Me and Mrs. G

At eighteen years old, in the early seventies, my first job took me to the power station at Calder Hall in Cumberland. Probably better known these days as the scene of Britains worst nuclear accident, due to the fire there in 1957.

I decided to try to find some digs in the nearby small village of Seascale, as it was too far from my home for a daily commute.

In the way that word was spread in those days, I located digs in The Old Rectory right on the edge of town. It was owned by the improbably named Mrs Goodbody, who was a young widow in her mid to late thirties, trying to make ends meet after the untimely death of Mr Goodbody.

The house itself was imposing, with high ceilings and spacious rooms, as you would expect from a Georgian rectory, but it had somewhat primitive plumbing. It worked fine, but the protesting noises from under the old oak floor boards as the pipes expanded, was certainly noisy if not actually alarming.

Mrs Goodbody herself I found surprisingly attractive for someone of her age. Remember at eighteen, someone in their thirties could be twice your age if not actually your mother. Anyway she was eye catchingly petite, with an enticing bosom, and trim waist. Her face was round, framed by rectangular glasses and she allowed her long red hair to flow free.

Mrs G's room was at the top of the stairs, and although the door was often ajar there was nothing to be seen, as she had a large Chinese silk screen obscuring any view of the interior. This was a shame as I freely admit to wondering what I might be able to see were it not for that screen, particularly after she emerged from the bathroom and was dressing.

My room was next door, large and airy with a wooden adjoining door, which I was relieved to see, had been permanently fixed closed.

Right at the far end of the corridor was the huge bathroom that had probably once been a bedroom. It housed all the usual fixings including the biggest shower I had ever seen.

Showers were not common in private houses at that time, and those that existed, were usually a small cabinet affair. This was way ahead of its time, capacious and fitted with enough pipes and taps to do justice to an early submarine. There were jets from the sides and a huge overhead drench that produced a downpour of almost tropical magnitude.

I was encouraged to use the shower rather than the voluminous bath, as that consumed vast quantities of hot water.

"I don't mind you having a bath," she told me with her faint Cumbrian accent, "but please let me know first so I can put the boiler on. We don't want to run out o' hot."

Inevitably, our paths crossed from time to time as one or other of us made our way along the corridor, and the thought of what secrets that white towelling robe concealed, combined with the odd flash of thigh, set my young imagination soaring.

My bed time reading, as I recall, was a slim paperback called 'You Always Remember The First Time.' I so wished this was true as I was still very much a virgin. There was yet to be a first time.

The book described how a young Scandinavian girl (weren't they always?) gave her virginity to her boyfriend on the lounge floor of her mother's house.

Of course she had long blond hair and even longer athletic legs and pert little breasts. She and her boyfriend were snogging passionately on the settee in front of the TV, while her mother was out, for whatever reason, it really didn't matter to me.

The description of how the boyfriend managed to get his hand inside her blouse and feel the soft warm pliable flesh of her young breasts always got me going. But this night it was different. This night his hand ventured onto her knee and slid gently up the silky smooth skin of her inner thigh, until it met the elastic leg of her knickers.

She put up no resistance as his hand found its way under the elastic, and into the already moist divide between her legs. By this stage my erection was totally rigid.

The description of how he removed her knickers, gently laid her on the rug, and and was poised between her virgin thighs, only added to the excitement. Then, as he placed the tip of his cock at her entrance, and slowly and gently entered her for the first time, her gasp as she felt that first penetration, and their subsequent passion always set me off. I usually filled my hanky fairly soon afterwards.

I remember the end of the story, when her mother found her knickers under a settee cushion the next day. Her admonishment about how there was only one ending once a girl parted with her knickers, stayed with me as did the phrase on the cover of the book, "Old enough to know better, young enough not to care."

This description was highly erotic and, in the fashion of the day, I returned to its well thumbed pages time and time again. The written word was about as far as my exposure to erotica went.

One very memorable evening I was lying in my bed, having opened the book at the turned down page. I was just getting to the good bit, where his hand is sliding up her thigh to the edge of her knickers, when I heard the unmistakable protestations of the plumbing coming to life. Not a loo, but that magnificent contraption that passed for a shower.

I was a bit turned on by the book, and I let my mind wander into the bathroom. There were only two of us in the house. It had to be her. Her of the intriguing bosom. Her of whom I had seen occasional flashes of thigh as she skipped down the corridor, clad only in an ill fitting towelling robe. Her, who in my imagination, had a forest of red curls hiding the object of my lust from view. Mrs Goodbody! And if it was the shower running she was about to get naked, if she wasn't naked already!

What did those breasts look like unfettered? What did that magical space between her thighs look like? Feel like to touch? Would she be wet like the Scandinavian girl in my story, who was just about to be penetrated for the very first time. Was it sexy washing those lovely breasts? That space between her thighs?

Needless to say, I didn't get to the end of the story, in fact I only just got my hanky out in time to catch a powerful release before I fell asleep contented.

