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Liz Begins Her Story
I know Abbie has already told you how this all began and how I have to take the credit or the blame, depending on how you look at it, for how this whole complicated mess got started. To be honest, I’d probably do everything exactly the same way if I had it do to over again. It’s just so confusing, though! Even now, I’m not sure how I feel about all the changes in my role in the neighborhood or how all these young men are behaving around me. Of course, my behavior and my attitude have changed too — a lot!
Teaching young men proper behavior is easier said than done. Once Abbie and I set our plans in motion, I suddenly realized I had very little makeup and almost nothing to wear that could be called ‘dance-worthy.’ I hadn’t worn anything like nice a cocktail dress since before my husband, Ned died and the only dress I could dredge out of the back of my closet that came close to looking nice enough for dancing was awfully dated, like everything else in my closet. I tried it on and it fit me nicely. I may have been stressing about how stylish I might look but I took some comfort in knowing that this forty-two-year-old mama could still slip into a dress I had worn in my twenties. Jeff might not be impressed with my fashion sense but I still had nice smooth curves where a girl ought to have curves.
I guess you should know that in spite of my brash suggestion to give our sons these lessons, I tend to be quieter, more reserved and more cautious than my friend Abbie. And while Abbie has a figure like a model (well, except for her big boobs), I am sort of curvier. I have broad hips, my breasts are not nearly so big as Abbie’s — but my waist is still slender. I have long legs, though my thighs are rather muscular. I’m what my husband Ned used to call curvy.
As our sons passed each other in the driveway, I was suddenly struck by how much more muscular and, well – hunky Abbie’s son was than mine. Benjamin and Jeff had been close friends all of their lives but each of them had distinguished themselves in different ways in high school, expressing their own unique talents and pursuing their particular interests. Abbie’s son, Jeff was shorter, more muscular and had discovered wrestling early on in high school. That had led him into bodybuilding as well — and now, well – he was certainly well-built. My son, Jeff was taller and had shown a talent for basketball. He was graceful, fast and every bit as intelligent as Abbie’s son. Abbie and I had a lot to be proud of.
Jeff climbed my front steps, lips drawn tight, face and body an absolute block of grim, resigned defiance. He clearly did not want to be standing on my doorstep with a corsage in his hand. Still, he was awfully cute as he stood there stiff-armed, almost crushing the life and beauty out of the carnations in the corsage he was holding.
“Come in, Jeff!” I said, opening the door for him.
My young date — er, student entered the front hallway, spun toward me, threw the corsage out at me and said sharply, “Hi. Here’s the corsage.”
“And I have a boutonniere for you!” I purred, smiling and trying to lighten the mood. I plucked it up from the hallway table and approached him. I had to push the corsage box aside to reach him.
I was more nervous about all this than I had expected. My hands shook a little as I plucked up the lapel of his jacket and pinned the flower to it. I patted his shoulder when I finished — just to be reassuring and discovered it was like patting solid marble covered in taut seersucker. I smiled and did my best to turn my reluctant young man toward the hallway mirror to see himself. It was like trying to move a statue.
“Don’t you look nice!” I told him. I ran both my hands across his broad young shoulders from behind — to smooth the material, of course. That’s what mothers do, but I couldn’t help noticing how nice and solid and masculine his shoulders were. My hands may well have lingered a little longer on his shoulders than they should have.
Jeff grumbled softly at his reflection in the mirror, then turned, extracted the corsage from its box and wasted no time in pinning it to my bodice where I showed him. I had the distinct impression his mission tonight was merely to survive the humiliation of it all and be done with it. He was definitely going to suck the life right out of our lesson if he continued to be so pig-headed and unpleasant. I had to do something soon.
“Now listen here, Mr. Haffenshaft!” I snapped at him, “You are here to learn how to dance, to learn how to treat a lady and to become a more mature young man.”
I stared at him, letting him see my irritation before continuing. “You are not behaving in a mature fashion, Mister! Your mother and I know these lessons will make a difference.”
“Lessons?” Jeff sputtered.
“Yes, lessons! You are going to learn how to dance and how to behave in the company of a lady,” I charged back. I was relieved that I was being forced to play the role of hard-ass mom. I had let the sensation canlı bahis of my hands upon Jeff’s lovely broad, muscular shoulders distract me for a few seconds. Correcting my young student was helping to get my thoughts and my resolve back on track.
