Topic: MRS. TAGGART AND Chapter 1
When I was in college, I earned pocket money by doing handyman type jobs around the neighbor hood of the college. In those days I was a touch under six feet tall, and a bit over 170 pounds, with dark brown hair that tended to wave, and brown eyes. My penis was just a wee bit over seven inches in length and of moderate thickness. No massive, uncircumcised dong for me!
One afternoon I received a call from a new client, Mrs. Taggart, to come over and move some boxes out her attic. I quoted her a reasonable price and made arrangements to go over that coming Friday afternoon when I was finished with classes for the week.
At the agreed upon time I arrived at Mrs. Taggart=s house. It was a smallish house, and a little weather-beaten but with a nice lawn and a well-tended garden. Looking at the outside I hoped that I might pick up some extra work painting the outside trim. Mrs. Taggart greeted me at the door. She was, I=m sure, in her late fifties or early sixties, tall and stately and still pretty. Her grey hair was nicely styled. She was wearing a nice floral print dress, large glasses, and what I assumed to be a faux pearl necklace.
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After introductions she explained that I was to take a number of boxes out of the attic and put them in the garage.
“All right, Jim,” she said standing up from her seat on the sofa, “Come with me. ”
Mrs. Taggart led me into a hallway where the entrance to the attic was located. I was glad that the attic had a hiding stairway leading up to it rather than having to use a ladder. Mrs. Taggart indicated for me to climb up. The attic had boards laid across the rafters to make a reasonable floor, but that was its only redeeming feature. It was hot, stuffy and dusty. Mrs. Taggart poked her head up and indicated the boxes that she wanted moved.
“They are a lot of my late husband=s books,” she explained.
I groaned inwardly. I knew that they were going to be damn heavy, and there seemed to be a bloody lot of them.
“All right, Ma'am,” I said forcing a smile, “I had better get started.
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”
Up and down, in and out, I carried the boxes of books from the attic to the garage. I was really building up a sweat working in the stifling attic. I was certainly earning my money on this assignment!
I was about halfway done, and in the garage when Mrs. Taggart came out with a large glass of ice water.
“Jim, you poor dear,” she said sympathetically, “Take a break for Pete=s sake. ”
“Yes, Mrs. Taggart,” I said gratefully accepting the drink. I sat down on one of the boxes. Mrs. Taggart sat opposite me. She demurely crossed her knees.
“So tell me, Jim, what are you studying in college?”
“History, Mrs. Taggart,” I replied, “European history. ”
“Well, then,” she said enthusiastically, “You may want to look through some of those boxes before Goodwill comes to take them. My late husband was quite a history buff.
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”
“That sounds great, Mrs. Taggart. ”
“You can call me ‘Muriel,’ Jim. ‘Mrs. Taggart’ gets a little stodgy sounding after awhile. ”
“Sure, Muriel,” I replied with a smile. In my mind ‘Muriel’ was the name of a cow, not an attractive older woman. From what I could tell, she still had a nice figure, and a very sweet smile: I’ve always been fond of women who have pleasant smiles.
[Filler conversation]
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Muriel asked. “A strong and handsome young man like you must be beating the girls away with a stick. ”
I blushed at the complement. “I don=t really have a lot time for a girlfriend. And anyway, I find most of the college girls rather vapid and brainless. I like a woman who is intelligent,” I looked out of the garage door, “And mature. ”
“Oh really, Jim?” Muriel said.
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I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Honest truth, Ma’am. ” I said smiling in reply. “Thanks for the drink, but I need to get back to work. ”
I continued laboring with the boxes until I finally had them all transferred from the attic to the garage. I was beat: tired, hot and sweaty; and looking forward to sitting down.
Muriel came out to evaluate my handiwork. She smiled and pronounced that I had done an excellent job.
“Come inside, Jim, and I’ll fix you a drink,” Muriel said kindly.
She didn’t have to ask twice. I sat down on the sofa and stretched out. In just a few moments Muriel came into the living room with two martinis.
“Chin-chin!” she said. That was something that my grandmother used to say when she had a drink!
I did a bad Bogart impression in response. “Here=s looking at you, sweetheart.
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”
“As a history student, Jim, you should know that expression can be construed as an insult. It means that you are going to keep your eyes open while you take a drink because you don=t trust the person you are drinking with: that=s one reason why beer tankards have a glass bottom in them. ”
“But I like looking at you,” I said with a laugh
“Well, that=s different. ”
It was true. I liked looking at Muriel Taggart. She was leaning back in the corner of the sofa, her drink in one hand, the other arm resting on the back of the couch. That pose called some attention to her bosom, which was nicely proportioned. Again, she had crossed her knees, and now was dangling her left sandal on her foot. What I could see of her legs was very nice: slender, smooth, shapely, and without any varicose veins. Part of me was hoping that she would uncross her legs so I might get a glimpse up her dress.
“Jim, you poor dear, you look so hot and sweaty,” Muriel said putting her glass on the coffee table, “Would you like to take a shower and clean up?”
I could feel the stickiness of my shirt. “Yes, Muriel, that would be nice. ”
“Then follow me. ”
She led me to the bathroom. I stood awkwardly while Muriel rummaged in the linen closet for, as she put it, ‘a nice towel.
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’ Muriel got not just a towel but a bottle of shampoo and new bar of soap for me as well.
“Just toss your work clothes out of the door. I’ll run them through the washing machine when you=re done with the hot water. ”
Once she had closed the door to the bathroom, I started the water and took a nice lengthy shower. I certainly felt good to wash the sweat and dirt from the attic off of me.
