Seasons

Mrs. Bergman wasn't in a sipping mood; she took a gulp and paused to savor it as it spread through her body. I thought better of telling her about my grandfather's saying.

"Mrs. Bergman, I'm glad you came over, it gives me the opportunity to talk to you about something that needs to be out in the open once and for all; something I need to be honest about with you."

"Well," she snapped, "Your mother is my dearest friend and she deserves to know the torrid things which go on between you and "that woman" when she in not home."

She was wound tighter than a coiled rattlesnake and the top foot of her crossed leg was going ninety miles an hour as she took the last sip, actually gulp, of her sherry. I wondered if the pumping action of her leg was creating a bit of friction in her panties that caused her to be so flustered.

I quickly poured another full glass of sherry and pretended to fill my glass too as I tried to push thoughts of what might be going on her panties out of my mind.

"Mrs. Bergman, "that woman" is Marcie and she has been a good friend to you for years, but that aside, you should know the reason she was here; Marcie and I haven't been cavorting." Okay, so it was a lie, but I had to gain control. "As a nurse, she has been counseling me some on a serious issue I have had for a number of years; an issue that includes you."

"Me? What on earth are you talking about?"

"You see, I have something called, Associative Behavior Disorder or ABD."

Of course I made it up, but she was half way through her second "little glass" of sherry and it was obvious that she was mellowing out a bit; her foot was bouncing much slower and there was less tension in her jaw; perhaps there was something going on in her panties after all.

"You see, a person with ABD develops certain feelings for someone that society deems taboo, a mother, for instance and because of that they often redirect those feelings toward another person that would not be considered taboo.

She interrupted, "What does this have to do with me?"

"The reason I'm telling you this, Mrs. Bergman, is that I have certain strong, maternal feelings which are considered taboo and, for obvious reasons, I have redirected those feelings toward you."

She immediately squawked, "What? Towards me? What kind of feelings?"

She gulped down the last of her second glass of sherry and moved to the front edge of the sofa, almost as if she was about to run away.

"Mrs. Bergman, there's no need to be alarmed. My psychologist tells me that it is only natural that since my mother is a very pretty and a very desirable woman that I would project my feelings onto another very pretty and very desirable woman close by."

There was confusion on her face as she processed my statement. I poured another small glass of sherry. Between the shocking revaluation and the sherry, Mrs. Bergman batted her eyes several times very quickly; she pulled a lace handkerchief out of the sleeve of her sweater and dabbed at the perspiration around her neck and upper chest then fanned herself lightly.

"You would be much cooler if you removed your sweater; here let me help you."

She looked confused about what she should do for a moment, but let me help her remove the light sweater from her shoulders. I caught the aroma of her perfume, "Mmmm, you are wearing my favorite perfume, White Shoulders;" I laid it on thick, "how appropriate seeing your lovely, white shoulders."

She blushed and, again, batted her eyes quickly at the compliment and attempted to be gracious, but there was still that look about what she should do.

She snapped again, "You still haven't told me what kind of feelings you are talking about; do I need to be concerned for my safety?"

"No, of course not; it's probably due to our years of being close by that I projected my feeling on you. That, and as my psychologist said, it would be natural for me to project my feelings onto another very pretty and very desirable woman I was close to."

She almost beamed when I, again, mentioned "very pretty and very desirable."

"Since I grew up in a home where it was not unusual to see my mother dressing, undressing, and bathing, I often saw her nude and have those images in my mind. Since I know that it isn't acceptable to think about my mother that way, I projected those feelings onto you." I paused to give her the idea that it was difficult for me to talk about, "Mrs. Bergman, I often undress you with my eyes."

"Oh, my goodness; do you do this all the time when you see me?"

"Well, with Marcie's help, thank goodness, I'm learning to redirect my thoughts into more positive ways. For example, I focus on how pretty your hair looks styled that way or how nice that blue color in your dress goes with your eyes," she seemed to relax a little more, probably more because of the fourth "small glass" of sherry than my compliments; I needed to shock her once more. "Before Marcie began helping me, I would have been thinking about your full, firm breasts, slender waist, and long, shapely legs."

