So long ago. Almost. . .twenty years? No, twenty years exactly. Yes. 1983. Was when I first started seeing Mrs. Moore. Mrs. Sylvia R. Moore. Wealthy widow who lived two houses down from us, and a former Olympian. Or so we'd all been told.
I remember thinking, when I'd first learned of this exotic-seeming aspect of the woman, that she was WAY too old too be in the Olympics! I must have been five or six at the time. Even then, when she'd babysit my sister and I every so often, she was already OLD! (I believe she'd have been just over forty or so then.)
But she was SO. . .elegant! And just, well, exotic, I suppose, with her jet black hair, and smooth-yet-craggy, tanned face. It wasn't a beautiful face, but it had more than enough 'character', I think they call it, to make it up ten times over. In fact I came to see her face, eventually, as quite beautiful. Gorgeous, even. But by then I was madly and tiny-teen-passionately in love.
And if I'd just paid a bit of attention to things at age six as I did later, at age ten, I'd surely have noticed what a magnificent bod the woman had on her. At forty. So of COURSE she could have been an Olympian. But in the late 70's, I had no real concept of what that WAS anyway. I think I thought of it as some sort of vague Wonderwoman-ness. I also had no real concept of 'Had-Been'-ness, either, so that was that. BUT. Then, a few years later, I'd had a report to do, on -- you guessed it, The Olympics. I was in fifth grade, I think, and STILL had no real idea of what the damn things were (those Olympics), it being 1983, and the US having boycotted the 1980 games. And my mother suggested I see Mrs. Moore down the street. Ohh, yeah. . .She was in. . .? Right. So my mother called, and arrangements were made, and I, on a bright May Saturday morning, set off for the Moore house.
Maybe that particular morning as an extra kind of haze around it, but I remember it being almost hot, and it was still pretty early. And the bees whizzed lazily around her freshly fragrant hydrangeas as I strolled up her front walk. She'd been a widow for as long as I could remember, and her large front porch was clean and open. A white linen hammock hung about halfway down, and there were newly blooming potted plants all over. It was neat, I thought.
And before I could ring the bell, the door opened, and out she came, holding the lattice screen. " Good morning, Patti! Come on in," in that wonderfully low, velvet voice of hers.
I noticed immediately, as I followed her through the sweet-smelling hallway to the kitchen, that she wore a kind of robe? or Asian dress or something, that was very lightly fabricked, almost see-throughey, and also really quite short. And it was funny, all those years of babysitting, and here I was for the first time noticing what amazing legs she had! I mean, they were like, like perfect! Like Wonderwoman, I thought, and smiled to myself. And she was barefoot, too, so I could see too how firmly sculpted her dark brown feet were. It gave me this funny feeling, and I just thought, Man, Mrs. Moore is one Cool lady, that's for sure.
I even remember, in those first steps through her hallway, noticing how her hips moved inside her robey thing, and how smoothly her bottom worked as she walked. And I got a little hot in the May weather, and was glad to reach the airy kitchen.
"Eaten breakfast?" As she held a pantry door open. I nodded. "Want something to drink? It's gonna be a hot day."
"Okay," I felt a bit subdued for some reason.
"I have. . ." as she perused her fridge, "let's see. . ."
And see, I was behind her, I'd kind of sat down at the table, so when she was looking in the fridge, I noticed. . .no, couldn't be. But I was absolutely riven by the sight of, yes, I was really to realize that she didn't have any underpants on!!! I felt my mouth open a little, and shut it, and kept looking, as she leaned over, quite athletically, to search the fridge. . .
". . .Tomato juice. . .ummm, a little tonic water, but you wouldn't want that. . .let's see. . ."
And I could feel my head kind of juuuust leaning to spy. . .at the top of those gorgeously tanned and muscle-smooth legs, I saw the paler-skinned crescents of her bottom! And even the dark, mysteriously fuzzy center, where legs and bottom all met together. She reached down and in to the lowest shelf, and Gosh Almighty, I saw her very own little slitty!! Mrs. Moore's slitty!!!
Only it wasn't that little, really, compared to my own and my sister's, the only slitties I'd seen. Like some ripe, dark fruit. And it was weird seeing it from the BACK, because it was just. . .I don't know, it was like this amazing, amazing, perfect part, the REALLY perfect part of this amazingly perfect woman. I mean, it had taken me all of, what, like five minutes, to all of a sudden just feel woozy with admiration for this. . .goddess. Perfect day for a crush.
