David’s Summer of ’61 Ch. 02

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(It was the summer of 1961 and I was 21 years old and was continuing with my hobby of bird watching. I had spent the previous two weeks on the banks of Brantwood Water in the English Lake District and had been studying waterfowl)

After Phoebe and Cynthia left me I pondered for over an hour the now familiar prospect which was illuminated by the fading sunlight. Picking up my rucksack, diary and binoculars I scrambled slowly downhill, my knees aching from the twisting jolting walk.

I thought about Cynthia and her sad face and wondered whether I shouldn’t perhaps try and see her again. I felt I should befriend her and learn more of her history. In my mind’s eye I could see her knees, inner thighs and sad face, and again I experienced confusion.

Back at the small hotel near the boat jetty there appeared to be several small cars newly parked outside. The hotel had had only five guests during the fortnight I had stayed there, and that included me. I wondered how the proprietor kept going with such few visitors.

Sitting on a bench near the dipping dinghies overlooking the choppy water I could hear rowdy laughter and loud conversation coming from the hotel bar.

Women’s shrieks punctured the hubbub. One loud woman appeared to be telling a long story which I couldn’t quite make out because of the engine sounds of two motor boats approaching from the opposite bank. I felt reluctance to enter the hotel as I was so used to having the bar entirely to myself and my thoughts but I was in desperate need of a long beer so strolled in.

Eight middle-aged women, probably in their early to middle forties, glanced up at me as I entered and weaved between them to be served by Henry.

“The usual David?” he asked and I nodded smiling at him above the noise.

“A bit crowded tonight Henry,” I stated, picking up my pint and looking around. He smiled back.

The ladies were sitting at two small tables filled with empty glasses which Henry noticed required collecting. I decided to help him out and did the rounds and was greeted by smiles, bosoms, crossed legs, bright lipstick, tartan skirts and dark stockings. The glasses were collected to the familiar ‘Thank you young mans,’ which I always found annoying and unnecessary.

Because I was relatively short and skinny people always thought I was at school, or at least too young to be out drinking. On my barstool, I joined Henry and discussed the local football team and their future prospects in the league.

From the women I could make out snippets of conversation from which I gathered that they were spending a weekend away from their husbands and children. This appeared to be an annual reunion event and they had all been at school together. They were all 43. I understood that they had driven up from Manchester that day and that they had booked an evening meal at the restaurant next door and were having their aperitifs with us at our hotel.

Their conversation covered all sorts of subjects and I sensed that they appeared rather forthright in their views on risqué topics in particular.

One lady asserted that her husband found it difficult to satisfy her physically as he had never really understood the workings of her genitalia. Others agreed with her and confirmed that generally men were useless and disinterested in the ‘between-legs department’.

One of them, Joyce, told the others that she had tried once to show her husband the intimate individual parts of her pubic area, but was told that he didn’t need to know as he was a man. He swiftly walked off to the local pub with their pet Labrador, Jesse.

Joyce remarked that bursa seks hikayeleri he probably knew more about Jesse’s private parts than about his own wife’s. This was greeted with squeals of laughter from the rest. I laughed to myself as it probably was true.

Patricia’s husband was put off physically from looking between her legs although he liked to feel her down there. Glenda had asked George, her husband, to perform oral sex on her as George appeared to enjoy felatio from Glenda. Apparently George could not bring himself to do it, or imagine anything worse and would prefer to divorce her, truth be known.

Henry, the barman, who was probably in his sixties, was drawn into the conversation reluctantly but remained reticent to join in as he was clearly embarrassed at the comparatively low level of subject matter, and would rather not divulge anything personal to strangers.

“But you must have thought about using your tongue on your wife’s most sensitive spot?” someone called to Henry. “Have you never thought of surprising her with it?”

Henry turned red with exasperation and exclaimed, “My missus would not respect me for it. Who could call a man a man who placed his mouth to a woman’s private parts? It ain’t natural, it’s dirty and I wouldn’t do it, and further more I despises men that do it.”

