While the Wife’s Upstairs


I remember how hot it was that day in August as I delivered the paper on my route in the unforgiving heat of the afternoon. It wasn’t a very lucrative route delivering the Knickerbocker News, a paper than was published in the afternoon in Albany, not nearly as profitable as doing the Times Union in the mornings, but it was better than nothing and at least I didn’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn.

This was near the end of my four year career as the paper boy because I was going to be attending college in a few days and while peddling papers was okay for a kid, it wasn’t something a college guy would do because it wasn’t cool. Not that it mattered anyway, because I was a nerd.

I was in the musty basement of the Garland home on this afternoon in question, and I had been down there several times that summer, but this was the only time that I had been sitting on the over-sized chair – a love seat Mr. Garland called it although two people could never squeeze into it – that the retired couple had in the cellar, with my shorts and underwear down past my knees.

Mr. Garland, who was old enough to be my grandfather, had been a long-time customer of mine and while we had always been friendly with each other the relationship had amped up that summer.

I was a loner and with no father at home, and Mr. Garland had seemed to sense that I needed a friend. He had also noticed that from his vantage point just down the road and across the street from my place, a certain friend that used to be around all the time hadn’t been seen in a while.

I had hemmed and hawed about that because back in the late sixties things weren’t nearly as open and accepted as they are today, and I couldn’t just say that the friend had been my first lover and that since Benny was gone I felt empty inside.

Mr. Garland had sensed that and without my admitting anything the old fellow winked and told me that he had a “friend” like that long ago, and if his wife wasn’t such a mean old bag he would still have one.

That first day he had lured me down to his cellar with the promise of a soda – or a pop as he called in – and after he handed me a orange Nehi I found myself against the wall with Mr. Garland’s hand grabbing my crotch roughly through my jeans.

“You like that, don’t you Sonny?” Mr. Garland had asked me, always calling me Sonny even though he knew my name and at 18 I was not a kid anymore at least in my mind, and I guess his question was due to the fact that I got hard from his mauling. “You want some more?”

I guess I did because in less than a minute my jeans and underwear were around my ankles while I still clutched my bottle of soda, and Mr. Garland had managed to get down to his knees on the rough floor, warning me to keep quiet because the old lady was upstairs.

“Cute pecker you got there Sonny,” the grizzled old guy who always seemed to be on the verge of needing a shave said just before he did something that only Benny had done before.

There was little romantic about it. It was a smelly basement and Mr. Garland was about 50 years older than me, and the fact that he called my dick “cute” was embarrassing although it was probably accurate.

“Got you some hairs down here too,” he noted as he toyed with the tuft of curls above my dick, which made me wonder how old he thought I was, but then he leaned forward and took my dick between his lips and nothing else mattered anymore.

Many times Benny had done what Mr. Garland did to me, but it had never felt like this. Mr. Garland had me cumming in less than a minute, sucking what I thought was every drop of semen out of my nuts while I stifled my reaction.

After I came Mr. Garland didn’t stop, and that confused me because it felt like given the amount of cum that had come out of me he had to know, but he kept going, sucking on my deflating dick and imploring me to cum again.

I did about five minutes later, although I didn’t really get hard again, and after my dick jerked and spat a little more into his mouth I practically had to pull the old guy off me.

“Liked that didn’t you Sonny?” he asked while struggling to his feet, and it was hard to deny I didn’t. “Well if you want some more come by tomorrow after you get done delivering your rags and I’ll drain your twinkie some more.”

I did, since not only didn’t I have anything better to do before college started, the guy sucked cock like I couldn’t believe. It might have been a combination of his skills and Benny’s lack thereof, but I had nothing else to compare it with at the time.

For several days I would pull my bike behind his shed and Mr. Garland would let me into his basement Manavgat Escort by way of the storm doors, making sure not to be seen by his wife who was oblivious upstairs although I could hear her humming and singing as the aroma of her cooking filled the air while her husband sucked my dick.

