did she find some reason to bring you into her den with the giant couch? Offer you something to drink?"

I squirmed uncomfortably since she knew the facts about what had happened at the Zimmerman house, as if she were reading my mind. "Look, Mrs. Fischer, I am not sure I should talk about..."

She squealed with delight and clapped her hands. "I could sense it! Gladys and I have been contesting for gentlemen callers for 50 years, and apparently still are!" Mrs. Fischer put her arm around my shoulders, touching my ear with her fingertips, pressing her breast into my arm, and leaning so close I could smell the Wintergreen on her breath. She whispered, "Did you know her, in the Biblical sense? Did she let you have a tumble, or only toss you off?"

It was probably best that we were chatting in the dark, since I am sure my embarrassment would have shown on my face. "You have put me in kind of an impossible situation, with your questions, and your perfume, and how good it feels sitting next to you..."

She said, still touching my ear, "Hmmm, yes, I know, Nate." Then she let her fingertips touch the shaft of my cock, which was straining against my jeans. "Does this help focus your mind on answering my questions? Or not?"

Groaning, I said, "What do you want to know?"

She licked the lobe of my ear with the tip of her tongue while she ran her fingernail on the head of my cock and said, "Did you have your way with that dollymop?"

I wasn't sure what a dollymop was, but I figured she was asking whether Mrs. Zimmerman and I had sex, so I groaned again and said, "Yes, Ma'am."

Mrs. Fischer sat back a little from me, removing her hand from my cock, but with her breast still pressed against me. Even if I could not see her smug smile, I could hear it in her voice. "You see, Nate, that was not so difficult. But now, I want details. Did you fill her up? Or did you spend in her hand?"

There was a plea in my voice. "Mrs. Fischer."

She leaned into my arm again and put her hand on my cock. "You give me what I want, and you get what you want. Does that sound like a fair trade?"

That made up my mind for me. "Yes, Ma'am, we made love, and I came in her three times."

She pulled back from me, shocked. Her voice went up an octave. "Three times! How is that possible? Are you lying to me, trying to fool an old woman? Were you there for a week?"

"No, Ma'am, I was just there that afternoon. I went to see her daughter, the Mayor, about this thing, you know, and I met her mother, Mrs. Zimmerman, Gladys, I guess, in the garden, and it was like you said. We got friendly, she invited me into her den, and gave me liquor."

Mrs. Fischer clapped her hands again. "I predicted it! She used to do the same things back then, having to entice the gentlemen with liquor when Mildred and I got our liquor from them!"

She lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned in, "She would let men do that to her, and she would leave their spend inside her, from what I hear. I would always do the shake-and-shoot with a warm Coca-Cola, as Mildred showed me, and dump it into the wash basin Momma kept in the parlor. No good would come from getting into the family way prematurely, you know. But you must tell me the truth, Nate, you didn't really have relations with her three times, did you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, we did it once, then her daughter, the mayor, interrupted us, but after she left, we did it two more times."

"What!?! Her daughter found you two en flagrante delicto, and did not do anything but leave and let you carry on?"

I let some pride creep into my voice before I realized what I was admitting. "Ah, well, she could not say much since she and I..." I shut up when I realized I had gone too far.

"Nate! You libertine! You satyr you! You debauched the mother and the daughter! Three times in one afternoon! I still can't get over that! Every man I have ever known was not even good for a kiss after he had his climax!"

"Yes, Ma'am, it pretty much just stays hard after I cum, you know, ejaculate. And she did not clean it out of herself, but she did complain after I helped her get dressed that she had a couple of scoops of warm ice cream pouring out of her, filling her panties."

Now it was Mrs. Fischer's turn to groan. Then she scooted away from me and tried to remove her jacket. "Nate, help me get this off of me. Suddenly, I am burning up, and I don't know if it is because we don't have a window open in this humid air, or from these stories."

I stood, a little hunched over since my cock was out of position and rock hard, and helped remove her jacket as she struggled out of the sleeves. Hobbling over to the coat rack, I hung her jacket, then went back to the couch as she unbuttoned the top buttons of her blouse.

