Mrs. Tenholder Loses It

The movie I took was "Last of the Mohicans" with Daniel Day-Lewis and before you chide me for a film that was hardly a date movie, remember how Gretchen was a fan of the American frontier. She had mentioned James Fennimore Cooper to me once.

I met her at the door and each of us was carrying beer and wine. She laughed and took my haul from me. "I'll put mine in the fridge," she said. "Let's start with yours."

I popped a beer and uncorked her wine, poured a glass and we talked for a bit. Nothing was said about "The Mother" or her re-review of that film that I witnessed through the living room window. The beer was good and cold and I had nothing for lunch so I was feeling a quick buzz and, to look at Gretchen, so was she.

I slipped the movie into her DVD after taking out "The Mother" which I noticed was still in the machine. "Ahh," I faked surprise. "Here it is. Netflix will be pleased to know I found it."

"I'm going to make some popcorn," Gretchen said and while the menu booted up, I could hear the slow whir of the microwave. She returned and plopped down on the sofa with her recharged wine glass. I was getting ready to join her when I heard the ding of the microwave so I dumped the popcorn into a big bowl and came back into the living room.

Like I said, I was a little heady from the beer (2 down, 10 to go) and when I sat on the sofa, I decided to sit close to Gretchen. She seemed a little startled but I quickly offered her popcorn from the bowl and the movie began. She relaxed quickly.

More beer, more wine. When I reached behind her to refill her wine glass from the bottle on her end table, I left my arm around her.

"Date night," I said as an excuse and she giggled, punched my arm slightly and returned to the movie, which she seemed to really be enjoying. I realized I had never spent any time this close to her before. She smelled clean with just the barest scent of soap or maybe it was shampoo about her. I looked at her closely as Daniel Day-Lewis ran across the countryside holding his weapon. She had deep laugh lines and old-age folds along her neck. Her eyes darted and danced with each new danger on the screen.

Too many beers meant a quick trip to the bathroom and Gretchen seemed genuinely disappointed when I stood up. When I came back, I again sat close to her and threw my arm around her. This time she laid her head against my arm for a moment as though giving tacit approval to my embrace. More poured wine. More beer. More headiness.

I put my hand on Gretchen's arm and pulled her closer to me. She came along willingly.

"This is good, Johnny" she said, presumably about the movie, and winked. I squeezed her arm slightly.

At some point she reached over (eyes never leaving the screen) and refilled her wine glass and when she did that, I moved my hand under her arm so it was gently cupping the outside of her breast. I could feel its warmth and bulk under my hand as it heaved and fell with each new adventure on the screen. Or was it something else?

When I returned after getting another beer from the refrigerator, I sat next to Gretchen again and, without looking at me or saying anything, she lifted her old arm so I could put mine under it as before. I placed gentle pressure against the side of her breast, enough so that she moved closer to me but said nothing.

At first I only rubbed an idle thumb along the side of her breast and crossed my legs to hide my growing erection. Emboldened, I worked one finger into her arm hole so that I was actually fingering her bra, lightly, but without question. Then two fingers. Gretchen said nothing but seemed a little stiffer on the sofa. I carefully slipped one finger just to the edge of her bra line. I could feel the soft, warm skin and as she breathed a small gap was created between her skin and the bra. I gauged the timing of her breaths and slipped a finger under the bra to the side of her breast. I was finally touching her warm, living tits.

I looked at Gretchen's face. Her lips were pursed and she was sitting up straight as though she expected to be called to the front office by the principal at any moment. I let my finger play along the side of Gretchen Tenholder's old, soft, sweet breast . . .

Without saying anything or making a dramatic move, Gretchen shifted slightly so that my probing fingers dropped out of the armhole, then she settled down next to me again, briefly laid her head on my shoulder, then returned to the movie. Okay. Apparently there were limits. Or not. Couldn't tell. I kept my arm around her and eventually was able to rub the side of her tits from the outside.

The movie was over. She stood up, popped open some more wine (and beer) and with that easy flush on her cheeks and the ready smile on her lips, she proceeded to discuss the film and how it reflected reality and how it didn't. I kept up with her but all I could think about was the feel of her firm tit flesh against my fingers.