She turned kind of suddenly, and I felt a bit guilty, and could feel how hot my face was. She knew? Looking back, of course -- DUH! But at the time, I didn't think so.
"I do have some ginger ale downstairs, if you'd like."
"No thank you," I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "Water's fine."
She smiled. "Sure?" I nodded. She got some from the tap and dropped some ice in. "Now, let's go look at all those memories!" And she took my damp hand and lead me into her sunlit sitting room.
The feeling I have for that room, even now. . .a warm, sensual feeling, a little dizzy-making, even, and bright, bright with the sound of Mrs. Moore's gentle, husky laugh, and the reflections of pastel sunlight coming off the swimming pool outside. She sat me on a long, cushioned chaise, picked up a large album from a side table, and sat cross-legged beside me. But she sat against the arm, perpendicular to me.
She smiled, and placed the heavy book of snaps into my lap. "Alright now, you asked for it, Patti girl. . ." and she opened the book for me, and the cover page read, "1956 Olympics, Melbourne."
"Wooow. . ." I really was quite impressed. In the scope of my new attraction, this was just further proof of Godhood.
"Mm-hm." She smiled, a mix of mockpomp and actual slight smugness. Well, she had every reason in the wide world to be smug! "Go ahead, you turn the pages, I'll tell you what you want to know."
And I did, and she did, and the time just flew! I was so fascinated, and lovestruck, yes. I mean, here she was, calmly describing being in the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics, and being at this party with this famous person, and that party with that one. I of course knew none of these people, but I believed they were quite big stuff in their, and her, day.
And every so often, she would tap-tap-tap on a certain picture in her humor, or active remembrance of something, and the feeling would reverberate right into my lap and little slitty just below. The spine of this tome rested right on my sensitivity, and when she tapped, wooo! It just made my insides do flips! I absolutely LOVED it here!
Another, delicious thing: sometimes she'd lean in to me to tell me about one of her athlete friends, speaking low (as if they could hear!) And as she stared at the picture, I'd peek up to see that I could see her bare breasts just hiding behind her light robe. They were. . .cute, I thought. But what was so special, so strange and seemed to go right along with the feeling I got under the book. . .her nipples were so LONG! My gosh, they must have been oh, like 2 inches or something! Maybe not that, but they just looked so. . .exciting!
And every so often she'd pat or lightly rub my knee or my thigh to make a point, and I liked that too. It was just so comforting, and kind of, I don't know, like our own little sneaky secret that we could feel all lovey together. Or at least I could. And I loved being able to see her nakedness, little peeks that excited me.
So that when the honk came for my ride, I moaned out loud, and Mrs. Moore smiled, and said that maybe we could finish the book next week if I wanted? with a shrug.
"Oh yes, yes, I'd like that, could I?"
Her teeth were so perfect. "Of course, dear, I'll talk to your Mum."
And I gave her a quick, passionate hug, and ran out. I could smell her subtle musk for hours. All that week I thought about Mrs. Moore. It was so weird. I'd never thought about ANYone like that, not even the boy whom I and all my friends said I had a crush on. No, my thoughts for Mrs. Moore were NOTHING like my off-and-on, will-he-like-me, he's-so-cute thoughts for Timmy Morrissey. These were thoughts that really took me places. My gosh.
I'd lie in bed and just couldn't stop thinking of Mrs. Moore's pretty, lush bottom slipping out from beneath that cool robe, and her plummy, ripe slitty perched so calm and elegant, and my little finger would slide down to my own smooth, humid slit, and it was like I'd moved closer to Mrs. Moore, and she was leaning further down to look for drinks, and I touched her there, and moved my finger slowly, slowly, so as not to shock her, and I felt her get so happy, I felt her smiling so beautifully for me, and moving her hips like she did so smoothly, and OOHHHhhhh, gosh, Mrs. Moore, ohhHHHHh, hmmMMmmmm. . . I'd gotten myself so worked up over the week, that by the time Saturday came around again, I was afraid she'd see, that I'd just be a bundle of little-girl jangles. I put on, then took off, about eight little outfits, then decided I'd just wear what I wore before, 'cause she seemed to like that? And a barrette in my hair. Hmm... I looked at my little ten-year-old, slim and almost hipless, almost breastless body in the mirror. Barrette? Cute. I took it off. My dark brown bangs fell over my forehead. Put it on again. Sure, OK, what the heck. . .