She lifted the rayon blouse off her chest to let a little air reach her skin. "Oh, that is so much better. I appreciate your help, Nate. Now, since you have been such a good sport, I think you deserve a little kiss." She put her arm around my shoulders and leaned in with her eyes closed.

Every ounce of my being wanted to take that invitation, and push Mrs. Fischer onto the couch, rip off her pants, and lay the pipe to her, but I figured the best approach was to stay calm and let her take the lead. It worked perfectly.

I pursed my lips and pressed her lips lightly with mine and pulled back. She opened her eyes with a questioning look and said, "Oh, no, Nate, that will not do at all. You must not appreciate how eager and ready I am for a little petting after all this build-up." She patted my cock. "I'm as eager as you are. So you must not be hesitant, young man, you must assert yourself!"

That was all I needed to hear. Mrs. Fischer leaned in closer, her eyes closed and her mouth open. I put both arms around her, and I kissed her hard, my tongue thrust into her mouth.

I released the hug with one hand and slid it up her thigh, slow and deliberate, feeling the smooth fabric of her pantsuit give way so I could feel heat beneath. She parted her legs just enough for my fingers to trace the seam, then higher, until I cupped the fullness between them. A soft gasp escaped her, half surprise, half triumph.

"Oh, Nate," she murmured, voice husky now, "You really are not put off by an old saggy woman. I've waited so many years for a man to treat me like we were back in Momma's parlor, and here you are."

She reached down, bold as brass, and palmed the length of me through my jeans, squeezing gently. "Three times with that old bride of the multitudes, Gladys? Then you'll have to give me four, won't you? Show this respectable widow what a proper gentleman can do."

Her free hand snaked under my Led Zeppelin shirt, feeling my chest, so I returned the favor, unbuttoning her blouse all the way and exposing her bra, still encasing her tits in the industrial-strength underwire Sears Best. I pulled on her nipple through the fabric with my fingers, and she groaned, pulling me closer so our mouths were together, wide open, hungry, tongues tangling like we'd both been starving for it. She tasted of mint, and when she broke the kiss, her eyelids were low with want.

She spoke softly but urgently, "Enough of that. You remember how I would introduce a young man as a 'gentleman' if we were going all the way?" I nodded.

"Well, gentleman, start your engine." I smiled and leaned toward her, but she put her hand on my chest. "I want you to take me, Nate, right here in the breakroom, but I want it so I am bent over so we are doing it like the beasts, the way I told you. Will you do that for me?" Her voice was pleading. "It has been so long."

I didn't need more encouragement. My hands were already at her waistband, fumbling with the button and the zipper as she arched back against the cushions, guiding me with a throaty laugh as I slid her pants and panties off. At the same time, she busily threw off her blouse and unhooked her bra.

She sat in front of me, naked on the couch, her full breasts sitting on her lap, as she rubbed the red marks on the side, her pubic hair bushy but as gray as the hair on her head. She watched as I threw my shirt onto the breakroom table, pulled my jeans and boxers off, my cock swinging up in front of her face, inches away, as lightning boomed, illuminating the scene in the breakroom in stark white light.

Mrs. Fischer sucked in her breath as she reached for my cock, standing out from my hips horizontally. "Oh, my goodness, Nate. My daughter told me your proportions were remarkable, but I had no idea! It is like a baby's arm, holding a rattle!"

I froze when she mentioned Mrs. Sponset, her daughter. Up to then, I figured Mrs. Fischer knew about me from having dated Rhonda, and from whatever Mrs. G told her, but it was clear she knew at least about me fucking her daughter that time.

Mrs. Fischer sensed my hesitation, but did not stop rubbing my cock, unable to get her fingers around it, staring at it, but saying idly, "Didn't I mention that I knew about you and my daughter? She was always an adventuresome spirit, much like her mother. I remember especially about a time just after she turned 18 that was worrisome to Mr. Fischer and me, but she had held those urges in check after she got married until just recently."

