Hugging Mrs. Robbins

A youth gladly helps a newly widowed neighbor with household chores. This leads to two years of passionate hugs...then the expected graduation to intercourse

Part One

In the past couple of years, I’ve been reading about a new career option called “professional cuddling.” From what I gather, people will pay a rather sizable sum of money just for the most basic display of human affection from another person—hugs. I’m in my early sixties now and far from being in great shape, so I’d have trouble finding clients these days, but some 40 years ago I was already doing that cuddling gig. What a great job it was!

It started out by accident. In June 1980, a 40-year-old woman, Natalie Robbins, who lived four houses away from my family suffered a terrible tragedy. Her 41-year-old husband, Simon, was busily working at his desk at the law firm he had founded—and suddenly dropped dead from a brain aneurysm. They had no children. According to Natalie, her husband lived in constant fear of dying young. He prepared accordingly and bought as many life insurance policies that he could. Each one would pay a huge sum to his wife if he died before the age of 50 in an accident or of natural causes. The end result was that Natalie Robins was a young widow with a great deal of money.

I was 16 when Simon Robbins died. I did not know Natalie especially well because she had no children, but my mother often got together with her for conversation even while her husband was alive. Every once in a while, I’d see her at my house sipping tea with Mom. We always politely said hello to one another in passing—and that was about it.

I was a tall boy; my driver’s license said I was 6’2”. One day, about two months after becoming a widow, Natalie called the house looking for my help. She was only 5’2”. She explained, with a hint of embarrassment, that she was having trouble getting several items from high storage shelves in her home because of her shortness. She wondered if I could drop by and do some “tall chores” for her. She laughed at her predicament—and I laughed along with her. It was a Saturday in the summer and I, Gavin McDonald, had nothing better to do, so I said I’d be there in five minutes to give her a hand.

When I got to her house, Natalie welcomed me. I had never been inside it before. It did have high ceilings and shelves that were daunting for someone of her small stature. She said, “Gavin dear, people warned me that being a widow would occasionally present me with everyday problems that I had never even considered. I’ve learned that my being short is one of them.” She told me she needed several items from the highest kitchen shelves to do some baking. She also needed to replace a couple of burnt-out overhead lightbulbs in her doorways. I was able to reach the baking supplies with little to no trouble, but even I needed to perch precariously on a footstool to change the lightbulbs. I was done my assigned tasks in less than 15 minutes.

“You are a godsend, Gavin,” Natalie gratefully told me with hyperbole. “May I call you every time I need a ‘tall job’ done around here? It would be so handy for me.”

“Sure, Mrs. Robbins,” I replied. “It was really nothing.”

She gave me a stern look and said, “First, please call me Natalie. Your mother and I have been friends for years, and I’d like to be your friend, too. Secondly, it certainly was something. I couldn’t have changed those bulbs or gotten all my baking supplies from those high shelves. Simon was even taller than you are. He always took care of those things for me. I never thought anything about it. Now I have to think about it. Here’s $5 for your trouble. Come back tomorrow and put those items back on the shelves and I’ll give you another $5 bill.”

I tried to reject the payment, but Natalie was insistent. “You deserve it and I’m loaded, so take the money and do something fun with it, Gavin.” Then she surprised me with a hug and a kiss on my right cheek. “Consider that kiss to be a tip, ” she said with a grin.

About 24 hours later Natalie called, as she said she would, and asked if I could drop by to reshelve her baking items. True to her word, she paid me $5 and kissed me again—this time with an accompanying hug. I enjoyed it.

Over the next two years, Natalie frequently called when my height could be utilized. She also hired me to mow her lawn in the summer and shovel the snow from her driveway in the winter. She usually overpaid me considerably for my work. One February, after a particularly heavy snowfall, Natalie invited me to come inside to warm myself once I had cleared her driveway, walkway and sidewalks. It was grueling work because of the snow’s heaviness, so I eagerly accepted when she added, “I’ll make you a sandwich and make us both a pot of hot cocoa.”