Her jaw dropped, "Are you undressing me now?"

"Well, to be truthful, the aroma of your perfume and seeing your smooth, white shoulders completely broke my concentration, but Marcie's counseling is helping."

"Will, I just don't know if I should even be around you if you are always undressing me. After all, I am a lady and there are certain standards I go by."

"Oh, I understand. I will just keep struggling to overcome my disorder. Just being able to tell you about it has helped me immensely. I, however, think I should discuss it with Mr. Bergman too, just in case false rumors get out. I wouldn't want him to be caught by surprise."

"No, no Will, you do not want to do that. His health is not good and that would just upset him," she looked at me pleadingly, "Please do not mention this to my husband. You can count on me to squelch any rumors that I hear. And, as a lady, I certainly don't want everyone knowing you undress me with your eyes."

I didn't tell her, but that was my goal all along. My attack had become a victory.

"Okay, but you have to understand that if false rumors should get out about Marcie, all the truth will have to come out; I guess we will just have to trust each other then."

I thought, perhaps, if I succeeded in stopping rumors at the source and I could put to rest my afternoon tryst with Marcie. From then on we would meet at my house thirty miles away.

I poured a fifth "small glass" of sherry for Mrs. Bergman. She sat back completely relaxed, the tension was gone, the head of steam released into the air, but she was certainly in deep thought about the issue.

I was surprised when she looked at me and asked, "Will, is undressing me all you imagine?"

I pretended to be contrite, "No, of course not; you are a very pretty and very desirable woman. Sometimes my imagination runs wild; I imagine kissing your naked body and touching your most private places."

I thought that would surely scare her off.

"Oh my," she said as she again fanned herself with her lace hankie. She fidgeted in her seat unsure of what to say or do. I laid my hand on her bare back above her dress; she purred like a kitten.

"Mrs. Bergman, I know I shouldn't have such thoughts, but I'm just a man."

I picked up her hand from her lap and kissed her wrist, "Will," she said softly with surprise without removing her hand from mine.

She smiled for the first time I could ever remember. I put my arm around her shoulder and she moved closer to me, "I'm glad to know that we are both just human."

"Tell me about undressing me."

Damn, I guess I had put too much in her mind and she liked it.

I kissed her hand again and began to spin an erotic story about a young man and his older neighbor with whom he had erotic thoughts. I began to formulate a fantasy story based on a real event that she could relate too; I stalled for a little more time.

"You know, I don't even know your first name. Don't you think I should if I'm going to tell you my most intimate thoughts?"

She smiled, "its Henrietta."

"What a lovely name; it fits you well. Henrietta, do you remember how my mom would send me to your house with a dish she had cooked or to borrow a cup of something she needed for cooking?" She nodded she did remember, "One of those days, you were in the backyard taking clothes off the line so I set the dish on the kitchen counter and went out to help you; I stood there for several minutes watching you."

"I watched as you stretched your long, slender body up high to remove the clothes from the line then drop them into a basket. It was a bright sunny day and the sun shone right through your dress, I could clearly see your panties and bra; it was as if your undergarments were caressing your body. I immediately felt a twitch in my cut-offs."

"Will," she said with a giggle and a surprised look at the thought of me being aroused by her; her body shivered, but I continued.

"You asked me to pull the basket closer as you began removing the rest of the clothes, mostly your underwear; I stood beside you holding the basket as you removed each piece. When you dropped one of your bras in the basket, I read the small tag on the end, 34 C, I seem to remember." It was just a guess, but she didn't challenge my guess. "I imagined your firm, white breasts filling each of the cups and I wondered if your nipples were hard." Her body immediately shivered at my mention of her nipples; I pulled her closer. "When you dropped a pair of white, cotton panties in the basket, the size tag showed a Size 6. I imagined you nude, stepping into those panties and pulling them up your long, shapely legs and covering your patch of dark, downy soft pubic hair. I wanted to touch you, to feel your smooth white skin warmed by the bright sun."

She was completely captivated by the story; I could see her chest begin to rise and fall as she breathed deeper. Her face and the top of her chest were flushed; Henrietta was sexually aroused by my story.