That led to where I was sitting in that funky chair with my underwear and pants down below my knees and Mr. Garland kneeling there on the ratty rug that was in that little area with the old guy wiggling my cute dick around with his thumb and index finger as I began to get hard.

“What’s this Sonny?” Mr. Garland asked as he pointed to the crotch of my tight-whiteys.

“Oh – uh – a fart stain,” I mumbled with considerable embarrassment about the little brown mark that air didn’t create, but Mr. Garland just chuckled and said he didn’t care.

“Why don’t we get this stuff off you?” he suggested as he didn’t wait for a reply and just pulled the pants and briefs off of me before looking up at me from his knees and said, “You know, I was kinda hoping you would offer to take care of me too, seeing as how I take good care of you.”

I had been sort of dreading that, although it made perfect sense. Mr. garland had been taking care of himself, or do I believed, because his hand would be inside the bib overall jeans he always wore and I think I knew what he was doing because I was an expert at that myself.

I had sucked Benny’s dick many times, and while I wasn’t good at it I didn’t mind doing it. Mr. Garland, on the other hand, was an old geezer who smelled a little like the pipe he often smoked, but if it meant gets my dick sucked for the next week or so until I left town I was all for it.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not very good at it though.”

“Naw, you don’t have to do anything at all. Just sit there,” Mr. Garland said as he lowered the shoulder straps of his overalls and coaxed them. “I got me a woman upstairs that takes care of me like that, but there’s one thing she won’t give me.”

“Tell you the truth that’s okay because I like it better with fellas this way anyhow,” he added with a wink as he reached under the chair and pulled out the biggest jar of Vaseline I had ever seen.

Back then I was dumber than most about things like that and that’s saying something, but even I knew what he was talking about even though I had never experienced it. I didn’t think I wanted to experience it there in the basement but this wasn’t coming up for a vote.

I said nothing as he draped my legs up over the cushy arms of the smelly chair, leaving me as spread-open and vulnerable as possible and he pulled me closer to the edge of the chair. I could have yelled out because in retrospect he had a lot more than me to be worried about but his wife was kind of intimidating to me so instead I looked down between my legs and saw Mr. Garland grinning as he looked at my balloon knot.

“Looks good enough to eat, and I think I will,” he whispered just before my learning curve took another sharp turn upward.

I shivered when I felt his tongue licking my anus like it was an ice cream cone, but that was nothing when he pried my legs apart even farther and dipped his tongue into my anus. His thinning grey hair hid Mr. Garland’s face but I could hear him snorting and grunting as he tried to bury his tongue in my bowels.

Once his tongue dipped into me I didn’t care how old Mr. Garland was or how musty his cellar was, and he had me squirming in the chair and whimpering. My dick was hard and he was rubbing the underside of it while pushing it back into me. My orgasm was near when he lifted his head out of my crotch.

“Your boyfriend pack your peanut butter for you?” he asked, and as I tried to decipher what he was saying I looked down and saw him slathering that Vaseline over the biggest erect cock I had ever seen.

Of course I had only seen Benny’s and my own so I didn’t have much of a record, but in the amount of time I watched his greasing that weapon I managed to memorize the thing for life.

In retrospect Mr. Garland’s cock wasn’t all that big in comparison to anyone but mine and Benny’s, and was rather slender as well, but it was brown with a couple of huge scary veins running down most of it, and was also the first uncircumcised cock I had seen. It looked like my Grandpa’s hickory cane all shiny with lube, and as Mr. Garland pushed his slick thumb up where his tongue had just been he claimed that I must like it in the ass the way my butt was gripping his thumb.

“No, I never,” I protested as his thumb slammed in and out while his cock waved around in front of him menacingly.

“That Manavgat Escort Bayan boyfriend of yours never boned you?” Mr. Garland asked, and when I shook my head he opined that Benny was an even bigger jack-ass than he had thought. “Then you’re in for a treat, although I reckon it’s still hard to believe you never been fucked before.”