Red-faced Henry was clearly shaken and enquired whether anyone else wanted a drink before he closed the bar for the night.

I said that I would like another pint and he gave me one on the house. Henry told me quietly that he thought the women only said these things to wind themselves up and I should ignore them if they continued. He also warned me that, in his experience, women together, who had been out drinking, were capable of doing ‘anything’ and that I had better keep out of their way. I winked at him and wished him goodnight.

Henry left the hotel quietly and silently cycled off to his wife and cottage further up the valley. The ladies trooped out to the restaurant next door and bade me goodnight, while I remained behind to finish off my two beers.

Mrs Tyler, the hotel owner, came down from last-minute tidying and cleaning the communal washing areas upstairs. From the kitchen she brought out my meal which I ate in the bar.

“There’s a houseful tonight David,” she said in her thick Cumbrian accent.

“They come here every year and are a ‘good laugh’ although they are high-spirited and do tend to stay up half the night chattering. I usually sleep in the annex next door where it’s quieter. You are welcome to a small room at the rear of the annex for the night if you want.”

“I’ll be OK Mrs.Tyler but thanks very much for the offer.” I replied to the kind white haired widow.

A couple of hours later the ladies returned. I had been asleep and I awoke bleary eyed.

“Hello young man, and how old are you then?” asked one of them looking a little drunk. Clearly they had been enjoying more wine with their meals. I told them my age and they appeared surprised.

“Well I never,” said one, “I thought he was the same age as our Robert and he’s only fourteen!” said a slim lady in a black polo neck sweater.

“Have you always been that short?” asked a thick legged woman, and I replied to her incredibly stupid question that, until recently, I had been a 6 foot 5 inch tall body builder and my present puny condition was caused by having to answer too many stupid questions. She looked perplexed and sat down suddenly.

They continued with their previous ‘sexual conversation’ clearly having had to temporarily curtail it in the ‘refined atmosphere’ of the Cumbrian Ram restaurant next door. Betty narrated a long story about withholding her ‘maritals’ until Fred learnt how to make her ‘happy’.

Colleen saw that I was just about to leave and return to my room when she called to me.

“Young man, David isn’t it? What does the younger generation think about, y’know, women’s parts. Would you ever do it down there with your tongue?”

I told them that I already had, many times, and opened the door to go. This caused uproar and before I could take things in I was bombarded with questions and firm hands led me back to my chair. The ladies plied me with intimate questions and I sensed the women were becoming sexually charged having discovered that they had a young expert in the art of oral pleasuring in their midst.

The inevitable happened and I found myself upstairs in one of their bedrooms on the second floor. It was very crowded. I sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the double bed while the eight women made themselves comfortable, sitting on the bed, on the dressing table stool, on a small sofa and on the floor. It was agreed that Betty would be first.

At my low vantage point all around me were legs, stockings and skirts. I felt a wave of intense excitement in my groin, although my body was exhausted from being in the intense sunshine all day.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Betty. She was a lady clearly old enough to have had me as her son or nephew and here I was just about to tell her to pull her knickers down.

“Pull your knickers down to your ankles, sit on the edge of the bed and open your legs,” I said as if about to examine her medically.

Below her pink satin blouse she wore a smart dark grey knee-length box-pleated tweed skirt which flared from the hips. She also wore black fine denier stockings with black three inch heeled court shoes.

She stared down at me and politely told me to pull her knickers down for her. The other women egged me on while passing around a small bottle of brandy. “Take a swig David. You’re going to need it by the time we are all through with you.” Said Joyce smirking in an insane manner.

I knelt against Betty and slid my hands up her skirt. I felt petticoat lace then the silky smoothness of her slip itself. Inside this nylon sheath her black stockings felt both smooth and scratchy. My fingers touched her suspender clips and reinforced stocking tops which were of denser nylon. Her outer thighs were noticeably warm with a hint of flabbiness. I resisted the temptation to duck my head under her skirt and breathe in her delicious odours which I imagined were waiting for me; I had all night for her and the rest of them I thought.