Mrs. Fischer gave my cock a couple of more vigorous tugs. "You made her fall off the wagon, young man, right onto her back, and then you impaled her with this." Still holding onto my hard-on, she stood, her breasts pressed to my chest with her fat nipples hard and pointed right at me. "And now you are going to impale me, aren't you?"

Things were going to work out all right, and I was about to do another grandmother. What a summer I was having! I reached between us and palmed her breast while I kissed her lightly. "If you want me to, Mrs. Fischer."

She reached up with her hand and put her fingertips on my cheek. She smiled broadly, her white teeth radiant even in the low light. "You have no idea how much I want this."

She turned out of my grasp and bent over, putting both her hands on the armrest of the couch, the bells of her breasts resting on the back of her hands. She spread her legs.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched with a smile as my fist rubbed my cock from the head down to the balls, and I eased toward her. I licked my fingertips and ran my fingers along her already soaking labia, but she stood up, twisting slightly so her pendulous tits swung around.

"No, Nate, no fingers. I have fingers of my own if I had an interest in touching myself down there! You give me what only a man can, that is what I want!" She returned to her bent-over position, still watching me over her shoulder.

"OK, Mrs. Fischer, here it comes." Holding my penis by the base, I rubbed the head between her labia, and she faced forward, nodding and saying "Oh, oh, oh," with each stroke of the helmet between her pussy lips.

Mrs. Fischer let out a long, shuddering breath the moment the thick head of my cock notched firmly against her entrance. She rocked back just enough to force the first inch inside, her inner walls fluttering and clutching like they'd been waiting decades for exactly this invasion. "That's it... slow at first, Nate, it is so big," she murmured, voice thick and dreamy. "Let me feel every bit of you opening me up again."

I obeyed, feeding her another slow, deliberate inch, then another, watching the way her back arched deeper, the way those swaying breasts dragged along the couch cushion with each tiny advance. When my hips finally kissed the soft rounds of her ass, and I was buried to the root, she gave a low, triumphant groan that vibrated straight through both of us. For a heartbeat, we stayed locked together, breathing hard, letting her adjust to the stretch. Then she looked back over her shoulder, eyes glittering in the dark.

I reached around her with both my hands and cupped her hanging breasts, fondling them roughly, pushing them together, and pinching her nipples. This surprised her.

"Oh, my Nate, you are fully exercising the husband's prerogative, delighting in my breasts. The way you are manhandling me, so expertly! Every one of my senses is on fire, being groped this way by a man while I am so thoroughly speared on his root. I am powerless before your rough manipulations!"

Her dialogue sounded like something out of one of those silent movies they would show on Friday nights down at Shakey's Pizza. Maybe she got excited pretending she was in a movie or something. Not that they had peep shows at the pizza place, but you get what I am saying. But she was exciting me, talking like that.

Grabbing one of her tits and holding onto her other hip, I began to vary the cadence of my thrusts, getting "Ooooohs" and moans out of her. With her bent over, taking it from me, a recent high school graduate, I could not help but thinking: "Here is another grandmother on the end of my cock!" It took every ounce of discipline not to bust out laughing.

But I was soon distracted from those thoughts when she exclaimed, "My word, Nathaniel, the liberties you are taking with my person! To so masterfully knead and manipulate a lady's mammaries while simultaneously lodged to the very hilt! You have become quite adept this summer, giving women of a certain age what they need. Don't you dare stop!"

The vocabulary sounded like what you read in the SAT, but the meaning seemed clear enough. I reached around her with my right hand and squeezed her left breast while her right breast rested on my forearm. She squealed, "Oh!" in shock and surprise while I was using the leverage of pushing her legs with mine against the edge of the sofa, rapidly fucking her surprisingly tight pussy for a woman who had six kids.

I grabbed her short hair and pulled her head to the side so I could kiss her neck and nibble on her earlobe. As soon as my teeth made contact with her skin, she screamed, and her entire body began shuddering, almost out of control, while at the same time, her pussy contracted in a spasm around my cock. Her body folded over my forearm, so I had to hold her up as she seemed to pass out.