It wasn’t the first time that Natalie had invited me for lunch or a snack following whatever work I did for her. What made this time different was the location. Instead of on her kitchen table, Natalie had placed my sandwich and both our drinks on a low coffee table in front of a small sofa that was probably designed for romance. Natalie, who was an attractive, full-figured woman with short, dirty-blonde hair, was dressed very nicely. Over time I had noticed that she typically dressed very casually at home unless she was going out somewhere soon.

“You look lovely today, Natalie. Are you going out somewhere?” I asked politely.

“I’m not going out anywhere, ” she assured me, “but I wanted to dress up for the occasion.”

I was a little bit puzzled by that statement, so I honestly asked, “What’s the occasion?”

Natalie smiled, shifted her body as close to mine on that small sofa as she possibly could, and said in a very alluring voice, “When I phoned you today, Gavin, to ask you to come here to shovel the snow, I happened to glance at the calendar. I noticed that today is February 15.”

“Well, yesterday was Valentine’s Day,” I responded, “but I don’t know that the day after it has any special significance.”

“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Natalie swiftly informed me. “It was August 15 when you first came here to get my baking supplies off the high shelves and change my lightbulbs.”

I laughed. “This is why greeting card companies stay in business,” I said jokingly. “Women always come up with new anniversaries and other things to celebrate.”

I saw a bit of hurt enter the expression on Natalie’s face. I promptly apologized. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Natalie. I just thought it was odd that you would remember something so obscure and trivial and count the days. I suppose that is rather sweet of you.”

That put the smile back on her face. She promptly put me into a bear hug and kissed my forehead. “Gavin, you will likely think this is weird, but you’ve become an important person in my life—a very important person. Being a widow at 40 can be a lonely experience. I am distrustful of men around my own age because I fear they are only interested in my wealth. You are different, Gavin. I know you don’t care about my money at all. You are just a sweet, helpful young man whom I’ve grown to love.”

How could I react to that statement without returning the hug? So I did.

We were still embracing each other when Natalie said to me, “I want hugging to be part of our routine. I’m serious! Every time you come here to do something for me, we will hug passionately. I just want to hold you, and hug you, and cuddle with you to my heart’s content. No longer having a man in the house, I really miss that physical aspect of marriage and companionship. You are about to turn 17 soon, right? I don’t want anything overtly sexual from you, Gavin—just your hugs. Are you okay with that?”

I was no fool. I told Natalie, “I’m more than okay with this. I’m naturally an affectionate person anyway. I’m quite happy to hug and be hugged for as long as you like, Natalie. Let’s start in about ten minutes, alright?”

“Why the wait?” she asked me.

“In case you have forgotten, I have a sandwich to eat and we both have cocoa to enjoy. After we finish that, I’ll immediately wrap you lovingly in my arms and enjoy every second of it.”

Part Two

Indeed, once I gulped down my sandwich and drank my hot cocoa, I was very excited to begin—in every sense of the word. Considering it was allegedly a non-sexual activity, I found the act of embracing Natalie Robbins, who was now 41 years old, to be a very sexy pastime.

That first day all we did was hug, but after five minutes of her pressing her ample breasts against my torso with love unmistakably in her eyes, I was fully aroused. Natalie must have realized it. “Just hugs, Gavin, just hugs,” she informed me. Later she qualified her statement to “Just hugs for now, Gavin.”

After about 30 minutes of blissful cuddling, Natalie broke up the hug—and I gave a disappointed sigh. She told me I was probably missed at home—which I highly doubted. Then she handed me $20—double the already generous rate Natalie typically paid me for shoveling snow. “That is $10 for the snow removal and another $10 for other services provided. Don’t argue about it. You might think our hugging was nothing, but to me it was absolutely heavenly.” She then sent me on my way with a kiss on the cheek.

The following day Natalie sent for me again. It had not snowed overnight, so I suspected it was just for another round of hugging—and I was completely correct. In anticipation I splashed my face with some cologne I had gotten as part of a toiletry set for Christmas. It was the first time I had tried it—and I did like the fragrance. So did Natalie. “You smell wonderful, Gavin, just wonderful. Please wear that sexy scent every time you come here—even if you are just here to change my lightbulbs.” Then we happily embraced for an hour. I was paid $15. It was far more than I would be getting at a fast-food restaurant for cleaning tables and flipping burgers. I knew that to be a fact because I had gotten a parttime job at a hamburger joint doing those exact tasks.