"Patti!! You ready??"
"Be right down!"
So my Mom drove me, even though it was just a couple blocks, 'cause it was raining, and she was on her way to do errands. So, I ran up Mrs. Moore's walk in the rain, and her door opened, and she grinned, and I grinned, and we were inside. She handed me a small, soft towel. "You're not too wet, but don't want to catch cold. Love your barrette! Is it pearl?"
Boy, did I blush. I was so happy she noticed that, I could have just done a backflip. "Thanks," rubbing my wet neck, "nope, don't think so. Maybe."
"Well, it's wonderful imitation, if not." And she started off to the kitchen, as I dropped the towel on the bench and followed. Same gliding catwalk. Her bottom-parts swinging in perfect time. Perfect. And this robe, a shade darker, seemed to hug her hips a little tighter, I thought. Her bottom just swish-swished against it.
In the kitchen, she turned with an adventurous look.
"Well. . ." and she turned to look outside at her rain-stippled pool, then back to me, "what do think about a swim before school?"
"It's . . .it's raining!"
"But it's warm, and the pool's wet anyway, and a swim in the rain is MARvelous!" And she lifted her arms and twirled.
I grinned. "Okay. But," and I grimaced, "I don't have a suit. I guess I could run back and get one." And I started for the door.
"Patti, no!" I stopped, my brows raised. She came to me and gently removed my barrette from my hair. As she placed it on the table, she said, "I never wear a suit in my private pool." With a look like, 'silly girl.'
I think my mouth was probably open, 'cause she giggled. "Not something you do every day, huh?" I shook my head.
"Well, you don't have to. But I'M goin'!" She looked out again. "And I might as well not get this wet out there," whereupon she undid her robe and just took it right off, right in front of me!!
Now, 'breathtaking' is a term well, well-used, but I am not kidding when I say that she did just take my breath away. I stood there gawking like a beached carp. She was just so beautiful!
She stood, naked, smiling at me. "Never seen a naked lady before?" I could barely gain enough sense to breathe, "Not like you. . ."
"Ohh, you're sweet. . ." and she came to me and kissed my forehead. Her hand rested lightly on my waist and she patted. "Really, you don't have to swim if you don't want to. It's just," and she grinned, "really really GREAT in the rain." Another pat, on my bum. "And I waited for you."
I felt myself blushing. My feelings of TOTAL physical inferiority were acute, as I murmured, "No, I'll. . .I wanna. . .swim."
She clapped her hands. "Yaaay!" And turned to pull out a chair. Her bottom without ANYthing was just awesome. Like a sculpture. But warm-looking. And jiggly, but happy-jiggly, not fat. She tapped the chair. "You can put your things here. Nice and dryyy when we get in." Another sly grin.
Sooo, I started to undress. Gosh, for like the 10th time today? But it wasn't my mirror looking at me, it was Mrs. Moore! In the absolute flesh!! And she was, too.
"You really do have a beautiful body, Patti." Did I blush? Is pee warm? As I stepped out of my shorts and underpants, she cooed, "swimmer's legs!"
"Huh?" I turned, my underpants at my ankles. I watched Mrs. Moore breathe deeply.
"You've got the legs, the legs and the butt of a swimmer. Turn around." I did, a bit confused, and was quite shocked to feel her hands run up the sides of my legs. "Your musculature. Long. But firm."
And I felt her hands grab my butt, both cheeks, and squeeze-squeeze-squeeze, like she was checking a melon. "Squeeze your bottom!" I did, and felt her finger start worming in between my crack! "And don't let my finger in!!" I squeezed, hard, harder, really getting a bit alarmed here, and totally confused. And, yes, excited. But not consciously so. Yet.
"Good, good!" Her intruding finger went away. I felt her hand pressed against my tummy. She'd had it there for leverage. "You can let go now, Patti dear. Unsqueeze." And she gave it a little *smack*.
