Latina Granny Ch. 02

"Wow!" I gasped, "I forgot how hot it was supposed to get today. Now I'm even more glad I didn't wear underwear."

I know that sounds a little bold of me to say such a thing to a young man I barely knew but Steve was just so naïve and so focused on staring at my boobs that I thought he needed a little shock to wake him up. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated his stares a lot but I liked to think now that I had more than one attractive feature.

"Y-you're not wearing underwear? Not even a bra?" he asked. He was looking at me with a shocked expression.

I tried hard to keep a straight face over the bra part and replied, "Oh no. I am so much cooler going desenvainado or unsheathed. Besides, I don't think there's a bra made that I could wear under this halter top. Does that bother you?"

"N-no . . . I guess not. It just surprises me that a MIL- sorry, mother would go commando," he said correcting himself at the word MILF.

We were walking slowly through the parking lot now. Each time Steve would speak he came to a complete stop. It was as if he couldn't walk, talk and stare at my boobs all at the same time. I didn't mind - it took longer this way. I was positive Steve was enjoying himself. The word 'commando' puzzled me, though.

"You said 'commando', Steve. What does 'commando' mean?" I asked, then added, "Oh and by the way, I'm a GILF, not a MILF."

Steve stopped in his tracks, got a little red in the face and tried his best to answer me. "Sorry, I just have a hard time believing you're a-a GILF."

"Well," I darted back, "I'm only a GILF if you think I'm a GILF. Do you think I'm a GILF, Steve?"

"Yeah," he said bashfully. For the first time since our little walk began he took his eyes off my cleavage and inspected his own shoelaces.

"O-h-h good!" I cooed, "I was beginning to worry I wasn't measuring up. You know, it takes a lot of time and effort to look my best."

I let that linger in his thoughts a moment and then asked, "So tell me, what does it mean to be command?"

"Go commando," he corrected, "And it means you're not wearing underwear, of course. But it sort of means you're ready for any kind of action."

I smiled at his explanation. He was right, I truly was ready for anything.

He was lost in thought for a moment and then, with the faltering speech I had come to expect, he added, "B-but I'm still not c-completely convinced you've gone totally commando."

We were still a few feet from my car but I turned to him and said in my sweetest voice, "Well, I suppose I could prove it to you."

With that, I stepped up to my car, unlocked it, opened the back door and said, "Drop my bags on the seat, Steve and then we can talk - if you still don't believe this grandma is a commando."

I was learning so many new words from all these frat boys. First Trent helped me discover what a GILF was. Monty explained, then showed me all about my landing strip and now Steve had opened my eyes to the intriguing possibilities that come with 'going commando.' Knowledge can be such a lovely thing when properly applied!

Steve tossed the bags onto the backseat eagerly. I dropped my bag on the backseat floor with a small thud. I slammed the door (it doesn't always latch right) and stood by the driver's door waiting.

"A gentleman opens the door for a lady," I prompted.

Steve fell all over himself getting my door open and then looked on as I did my level-best to ease into the driver's seat gracefully in such short dress. I did not want to expose my landing strip and all the tender real estate south of it to him yet. I intended to give Steve the opportunity to discover just how ready I was for anything - in a commando-sort of way.

I shut the door hastily, started the motor so I could roll down my window and turned on the air conditioner full blast. I aimed the vents to pour all the cool air directly onto me. I feared I might be working up a sweat shortly. Besides, the cool air ought to make my nipples stand at attention shortly and that would help prove my 'commando' status.

"Thank you, Steve," I answered warmly when I was finally seated and he was leaning in to speak with me through the window, "Now about going commando . . . Is there ever such a thing as a commando raid when someone goes commando?"

I caught him off guard with that question apparently. He just hung suspended on the door of the car staring at me, not a sign of understanding on his face. He was staring down at my tits again and was more or less lost in his own dreams.

"Here, dear - let me show you why I'm asking," I said, though he wasn't hearing a word I said. "Is this considered a commando raid?" I asked.

I took his hand in mine and quickly guided it to my legs at the hem of my little dress. I pressed his palm to the top of my thigh, opened my legs for his hand and pressed his fingers over the inside of my thigh. His hand was warm and covered a good portion of my leg. I let it rest like that, waiting for Steve to come to his senses.

"You did say going commando meant being ready for anything, didn't you, Steve?" I asked.

I inched his hand up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress along with it. I stopped only when I could feel the tip of his index finger a fraction of an inch from my opening.

"Oh wow!" he gasped. For the first time he gazed down beyond my breasts at my open thighs where the hem of my dress was pushed up almost to reveal Trent's handiwork with the razor. I held his hand and let him stare.

"Isn't there usually a little reconnoitering to be done on a commando raid?" I asked with a grin.

"Yes, there is!" he replied and attempted to shove his hand roughly toward my little blossom.