“Please,” I implored him while he knelt closer and the tip pressed into my ring. “It’s too big. I’ll suck it instead.”

“Bigger than your friend’s?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, and he seemed pleased when I nodded briskly and added that his was twice as long as my own, but since his was only about 7″ long that wasn’t as impressive as it sounded.

All Mr. Garland did to comfort me was to pull my t-shirt up so I could bite into it when he pushed his cock into my virgin anus, and while it hurt it wasn’t nearly as painful as I had feared.

“Ahhh!” Mr. Garland groaned softly as his cock kept going deeper and deeper into me, and then he drew it out just as slowly as he had put it in while asking “How’s that feel Sonny?”

I was in a little pain but said nothing, and when my eyes opened as Mr. Garland started sliding in and out with increasing speed, I didn’t recognize the old guy even though I had lived nearby him most of my life.

Mr. Garland reminded me of Uncle Joe on the TV show Petticoat Junction, but the now his face was red and he sounded like a steam locomotive wheezing as he looked down at his cock skewering my ass. That wasn’t something I could see, and while that was just as well a funny thing began to happen. It started to hurt less as time went on.

Mr. Garland suddenly pulled out of me, but it was only so he could put more Vaseline on his cock, and when he dipped a finger covered with it into my butt I figured out why he needed to buy the jumbo jar of it.

“Like it nice and slick,” he said without me asking, taking off his shirt with his free hand to expose his husky chest with the silver hair that was matted down with sweat, and before his cock plunged back in he added, “Makes it good for both of us.”

All I knew was that I was petrified before he had started but now as he started thrusting in and out of me faster and harder, I wasn’t scared any more. I still had a mouthful of my t-shirt that I was chewing on but it was more a case of me forgetting it was in there because I wasn’t crying and about the scream. I was loving it and I wasn’t the only one that realized that.

“You’rte liking it, ain’t you Sonny?” he snapped tersely, his eyes like that of a bull, and while he was still using one of his hands on my thigh to steady himself as he knelt it spread his other hand was on my cock, pulling on it hard and fast.

“Say it,” he hissed while trying to pull my dick off. “Tell me you like my cock up your ass.”

“Like it,” I snorted through the mouthful shirt. “Like your cock.”

“You’re taking it all Sonny. Every frigging inch of it,” he added as sweat flew off his brow and what hair he had left on his head standing up like Einstein.

I came at some point, stifling a squeal as I felt my dick spurt cum all over my chest, and I don’t know whether Mr. Garland didn’t know or didn’t care because he kept yanking on it even after it had shivered down to next to nothing.

He looked insane and I thought he was going to have a heart attack because his face was beet-red and his chest was heaving while animal-like noises came out of his snout. His grunts, his wheezing and the slapping sound that his balls were making against the part of my undercarriage that was hanging over the chair cushion were the only sounds in the room, and although my anus would sting tomorrow I didn’t care then.

It had to end, and when it did Mr. Garland’s eye rolled back in his head as he leaned forward, his exhaling like the sound of air brakes on a truck. I felt his cock twitching deep inside of me and then a warm feeling filled my bowels and Mr. Garland collapsed down on top of me.

“Sweet ass,” I heard him mumble, proving that he hadn’t dies, and although his sweaty and burly body was heavy as he rested on top of me and my thighs were dying to stop being stretched out like a gymnast, I let him rest while his dick slithered out of my ass.

“You dumb old bastard! What in blazes are you doing? Buggering the neighbor boy?”

That rest Mr. Garland had been taking on top of me didn’t last long because when I opened my eyes I saw who was chewing him out. His wife. Dumpy old Mrs. Garland, standing there next to the chair in an house-dress with an tattered apron over it that proclaimed, “I’M THE CHEF!” Escort Manavgat had managed to sneak down and was roaring mad.

