Pulling Weeds

This simply could not, and certainly should not, have happened. Looking back it made no sense, only leaving a sense of shame and sinfulness. Except for the fact that it did happen and I enjoyed it, it simply could not have happened!
It was 1967. Early summer. Nice warm Saturday. Clear, low humidity, no chance of rain.
I’m Jennifer Wilson. Age 28, married to my college sweetheart Steve, no children yet, living in a tract house outside of Philadelphia. Like most young late depression babies, I was a virgin when I got married. So was Steve. So we just did what we knew about sexually, that is the missionary position and rhythm method. It was working so far.
So on that day, Steve had gone with a buddy to a car show in Philly to get a first look at the new Chevy Corvette c3. Of course they’d look at all the other cars but the c3 was the target. He was surely excited.
I decided to do some yard work in the morning and then walk down to the new mall a few blocks away to have lunch and shop. Nothing exciting for this gal, just taken’ it easy.
My lawn work consisted of pulling a bunch of weeds from my flower garden and planting some phlox (“purple phlox, a dollar a box,” the ad said.) across the front of our house. I was part way done with the planting when my world collapsed for a while.
I looked up from the plants and saw a man walking down the sidewalk toward me. I did not know him, but he fitted into the neighborhood properly. He was white, sandy brown hair, tall, fit looking, handsome, nicely dressed in a tee shirt and cargo shorts. He was wearing tennis shoes, no sox. I got all that in one short look. I felt a really strange zing of electricity run through me.
I sort of turned and squatted at the same time so my butt wasn’t pointing at him. Later I thought about it and realized that I had opened my legs enough that he was looking right at my crotch.
I smiled. He smiled.
I said, “Nice morning.”
He said, “Going to be that way all day.”
I stood up and turned toward him.
I said, “I don’t know your name. Do you live in the neighborhood?”
He said, “Next block, other side of the street, second house.”
Then he said, “Oh, my name is Roger, Roger Davis. Nice to meet you.”
Then he said, “Can I come on your lawn? I don’t like trespassers myself.”
I replied, “Sure, come up and I’ll shake your hand, if you don’t mind a little dirt. I’m Jenny Wilson. Nice to meet you.”
He came up the sidewalk and stuck out his hand. I took it and looked into his deep blue eyes and that zing went again. I forgot to let go.
He was staring at me with a very lovely smile on his handsome face. I suddenly began to feel damp between my legs. My mind was a twirl. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t want to let go of his hand.
I blurted out, “Would you like some iced tea? I made some fresh this morning”
He said, “I’d love it.”
Not letting go of his fingers, I led him into my house. I had no idea what I was going to do.
Inside the door I turned to him and said, “I have no idea what’s going on.”
He laughed, a deep musical laugh, “I have an idea but if I’m right, we have too many clothes on!”
I said, “I guess you are right!”
I was wearing a kind of halter-top and a pair of nice shorts.
I reached up and put my arms around his neck. He bent his head and kissed me, full on the mouth, hard. His tongue slid into my mouth. I kissed back and felt my shorts slide over my fanny and down to the floor. My panties followed immediately. His hands gripped my bare ass cheeks.
I leaned back and he tugged the stretchable halter top over my head. I was naked except for my shoes, which I kicked off, and my socks.
I took the bottom of his tee shirt and pulled it up over his head, throwing it across the room. His shorts and underwear fell off. I guess I did it but I was in a trance.
He led me over to our couch, bent me over the armrest, and dropped to his knees. He stuck his face into my crotch and started licking. I woke up for the first time.
I squealed, “You can’t do that. It’s dirty, it’s sweaty. It must smell!”
He said, “Yumm. Just the way I like it!”
For what seemed like an eternity he did things to my pussy that had never been done before. My pussy was treated to all kinds of stimulation by his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth, fingers, and suction. I felt something I’d felt only once before with Steve, a tingling and a pressure deep within me. When Roger sucked my clitoris as far into his mouth as he could, I had an orgasm, I think. It was my very first complete one.
Roger stood up behind me and shoved his cock into my vagina. Fast and deep. He was a little longer than Steve but not so much that it was uncomfortable.
He pumped away, filling my pussy with his manhood. I had a second climax, squealing loudly. Then he came, and I felt his cum filling the space above his cock, pressing against my cervix.
He pulled out and stuff began to run down my legs. Looking down I could see the clear secretions from my body and the globs of his ejaculate. I reached down and caught some sperm, then brought so I could lick it off my fingers. I liked the taste.
Not knowing what else to say, I said, “Would you like some lunch? I have some ham salad.”
We ate lunch at the breakfast table, naked. After clearing the table, he told me to sit on it and spread my legs. He called what he did “eating me out,” as he licked and sucked my pussy until I orgasmed again.
He led me to the living room, pushed me down on my knees, and held his erect cock in front of my face. “Your turn to clean me up. Lick it and suck it. I’ll tell you what to do.”
I might as well have been a 15 year-old high school girl, getting a lesion from a teacher. He showed me all sorts of ways I could use my mouth to satisfy him. I liked doing it. I could see me sucking Steve off, if he’d let me.
Before Roger came in my mouth, he told me to stand up, go to the kitchen for some Crisco, and then bend over the armrest again. This time he rubbed my rectum with the Crisco and shoved a finger into it. I couldn’t believe he would touch me there. I’d never even heard of doing that.
Then he pushed his cock head against my anus and pressed it into my bowels. I hurt like nothing I felt before. I was screaming for him to stop, to take it out, to let me up. He just pushed harder. It kept going in farther, until finally I felt his pubic hair on my ass. He was all the way in.
For several minutes, while I cried and moaned with pain, he pumped away.
Then he said, “I’m coming.”
I was stunned when my body responded by having one last orgasm.
Roger pulled out, asked where the bathroom was and went there, leaving me draped over the armrest.
He was dressed when he came back. I was sitting naked on a dining room chair, trying to figure out what happened.
He kissed me on the lips, squeezed my breast and said, “That was fun. Maybe some other day, huh?” and then he left.
I sat there unmoving for a long time. Then I stood up, put on my panties and shorts, found the halter top, and properly clothed, went back out to finish my yard work. I was a little sore.
It never happened again. I only saw Roger a couple of times at a distance. He and his wife moved out west somewhere in July.
Steve, by the way, turned into the hottest father-to-be with a little instruction from me.