We disengaged, and I twisted her so she could sit on the couch, her head lolling back onto the cushion with a faint smile on her face. I stood between her splayed legs, my hard-on swinging around, and I patted her cheek with my hand. "Mrs. Fischer, are you Ok?"

She smiled more broadly and nodded while she patted my hand, her eyes still closed. "Oh, yes, Darling. That was wonderful, wonderful! I had no idea..." Her eyes were closed, and she murmured, "Let me catch my breath; it has been so long since something like that..."

She opened her eyes and looked up at my face, then her eyes focused on my stiff cock, bobbing inches from her nose. She startled back. "Oh! My goodness, Darling! You are still rampant! I have heard that young men had great powers of recuperation, but seeing it, so explicitly." She lay back and put her arms across her eyes. She murmured, almost too low for me to hear. "What am I doing? And with a man my granddaughter's age? But in for a penny, in for a pound. There is no backing out now, even though I am so tired."

She removed her arm from her eyes and looked up at me, sorrowfully. "I don't think I have the strength to stand again to have you do me as the beasts do."

"That's Ok, Mrs. Fischer. Scooch down the couch a little and lie back. I will do the work."

She smiled and began inching herself down the couch. "Yes, yes, that is a wonderful idea, Nate. Help me, please, Darling."

She put her right hand into my left hand, and I used my right arm to slide her farther along the couch, her gray hair brushing against the far armrest. Her left foot was on the floor, and I helped lift her left heel so it was resting on the sofa back.

I knelt on the cushion between her legs, stroking my cock, still glistening and slick from her pussy juices. Her hands were on her hips, and her upper arms were holding her breasts up so they would not flop over down her sides and rest on the sofa. Her pink, thumb-sized nipples at the end of her bounteous, settling breasts were pointing up at me.

She stared at my cock intently as it neared her pussy, then she looked into my eyes. I smiled at her. "You ready, Mrs. Fischer?"

She nodded, then looked away, feigning modesty. "I am, but seeing you, a young man, younger than my youngest grandson, like that, between my legs, with your erection pointing at me while I am splayed like a whore in a brothel, I have never been more humiliated, but at the same time, more excited in my life!"

I began rubbing the head between her labia that was distended open from the previous bout, when she put her hand on my abs, and looked into my eyes with alarm. "Nathaniel, a moment, please. Now that I see it nearing my... entrance, please, your prodigious girth demands the utmost... circumspection upon entry. I know I just took you from behind, but seeing it like this, looming there, I find it hard to believe it was so easy for you to gain entry. So, if you please, go slow..."

She was still talking, but it was time to get started, so I pushed the head in. It shut her up, and she arched her back. After I had given her a couple of long strokes, she said, "There, oh my word! You are a young man in a hurry, aren't you? I am being most properly serviced!"

I was not sure whether she was still pretending to be humiliated or if we were playing some game, but I did not ponder it for long. Instead, I hiked her right leg off the floor and held it in the crook of my elbow as I eased into her until I bottomed out, my balls hitting her butthole, the head of my cock against her cervix.

Her eyes popped open, her mouth in an O. She focused her eyes on mine and smiled. "Nathaniel, you have buried yourself to the hilt! I feel the blunt head pressing against my cervix. It is indecent, it is scandalous, it is sublime. Withdraw a little, then start your thrusts, firmly."

I gave the lady what she wanted, so she began to chant, "Yes... just so... yes, there, yes!" She was shaking her head back and forth, her hair sweaty and sticking in strands to her forehead and on the arm of the sofa, with sweat beading on her chest as well.

I leaned over and licked a nipple, the sweat making it tangy.

She reached up and put her hand on the back of my head as I sucked her tit. She spoke above a whisper in a voice that wavered as I banged into her. "Nate, Nate, ravish me, finish in me like you did Gladys!"

That was all I needed to hear. I reached under her with both arms, pinning her as I continued pistoning into her. Her pussy was the perfect dimensions: tight around my shaft, but wet and slick and deep enough to allow me to get fully in, while bouncing my balls off her asshole. With every stroke, her butt squeaked on the vinyl of the couch cushions, and the smell of sex filled the room. I felt like fucking her all night, but the crisis came on me suddenly, so I held her tightly, and with one final thrust, I roared as my balls emptied deep into her pussy.