"You certainly have some imagination; of course, it wasn't very lady like for me to be showing a young man my underwear and I'm certain your mother taught you better than to look."

"Yes, she did, but I thought how they gently caressed your body and it was impossible for me not to look at them."

I'm surprised that you took interest in my sizes; my husband doesn't even know my sizes."

I continued, "By the time I carried the basket inside for you, I was completely aroused; I had to turn my back to straighten "it" up so it wouldn't peek out the leg of my cutoffs; I wondered what you would think of me if you noticed me with my hand in my cutoffs."

"Well, I don't recall that I notice that; I'm sure I would have remembered that if I had seen you," she stated with a bit more emphasis than needed. Of course, she didn't remember, it never happened, but I wanted her to think it did. I leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder.

She quickly moved closer to the edge of her seat and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees; she was clearly in deep thought about something.

"I should go," she said quietly.

"Does that mean you want to go?"

She hesitated, "No, but I'm a lady and I do have a reputation to protect."

"And I'm a gentleman; a very discreet gentleman. I know that a lady is allowed to enjoy life's pleasures and continue being a lady when she is discreet."

She sat quietly for a moment then turned to look at me, "Will, I haven't been intimate with a man in many years."

There was a longer pause; she stared at her fidgeting hands as I sat quietly and ran my hands gently over her shoulders.

She looked back again, "On my wedding night, thirty-two years ago, my husband discovered I wasn't a virgin, that I had been intimate with my boyfriend, who was also his best friend; he was killed in a work accident. I never tried to hide it from my husband, I just assumed he knew; I mean, I knew guys talked about things like that. When he found out I wasn't a virgin, he just stopped showing any interested in me altogether. We have had separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms ever since; we rarely even make eye contact with each other."

She hadn't made a move to leave. I slid the zipper of her dress down to her waist; she sat quietly as I pushed the straps of her dress, slip, and bra off of her shoulders and covered her exposed milk-white skin with kisses. She cooed softly.

"Why don't we slip your dress off so we don't get it all wrinkled?"

She didn't respond for a moment then she stood up; the straps of her clothes hung at her elbows. I stood up behind her and pushed the top of her dress down to the floor. She quietly slipped off her heels and stepped out of her dress then carefully laid it on the back of a chair; she pulled her remaining straps back on her shoulders without turning around. I moved behind her and pulled her body against me; it was quickly apparent she was wearing a girdle; her bottom was as hard as my cock. It made her mature round bottom feel like it was armor plated. I couldn't imagine a woman as slender as she was wearing a girdle, but I had certainly seen stranger things from the opposite sex.

When I kissed her shoulders, she laid her head back against me; my hands moved over the front of her nylon slip covered body. I doubted that she could feel my erection with a girdle on, but I pressed it against her firm armor plated bottom as I continued to kiss her neck and shoulders and caress her body. Her girdle was a tube type that did not cover her crotch but mostly supported her stockings and firmed her round bottom.

"Come on, let's go back to my old room," She didn't say a word when I took her hand and led her down the hall to the redecorated guest room that had once been my old room.

We stood at the foot of the bed without saying a word. I removed her glasses and lay them on the dresser, took her face in my hands, and kissed her bright red lips. She melted against me; her body trembled and her breathing increased. After several minutes we broke our kiss and stepped back from each other. Her chest was heaving; her bright red lipstick smeared.

"You look very sexy in your slip."

"Thank you." She paused then asked, "Do you really think I'm pretty and desirable?"

"Of course, any man would," another white lie, but it would produce rewards.

"Would you like to undress for me?"

I sat on the bed and leaned against one of those wedge shaped cushions that you use to read in bed. Henrietta just looked at me for a moment; I guess trying to decide if she was ready to display her shapely body to her best friend's son. She crossed her arms and grasped her slip near her hips and lifted it slowly upward. I enjoyed watching as her long, stocking encased thighs came into view, then her smooth, milk-white thighs and girdle clasps, finally her full-cut, white cotton, panties that covered her armor-plated girdle.