My little ‘Mom’ outburst seemed to squelch Jeff’s resentment at being forced to endure this time with his mother’s best friend. His broad shoulders slumped, he hung his head and then mumbled a resigned, “Okay.”
I led us into the living room and began by showing him some basic steps for our first dance. When I turned on the music, he frowned at me and asked, Will I have to hold you? That’s awfully slow music.”
He looked worried.
“Why, yes,” I answered, already beginning to position myself for this lesson. “Don’t worry, though. I will guide you every step of the way, Jeff. You’ll catch on in no time.”
He still looked worried, but I was determined to press on.
“Take my hand in yours . . . like this,” I said, “Then put your other hand at my waist . . . here.”
I slipped into a dancing posture quickly with him, placing his hands where they should go until we were abruptly face to face but still a respectful distance apart. Jeff did not move. He stared down at me, his jaw slack and a look of amazement on his face, as if I had just performed a magic trick that left him utterly baffled.
“Move your feet like I showed you, Jeff,” I prompted. Still, he did not move. I felt like the music, the rhythm and the moment were slipping away from us and I could not understand why. Jeff was no longer angry. He wasn’t resisting so much as he was either choked by fear or surprise. I could not tell which.
“What’s wrong, Jeff? Can you tell me?” I asked after a long, worrisome silence.
“I — I’ve never -never really held a-a woman before,” he stammered out finally. “You look so lovely tonight and I-I just never really expected I’d have to-to . . . you know – actually go through with this,” he added.
Apparently, he was suffering from a case of nerves too. Knowing this didn’t help me in the least. I suddenly realized that Jeff’s Adonis-like good looks and the rock-hard swell of shoulder under my hand were having a dramatic effect on me too. With his strong forearm snaked about my waist and our new and sudden proximity, I too felt a flush of panic. Out of the blue, I giggled. It wasn’t a giggle of amusement either. I sounded like a sixteen-year-old girl being tickled and I couldn’t help it. I giggled again like a teenager and wanted to slap myself. I felt myself blush. I hadn’t blushed in years.
“Well . . . um . . . I think we are both a little nervous right now. But . . um . . . I think we should try to work through our nervousness, don’t you?” I said through a silly grinning, almost idiotic smile. I had to fight the urge to giggle again.
“Well . . ,” he began, almost whining.
I’d heard that tone of voice from my own son often enough to know what was coming and even in my own current ‘tizzy’ I still had the presence of mind to head him off.
“We are still going to do this!” I told him emphatically and glared up at him.
Surprisingly, he didn’t even complain, mumbling a soft, “Okay,” at my sharp words.
We resumed our attempt at a dancing lesson. Jeff remained a bit stiff and reluctant to move, but after two or three minutes of my prodding and encouragement, we actually began to move as one. He even smiled a time or two as I kidded with him. If I had pressed him, he might actually have admitted he was enjoying himself. He began to relax as we danced. I, however was still feeling my own case of nerves. I kept fighting this urge to giggle and I couldn’t understand why until Jeff and I had a slight misstep. I suddenly felt myself beginning to fall. I hadn’t worn heels in forever and I just stumbled a bit. My hand tightened up about all those big bulging muscles on his shoulder. At the same time, his hand at my waist dropped a few inches lower and clutched at me. The result left me with one hand filled with a young man’s hard, hard muscles and his big, broad hand clutching my bottom.
At this point, I should probably interrupt my story to tell you that I am not a petite little thing. Abbie, another neighbor, Lena and I have diligently exercised and shared good, healthy diet ideas over the many years we’ve all lived on Lusitania Drive, but as I told you earlier, I am what you call ‘curvy.’ My breasts are a bit on the large side. Having a child can do that to a woman. But my bottom is well, pronounced. I’m rather self-conscious about how big it is and always have been. It doesn’t help that I have managed to maintain a slender waist and smooth belly, which seems to make my bottom stand out even more prominently. I know from Lena that black women seem to take great pride in having a lot of ‘junk in the trunk’ but it’s the one thing that I’ve disliked about my appearance — until recently.