With that effort, I collapsed onto Mrs. Fischer's chest, and she stroked my hair, kissing me lightly on the cheek again and again. She murmured compliments into my ear. "So good, such an effort, you brought me to ecstasy again and again, then you filled me as a man must do."

I nodded along with her soothing words, enjoying the smell of her breasts and of her arousal that filled the breakroom as the storm continued to batter the windows.

We lay that way for a while, both of us breathing easily, my cock still in her pussy but slowly deflating until she patted me on the shoulder and whispered, "Darling, are you awake?"

I didn't move, but I mumbled, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good." She turned her head so her lips were near my ear, and she whispered, "Are you sated? Have you poured out your tribute to Venus, and now want to take your rest?"

I was pretty sure I knew what she was talking about, so I flexed my abdominals a little to move my cock in her, and whispered back, "If you mean, can I go again, the answer is yes, Mrs. Fischer."

Her head moved up and down against mine, so I could tell she was nodding. She continued to whisper. "Good, because I want you to do something for me, if you are willing."

"Anything you want."

She was whispering, but she was growing animated. "That's the spirit, young man! Let's get back on our feet. I want you to love me in the Greek fashion. Are you up for that?"

"Sure, Mrs. Fischer, but the 'Greek fashion.' Isn't that from behind? Didn't we do that already?"

She shifted so we were side by side, dislodging my still-stiff hard-on from her pussy. She let out an "Ooooh, then moved her hands up between us and placed them on the cheeks of my face, kissing me lightly on the lips.

"Yes, Darling, it is from behind, but you enter me differently, in the other place that is back there." She paused, kissing my lips again. "Is that off-putting? I just figured a man of your... experience with older women would have already intruded on their back doors. From what I have read in the smutty literature that older women donate, men prefer the... snugness back there." She giggled. "But maybe not you, Nate. Given that bludgeon you are wielding, I imagine the berthing in any port would be close-fitting." She giggled again.

What she did not know about Mrs. Rosenthal, the female warden with the anal rape fantasy, I was not going to tell her. Let her think she was teaching me something new. Nana, my grandmother, had told me that women get a thrill out of initiating young men in the ways of sex, and they would always be willing to renew the lessons in subsequent encounters, making them a sure thing later on. With that in mind, I said, "I am willing if you are, Mrs. Fischer."

She whispered, "Excellent! Now, help me stand, Nate, so that we can get started."

I lay on my back and put my hands on either side of her torso, her breasts dangling down and her nipples brushing through my chest hair. She put her hands on my shoulders and her feet on the floor, and stood next to the sofa.

Soon, I was standing next to her in the dark, and we embraced again, French-kissing deeply. Then we broke the kiss to hug tightly, with our heads on each other's shoulders. She murmured, "Oh, Nate, your hugs are as satisfying as the congress. So tight and so good!"

We released each other, and lightning flashed, so I could see her eyes bright with desire and excitement. She reached down between us, her eyes on mine, and put her hand on my cock. "Oh, my goodness, Nate. You are ready again!"

She twisted away from me and practically pranced over to the side of the couch we had been at a few minutes before, and she waggled her butt at me. Then something occurred to her. She went over to her purse on the table and opened it.

Lightning illuminated the room, and I got the vision of her bent over, her womanly breasts rocking and swaying as she fished around for a moment in the purse and pulled out a small, rectangular plastic jar.

She pressed the jar into my hand and said, "In 'Fear of Flying,' Isadora said that the man should be lubricated. You know, before you push inside. Use this."

In the dim light, I could make out the blue Vaseline label. When I pulled off the cap, the smell was unmistakable. I dipped two fingers into the jar and pulled out a glob that I spread on the head of my cock and a little way down the shaft.

While I was doing that, I asked, stupidly, "You carry Vaseline so you can do the Greek thing?"