On average. I began showing up, invited of course, at Natalie's house three to four times per week. When my mother began to get mildly curious about my frequent trips there, Natalie assured her I was there to do odd tasks and keep her company. (It could be argued that was the case.) Mom bought the tale. Until I turned 18 in 1982, we only hugged, despite the fact that I would have been more than happy to take this relationship as far as Natalie desired. Each time she insisted on paying me $15 per hour for something I absolutely enjoyed doing. "It's my money, Gavin. Don't tell me how I can spend it, " I was tersely informed when I once objected.

It was during our eighth or ninth hugging session when Natalie lifted her head off my chest to ask me something and tell me something simultaneously. "Gavin, did you know that I’ve joined a support group for young widows? Maybe your mother told you I had."

"No, this is news to me," I replied.

"Actually, it was your mother who alerted me to this group. She saw it advertised somewhere. We meet at a church one morning per week to discuss our shared situation in life and talk about ways of coping and hopefully making things better. It was only supposed to be for widows, but it has now expanded to include young divorcées and women who aren't totally sure about their marital status."

The last part of Natalie’s statement puzzled me. "How can that be?" I asked.

Natalie explained, "There's one attendee whose husband left the house one night to get a few items at a convenience store and never returned. No one knows his whereabouts. Officially, he's a missing person, but his wife thinks he just ran off with another woman and conveniently vanished."

I said, "That's what I would assume, too."

"Anyway, the main purpose of this widows' group is to give other women like us moral support and suggestions, " Natalie continued. "Personally, I find the support group very helpful and uplifting. There are about two dozen of us. Sadly, I'm one of the older ones. There are a lot of widows under 30—and even more divorcées."

Then Natalie arrived at why she was discussing this subject. "Loneliness is a big issue for these women, Gavin. Many members are afraid of rejection or afraid of commitment. They've been scarred emotionally."

"I can understand that," I chimed in. "I wish I could help."

"You can!" Natalie interjected. "Without naming you specifically, I mentioned that I had found a delightful young man to share passionate hugs with. I said you were just a short walk away from me and that our regular personal contact was always fun and beautiful—a great cure for loneliness! Now seven other members of the group want your services, too."

"What!" I exclaimed. "Did you tell them I'm just 17 years old?"

"Yes, Gavin I eventually did, " she said with a chuckle. "At first there were only three women who wanted to book you for hugs. When they learned your age, that number swiftly increased to seven."

I shook my head and said, "Well, I guess I should be flattered—and I am!"

"When you leave today, I have a list of the seven names to give you, Gavin " she informed me. "I'll give them your phone number. If some female phones asking for your 'special service, ' you'll know what she's referring to."

"Hold on. I haven't agreed to this yet, " I told her.

Natalie said, "Like me, they'll happily pay you $15 per hour."

"Yeah...I'm definitely in!" I responded.

Part Three

The phone calls started a few days later. I eventually heard from all seven women. I started to reduce my hours at the burger joint to accommodate them. Of the seven women, six were al least moderately good looking. Only one was a bit of a woofer. Not surprisingly, she was the loneliest and thus the most affectionate of the bunch. Let’s just say she got what she asked for.

I turned eighteen on March 22, 1982. Natalie had circled the date on her calendar. The next time she called me over for hugging, she got right down to business. “Gavin, you are an adult now, according to the law of the land. You can vote in elections and serve in the military. I think it’s okay for us to go beyond hugging now. Do you agree?”

I knew exactly what Natalie was referring to, so I commented, “Actually, the laws for sexual consent in this country allow 14-year-olds to have carnal relations. I know that because when I was 14, I had a very promiscuous girlfriend named Donna. Come to think of it, she was my girlfriend because she was a promiscuous 14-year-old.”

Natalie laughed at my honesty. “I know that law, too, Gavin,” she noted, “but I didn’t feel right about having sex with you until you turned 18. So...can I talk you into sharing my bed? I think you’ll like it.”

I needed little convincing and I said yes without much hesitation.