It took a few seconds for what was happening to hit me, but that was fast compared to Mr. Garland who seemed to be in a daze, and even when he realized that his wife was standing next to him with a potato masher clenched in her fist he didn’t exactly jump to his feet although he probably was trying.

The problem was that he was old and had been kneeling for quite a while as he screwed me, so he had to struggle to get to his feet and since I was underneath him I could do nothing by lay in that crumpled position hanging off the edge of the chair until he got up.

Mr. Garland was muttering something unintelligible as his wife read him the riot act while looking at me after he got off of me, my hand cupping my privates in a sad attempt for modesty. He was putting his bib overalls back up over his shoulders and then making a hasty retreat up the steps and through the storm doors, leaving me alone with his wife.

I had scrambled to my feet trying to keep covered up while looking for my underwear and hoping Mrs. Garland wasn’t going to wail on me with the potato masher, but she wasn’t mad at me. She told me so.

“Relax Timmy, I ain’t mad at you,” Mrs. Garland said as she bent down to grab my underwear off the floor but didn’t give them to me. although she gave my fart stain a shake of the head before herding me upstairs so she could fix me up.

“I’m okay,” was a phrase I uttered a dozen times on the way up the stairs to the kitchen, using my hand to cover my front and my shorts to hide my backside while Mrs. Garland walked behind me.

“You’re not going home like that,” she said while making me stand in the kitchen while she pulled off the wrapper of a roll of Bounty paper towels and dampened some sheets under the faucet.

“Now just bend over so I can clean you up some,” she said with a shake of the head, and so I turned around and did what she asked, mortified beyond belief although a couple of things crossed my mind.

One was that I wondered if there were any commercials that had Rosie using the “quicker picker upper” like this, wiping a guy’s ass. The second more serious thing, something I said aloud, was that I wondered if I was bleeding or something because I was burning back there.

“No,” Mrs. Garland muttered as the cool towel wiped my ass crack and inner thighs, but there was quite a mess and she needed more towels. “What is all this?”

“Vaseline,” I explained, to which she muttered damn fool again, and after using up numerous towels she said, “That’s a little better. Good as I can do now, but you should take a bath when you get home.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said as she finally gave me my underwear, and as I turned away to put them on she made small talk, asking me how my mother was and whether I was looking forward to school.

“College?” she exclaimed when I filled her in, and after she wondered aloud where the time had flown she got serious.

“Now I know none of this was your idea,” she said while I tried to smooth out my t-shirt with the saliva and teeth marks on the front along with the semen staring to stain from the inside. “But I would appreciate it if we didn’t say anything to your mother about any of this.”

“No ma’am,” I agreed heartily, and then she said that if I needed to go to the doctor I should tell her and she would take me.

“Damn old fool,” she muttered again. “I think he’s losing his mind. The things he thinks of these days.”

“Sorry about all this,” I said lamely, only really sorry that we had gotten caught, while trying to leave and mentioning that my sneakers were still downstairs. “I’ll let myself out down there.”

“Wait! Before you go,” Mrs. Garland said, and then she was grabbing a pan of toll house cookies that she had baked earlier and whose scent still filled the air.

After wrapping up half of them with wax paper and putting them in a paper bag Mrs. Garland declared that the old coot didn’t deserve any of them so she gave me the rest too and then sent me on my way with a peck on the cheek.

One heck of a day, I mused to myself as I went down and put on my sneakers, and after I went outside and got my bike, decided that getting on the bike would be a bit painful right then.

So instead I walked my bike down the road with Mr. Garland’s semen still trickling out of my anus and munching on toll house cookies that were pretty good, but nothing like the feel of Mr. Garland rooting away inside of me.

Mr. Garland was down at the far end of the street sitting in his car and probably trying to get up the nerve to go home and face the missus. He gave me a timid wave as I walked up my driveway, and I returned the wave. I was tempted to go up and give him some of the cookies but decided against it and instead went inside and took a soothing bath before my mother got home.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir