Encyclopedia EroticaEncyclopedia Erotica


Goddamn, but Coach was a bastard. The tunnel-visioned SOB couldn’t think of anything but football, so when I missed a couple of weight lifting sessions to study for my organic chemistry final, he reduced my scholarship because I wasn’t “committed enough to football”. So instead of taking that time off to get in shape, I spent the summer of ’78 walking the streets of Houston, trying to sell encyclopedias. (For you youngsters, encyclopedias are what they use to use for research before there was Google.) So there I was, in the 98 degree heat of August, carrying around fifty pounds of book samples, wearing a goddamn coat and tie.

At least I was used to working out in summer heat, so I was sweaty, but not exhausted when I knocked on the door of one of the modest townhomes in the condo jungle that afternoon. When she opened the door, I thought, “I’m wasting my time here,” because the middle-aged woman who stood there looked about two and a half sheets to the wind. She had a drink in one hand and her clothes, a threadbare long t-shirt and sweatpants, looked like she had been sleeping in them. She looked surprised to see me.

“Are you with Miranda?” she asked nervously.

“No, ma’am,” I replied smartly, “I’m with TEE, Tools for Educational Excellence.”

“Is this about her tuition, ’cause they told me I had until next month to pay it.”

“No, ma’am,” I explained, “I’m here to show you how to open a new page in your child’s educational experience. What I have to show you will…”

“Huh,” she snorted derisively, “She’s got too damn much ‘educational experience’ already,” she said as she swigged from her drink.

“How old are your children,” I asked.

“‘Randa’s just turned 19 yesterday,” she said, “but she thinks she’s all grown up.”

“Well, ma’am,” I said, preparing to make my exit, “Our products are designed to help grade school and high school age children, so I’d better stop wasting your time,” I said, and folded up the poster I had been preparing to show her.

“Naw,” she slurred, “I’m bored. You go ahead and do your spiel. I got nothing to do for a while.”

I wouldn’t normally go through my sales pitch with no hope of closing a sale, but it was too late in the day to try to start another round of door knocking. Besides, the lady was kinda pretty in a frowsy way, and I figured she’d eventually offer me a drink, so I launched into my routine with vigor. I was having some fun, straying from my usual script and hamming it up a bit. “And,” I said with an air of sincerity, “If your child is not very smart, you can use them as free weights.” Then I hoisted a large book in either hand.

“Is that what you did?” she interrupted.

“Yeah, I’m pretty stupid,” I joked.

“No, I mean, did you use them as weights? You look pretty strong.”

“Not according to my coach,” I said somewhat wistfully, “I lost my full ride, and now I have to work this summer job to make ends meet.”

“Well, he’s an idiot. You look plenty strong to me,” she said, edging closer. “Let me feel your muscle.” I was surprised, but I flexed my biceps for her, trying to look as muscular as possible. “I can’t see your muscles,” she complained, Take off that damn coat and tie. You must be suffocating.”

“I am pretty warm,” I said. Could I get something to drink?

“Where are my manners?” she laughed. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Gin and tonic it is,” she said and mixed me a drink from a bottle that was sitting out on the counter as I took off my coat and tie and laid them on the arm of a chair. “Here ya go, Schwarzenegger, she husked, and handed me a drink that was about 90% gin and 10% tonic. “Bottoms up,” she said cheerily, and she drained her drink and fixed another. “Now how about those adana escort muscles? Do you think you could pick me up?”

I was no dummy and I could see exactly where this was heading, but that was fine with me. Between pre-med and football, I hadn’t had time to date much, and I could feel the tingle in my crotch as I started to slowly remove my shirt, flexing my biceps and pecs for effect. In spite of her little nickname for me, I really wasn’t the bodybuilder type, but I am an athlete, and my body was trim and strong, if not very “bulging”. My erstwhile sales target seemed to think so too, and she sidled up to me and put both of her hands on my upper arm.

“Yeah, that coach is definitely an idiot,” she murmured. I raised my arm and she hung on as I lifted her off the floor. “Looks like you can pick me up,” she breathed, smelling like a gin mill. But I wasn’t complaining. I could see that she had dressed hastily. Her t-shirt hung slack at the throat and sleeves, and as she drew close, I glimpsed her breasts under the thin fabric. They were not big, but very smooth and firm looking, with only a trace of middle-aged sag. Enough to turn the tingling in my crotch to a full fledged stiffy.

She must have seen me looking. “Not bad for an old lady, eh?” she said seductively.