She had a sultry look as she lifted her slip over her head. Her bra was one of those very practical ones that completely encased her C cup sized breasts. There wasn't a hint of anything spilling over. She carefully folded her slip and placed it on the nearby dresser before she reached behind her with both hands and unfastened her bra. I got my first glimpse of her firm, milk white breasts with puffy, cone shaped nipples; they were actually quite beautiful. She folded the bra and laid it on top of her slip.

It was obvious she was nervous and felt awkward about the next move as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her panties and paused a moment. She took a deep breath then quickly pushed them below her knees and lifted her legs out, one at a time. I took the panties from her hand and held them close to my face and savored their aroma; her eyes widened when I smiled and handed them back to her. She hesitated a moment then lifted them to her face then quickly folded them and turned away to lay them on top of her other clothes. My eyes roamed over her body as she held her legs close together as if trying to hide what she had just uncovered.

I motioned her close to the bed then lifted one of her feet up and placed between my legs. My hands moved softly over her stocking encased leg as my eyes studied the dark patch of her pubes. I kissed her milk-white thigh just a few inches from her little used, hair covered, genitalia then unfastened the clasps securing her stocking to her girdle and slowly slid my hands down her incredibly smooth, shapely leg. I laid the stocking on the night stand and she lifted her other leg up. I ran the back of my hand over the downy soft patch between her legs.

"I guess your husband doesn't realize your girdle doesn't give you complete protection," I commented as I kissed the downy soft patch covering her pubic mound. I then kissed her thigh and slowly removed her other stocking, admiring her exposed crotch; I would soon taste her sweet nectar and enjoy her intoxicating aroma.

"No, I don't think he really cares anymore; he just likes the control."

Her eyes widened as I pushed my hands into the tight, elastic fabric of her girdle and began rolling the top down over her hips and round bottom. Once I got it down to her thighs it was much easier; she steadied herself on my shoulder and stepped out of the torture garment. I admired her rear view; as she carefully folded it and placed it with her other clothes, my shorts dropped to the floor as I stripped off my tee shirt. When she turned around, her eyes immediately went to my engorged cock pointing straight toward her.

I took her hand and held her at arm's length to admire her naked body. Maybe I had allowed her busy body, old biddy actions to taint my view of her; she really had a very nice body. I pulled her against me; my cock stabbing against her stomach.

"My body may not be moist enough to take you inside," she said with concern.

"We will make sure it is first."

As Henrietta lay on her back staring at the ceiling, I hovered over her on my hands and knees and began kissing my way down her body. She moaned and purred as I kissed her breasts and sucked her hard nipples; her body began to respond, she moaned softly. When I kissed her hair covered vulva, her hips began to move slowly; her exposed, pink labia glistened with moisture. There was no doubt that she was ready to get back in the saddle.

I moved her hand between her legs and pressed her fingers into the hot, wet folds of her vulva so she could feel her wetness too. She didn't move her fingers until I guided them into the source of the flowing liquid.

"I don't think you need to worry about moisture; do you?"

She gently shook her head and removed her fingers; she was clearly uncomfortable feeling her own body in a sexual way. I lifted her glistening fingers close to my face, looked her directly in the eyes, and took them into my mouth; she looked shocked.

"Mmmm, you taste delicious."

"Are you sure you should do that?"

"Have you never tasted your own juices after pleasuring yourself?"

"No, I was taught that you should never do that by the Nuns at my school."

I took her breasts in my hands and kissed them, then responded, "I hate to break the news to you, but the Nuns lied to you. The best way for you to overcome some of the pent-up frustration you feel in your life is to learn how to give yourself pleasure."

"Here, use this," I told her as I guided her hand to my erect cock.

She held it in her hand without moving for a moment; I pushed my hips forward causing the engorged head of my cock to make contact with her open vulva. She moved it timidly up and down her wet slit before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and began plowing the slick furrow in earnest. In no time she was gasping and moaning, her hips grinding in rhythm with her hand. Suddenly she cried out, her body shuddered, and then she collapsed. She laid still for a moment trying to catch her breath; her hand still holding my hard cock.