Oops. She was a tad tipsy now although her words weren't slurred. I could see she was having a little trouble getting up with one quick move. I was having the same problem. It was time to go.

"I'm glad you liked this movie better than the last one, Gretchen."

"Oh, Johnny, that earlier movie was okay. It just took some getting used to." "Let's do this again. I'll bring the popcorn next time," and I reached down and grabbed Gretchen's lovely old hand and held the fingers to my lips, then proceeded to carefully lick the butter off two of them. She seemed startled, but didn't pull her hand away.

"Good night," I said. "You were a great date." And I reached over and gently put my hand around her head and pulled her mouth to mine. Her eyes closed. I could taste the butter on her lips and I licked them with my tongue. Her tongue came out briefly to touch my own, then retreated. I took my free hand and boldly placed it on her grapefruit-sized tit and gave a slight squeeze. She moaned slightly. I dropped my hand from her tit, picked up her hand, kissed it gently, smiled and whispered 'good night' again, and left.

A week or so later I stepped outside my door and saw Gretchen in her sun hat watering the begonias she had planted. She had her back to me and I decided to pay her a visit to gauge her reaction to our earlier "date."

As I got closer, I gazed again upon the rounded, but not overly-large ass and legs that were a bit thicker than I remembered. There was, however, a nice, sensual curve at her thighs. Ah, she turned. Those great hooters! My fingers still tingled from the remembered touch.

"Hi Gretchen," I said.

She hadn't heard me coming but when she did, she smiled and the familiar blue eyes danced. "Hi, Johnny. How come I haven't heard from you lately?" And she made a small make-believe pout with those old, sensual lips that I had kissed and licked only a few days earlier. I felt my crotch throb a little. It was amazing the effect this old woman was having on me.

I loved the way she called me Johnny. The only other person who called me that was . . . my mother. It should have been disturbing, I guess, but it wasn't. I really liked this friendly old woman but my lust was all-consuming. Still, as I knew, slow and steady wins the race. I wasn't about to ruin everything by rushing in too fast.

"Are you ready for another date?" I smiled at her.

Naturally, she blushed but the warm smile never left her face. "Sure," she said. "What'd you have in mind?"

You don't want to know, I thought. Or do you?

"What if we go out this time?" I said. "There's a film playing at the Rave Theater that I think you'd like. What do you say?"

She pulled off her gardening gloves. Pretty fingers. Wouldn't they look wonderful wrapped around my cock? "I know exactly which one you mean. It's that period piece set in Elizabethan England. I can't remember the name. Is that the one you meant."

"That's right," I said. "How about tomorrow?"

"How about tonight," she responded quickly, then blushed again. "I'd really like to see it. But I'll buy. You've been getting all the DVDs. I haven't been to the movies in years."

I shrugged. "Fine. I'll get the popcorn. That will probably cost more anyway!" Gretchen laughed. I smiled and turned away. "I'll pick you up at seven."

I finished some work at home and discovered to my surprise that I was practically trembling at this upcoming date, like a teenager going out for the first time. It took me a while to realize why.

This really was a first date. It would be the two of us going out together. Sitting together. In the dark. What magic things might take place in the dark, I wondered. I had some ideas. But if I pushed myself too quickly, there would be no getting up and going home. We were together. How far could I go?

Gretchen was ready on time. I always like that in a woman. She was wearing a pretty yellow blouse that was more baggy than I would have liked but a tit package like hers was difficult to hide. She wore a skirt that came to her knees and her legs were bare, which I found a little surprising.

When getting into the car, Gretchen was a little slower than I remembered her being. After all, this was a 70+ year-old woman, something I needed to remember. She smoothed out her skirt. "I haven't been on a date in a long time. Thanks, Johnny."

"No," I said. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to it."

Gretchen bought the tickets, as she said she would. I bought the popcorn (lord, how they gouge you for that stuff!) and just one large coke. She said she wasn't thirsty but I punched an extra hole in the top and jammed a second straw in. "You'll want a drink after eating this expensive popcorn," I told her.

We sat near the back of the theater. "It's where I always take my girlfriends," I whispered and Gretchen giggled, then quickly covered her mouth to hush the laugh as we settled into our seats.