She recoiled from me so violently and was so shocked by the suggestion that I thought I had blown it. She practically screamed at me. "Certainly not, Nate! I use that little tin to remove eye makeup! I have never for a moment ever thought about employing it to assist in making love the Greek way until you inspired me! I am simply devastated that you would think that!"

She pushed past me back to the table and reached into her purse to pull out a handkerchief, which she held to her mouth. I could barely make her out in the low light, but I thought she was going to start to cry.

Could this be happening? I was standing there with my hard-on greased up and ready to get into this woman's tight ass, and she was weeping because I suggested she might be ready for it? I did not know anything about women then, and frankly, in all the years since, I have not learned much more. But I figured I needed to diffuse the situation fast.

Wiping my fingers on a couple of napkins lying on the table that someone had left from the time they went to Dairy Queen, I tossed them in the direction I remembered the trash can was, and I put my hand on her shoulder gently, feeling how tense she'd become under my fingers.

I mustered the maximum amount of sincerity I could. Mrs. Bondra, my old debate coach who I had done earlier in the summer, would have been proud, especially if she knew I was using her lessons so I could fuck someone in her age group. I took my hand off her shoulder and then struck a match from the book Mrs. Fischer had left on the table and lit the candle still stuck in the ashtray. I figured if she could see my eyes, I might be able to make a better case for myself.

In the flickering light, I could make out the tremble in her handkerchief as she pressed it to her lips. I went for it.

"Mrs. Fischer, that was such an insensitive thing for me to say," I said quietly, keeping my voice low and steady even though my heart was hammering. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it to come out the way it did. I swear I didn't."

"I wasn't trying to call you... cheap, or easy, or anything like that. That's the last thing I think about you." I swallowed, searching for the right words. "You're elegant. You're classy. The way you carry yourself, the way you talk, the way you laugh, those crazy stories. You have made this fun, special. I spoke without thinking. I am sorry."

She turned and studied my face for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth twitched with just the tiniest hint of that playful smile coming back.

"You really are a sweet talker when you want to be, Nathaniel Stovall," she murmured, dabbing once more at the corner of her eye before folding the handkerchief away into her purse. Her voice was steady now, warmer. "And you are surprisingly eloquent for a young man who was rutting me like a Havana gigolo five minutes ago. Now, kiss me, and bend me over."

I did, and I did, rubbing my slick cock against her tight anus as she pulled her butt cheeks apart. There was just enough candlelight for me to see her tightly puckered rosebud that was a fraction of the size of the fat helmet at the end of my Vaseline-glistening cock. But the woman wanted it the Greek way, so she was going to get it.

I held my cock by the shaft in my fist, and held her hip with my other hand, and pushed forward. Her asshole stayed tight and resistant, but began to yield under the pressure, but I was still not past her anus. She began mumbling, "I know I said I wanted to do this, but it feels so strange down there. Your girth, it may be too much; maybe we should reconsider."

"Maybe, but if you press out a little, Mrs. Fischer, I think I can get it in."

She nodded, faced forward, and I felt her butthole open a little. I applied a little more pressure as I felt her ass relax. Continuing to push, I felt the head ease through her opening with a sudden release, and she screamed.

Mrs. Fischer's high-pitched, startled scream cut sharply through the dim breakroom, then fractured into a long, quavering exhale that ended somewhere between a whimper and a throaty laugh. Her whole body locked rigid for several heartbeats, her fingers releasing her ass cheeks and grabbing the sofa arm, white-knuckled, her back deeply arched.

Then she inhaled shakily through her nose and let the breath out in a trembling rush. "Ohhh... my... stars and garters! Nathaniel... you... are... inside me... there. Mildred and I had speculated so many times about what it would be like, but I had no idea! I already feel full to bursting. Are you all the way in?"

"Just the head, you want me to keep going?"

She started to answer, but her voice cracked, and she just nodded. She gave a tiny, experimental movement backward, easing barely an inch. She sharply inhaled as the movement tugged at the tight ring that was stretched around the shaft. She paused, then said through gritted teeth, "Give me more!"

I reached forward, grabbing her shoulder with one hand, and one of her oscillating breasts with the other, and pulled her farther onto my cock. She threw her head back and wailed an indistinct scream that was swallowed by a boom of thunder. Her legs trembled, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her back.

