The Old Man and the Girl Who Was Older Than She Looked

Carrying a mug of coffee, I mooched out on the veranda and slumped onto the old sofa that was decaying there. It was late afternoon, blistering hot, and the Galahs were squabbling high in the old River Gum as I surveyed the carnage another long dry summer had had on the garden. That front garden had been my wife’s pride and joy, God rest her soul, but whereas she watered it every day, by hand, I just left it to the reticulation. Except with water restrictions, that meant just two days a week, and whoa and behold you get the wrong day or leave it on too long, and one of the busybodies down this street would be phoning up the Water Corp. So, I stared at the carnage and wondered about changing it to a Japanese style gravel garden, something else I knew I’d never do.

Old age is like that. When you are young it seems anything is possible, and you have time, enthusiasm, and physical umph to try anything. When you are old, you still have the time, but the enthusiasm is waning and the get and go certainly has got up and gone. Now I just looked at things, decided it would be nice to try, and then accepted that I wouldn’t.

Like the young mothers that were wandering down the street in ones and twos, assembling to collect their progeny from the Junior School a block over. That meant I was late going outside today. It also meant it was time to go inside. Letching at the young MILFs from the safety of my own veranda, partially hidden by prying eyes by the deep shadows was one thing. But I’d better not get caught looking them when they had their offspring in tow, because then I’d obviously be looking at little children, wouldn’t I? I’d need to be reported, wouldn’t I?

No, I wouldn’t. I have no, zero, nada, interest in children. I don’t even like the grandkids much, I’m sure they’ll be alright when they grow up and can hold a proper conversation, put for now, what was the old phrase? “Very nice, dear. Bring them back when they finish university.”

No, all I was interested was the mothers, young, pert, firm young women of breedable age, with nice, young, pert, firm boobs and a willingness to be bred. Not that they ever would with me. My days of those carnal joys were long gone. It was the best part of twenty years since I’d last had my leg over. Janine was always willing, well until the last few weeks until the cancer took her. Even then she tried, said it was the only enjoyment she had left and if the nurses didn’t like it, then they could close the door. And I’d not taken care of myself really since she had gone. For forty-five years I’d been slim and toned, fed a healthy diet by Janine and exercised long and hard at least three times a night. More on Sundays. But since she’d gone, there didn’t seem any point, so frozen chips and sausages in the air-fryer, bacon sandwiches ever morning and the odd bar of chocolate as I sat watching television of a night. Consequentially I’d piled on the kilos, ending up fifty percent heavier than I’d ever been in my prime and until I’d grown such a substantial belly that I could no longer see my cock just by looking down. Not that anybody was interested anyway. Just as well really, because on instead of proudly sticking out from my groin, my cock languished in the middle of a thick triangle of fat that covered at least the first three inches. Some cold days, it was hard to find enough to pull out and have a piss with.

“Hello.”

The voice came from behind me just as I was getting up and heading into the house, away from the prying eyes and the unfounded allegations. I turned back, and leaning over the garden gate was a school girl, blonde hair in bunches, plaid, pleated skirt that was far too short and a huge pair of knockers pushing out her white T-Shirt. Not only were the two huge globes impressive, but they were clearly unsupported and adorned with substantial nipples. School girls had no right to such nipples and I certainly shouldn’t be looking. I carried on walking.

“Hello. Mister Outhwaite. Can I have a word?”

I stood at the door, the doorhandle in my hand, and turned back to face her. She’d opened the garden gate and was coming up the path now, uninvited. Those huge tits swaying from site to side as she walked, with just a bit of up and down bounce. Perhaps the movement was rubbing her nipples, making them harder, because they certainly weren’t going away. But I could see her face more clearly now, perhaps she wasn’t a schoolgirl, but if she wasn't, no way was she in even her early twenties. Not to my eyes, but every one looked young these days. Even policemen didn't look old enough to be out without their mothers. Except Sergeant Jones, and he was just old. But this girl, she’d got that swagger that comes with self-confidence, that women have from knowing they are gorgeous and dress to show it, expecting every man to stare at them, slack jawed like I was now. Her eyes dropped from mine, and stared at my legs. I had no idea why, I was sure I’d done my fly up and even with the awakening caused by her mammalian protuberances, there wasn’t anything sticking out. Just old man legs, gnarled and knobbly, hairy and slack skinned, hanging out the bottom of my old tatty shorts.

“Bloody hell!”

“What?”

“Is that your knacker?” She was laughing, her hand raised to cover her mouth.

I reached down and had a feel. One nut was indeed protruding out of the leg of my shorts. I’d always had big balls, Janine said I needed them that size for all the cum I’d fill her with, and they’d always hung low. That got worse as I got older too. They were like two King Edwards in a carrier bag, bouncing around my thighs unless I put on briefs and held them in place. I just hadn’t bothered today, just throwing on a T-shirt and this old pair of shorts, and being careful when I sat down. That was second nature really.

My finger tucked the miscreant testicle back out of sight before I turned and opened the door, walking into the cool darkness of the living room. The door closed behind me and then re-opened.

The girl, woman, had followed me in and was closing the distance between us.

“What do you want?”

“A proper look. Wouldn’t you like one too?”

“What do you mean?”

“You show me your balls, I’ll show you my tits. I know you want to see them.”

The door closed behind her. Was this some sort of trap, she’d get half naked and run from the house screaming rape? Everybody seemed to be out to get me these days. What happened to the days when people respected their elders, rather than despised them?