Friday came round, and I set off for home after work as usual. I don't think it was a memorable weekend in any way, but the following week was. I arrived at The Rectory after work and went upstairs to change. When I entered my room I noticed immediately that the bed had been freshly made with crisp clean sheets, well before the days of duvets.

That, however, was not all I noticed. "You Always Remember The First Time" was sitting on my bedside table and it had been moved. I had been stupid, of course she would change the sheets sometime! Why, oh why, had I left the book out? How embarrassing. Now Mrs G knew I was reading smut, as it was called back then.

We had supper as usual. Mrs G and I sat down to watch the old telly and a slightly risqué French film came on. I must have let my prurient interest show because she said.

"You'll go blind you know. Or grow hairs on the palms of your hands."

Referring to the two fabled results of excessive masturbation! She knew! She knew I'd been flogging, as we used to call masturbation in the days before you could say masturbation out loud. I blushed deeply embarrassed, but noted that she had a slight smirk on her face, a slight hint of a smile.

Worse was to come. When I got to my room, trying to resist the temptation to read about my blond Scandinavian heroine, I turned down the bed and noticed, there on the pillow, was my handkerchief, washed and ironed! I must have left it under my pillow, and Mrs G had removed it along with the evidence of my nocturnal fantasies, washed it and ironed it! Mortifying!

I vowed to lay off the fantasies but, as you can imagine, like almost all resolutions, it failed. It failed almost immediately because I heard Mrs G's footsteps heading down the corridor for the bathroom swiftly followed by the sounds of the pipes juddering their protestations as they warmed with the hot water on its way to drench the naked body of Mrs G.

Erection.

I tried to drag my thoughts away from what I imagined the naked wet Mrs G looked like, as I read one of the less erotic passages. OK so the erection remained but the urgent need to ejaculate gradually faded.

I heard the bathroom door go, and her footsteps heading back to her room at the far end of the corridor. What was she wearing? That loose fitting towelling robe? Just a towel? Or because she knew I was in my bed maybe, just maybe she was scampering down the corridor totally naked: erection now back to full mast, no matter how improbable the thought.

My reverie was brought to an abrupt end as there was a tap on my door, swiftly followed by Mrs G's head.

"Do you by any chance have a....."

The question was never completed because even below the sheet it was quite obvious that I still had a very pronounced erection, and that my hand had involuntarily started to manipulate it..

"Ooops, sorry! You really will go blind you know." She chortled as she entered the room.

"Have you got to the good bit yet where he just slips his hand inside her knickers? That was so sexy. I wasn't meaning to pry, but your book somehow just fell open at that page."

I lay there gaping. Mrs G wore only the towelling dressing gown and the thought that she was probably completely naked underneath didn't help.

"Let me help you," she said as she sat on the edge of my bed, gently pulled back the covers and surveyed my rampant cock jutting from my pyjamas.

"No need to be shy. We all do it you know, and no one has ever really gone blind."

She delicately took each side of my pyjama trousers and pulled them down over my hips. No female had seen me naked since bath time as a young child, and no one at all had ever seen me naked with an erection. I quivered in anticipation.

She lay down beside me, allowing the front of her dressing gown to gape open, and one ripe breast to be exposed to my gaze.

"Pass me your nice clean hanky, we don't want to make a mess of the fresh sheets now, do we?"

Unable to say anything, I did as I was told. She took my cock in one hand and kept the hanky close by, then she gently started pulling my foreskin back and forth.

If 'flogging' was fun, this was heaven.

"You can touch my breasts if you like, but be very gentle."

My hand made its way to the gaping opening. I reached in and felt my first beautiful naked breast. The sensation was intense, made all the more so by her very gentle manipulations of my foreskin.

"Let's not rush this," she said, "it's so much better taken slowly." And she let go for a second or two, to allow me to recover my composure. I, of course, was preoccupied by the firmness of the stiff little nipple surrounded by a large dark areola, the delicious weight of the breast itself, and the nearly overwhelming desire to come.

She circled my cock again very lightly with the palm of her hand, and started a very gentle up and down motion once more. The effect was electrifying and she had to stop almost immediately. This was repeated several times to let me recover.

By now my young brain was in total sensory overload, a breast in my hand, a hand round my cock. No matter how much I wanted it to go on for ever, nature had designed this level of stimulation to have only one ending.

A few more gentle strokes and the sensations became totally unbearable. Hop, hop, hop, hop, all over! A truly massive ejaculation right up over my chest. Mrs G took the hanky and mopped up the evidence.

"There, that's better isn't it?" She asked rhetorically and followed with, "mmmmm, smells nice."

Readjusting her dressing gown more decorously, she stood up and made for the door, pausing only to turn and wish me pleasant dreams!

Had that really just happened? Had I just touched my first breast? Had Mrs G really just tossed me off? Had my young muscles actually squirted my cum that far? Had she actually said it smelled nice?

I don't know how many times I relived that experience, but the first one was almost immediately! The only problem was that I couldn't find my hanky in time, so my pyjamas were pressed into service. Fortunately the second orgasm wasn't anything like as powerful as the first, so I let the small damp patch dry of its own accord.