As I was drying off and regretting that Muriel didn’t find a razor so I could touch up my morning shave I heard a tapping on the bathroom door.
“Jim, I found a bathrobe you can wear: it=s on the doorknob. ”
“Thanks!” I called through the door.
Clean, dry and now clothed I headed back to the living room. Muriel was waiting there, having refreshed our drinks.
As before, we sat on opposite ends of the sofa while we chatted.
Muriel listened attentively as I rambled on about my classes and the college sports teams. I listened attentively as Muriel rambled on about the doings of her bridge club and book club.
“If you will excuse me Jim,” Muriel said rising. She finished her second martini in one long pull and disappeared towards the kitchen.
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I few moments later I got the surprise of my life. Muriel sashayed into the living room wearing only a black lace demi-cup bra and matching panties. I was right in my assessment of Muriel=s figure: she was still a very attractive woman, with just the hint of a tummy, but I could care less about that. As she came nearer, I could see her pale pink areolas peak out over the scalloped edges of her bra cups. Of course I became erect instantly at the sight of her in her undies.
Muriel turned herself around to give me a good look at her.
“What do you think, Jim?”
“Wow!” is all I could say. And that was true. For being around sixty she was incredibly sexy. She sat back down on the sofa. I scooted over to her and slipped my arms around her. Her skin was warm and smooth. I started kissing her, trying to hold back my enthusiasm, but to no avail: my lips were all over her face and neck. She untied the sash of the bathrobe I was wearing and grasped my penis.
“Is this for me?” she asked coyly as she gently stoked my erection
“Yes,” I murmured between kisses, “All for you, Muriel!” I locked my lips to hers.
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Our tongues met and dueled.
I brought my right hand from her back to fondle her breasts. I was able to pop her left nipple out over her bra cup. With a bit of gentle rubbing it became erect.
I worked my way down her neck, kissing all the way. Now was time for restraint. Slowly I kissed back and forth across her chest moving lower towards her breasts. From the limited experience that I had I knew that women like things to go slow. I was happy to oblige.
As I was easing lower I slid my hands around to feel her tushie. It was a little flat, but I had no complaints about it.
I was thoroughly aroused by the soft and warm flesh under my lips as I kissed Muriel=s breasts. But I wanted more. I released her bottom and unhooked her bra.
Muriel Taggart=s breasts would have done a woman thirty years her junior proud: still reasonably firm B not totally flaccid B symmetrical; with very pale areolas and thick nipples that were now jutting out proudly at me.
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“Do you like my boobies, Jim?” Muriel murmured smiling.
In reply I took her right nipple in my mouth while it caressed her left breasts. I suckled lightly on that jewel, flicking at it with my tongue. Muriel whispered her appreciation of my attentions. After a few minutes I switched sides.
“Don’t want to let anyone feel left out,” I said huskily.
When I was satisfied that Muriel=s breast had been thoroughly loved I continued down her body. Her tummy was soft, as to be expected. When I reached the waistband of her panties I knew what I had to do.
Slowly I eased the lacy black panties down, kissing the soft skin as it was unveiled to my hungry gaze.
“Oh, Jim-dear, you are a tease!”
When I got her panties down far enough, I was surprise that Muriel was totally smooth. If she shaved or it was just the result of age I didn’t know, and at the time it didn’t care. After getting her panties off and tossed aside I knelt down and began to worship Muriel=s pussy.
Another pleasant surprise was the fact that she rapidly became lubricated. She was no dried up old woman.
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Her pussy had a rich earthy aroma, and the sweet taste.
Muriel was certainly enjoying my attentions: she stroked my hair and murmuring terms of endearment to me. Her hands dropped from my head, her breathing picked up speed as I flicked her clitoris with my tongue as I slipped my right middle finger in to her vagina. She was reasonably tight, in spite of her age.
“Oh God, Jim! That is fantastic!” she murmured ecstatically. “Oh God, oh. . . Oh yes. . . Oh God, I=m cumming! Oh!” she moaned as her climax broke over her in waves.
Slowly I eased my lips away from her pussy and on to her soft and smooth thighs to let Muriel enjoy her orgasm.
Muriel was totally relaxed. “Oh, Jim,” she said in a husky voice, full of passion, “That was the best orgasm I’ve had in ages.
”
“You=re welcome, Muriel,” I said looking up from between her legs. I smiled a mischievous smile. “Do you mind if I do it again?”
Muriel sighed deeply as she leaned further back into the cushions. “If you insist. . . ”
Rather than just diving back into her sweet pussy I paid attention to the inside of her thighs and her plump and smooth mount of Venus. I knew if I barely touched my penis I would erupt, I kept my left hand under Muriel=s bottom while my right wandered upwards towards her breasts.
“You certainly know how to please a woman, Jim,” Muriel said huskily as my lips paid homage to her womanhood.
When I had worked my way back to her pussy the phone rang.
“Don=t stop,” Muriel said as she reached for the phone. “Hello?” she said dreamily.
The rest of the conversation on her part was a series of detached, monosyllabic answers: ‘Yes,’ ‘No,= ‘Uhuh,’ and the like.
I could tell by how Muriel wiggled and rubbed herself against my face that another orgasm was quickly approaching. I slipped my tongue into her vagina as deep as it would go.
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Muriel responded with a long, shuddering groan of pleasure as she climaxed again.
Apparently the person on the other end of the phone asked what was going on.
“There=s a handsome young man here eating my pussy, and it=s driving me wild!”.