The movie . . . was lame. It was ponderous. I think she liked it better than I did but even she seemed a little distracted. I put the popcorn between us and it wasn't long before we had finished it off. As expected, she wanted a sip of my coke and didn't seem to care which straw she used. I put the empty popcorn bag down at my feet then calmly, naturally, rested my right hand on Gretchen's leg just above the knee.

Her only reaction was to pat my hand with hers and leave it there for a while. Was she telling me it was okay? Or was she telling me don't move your hand anywhere else? She took another drink from the cup and after she lifted her hand , I slid mine inside her leg, but still outside her dress. Gretchen responded by moving her legs together a little, but not so much as to pinch my fingers between her thighs. Now I was lightly grasping her lower thigh with my right hand.

I looked at Gretchen's face. Nothing there except a new concentration on the plodding movie. But she had almost imperceptibly moved her legs a little further apart. It was not exactly an invitation (she was too much the lady for that) but certainly an indication of either trust or accommodation. I moved my index finger slightly until I reached the hem of her skirt, then pulled it back far enough that my entire right hand was now resting on the cool, firm, bare leg of Gretchen Tenholder. She did nothing. Her eyes were riveted to the screen. I felt a tremble surge through me that I had to quell lest my busy right hand start quivering. I slowly started sliding my hand up the length of her smooth, naked thigh.

Gretchen moved her drink to the other hand and I prepared for a rebuke or at least the feel of her restraining hand on mine. Her newly-free hand lingered for a moment above her thigh. I could see in the low light how her skirt rode unnaturally high on her leg and how my right arm disappeared beneath it. It was an intoxicating moment of lust. But what would Gretchen do next?

To my surprise, she gently placed her free hand on my thigh, turned to smile at me and said, "This was a wonderful idea, Johnny" and she squeezed my leg ever so slightly but her touch was electric. No one was within 5 rows of us. Gretchen looked into my eyes with real affection, the first time I could remember seeing such a look, and she kissed me on the lips. I could feel her old, soft lips cold from the soft drink and as our tongues briefly touched, I could taste the butter and salt from the overpriced popcorn.

"My mother," I said to her for the first time, "used to call me Johnny."

Why did I say that? Nervousness? I don't know. But it didn't seem to matter. Gretchen pecked again briefly at my lips, moved her hand higher up my thigh then turned back to the movie as though everything was the same. But it wasn't. Certainly not for me.

I turned to watch the movie also but I was more quickly sliding my hand under Gretchen's skirt, using the edge of my hand as a blade sliding between her thighs. I heard her quickly catch her breath but the only other thing she did was squeeze my thigh almost reassuringly. Whether it was or not, I don't know but that's the way I took it.

I looked down. Her skirt was bunched up almost to her waist, my hand hidden beneath. I could easily see the cool, fat legs of old Gretchen Tenholder as the light from the screen licked at them. My hand could feel the heat emanating from her crotch and in one quick, but gentle move, the edge of my probing hand found the indentation of her cunt beneath the light cotton panties.

I sawed at her womanhood with the edge of my hand in slow, easy motions. I could feel the bunches of pubic hair beneath her underwear. I could feel no moisture through the panties, even as I began stroking the vaginal opening with one, then two fingers. She was so soft, so warm and . . . for the first time, Gretchen was pushing toward my fingers. I looked at her face. Intense. Her breasts were heaving a little more. Yes, there it was again. Gretchen was pushing back at my fingers as I stroked her pussy.

I was reminded of Lauren Bacall's line to Humphrey Bogart: "It's even better when you help." And so it is.

I worked a pinky finger around the fabric of her underwear and for the first time, I could smell the scent of aroused womanhood coming from her. There was the prickle of hairs against my finger. I moved my entire hand inside her panties and drove two fingers into her twat.

Gretchen grunted audibly, then moved her hand from my thigh and grabbed both armrests before settling down, if you can call it settling down. I rubbed across the vaginal opening, feeling the coarseness of her hair, then played with her clit until my efforts were rewarded with the slow but inevitable moisture so that my fingers were slick, not with butter this time, but with the womanly juices of my 72-year-old neighbor, Gretchen Tenholder.

