NAUGHT & NICE TO ME

The overriding question is what is your ideal naughty neighbor? 


I was putty in her hands. Mrs. S. (that is her first initial. She is still alive) was sexually interested in me from day one. I was only 19 years old. A virgin, and full of cum, desire, passion and dreams. She was an older white woman with a ruddy complexion, wide and brown expressive eyes, stringy brown hair worn like a wild horses' mane, and a wiry body that seemed to float, and undulate more than anything else. For years I remembered every sensuous move of hers, and for the longest time could recall every time she came physically close to pulling me down, and in between her sheets, or legs, and failed. Her breath stayed with me, and on command I could conjure it and every other sensation she inspired within me to the surface. I could bring it alive with ease.

She was not a discriminating woman. She didn't wave any politics in the air. She like living in Africa. She took care of her children, and her husband well enough. They loved her, but she made little effort to hide her burning desire to fuck my brains out, and leave me senseless on the floor. I wanted in her real bad. I ached for it, but was held and bound by a commitment to something higher and stronger than Mrs. S.'s formidable sexual powers.

Her presence, her insistence, her raging passion, her suggestions, and the sweet subtle scents that stirred me when she'd part her legs when seated in front of me created enormous tensions. She pulled at my loins without ever touching them. She'd look at them, and with every inch of her body, and every expression on her face told me how much she wanted me in her, on top of her, behind her. She was an incredible lover in my dreams of her. She made those dreams torturous because it would have taken no effort to be her lover. No effort at all. All I had to do was submit. And had I she would have made me into a particular type of man her being the first.

I will never know what would have become of me, or what I'd have felt like at the end of the relationship given the type of initiation I had at 14 and 15 years of age, and the way I loved, and thought of myself. I'll never know how she, and her pussy, her loving, her attention to my soul, the danger, and the pleasure of it all would have rippled into my life, and the Medicines I was to carry.

Thinking about it now raised my heart rate. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 4.3.13