“Here’s the best part for you—and for me, I suppose. You don’t need to wear a condom. I’m infertile. I can’t get pregnant. Simon and I learned that sad fact early into our marriage. He tried to make light of it by calling me his ‘little Ferrari without an engine’ because I could not conceive. We so wanted children of our own. We had just begun to seriously discuss adoption as an option last year, but Simon died before we began the formal process.”

“How long were you two married?” I asked her.

“Sixteen years and a couple of months,” she replied.

It then occurred to me I was moments away from fucking a woman whose wedding occurred about the same time I was born.

“Get undressed and join me in bed, Gavin,” she ordered. “I’m a bit out of practice, but I still think I remember what to do.”

Within a minute we were both lying in the middle of her queen-size bed. My height advantage on her seemed more exaggerated than usual because it was the first time I had seen Natalie without her shoes on. Since I had always found short, busty girls to be sexy, I had hit the jackpot with Natalie Robbins. She had full, wonderful breasts with pokey nipples. I began sucking on them immediately.

“Infertile, huh?” I commented. “What a waste of great tits!”

“Simon said that more than once to me, ” Natalie replied. Then she said, “Gavin, our height difference makes us the perfect couple for the ‘69’ position. Let me get on top of you and spin around.”

Natalie was absolutely right about that. While she was stimulating my penis and testicles with skillful licks and sucks, I was enjoying her pussy. She had shaved it, probably for this occasion. I enjoyed licking every millimeter of it. I surprisingly brought her to a very quick orgasm using just my tongue.

“Gavin, when I’ve gone 20 months without sex, this was bound to happen.”

“Don’t apologize. I loved it!” I responded.

“I was hoping we’d come at the same time with your dick inside my pussy,” she confessed.

“Maybe next time,” I consolingly said. “Or maybe you’ll have multiple orgasms with me today.”

“I like your confidence, Gavin,” she said sweetly.

“I so want to fuck your pussy, Natalie! Ride me, please!”

Natalie repositioned herself an dropped her wet pussy around my stiff cock. It felt wonderful—and long overdue. I commented, “We should have been doing this two Augusts ago, Natalie, but we were hugging instead. Fucking beats hugging every time.”

I don’t know if Natalie even heard what I said. She was busily moaning with pleasure as she bounced up and down on my hard dick. “Gavin, you are longer than Simon was. I can attest to that.”

That positive review stirred my loins, and I fired a huge load of goo into Natalie’s infertile vaginal area. With my penis still impaled in her cunt, I rolled her onto her back and continued to thrust my manhood into her. This time I was the one who groaned significantly with each push. When I eventually pulled out, a glob of my semen sexily dripped from Natalie’s wet pussy.

“That is such a sexy sight,” I declared. It was hot with Donna four years ago—and it’s even hotter with you. Thank you for the terrific roll in the hay, Natalie!”

“We don’t have to stop now,” Natalie reminded me. “I’m just starting to get used to you as a bedmate, Gavin.”

“I have to be at school two days from now,” I joked. “Until then I can stay here and please you indefinitely.”

“Gavin, I’d be satisfied with one more solid fuck,” Natalie said firmly. “My favorite position—and Simon’s too—was doggie-style. You ought to be excellent at it.”

I stood at the end of the bed. Natalie shifted positions to be on her hands and knees with her bum in the air at the bed’s edge. I tried my best to live up to her lofty expectations. I must have satisfied her because I could feel her spray pussy juice while I was rhythmically pounding her from the rear. Another cum shot followed. I climbed back onto the bed and embraced Natalie. Hugging her was almost as pleasurable as fucking her. I enjoyed the feel of her bare breasts against my chest.

“So, how did I do?” I asked. I had never fucked a female anywhere close to 42 years old before, one who had been happily married for 16 years. I was a little bit worried about what Natalie’s response might be.

With a grin, Natalie pulled an envelope from the drawer in the nightstand. “I anticipated how you might be in bed,” she confessed. I was right.”

I opened it. Inside was a crisp $100 bill along with a hand-written thank-you note. The message included a postscript which said, “It beats hugging, doesn’t it?”