I held his hand back and cautioned, "Reconnoitering requires stealth and a great deal of finesse. You don't want to alarm the natives, now, do you!"

He relaxed and I inched his index finger into my crease. I was suddenly very thankful I had applied the last of my travel bottle of lubricant to my little honeypot after my shower. Steve's finger slipped inside a bit and I drew it up through my crease until it came to rest on my clit.

"O-o-h!" I cooed, "Sometimes commandos have to work quietly and feel their way around in the dark to find out what the natives are up to. It takes patience!"

My voice had turned warm and soft by now. Steve's fingers - two or three of them, I think - had begun a slow, steady stroking rhythm. He had apparently learned by my coos of appreciation that my clit was an important focus for his reconnaissance and was exploring it with great interest. Thank goodness I hadn't fastened my seatbelt! My hips were now rolling in time to Steve's strokes. I might have hurt myself writhing and squirming against it. This was one instance when a seatbelt was unsafe.

"Are you learning anything on this little raid, Steve?" I asked when he had me worked into a soft, fizzing frenzy.

"Yes!" he answered, "You have a lovely . . . sweet pussy . . . and it deserves - it deserves a . . . a lot more . . . reconnoitering!"

He said all this with emphasis on his words in time to his strokes on my clit. I was almost over the edge with his final deep stroke on 'reconnoitering' but then he slowed his pace, looked me in my dazed big brown eyes and asked, "Tell me Febe - will your orgasm be bigger if I play with your tits too?"

I was going to explode and soon. I could only answer, "Oh yes! Oh please yes! And hurry!"

I expected him to grab at a breast and cop a feel. Instead, he slipped his free hand to the back of my neck beneath all my hair and with a single quick tug he untied the flimsy cord of my halter. With another quick yank, both breasts fell out of their little cups and he began to caress them, pulling roughly at each nipple in turn. This quick maneuver and the unexpected attention to my stiffening nipples caused me to gasp and I began to cum. I'm afraid my orgasm was a loud, messy affair. I called Steve some very ungentlemanly names. I may have accused him of performing some quite perverted acts with his own mother in the process - in Spanish, of course, but in the end Steve seemed quite gratified with the results of his reconnaissance. He was definitely making new discoveries with his little commando raid, for he kept murmuring things like "Amazing!" and "Wow!" and my favorite, "Damn, but I didn't know any woman could cum like this!" He actually said that last one several times. I guess I did cum for a long time, so he certainly had a reason to repeat it.

Finally, when I could cum no more, I simply collapsed, gasping and sweating, my body limp as overcooked spaghetti. Apparently, I had thrown my right leg over the center console in order to give Steve complete access to my pussy. I was spread all over the front seat by now, my pussy turned up and my tits exposed and all reddened from his twisting and tweaking. Thank goodness for the air conditioning or I would have been an even sweatier, frazzled mess.

It took more than a minute to get my breathing under control and recover from this little 'raid.' When my breathing finally returned to normal, I did my best to re-tie my halter top and smooth my dress. It was a real struggle to get my right leg off the console and back in front of me. Through it all, Steve just stood looking down on me and grinning. I could tell by his grin he had learned a lot on this little reconnaissance mission. I had high hopes he could put it to good use in the future.

"Oh, Steve," I gushed out in breathy fashion, "I hope you learned some important things on this commando raid! You might be able to put some of it to use this Sunday night if you come over to my place for . . . um . . . dinner. Would you like that, Steve? Getting something to eat at my place, I mean."

I didn't need to check his crotch to know he had an erection but I looked anyway and added, "My! That is an impressive bulge you have there! I wish I could stay and help you take proper care of it. It certainly looks uncomfortable!"

I prepared to leave then but remembered a couple more things I wanted to say. Besides, it was so much damned fun teasing him. "Just ask Trent for my address. I'll look for you around 6:30, OK? Oh! And be sure to wear a sport coat and tie, please. I like a well-dressed man."

As I rolled away I stopped, rolled my window down and called out to him one last time, "Steve, are you pretty handy with a razor?"

I think he started to cum in his pants right there in the parking lot!

So much had happened in the past three days. My five-minute drive home didn't give me very much time to think about the many unexpected changes in my life but I tried. I started to repeat the mantra I had used all afternoon, "I am in control. I know what I am doing. I am in control," but stopped myself after only one round. Who am I fooling, I thought? It had been Lucy's infection that triggered all these unexpected developments. Trent had introduced me to the notion of my GILF status and Monty's inexperience had forced me to recognize my natural talents as a life-coach. All that had taken place had been triggered by happy, unforeseen events and I had only succeeded in responding to them in splendid fashion. Perhaps I wasn't really in control. Maybe I didn't know exactly what I was doing. I did know that I had a lot of delicates to hand wash when I got home. I was going to be needing them soon. I had a job interview coming up.