Both hands felt the intricate lacy hems of her loose legged knickers.

“My goodness,” I said under my breath “Expensive lingerie.”

What was it about women? Why did they need to dress up expensively for a ‘hen weekend with the girls’? I only imagined that their husbands were immune to the subtleties of their underwear drawer and recognised only two types of panties, those which were on and those which were off.

I could not believe my luck. Here I was, a ‘young’ lad, not bad looking but a bit short and skinny, all alone in a hotel bedroom with eight attractive middle aged women. Each woman was dressed to kill, or at least had on sexy underwear which could raise the Titanic if required. In addition they were all in a state of high sexual tension as, as far as I could work out, none of them had experienced orgasms before, at least not of someone else’s volition.

I experienced a massive erection which remained painfully restricted inside my jeans.

Betty’s knickers slid down easily. They were jet black and damp at the gusset. I sniffed and snuffled them noisily as they descended to her knees She smelt very aroused.

She sat down on the end of the bed, parted her legs widely placing both shoes firmly on the carpet to each side of my knees. I shuffled forward, my bottom on my heels and lifted her slip and pleated skirt over my head. Betty flopped back on the bed and rearranging her skirt neatly over me.

Under her shiny jet black slip all I could see was dark pubic hair above her stocking tops. Her body heat was intense and her thighs felt clammy. I delayed my detailed tongue inspection of her vagina until I had thoroughly stimulated the fleshy areas around it. I nibbled her thighs and licked under the accessible parts of her buttocks. Many minutes past as I continued ignoring her most sensitive parts.

I sensed that the room had become quiet, very quiet. The other women were clearly wondering what I would do. They could see the outline of my head bobbing about under Betty’s pleated skirt and watched her flinch visibly as I persistently teased her.

I judged it was time to concentrate my entire attentions on her labia. Her already moist opening yielded to the firm probings from my tongue and nose. My hands scratched tiny circles under, and along, her inner thighs and buttocks. Gradually her inner lips opened revealing her clitoris under its hood. These were tongued incessantly with long gentle licks and with little circular licks.

Betty began to respond involuntarily, her thighs shaking markedly. I was in awe of the powerful deep orgasm which was clearly building up inside her. Her responses became more intense and laboured. My repertoire of probings, massagings and lickings was stretched to its limits while I pushed her onward to the inevitable for many minutes.

Suddenly I felt her spasm. She clamped her heavy thighs to my head and squeezed tightly. I struggled for air as she took a sharp intake of breath and slowly moaned. Her buttocks were off the bed as she bucked up and down in time to her high pitched moanings. Orgasm swept over orgasm and continued shuddering and juddering her body until she lay back completely exhausted and perspiring.

The beautiful slim forty three year old was almost weeping with joy.

I removed my head from beneath her hot skirt and petticoat and lay on my back on the bedroom carpet breathing in clean cool air. Frantically I unbuckled my jeans and pushed them to my knees. I slid my underpants down and released my erection. I caressed Betty’s shoe with my tongue as she murmured her gratitude above me on the bed.

Two ladies helped me off with the rest of my clothes as they could see I was sweating freely. Like motherly types they folded each item carefully and put it in a pile. and got me some water. There was a general conversation regarding Betty’s condition.

Pamela, a tall curvaceous brunette, her wavy hair in flicks, had decided that it was her turn next so hovered near me, smiling beautifully, mouthing “Me next please.”

Three others talked to Betty and I heard them mention ‘waves’ and ‘muscular spasms’.

I lay naked looking up into Pamela’s eyes above me hearing her sweet “Me next pleases” as she stepped over me standing in her smart red shirtwaister dress, white petticoats and black stockings.

She stood over my body as if claiming it as a trophy or a new plaything. She stood above my crotch and with great care rubbed her stockinged feet slowly over my stomach and my rock hard erection.

“Me next please,” she mewed.

I realised to my intense pleasure that it was a case of ‘one down seven to go’. Again I could not believe my luck.

(To be continued.)

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