She looked over her shoulder at me, her hair dripping with sweat and her face contorted, and said gaspingly, "Don't... stop, Nate. Go all the way! I need to do this once in my life!"

Without saying anything more, I tightened my grip on her hips and pushed evenly so my pubic bone hit her tailbone and my balls bounced up against her pussy. She went perfectly still.

For several long seconds, the only sounds were rain hammering the windows and the distant murmur of big-band horns leaking from the transistor radio, just like the time she lost her other cherry, way back when.

Then Mrs. Fischer spoke, her voice small and astonished. "I've... taken all of you. Back there. I can feel your heartbeat against my insides. It's the lewdest, most marvelous thing I've ever felt in my life!" She laughed. "Why did I wait so long?! I wish Mildred could see me now!"

Her ass was so tight, like she was holding my cock in a hot, velvet fist for its entire length. It took every bit of willpower not to commence to drill her in and out immediately, but I waited, hoping her commentary would stop so I could get to fucking. It was like she was reading my mind.

"But enough of an old woman's babblings. I can sense by your fidgeting and your grip on my bosom that you are ready for your climax. Very well, Nate, start rogering!" She hastened to add, "But please, slow at first! Let me get accustomed to this rude intruder! Then have your way with me, Sir!"

It took us a few strokes to get our rhythm, but soon, I was long-dicking her ass, pulling almost all the way out, and pushing all the way in. She was taking it like a trooper. She was moaning in arousal when I would thrust into her, her rectum gripping me and milking me so I got closer and closer. Sweat poured off her, and she lifted her own nipple of the breast I was not holding to her lips and was sucking it as the tempo of my thrusts got faster.

As I started to orgasm, I pulled her tightly to me so my cock was deeper into her than it had been all night, and I roared as the cum shot out of me into her bowels. At the same time, she screamed a high-pitched, long train-whistle of a wail of pain and ecstasy, as she went limp again in my arms.

I slid her off my cock, and lay her on the couch, facing the backrest, her knees drawn up, one of her hands under her head, and the other holding her breast. In the candlelight, her ass gaped open, as my semen ran out of her pussy and her ass and pooled on the vinyl. That mess was going to be hard to explain in the daylight.

Standing over her, touching her sweat-soaked hair, I looked down and said, "Mrs. Fischer, you ok?"

With her eyes still closed, she smiled and said, "Unhmmm." She opened one eye and looked up. "Please kiss me, Darling." She pursed her lips.

I leaned over and kissed her, and she said, "Thank you. Now, help me so we can get cleaned up. That was a dirty thing we did, and we can find soap and cloths in the staff ladies' powder room to clean up."

I gave her my hand, and she twisted, putting her feet on the floor, but rubbing her butt over the puddle of my semen and her juices on the cushion as she stood. She spread her legs, still sitting on the couch, looking immodestly at her crotch, pulling her gray bush up so she could get a better look at her pussy lips. She reached down and dipped her fingertips into the puddle and the residue on her legs, then looked up at me, blinking.

"My goodness, Nate! That is like a turkey baster full of batter that flowed out of me. It is a good thing I have started the change, or you would have put me in the family way for sure! You positively soaked my uterus, then had enough to fill my entrails! My goodness!" Then she eyed my hard cock, bobbing in front of her. "And you are ready for another go!"

I grinned at her. "You said you wanted four rounds."

She groaned. "The energy of youth meets the decrepitude of age!" She held out her hand, and I helped her stand. "But I promise you that if we are still here in a few hours, we shall go again. But first we get cleaned up, then we rest."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Fischer."

We began moving around, looking for cleaning supplies and bedding, as the storm raged on. A bolt of lightning hit nearby, and I could see the disheveled couch cushions, soaking in her juices and my cum. The heavy smell of our sex filled the air in the breakroom, and I imagined what would happen if that mousy librarian would suddenly show up. The idea of her busting in on us, seeing us, smelling the air, and seeing that room made me laugh. I could not wait for what would happen the rest of the night.