True Confessions #7 - Caught with my pants down...  

AnEnigma517 60M
243 posts
11/26/2005 11:23 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

True Confessions #7 - Caught with my pants down...

Dad and I had just finished up the finishing touches on the screen house we built in the woods near the pond when who but our weary eyes would appear, but the village MILF (what a dear!)...

“Be careful around her, Kiddo” Dad said. “I heard talk in town today that Henry thinks she’s fooling around when he’s away; he’s a mean prick, I hear tell.”

(Gulp.)

“Yeah, he looks like he could be,” I replied.

“Not that either of my boys would be idiot enough to mess around with a married woman,” he said while he picked up some tools and put them in the cart behind the John Deere. “Well, Pete, maybe. Ever since he got back he’s been…”

“Hi guys!” Julie P. interrupted, without really knowing that she was interrupting. “How’s it going?”

She smiled politely at my Dad, but that ogling look was for me. She looked (like the old song goes) maaa-va-lusss. Short (really short) white shorts and a loose red tee-shirt tied around her mid-drift.

“Hiya Julie,” Dad replied, casting a weird look in my direction. “What brings you to our little neck of the woods.”

“Kitty tells me you’re handy with cars, Tom… was wondering if you could take a look at my VW… it’s not running right lately… kind of sluggish.”

“Well, it’s probably something simple,” he said and deposited the last of his tools and the coffee cans of nails, screws, and nuts and bolts into the cart. “Maybe the fuel filter, or…”

“These are really beautiful woods, Tom,” Julie beamed, cutting him off, maybe on purpose, maybe not. “Can I hike around awhile?” She was asking Dad, but winking at me. Maybe a gnat in her eye, maybe not.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, anytime…”

“How about now?” Julie smiled. Julie P. had a way of getting guys to agree with her, whether they wanted to or not. Then to me she said: “Lead on McDuff!”

I looked at Dad with that “gulp” look on my face. He looked at me with a similar expression, but I don’t think his “gulp” look meant the same as my “gulp” look.

“Just be careful,” Dad said looking at me, “and don’t stray too far off the path. There’s poison ivy all over the place.”

Julie and I stood side-by-side in front of the new screen house and watched the John Deere make it’s way out of the woods and up to the garage (another work of art that Dad and I built that summer). “He’s right,” she said when she was sure he couldn’t hear us. “We do need to be careful. Henry thinks I’m fooling around.” She giggled slightly then tucked her arm inside of mine and headed me toward the path behind the pond.

We walked in silence for about a hundred yards, then it started. She turned me around to face her and once again assaulted my mouth with hers, making sure to push her upper body firmly into me as she gripped my face with both hands. Julie’s ability to get guys to agree with her didn’t fail her this time either. I felt powerless to resist. I had noticed when she first approached the clearing that it was likely she wasn’t wearing underwear since the crotch portion of those short shorts seemed slightly darker than the rest of the white fabric. She was well-tanned, and even the white material overall seemed a shade darker than the double-stitched belt-looped waste band which was void of a belt. It was obvious from the initial view near the screen house that she wasn’t wearing a bra either; “way up firm and high,” as some poet once put it.

And as though she had been reading my mind (again), she whispered “I came prepared… I’m not wearing ANY underwear!”

Whether it was part of her plan or not, I suddenly lost my balance and landed with a thud flat on my back, a few feet off the path. (I was surprised I didn't crack my skull open on a stump--missed it by only inches.) She was straddling me before I could shake the stars out of my eyes. Her vicious tongue found its way back to mine without hesitation or resistance, all the while cradling my head with one hand and untying her tee-shirt with the other. She sat upright and removed the garment and tossed it carelessly over my head. My tee-shirt was by then back in the garage along with the other stuff the John Deere had towed there. If we would have been pant less at that moment, she would have surely been penetrated. Things looked much nicer in broad daylight than they had in her candle-lit bedroom only a week earlier. Sweat rolled off my brow in a flood and into my eyes, and down around my neck. Just before she yanked my jeans down to my ankles, she was kind enough to retrieve her tee-shirt and gently wiped my face, and eyes. Before resuming her straddling position that I later learned (much later) was called “Cowgirl” she kicked off her sandals and slid her shorts down and off. Oh yeah. Things most definitely looked much better in the daylight!

She stood above me, panting, smiling… like a hungry animal who had just downed its prey. Her long red hair moved slightly with the cool breeze. Her breasts heaved with every cycle of her frantic inhale-exhale breathing, and a faint hint of some sort of wetness dripping from her perfect pubic patch glistened in the sparse sunlight through the trees. I reached for my pulsating penis, but before my hand could encircle it, she teasingly shrieked:

“Oh no… not this time!” and she was on me again, and I was inside her. She must have known each time I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold my load because at those precise moments, her hips would stop, and some kind of internal squeeze would clamp around my organ like pliers around a garden hose.

“Please…” I moaned. “Let me… cc…”

“Not yet,” she whispered between gasps. “Just hang on… just a little while longer… almost there…”

Her squeezes happened more frequently and lasted longer, harsher. Five minutes? Ten? Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Then without warning, her head fell back, her face to the sky… and one final squeeze. Her thighs pushed against my hips tightly, her fingernails dug grooves into my hairless chest. And then, I lost mine, too. She collapsed atop me, and we waited for our breathing and heart rates to return to normal rates. I think she might have dozed off, and maybe I did too, because the next sound we heard was Mom’s familiar ear-splitting holler from the back porch, calling my name over and over; like she used to do when we lived in the old neighborhood… when it was time to come in for supper. I don’t think Mom was calling me for supper, though.

She must have been calling for awhile, because the next sound, the sound of rustling in the woods, really didn’t sound like a critter foraging around for grub. Julie must have had more practice at these kinds of things, because she was fully dressed and composed and was posed "restingly” on that nearby stump long before I had even scrambled off the ground and yanked my jeans back up. “Hi Tom!” she said when Dad was in view. “These really are lovely woods!”

Dad smiled politely (nervously, more like it) and looked quizically at the red tracks on my chest, then the matted weeds off the path. “There’s some of the poison ivy I was telling you about,” he said. Walking back to the house, Julie P. prancing ahead of us, Dad whispered to me: “Hey Kiddo… your barn door’s open.”

(Gulp. Gulp!)

as I quickly zipped my pants.

T.P.LENTZ, author
11/26/2005



AnEnigma517 60M

12/8/2005 8:17 am

I guess it's true: if you get something bad enough as a kid, you'll be immune to it for the rest of your life. Never got sick with poison ivy after that!


AnEnigma517 60M

12/15/2005 12:38 pm


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