“Not bad for any age lady,” I said, and cupped one firmly through the threadbare shirt.

A short, throaty groan escaped her lips and then she murmured, “You think so? I hardly ever use them.”

“What a waste,” I said, and lifted her shirt to expose the small, darkish nipples. “A damn shame,” I reiterated, and flicked my tongue across the tip of one of the rosebuds. Her head flew back, and the groan this time was even deeper. She fastened one hand behind my head and the other groped for my crotch. I responded by taking the other breast and sucked the nipple hard, then lightly licked around the edges of her areola. She wrapped one leg around my hips and started humping me like she was Katherine the Great.

I peeled her off enough to pull off her tee shirt and slip my left hand into the back of her sweat pants. To show off, I raised her higher with my right arm while working my left hand and wrist in between her legs from behind. She gasped as I raised her up until her belly was level with my face as I continued kissing and licking. But I couldn’t hold her in the air forever, so I said, “I’m going to have to put you down so I can lick your pussy.”

“Skip the foreplay, Arnold,” she gasped again, “I want some DICK!”

“I aim to please, ma’am,” I said, dropping my slacks off.

“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’,” she said, “My name’s Cynthia. What the hell is your name anyway?”

“I’m Daniel,” I said, “but you can call me Arnold if you prefer.”

“Well, Daniel,” she said as if she were directing a movie, “get your dick out and start fucking me.” She tugged down my underwear and I pulled off her sweat pants and panties. All that crotch rubbing had turned my sapling into a tree trunk, so I lifted her up to the plush arm of the sofa, leaned her back and pushed the head of my cock into her shaggy patch. She wasn’t kidding about not needing foreplay, because my rod slid smoothly into her, all the way to the hilt. She put her arms on my shoulders and was bouncing for all she was worth and letting loose with a stream of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

I was trying to slow her down a little to keep it going longer, but that became a moot point very quickly when I heard the front door open. My erection vanished like a snowflake on a radiator, and I tried to pull away. Cynthia was pretty much oblivious to the noise, and she didn’t want to let loose. As realization dawned on her, she grabbed for her t-shirt, eskişehir escort and I hastily stepped into my trousers. As I fumbled with the snap, I heard keys being noisily flung on a counter and a plaintive female voice yelling, “Mom?” In an instant, the owner of the voice entered the living room and in the doorway I saw a slim but curvy beauty with long, straight raven hair. I saw her full lips open before her hand went up to her mouth in horror.

“Mom!” she screamed, “I can’t believe this!”

“Umm… You must be Miranda,” I mumbled, trying to break the tension.

She turned to me with a look of utter disdain and said in a venom-filled voice, “Oh, so you had a nice family discussion before you started fucking?”

“You just shut up,” yelled Cynthia, recovering from her sexual daze. “You’re off screwing around at school while I’m stuck here working at that damn grocery store to earn your tuition.”

“Yeah, you’re working your ass off today,” sneered her daughter, “I think we may need a cleanup on aisle three.”

Cynthia was up like a shot and slapped her daughter hard on the face. “It’s my day off, you little cunt,” she screamed, “and don’t you lecture me on morality when you’re spending all your time over at Tony’s apartment screwing your brains out.”

I was trying to melt into the background as I envisioned a hair-pulling, eye-clawing scene about to unfold, but I was surprised at what happened next. Miranda just sat down on the carpet and started bawling like a baby. “That asshole,” she sobbed, “that fucking asshole.”

It is an amazing thing to see maternal instinct kick in. Cynthia metamorphosed from a yowling alley cat to a cuddly teddy bear in the blink of an eye. She knelt next to Miranda and put her arms around her. “He ran out on you?” Cynthia asked.

“You could say that,” Miranda sniffed, “or more correctly you could say he bumped into my roommate. Repeatedly.”

“The bastard,” growled Cynthia through clenched teeth. “I’ll cut his balls off.”

“He’s not worth it, Mom. It’s good I found him out. Those damn jocks, they’re all the same.” Then she looked over at me where I was trying to hide in the corner. “You look like a jock,” she accused, “right?”

“Football team”, I nodded weakly. “At least until Coach kicks me off the team. I was just using the scholarship to pay for college.”

“Yeah, I figured you weren’t first string,” she said wryly, “You appear to have a neck.”

I guess the whole comedy of this situation sort of hit me, because her little joke started me giggling, and I couldn’t stop. It was apparently infectious, because soon, little smiley lines appeared on both Cynthia and Miranda’s faces, and in a few seconds, we were all laughing our fool heads off.