“Okay, I’ll go first.”

Before I could say anything or object, her arms crossed over her front, fingers gripped the sides of her T-Shirt and she whipped it off over her head and stood there, unabashed, with the biggest pair of gorgeous, round breasts I could remember ever seeming. Janine had been big, but hers always were a right pair of hangers, more so as she aged, and after she’d breastfed me for a decade or two. Not that I minded, I’d loved her boobs very much, just as I’d loved her, but these? These were in a different league.

The girl waited until I’d had a good look and then moved forward, dropped to one knee and undid the button on my shorts. Before I could think of anything to say, my shorts were around my ankles, and she was staring at my groin, her eyes flicking back and forth, down to my knackers and back up again.

“Bloody hell, Kevin, he’s my husband, his are like two walnuts glued to the underside of his cock. These have a life of their own.” Her hands reached out, and I felt the weight taken off my scrotum as she cupped my bollocks, one nut in each hand.

I was getting hard too. I took me a long time nowadays, and when I did, half of the length was buried in fat, but I still had some girth when it finally got around to filling out. If it still did, I’d not tried to get a proper hard-on years, content to knock the odd one out in the shower when the urge took me, frantically stroking a semi-hard length.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, knowing that whatever trap I'd walked into, it was well and truly sprung. “How old are you?” I asked, praying that she wasn't going to say sixteen seconds before someone opened the door and used a flash camera.

“I'm on my way to fetch my son from school, how old do you think I am?”

“Not that old,” I croaked, somewhat relieved, and hoping I could believe her.

“I've got stretch marks if you want to look, and my breasts aren't as firm as they were. But you, old man, bloody hell, you've got a cock on you! Just wait until I tell the girls about this!”

“Oh god, please don't tell anyone,” I pleaded.

“Why not! It's bloody marvellous,” she enthused, one hand still cradling a knacker as the other began to gently wank my cock, which filling out now, was still somewhat short of its best length. “Jesus, it's still growing!” Her hand tightened its grasp, and she stroked harder as she stood up, holding me at arm's length. “Go on,” she said, “they won't bite, give them a fondle.” She rolled her shoulders and her impressive tits swung lazily from side to side.

Being as she had me firmly in her grasp, it seemed rude not to return the appreciation, so I raised my arthritic, gnarled old hands, and cupped her firm young breasts. And they were firm. She might think they'd aged, but from where I stood I couldn't imagine breasts so firm and perky being on anyone who wasn't just criminally too young. The only thing shattering that illusion was the size of them. Most jail-bait just wasn't this big. And the nipples. On closer inspection, they did look like they'd had some attention. They were firming up now too as my hands roved over the curves, felt the fullness and stroked the areola as they crinkled up into two angled, brown oblongs of delight. Very, very delightful. Too delightful. For the first time in an age I could feel my cock getting hard, proper hard, rigid, sticking up and out hard. Filling out to its full girth and extending to its full length. I felt my gonad released and a second hand grip me, as the girl shifted to a two-handed wank. A very effective, two-handed wank. After all these years, if she wasn't careful, she'd bring me off.

“Don't,” I croaked.

“Why, isn't it nice. Am I hurting you?”

“No, I mean yes, it's nice, no, you're not hurting, but you shouldn't, you'll…”

“What? Make you cum? Can you?”

I closed my eyes, stared inwards and breathed slowly. I felt her move away from me then, pulling her boobs from my hands, but she wasn't running, she was moving to stand behind me, her chin on my shoulder as her hands reached around me and resumed their grasp.

“Go on, let me see?”

Her strokes grew more determined and her experience and practised skill showed. Whatever she was, she knew how to give hand jobs. I could feel her breasts pressed into my back and I reached behind me, only to find my hand slipping under the hem of her short skirt and between her thighs. Warm, firm, female thigh flesh.

“Fuck!” I gasped, as I came.

Her hands froze as a huge spurt of cum jettisoned from my cock, arcing through the air to splatter onto the polished Jarrah floorboards nearly by the door.

“Wow!” Her voice was loud and sounded either surprised or impressed. She stroked quickly a few more times, stopping and holding me firmly at forty-five degrees as I came again.

A second rope of cum arced through the air, not quite as much and not quite as far as the first.

“Wow! Bloody hell! So much!” Her hands let go of me now, and then she was moving back around me, before slowly sinking to her knees. Her hands took hold of my cock again, but now she was rolling her shoulders again, moving her breasts so that she could wipe the dribbling spunk off the end of my cock and around her nipples. After rubbing it back and forth, she squeezed it gently, felt it beginning to soften and then bend forward and took me into her mouth.

It must have been half a century since I'd had blow job, and that was by an inexperienced Janine who was never sure she liked doing it. This young girl, this woman, knew what she was doing, obviously liked the taste of spunk, and was no stranger to it. She sucked hard as her head bobbed back and forth, her hands milking the last dregs from my shaft. She swallowed loudly, lifted her head off and rocked back on her heels.

“Wow!” She said as she stood up, then turned away from me, retrieved her T-shirt and pulled it back on. “I want to try that when it's properly hard,” she smiled at me. “I want to know if I can get it in when it's hard… and in my mouth!” She winked knowingly and glanced at her watch. “Fuck!, I'll be late! See you tomorrow, old man!”

Turning, she headed for the door, stepping pointedly around the pools of spunk on the floor.

“Bye,” she said, and was gone.

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