She turned me to her, smiling. In that smoky voice that just made me wet, I know it now, she looked down at me and said again, "Good. You have good muscle control. That was an exercise we had when I was a girl. Quite a surprise the first time, yes?"
And when she grinned, I grinned back, and nodded. "I'll be ready the next time."
Her eyes kind of changed, and she said, "Good girl," and took my face between both of her strong, sweet-smelling hands. "So. . .next time I say, 'Testing!', you'll be ready?"
I nodded solemnly.
And then she leaned down to my face and kissed me softly, firmly, briefly, on the lips. Then back, her eyes popped, and: "Let's go SWIMMING!" And we did, and it WAS great. Just so so FUN. So WET, and FREE, and NAKED, and. . .ohhh, boy, do I miss that. And her.
And I know now that she was kind of softening me up, probably, as we swam, and splashed, and giggled, and shouted. When she'd touch me here, caress me there, hug me, and all. Naked. I don't know, I suppose in hindsight you think, of COURSE this was all moving towards the sack, getting the naked little ten-year-old girl into your matronly bed, but. . .at the time, I really was unaware. I just thought, if and when I even DID think, that she was just an eccentric older lady, who liked touching a lot, and heck, I didn't know the world, and she did, so okay, this is the world. And I have to say, I liked it. I LOVED it. So much attention, so much FUN; I just felt freer than I ever had, but in this new and naughty, breathless way. With this wonderfully sexy, unpredictable, NEAT old woman! Mrs. Moore!
"Call me Sylvia!"
We'd been playing this game for awhile, kind of like Marco Polo, but instead of calling out Marco! and waiting for Polo!, the person with eyes closed would have to try to tag the other by following their splashes. AND. . .the fun part (Mrs. Moore --Sylvia -- always made it FUN) was that the tag-ee could poke you or give you a butt smack while you tried to get THEM. And she was quick!
So she just loved smackin my little butt -- I'd hear a splashing, then a little chuckle, and then-- *smack* (underwater), but by the time I flailed around to get her, I'd hear her giggle yards away.
"Mrs. Moore! No fair, you're too fast!!"
"Call me Sylvia!"
I tread water, eyes closed, trying to somehow corner her voice slowly. Fat chance. "Sylvia. . ." ooh, I liked saying that. "Sylvia, you're too fast! Woah!!"
I felt a finger just graze my bottom. Then a low but clear voice, "Testing!" And I immediately squeezed my cheeks together as hard as I could as I felt her finger push, then begin worming into my crack. Woahh, this was in the water, it was slippy, it was feeling PREtty weird, 'cause despite my huge effort at compression, I was feeling that questing, strong digit inch, almost drill its way toward my poopy hole!
And just when I thought sure it was going to reach, and plunge so wildly and strangely into me, she stopped. "Verrry good!" A hand patted my shoulder, and then my still somewhat strained bottom. "Even in the water! Excellent!" And she turned me around.
Her dark hair was plastered to her well-formed skull, and those green eyes were huge. Her lips were so nice and puffy, too. She was kind of flushed.
"Patti. . .you really do have the makings to be quite a swimmer."
I grinned a little. "'Cause my butt can stop your finger?" And immediately blushed hugely. What a STUpid thing to say!
But she grinned back, and touched my cheek. "Yes. . .and because you are STRONG." She tilted her head, and raised a brow. "Want to test ME?"
My stupefaction must have looked quite comical, as she burst out laughing. She kissed my cheek, then my lips, again, briefly, softly, then looked at me. By now we were at the shallow end; she was standing mid-thigh in water, I up to my ribs or so.
"No, I want you to. I want you to feel the muscles involved." She turned around, presenting her rounded, firm, womanly bottom to me. "And. . .here, give me your hand. . ." And she placed my right hand, fingers up, on her right cheek. Oooh, it felt as good as it looked!
"Now. . .for MY test, I want you to push your THUMB in between my cheeks. Alright?"
All I could do was nod dumbly.
"Alriiiight. . .GO!"
And I pushed, I really did push, and soon I was pushing with all my might, 'cause I really did feel like I could do it, I could get my thumb in between her bottom. And I felt and saw her bottom flesh crinkle with her effort, as her cheeks squeeeezed themselves together. And I started kind of worming like I had felt her do, and I knew I was almost there---!