Back to our dance lesson. Jeff also pulled me to him in his effort to keep me bahis siteleri from falling. Our torsos were now pressed tightly together and I was looking almost straight up into his watchful eyes. He had only responded in a protective manner, I told myself. Just the same, there was something different now and I think we both experienced it at the same time.
There was suddenly something large pressing against my belly. At first I couldn’t understand what it might be. At the same time, Jeff’s hand eased its grip on my bottom slightly but instead of moving it back to my waist where it belonged, my young student began to let his fingers roam slowly, gently over my bottom. He began to knead my big bottom absentmindedly as he stared down at me. He was actually enjoying this!
A man hadn’t stroked my ass like this since my husband, Ned had died. I should have pushed Jeff’s hand away and I should have told him to stop immediately. I didn’t though. At that same moment I suddenly realized what the hard lump pressing into my belly was. I gasped first and my jaw dropped as I stared up into Jeff’s disbelieving eyes. Then, just to destroy all my validity as the adult in the room, I giggled like a schoolgirl again.
“Mrs. Nobbing! I-I -What are we doing? Should we be . . . well, should I-“
Jeff was clearly confused by all that was happening. That didn’t stop him from fondling my ass, though.
“Jeff,” I interrupted him sharply before losing it once more and succumbing to the thrill of that lump pressing into my belly. “M-m-m,” I purred, biting my lip. “Just let yourself be . . . . lost in the moment!”
I’m afraid I uttered that last sentence while grinding my whole torso against that big, mysterious lump in Jeff’s slacks. I had a clear idea now of the proportions of our dilemma and — right or wrong — I was determined to face it head-on. I slipped my hand out of his and guided his hand to my back. I shamelessly clapped my newly freed hand on my young student’s tight bottom and pressed him closer. The shape and imposing proportions of the obstacle Jeff held concealed between us became oh so much clearer and made me gasp out loud.
We stood locked in this embrace for I-don’t-know-how-long with his big strong hands exploring my backside and me grinding that big, delicious lump of his shamelessly against the flatness of my own belly.
And then my cellphone rang. The chime told me it was Abbie. I most definitely did not want to answer it — but I had to.
“Yes!” I snapped, a little out of breath and cross. I know I sounded, well — distracted but I didn’t care. I did have other things on my mind.
I listened to Abbie for a moment. It didn’t take long to realize what Abbie was suggesting. She was playing right into my hand. I liked her idea. It made sense and practicing a goodnight kiss was a sensible next step.
“Oh . . . yeah, sure!” I told her, still breathless with my own excitement and then added, “He’s a fast learner.”
It was agreed then and I needed more than anything to get back to my student and resume our lesson. For some reason it became critically important that we practice a goodnight kiss as Abbie had suggested just soon as possible.
I ended my conversation with Abbie, turned to Jeff, who was standing red-faced and a little flummoxed a foot or two in front of me and said, “Your mother and I have agreed that it would be a beneficial part of your lessons to practice a goodnight kiss with you. Now, do you have any objections to our practicing a goodnight kiss?”
For some odd reason I half expected he might complain. Instead, he lunged in my general direction with both hands out low, as if he needed to refill his hands with ample amounts of my ass-flesh. I headed him off, grasping his hands with mine. Still, he nearly overpowered me. This young man was strong — and I think he was also very, very motivated.
“Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time, Jeff!” I told him in a voice that was almost calm, “You will almost certainly kiss your date at the end of the evening. A handsome, polite young man like you will most certainly be faced with kissing your date at some point.”
I paused, still holding his hands at bay, to let that sink in. “Are you ready for a practice kiss?” I asked.
I took the opportunity to glance down. Jeff’s hands were softly clenching and releasing as if they were already filled with my posterior. I also stole a glance at the front of his trousers. There was a nasty-looking tent protruding from his pants. I don’t think I’d ever seen a bulge that big. I’m sure my eyes grew a bit wider at my discovery.
I cleared my throat and glanced up to meet my young student’s wide-eyed, goofy grin. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Knowing the danger didn’t stop me and that surprised me. You see, I am usually much more cautious than Abbie and I normally wouldn’t have considered kissing my best friend’s eighteen-tear-old son, let alone permitting him to fondle my big firm mama-bottom.