I leaned down in the darkness and shoved my head under her skirt where I could more easily smell her arousal. I licked her thighs, moved my hand from her cunt to hold the naked side of her ass, then roughly pulled her panties to one side and tongued her hole, chomping at the labial lips, almost forcing my entire face into her opening as though I wanted to reverse the birthing process. Her gentle hand was on my head (on her skirt which was on my head) holding me to her pussy. I licked. I chewed. I sought to devour this gorgeous, lovely old woman who had so aroused my lusts and she rewarded me by pumping at my face as I tongue-fucked her. She moved slightly in the movie seat and I slid a hand under one ass cheek and happily slurped away while she pumped at me with a surprising abandon, grunting only irregularly until, finally, she pushed hard against me and I could feel the juices like the nectar from a fine old fruit tree slop into my mouth and she moaned way too loud, then settled back into her seat, spent.

There was no more pretense of watching the movie. Gretchen was laying against the back of the chair, eyes closed, lips smiling but unwilling (or unable?) to look at me. I came out from under her skirt, tried to modestly adjust her underwear and sit up in my seat once again. No one in the theater, apparently, had seen or heard anything. I was starting to be worried that they would SMELL our act before anything else.

I took Gretchen's hand with mine, the same one that had been jammed up her twat just moments before, and placed it on the mound that was my poor, straining cock. Gretchen didn't move but she did grow a beautiful smile at that moment and rather expertly, to my surprise, undid my belt and unzip my fly to unleash the frustrated beast within. Her eyes were still closed as I finally got my wish.

Gretchen Tenholder's warm, liver-spotted 72 year-old hand was wrapped around my cock and she was milking it from stem to stern with the soft, firm touch I knew she would have. I leaned back, closed my eyes and tried hard to keep quiet and was pretty much successful until I felt a familiar tongue flicking at my pee hole, then kissing and licking the length of my cock before swallowing the thing whole at the very moment I exploded with an intense and insistent orgasm. I must have shot gallons of cum into Gretchen's sweet old mouth but she didn't move until she had licked me clean. Then she took a popcorn napkin, daintily wiped her mouth -- and mine -- and said. "This movie really isn't very good, Johnny. Let's go home."

That little episode left me drained and confused and wondering. Drained from the great cum explosion Gretchen had so kindly consumed. Confused about her apparent reluctance to discuss our little "dates" openly. And wondering if anything like this would ever happen again.

I didn't have to wonder for long.

It was another week before Gretchen surprised me with a visit to my home. There was an almost shy knock on the door and I opened it to see Gretchen smiling at me with those innocent, lively blue eyes and for the first time I noticed she had freckles on her chest and age lines in her face.

Before I could say anything to her, she sputtered out a little too quickly. "There's a great movie playing at the old drive-in outside of town. You remember the one they reopened this year? Anyway, I thought it would be fun to, you know, sit outside and watch our next movie. The weather is supposed to be cool. No rain. What do you say?"

I smiled at Gretchen Tenholder's discomfort and I looked at the heaving chest I so wanted to explore. What a sweet lady. Lord, how I wanted to fuck her.

"Sure, Gretchen. Sounds great. I'll pick you up at, what, 8:30?"

"No, no," she said quickly, her quick smile again playing on her lips. "Let's take my car, Johnny. You can drive, though. I need to get it on the road every so often so this is a good opportunity."

The Tenholder car was a big, old Lincoln Continental. What do old people always buy land yachts? "All right. Then I'll stop by at 8:30 and we'll take in a movie outside this time. "

"It will be great fun! Bye!," and she waddled down the steps to the street while I appreciatively watched her ass waving to and fro. Great fun, indeed. This would be interesting.

We arrived at the drive-in about 15 minutes before the previews started and I offered to get the popcorn (she paid admission again). When I returned to the car, I saw that she had moved to the back seat where there was more room than in the front.

"Popcorn," I said. "And a cup of water, just like you asked."

"Thanks, Johnny. You're sweet." And this time when she smiled I just had to kiss those sweet, old lips. I was feeling genuine affection but as I touched the dry, papery lips, I couldn't help but remember that these were the same lips that just last week were wrapped around my cock. She closed her eyes as I kissed her but there was no tongue. She reached for the popcorn.

Gretchen stuffed some popcorn in her mouth and she turned at me and smiled. "Let's see if this movie is any good," she said and I was worried that maybe that was her intention all along. It made me feel a little like a, well, mother-molester.