Some considerable time later, when I had arrived on a Monday night and we had had supper, she handed me a book with the cover wrapped in brown paper, much as we used to do with school books.

"I think you'll enjoy this," she said with a smile, "just be aware that you might need glasses afterwards!" And chortled at her own quip. "Just take it one story at a time!"

I couldn't wait to get to my room and see what erotic secrets were concealed between its covers. I dived onto my bed to find out. I don't remember the exact title, but the picture on the cover of the paperback was powerful and self explanatory. I could immediately see the reason for the brown paper cover.

A young woman was standing, three quarters on, back to the camera, one foot was placed on a chair while she removed her stocking. This was the final garment she wore, except for black silk french knickers, all the rest had been discarded in a pile on the floor. Her face was turned over her shoulder looking straight at me. The swell of her breasts obvious, but nipples just out of view. Her buttocks, firm and young were emphasised by her pose which just oozed sex.

The title was obviously about Erotic Short Stories and the subscript was something to the effect of You Know You Want To. I could hardly wait, this was going to make You Always Remember The First Time seem pretty tame, and so it did.

"How are you getting along with the book?" She asked at breakfast one Friday morning.

I could hardly admit that I was filling my hanky on a regular basis..

"I suspect I will need glasses soon." I tried to quip.

"Oh we can't have that!" She replied, "maybe such a mucky boy should have a shower before bed time."

I suspect I muttered something incoherent, but the tone of her voice told me to comply. I took a shower.

A short while later I heard the pipes protest again. Mrs G was showering. She was naked under the flowing water. Oh no, another erection.

Not long after, there was a tap at my door and her head appeared.

"Have you read the one about....."

Again the sentence was never completed. Again she spotted my obvious erection, and my equally obvious attempt to relieve the problem.

She sashayed into the room, shut the door and tugged at the cord holding the two sides of her bathrobe together.

As she approached the bed the two halves of her robe flowed out behind her to reveal both her glorious naked breasts and a pair of low cut white cotton bikini pants with a silk bow at the front.

This was my first sight of a near naked woman and nothing like what I was expecting, although what I was expecting was far from clear to me. My previous experience of the naked human form had all been in the school changing rooms. Boys getting ready for PE or swimming with their slim boyish hips and ridiculous dangling willies, nothing remotely interesting at all.

But here was a near naked mature female. I can, in retrospect, only think of her having the body of a Degas painting, that slight upward curve of the top surface of her breasts, the way the nipples pointed imperiously outwards, and the way they swayed gently as she walked towards me.

What really took my breath away was that gentle outward curve of her belly, starting just below the navel and transitioning to an inward curve just above the still hidden object of my lust.

"Are you getting all worked up over the sexy stories?......

"Are they making your young cock all stiff?.......

"Do you want me to stroke it again?......

"Make it cum, like last time?"

I could only gulp, mouth opening and closing.

As she approached the bed she shrugged off the bathrobe leaving her clad in only those briefest of panties. I had to make sure I didn't touch my cock or it would have been hanky time.

"Get out of bed and stand up, here."

I complied.

"It's not fair you having all the fun," as she unbuttoned my pyjama jacket. "I want some fun too," and pealed it off. I could only stand transfixed with an obvious bulge in my trousers.

"So what's all this then?" as she pulled my pyjama cord and let my trousers fall to the floor. Suddenly here I was, stark naked, with an erection and wondering what the heck to do next.

"We are not going to 'do it' but let's stroke each other. You can take off my panties if you like."

If I liked!

My hands were trembling with excitement fear and anticipation all at the same time. Somehow I managed to get my hands into the top of her panties and start to work them downwards.

The feel of my first naked female buttocks! But better was to come. As I lowered them with my face only inches away from her belly, I came to the first hint of pubic hair, fine downy red hairs and as I progressed downwards I could see the wispy down completely failed to hide her sex. I was staring at a vagina!

We lay on the bed facing each other. She encouraged me to explore her body, her breasts, her bum and the moist divide between her legs, while she stroked me gently, carefully avoiding touching my cock.

At one point she raised one leg and placed it on top of mine, allowing my hand much freer access to her sex. The wet slipperiness both surprised and delighted me as she guided my hand, controlling the speed and the pressure as she rubbed the top of her slit.

After a while, try as I might, the mental stimulation was too much and I had a massive orgasm, releasing quantities of semen over both our stomachs.

She immediately grasped my cock, raised her head and whispered in my ear.

"Keep rubbing.......

"Just like that.....

"Mmmmmm nice."

Her hand worked its magic and I failed to go soft. She played with my cock and I with her cunt, under her expert tuition until she appeared to have had enough. Her strokes became more forceful, more determined and more vigorous until I felt it happening again. I ejaculated for the second time.

We tidied up. She smiled and kissed me very delicately on the lips and surveying the damage said.

"Clean sheets tomorrow anyway!"

This was the first of my encounters with Mrs G, there was more to follow. If you can spare a moment to leave a rating or a comment, I would be delighted to hear from you.