“You do this for money?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“I was trying to sell encyclopedias,” I said sheepishly. “I had the sale wrapped up when you walked in.” We all broke up again, and the atmosphere had lightened markedly.

“Well Mom,” said Miranda, appraising me, “at least you have good taste in studs. He doesn’t seem as dumb as Tony. I mean if he was going to cheat on me, he could have picked a better place than in my own room.”

“Duh, yup. Us pre-meds is real smart fellers,” I said dopily, crossing my eyes for effect. That sent us into another laughing fit.

“Oh, he’s still a jock though,” joked Cynthia. “You should see his muscle.”

“Oh, I can see them from here,” Miranda replied.

“Not the one I’m talking about,” Cynthia said wickedly.

“Oh? Do tell,” said Miranda, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like you two had quite a party,” she said, eying my coat, shirt and skivvies thrown about the room.

“He’s a great conversationalist,” sakarya escort Cynthia said with a grin.

“I’ll bet,” chuckled Miranda, “A real cunning linguist.”

“That I wouldn’t know,” said her mom. “We skipped a few chapters.”

“Oh, not good!” said Miranda, mocking horror. “You could miss some of the best parts.”

“Maybe I’ll let you borrow it and you tell me how it comes… out.”

“Mom, I couldn’t borrow your… stuff. Well, maybe just for a little while.”

I was getting pretty turned on hearing them talk like this, but I said, “Don’t I get a vote here?”

“Yeah, but you’re going to be outvoted,” the younger girl said.

That was enough for me. I came out of the corner and grabbed Miranda by the shoulders and kissed her like a movie star. Then I glanced over at Cynthia to see if I had crossed the line, but she was smiling and sipping on her drink. So I ran my hand down her back, ending with my fingers on the top of her buttocks. She kissed back like a hungry woman and crushed herself into my still-bare chest. Moving my lips down the side of her face and neck, I nibbled gently as I moved my hand back up, under her shirt and unsnapped her bra. She responded by pulling her shirt and bra off, revealing pert, firm bosoms that were heaving noticeably.

“I can see that gorgeous bodies run in the family,” I said.

“Oh, he is a silver tongued devil, isn’t he?” said Miranda.

“I told you, I didn’t read that chapter,” her mom grinned back.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to loan you my notes,” Miranda shot back, matching her grin.

I took the hint and pulled Miranda over to the couch, then dropped down on my knees with my head between her legs. She seemed rather tense, so I didn’t charge right in. I spent some time stroking her thighs and making small talk about how beautiful she was. When I glanced over at Cynthia, she was still in the chair smiling, but her hand had slipped under her t-shirt, and her mouth was twitching a little.

I slowly removed Miranda’s panties, kissing and nibbling all the while. When my lips moved to her trimmed pubic patch, she let loose with a sound that sounded a bit like a hiss, but not an angry one. My tongue sought the button of her clitoris, and her body jerked. She was not wet like her mom had been, so I spent a long time gently licking and rubbing, stopping to move up and suck those magnificent tits from time to time. Obviously she was nervous about doing this with her mom watching, but in a few minutes, she seemed to forget her mother was in the room as she rocked and moaned.

“Are you ready?” I whispered into her ear.

“Uh huh,” she nodded, and I dropped my pants, and my revitalized cock stood proudly, knocking at her door. The door opened, and I probed gently with just the head until her groans and thrusts told me she was ready for the whole thing. But still I moved slowly, and this seemed to drive her into a frenzy. “Come on, jock,” she grunted, “Time to score a touchdown.” I began to increase the pace of my strokes, moving my hips from side to side to create contact with every part of her lovely vagina.

Once again, I looked over to see how Cynthia was doing, but she had set her drink down and had her head leaned back, her fingers moving frantically. She was adding her voice to the chorus too.

I returned my attention to Miranda, and settled into a syncopated rhythm of strokes, pausing from time to time to keep myself from coming. The steady “Huh huh huh” from Miranda was complimented by the raspy “Oh, God”s coming from the chair.

As I came to the vinegar strokes, I felt a warm pressure on my back. It was Cynthia, and she was rubbing her tits all over my back while diddling herself madly. I came like a roman candle, and my earthquaking shivers were matched by Miranda’s orgasmic twitching. The three of us stayed there, locked in each other’s embrace for many moments before anyone could talk.

Finally Cynthia spoke up in a voice like June Cleaver out of an old “Leave it to Beaver” show. “Look what Mommy got for your birthday, darling.”

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