FLOOP! In one split second, she'd loosened, then trapped my thumb!
"Hey!" I couldn't move my thumb. I did feel a warm softness at the tip-- wooow, was that really Mrs. Moore's own poopy hole?? --
She chuckled down at me. "Stuck, huh?"
I tried pulling out, but I was really and truly STUCK! Boy, she was strong. And it was kind of hurting my thumb.
"Alright, my lamb, be free," and I felt her butt muscles soften. I withdrew my thumb, but not after a brief feel of, yes, that soft hole; I managed a tiny forward motion before withdrawing. I even heard her make a little noise, like a little growl.
She was looking down at me, her lips slightly parted. Presently, she started murmuring, in a breathy sort of way, "See, see, Patti. . .there are, umm, many, many muscles, and different kinds, of muscles, that are all working down there. . ."
"Uh-huhh. . ."
"Uh-huh. . .and, um, I want to show you some of them, and how they work. Okay?" She had a kind of glassy look.
"Okay. Okay, honey. Now," and she sort of leaned forward, and put her long-fingered hands on the side of each cheek. And kind of. . .pulled her bottom apart for me! "I want you. . . I want you to examine the muscles here," and she lightly tapped her fingertips on her inner cheeks, " and here, right around my rectum. Okay?"
"Oh-okay," I breathed, barely able to make a sound, 'cause I was just so so overwhelmed at this. I mean, I'd been aMAzed that I'd seen, then touched her bottom, then even lightly touched her, her bottom hole. . .but here I was looking RIGHT INTO her . . .RECtum. And I had to say. . .I don't know, I would have thought that seeing Mrs, Moore's rectum would be a for-sure gross-out, but it was so so so much a turn-ON!!! I don't know why!! It was just. . .here was this really cool old lady Goddess woman, who liked me so much that she would show me her butt --and peel it open for me like a ripe peach!
And now her rectum moved!
"That's just muscle control, honey." And it moved again, opening, then shrinking like a little sea urchin or something.
"That is so cool!!"
"Touch it, Patti, feel how it moves."
"Yes, go ahead, love, touch my rectum, touch all around it."
And so I did, I reached out a little finger and just barely *touched* the soft, brown halo skin around the dark hole.
"Good, honey. Huhh. . .touch harder, right on my rectum hole. I'm going to massage my vaginal muscles while you do. . ." and I saw her other hand slide between her legs and begin smoothly stroking her ripe, plump slitty. . . And so my finger touched right in the middle now, right on Mrs, Moore's bottom hole -- and the dark hole itself opened up like a mouth and snatched at my fingertip!
She chuckled shakily, looking back at me. "See? Muscle c-control, honey."
Her hole opened up again. "Push your finger inside, Patti, feel the muscles along the walls of my rectum. Go on, push it in, honey." And I saw her fingers working faster at the muscles in her slitty.
So I touched my finger again to her spongy rectum, and this time pushed, and began sinking my little index finger in. And I remember smelling her now, a kind of sweetish musk, a little poopy, but hardly at all. More spicy kind of, and exciting.
And her hips were moving around some now. "Oh, oh, Patti, honey, oooh, that's good, mm-hmm, that's good. Are you feeling the sides? Feel the sides. Way in, honey. W-waaay in. . ." And so my finger kept going waaay in, I was almost in as far as my finger could go! and it felt so smooth, and slick, and Hot. And my finger felt Mrs. Moore's insides going all squirmy inside her bottom, as her fingers flew at her pretty slitty.
"OHHhh!" She tried talking to me normally, but couldn't, really. But she tried. "Now, see Patti, mmmMMMmm, the reason, the-huuhh reason I'm getting kind of. . .boisterous here, ohhhhHHH GODD!! --- Cause, 'cause some muscles down there are veryeeeeEEE, mmmm, very sensitive, and they just, they just, huhh, huuhh, they just feel reeally really good. Ohh, so good, honey, mmm that's right, move your finger around in there, yeaaaahhh, ooohhhhhHHHHHHHHH. . .!!!"
I didn't know what was really going on, but I was proud, and excited, and very happy to be making Mrs. Moore feel this way; I wiggled my little finger inside her bottom as hard and fast and deeply as I could. Maybe I could again sometime. I hoped so.
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