“Place your bahis şirketleri hands on my shoulders . . . here,” I told him, “Now, just lean in a little bit, close your eyes and pucker your lips just a little.”
Everything went fine until the moment our lips met. It all happened so fast and it was all so confusing! Jeff’s strong grip tugged me tightly against his muscular and ever-so-hard chest and his lips parted. At the same instant my mouth opened. I guess that part was because I was so shocked. Before I knew what was happening, one of his hands had returned to my backside and was busily working my left cheek over. I found myself pressed tight against that big, delicious-looking lump in his pants I had stolen a glimpse of only a moment ago.
I didn’t know what to do and it was all so confusing! Finally, I did the only two things that came to mind. I thrust my tongue into Jeff’s open mouth and thrust my hips forward and began to roll my belly against that daunting bulge. These may not have been the proper steps for a mother and a newly anointed teacher of dance but — darn it — I was loving every thrust and roll of my hips and every twist and tangle of our tongues as they dueled!
My hands quickly began to explore all those hard, rippling muscles of Jeff’s shoulders, biceps and chest. We had been going at each other like this for I-don’t-know-how-long when I discovered I had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt and was gasping and gurgling over the marvels of his hard sixpack abs and the rise and fall of his chest as he as we kissed and worked ourselves into a breathless frenzy. I hadn’t felt so giddy and totally consumed by, well, by lust in years. I suddenly knew what I wanted — no needed and it involved a whole lot more than just making out with this naive teenager.
It took every ounce of my strength, but I managed to pry us apart. With a little room between us, I unbuttoned this young stud’s sport coat and pushed it off those broad shoulders of his. He quickly got the idea and helped. His hands flew to the remaining buttons on his shirt and undid them as well. The sight his chest and his smooth belly made me a little giddy. I may even have giggled again.
While Jeff was tugging at his tie, I stepped back and untied the cord holding my dress about my waist. You see, I was wearing one of those old wrap-around dresses that was held closed with about six feet of cord at my waist. As I said earlier, I hadn’t updated my wardrobe in years.
With the cord untied, I flung the front of the dress open wide. The only thing I wanted right now was to be as free of this dress and everything underneath it as quickly as possible. My maneuver failed. There were still several feet of cord wrapped around me that would require tugs and wriggles to uncoil. Frustrated, I grasped the cord where it attached to the dress and gave it a merciless, hard yank. The cord snapped and my dress fell open. I never wanted to wear this dress again and I certainly did not want to wear anything at all for the rest of the night.
I peeled my dress off like it was on fire and stood for a second debating whether to shuck off my panties first or my bra. I glanced down and for the first time in a long time felt embarrassed. I was wearing the plainest, dowdiest white panties — bloomers really — and a white, grandma-style bra that was a little gray with age. This was definitely not what I wanted a handsome, muscular young stud to see me wearing. I solved the problem by stripping out of them as quickly as I could and throwing them as far away from me as possible.
As I shed my clothes, Jeff finished removing his tie and shirt and then simply stood watching me twist and wriggle my way out of my drab underthings. I felt almost ashamed by my appearance as he looked on. His jaw dropped as I threw my bra somewhere off in a distant corner of the living room. I straightened to face him and thrust my chest out at him.
“Mrs. Nobbing! I-I had no idea! Wow! You look amazing! . . . Damn!” he gasped out. Clearly, he was excited. The sight of my drab underwear hadn’t dampened his, um . . . enthusiasm at all.
Ordinarily I would have objected to his use of a four-letter word, but Jeff had paid me a great compliment. Any time a forty-two-year-old mother can make a young man curse is a good time in my book.
I fell to my knees in front of him and hastily set to untying his shoes. Jeff took his cue from my actions and unbuckled his belt and released the clasp on his trousers. I headed him off just in time to grasp his fly. I felt like it was Christmas morning and I was about to unwrap a special present. The tent in his pants was still there and I had to struggle a bit to get the zipper down over all that tightly stretched material. I stood poised on my knees in front of him and pulled his pants down past his knees. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his jockey shorts and tugged at them. Something big and unyielding caught at the elastic in front. I tugged harder and still his briefs would not yield, though that big delicious obstacle did bend downward slightly. Finally, in desperation, I grabbed the elastic in front, squarely above the bulge, tugged it out from his belly and drew it down with a snap.
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