Lust

The house was somewhat of an eyesore, old and rickety. A total contradiction for the new neighborhood soccer mom Ms. McCarthy. Chipped paint, black ominous windows, and a few creaky, punished stairs delivered a warning from 38 Spring Street those days: “Do not enter.” McCarthy’s skimpy outfits, luscious curves, and heaving, filled breasts sent a different signal, however: An open invitation to “entry.” Our classic 50’s stay-at-home mom could be found in the late afternoon in one of her over stretched beach chairs, preparing dinner and reading her stereotypical mystery novels. I could be found in the bushes across the street, getting a clear shot at the holy shaven area, diddling Mr. Penis. Though the broken and beaten house held an eerie effect to it, the lawn was in opposition. It was well kept and Ms. McCarthy’s Domain. The area seemed to shine a blinding light and radiate with sexual energy. I loved that lawn.
Back in the day, all the perverted freaks, the Peeping Toms of our generation, me included would sit and wait for this wonderful woman to leave her house. We each had our own hotspots for masturbation and so our own views. Our turf was guarded with the utmost security. We fantasized in the expression to “Come Outside And Play”, because as soon as she came out, we were ready to play. We anxiously prepared for her to go on her occasional trip to the gym in her tight black spandex. To pick up her son, Billy, from school in her casual wear. And of course, to walk her perfect manikin-like body into her Domain, book in hand. I became obsessed with the notion of slamming the bitch. My objective was to hit it so hard she couldn’t walk the next day, and then quit it. To some it was a joke. “Yo, I want that skank more than a starving Ethiopian wants a meal…Ahahaha, ya know?” But to me, it was no laughing matter. ..Plus, that’s messed up.
Jane McCarthy’s privates would become proper property of Chris Cross Applesauce Decker for one session. There was no other way around it. I would walk up to her as a gentleman and talk to her as a gentleman. And she would play with me as a gentleman as she has with so many other fools. This is around the time I began convincing myself that this walking sex organ of a person was interested with my downstairs. I beat it like no other, sticking firm to my territory, the bush across the street. I tried oh so badly to will myself over to her and work up a decent amount of courage. It never worked, even with the sudden realization that she was interested. In my mind she wanted me for me. But she never even met Chris Cross Applesauce. If anything (and if lucky), she would want my cock and nothing else. Approaching her meant a chance of getting laid. But it also meant a chance of losing your tuft, which led to going home. Because there are only so many trees and bushes, even cars to masturbate behind. And they were all loaded with fiends trying to get their fix. Fapping none stop. And to share a hotspot with someone else is homo. But who knew how high the stakes were? Was she ready for her nightly routine? Was she in heat? All I knew was this: Jane would have sex tonight like always. It just mattered who it was.
I peered over the hedge top into the Domain. She fixed her bra strap with her smooth delicate hand, and then turned the page. A saw a kid by the name of Thomas Steel approach her from his tree, slowly but surely, ready to “Come Outside and Play.” His hands were in his pockets to cover his junk. He was in my grade and not exactly Mr. Smooth with the ladies. Apparently, he could no longer take the agony of waiting any longer, a lot like me. He spoke up barely so I could hear. The fap stopped everywhere. “Hey, um…” Ms. McCarthy glanced at him and said nothing but an irritated “Never.” Thomas didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even gotten in two words. And so he walked away, embarrassed, only to find his hotspot had been taken as well. By the looks of it, a 35 year old man. “Get outta here kid, woman’s too old for you.” Again, he had no idea what to do. In the time period of literally five seconds, he had lost his turf and his chance with Jane’s vagina. He did only what he could, walk home. Thank God that wasn’t me, I thought. Then, Ms. McCarthy did something stupendous, she popped open another button on her collared shirt and showed her massive cleavage. The awkwardness of Thomas Steel left the other junkie’s brains alongside mine. The fapping continued. I went at it harder and faster, attempting to satisfy my desires. But I knew it was impossible without McCarthy’s tight satin laced pussy. I heard others do the same, and put my twenty buck Sony headphones on to block out the noise of nothing but fap. It was instead replaced by Senses Tied by Dark Tranquility. A little Melodic Death Metal to jack off to. She placed her Agatha Christie on the lawn, squeezed out a handful of suntan lotion into her hand and started rubbing it onto her arms and shoulders. Fap. Her collar bone. Fap, fap, fap. Her inner thigh. Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap! And that is when it all happened. As I was bent over in concentration and imagination, she left her Domain and walked over to me…

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You see, McCarthy was never married. She was, so the story goes, engaged to a guy named Bill. Her fiancé, part-time tire salesmen, was a commanding officer in the United States Marine Corp. Quite impressive and as was told, he was quite the gentlemen. Now, what happened to this over achieving man ceases to amaze. He was not killed overseas, he never became a POW-MIA, and so never died going out in style. Instead he died in a boring car accident coming home from a local bakery in Handsborough just three months before the wedding was due to occur. It just goes to show how even the most important individuals can die in the most cruel and unfortunate of situations. The funeral service was terribly upsetting. The people were utterly shocked. And life goes on, one day at a time. However, this is not how it went for Jane McCarthy. Before Bill passed away in such manor, he had the courtesy to knock Ms. McCarthy up, leaving her large, lonely and loveless. The three L’s. Her parents were capable of supporting her financially through such difficult times. The child was born two months after the original wedding date and named Billy in honor of his father. Mother and son attempted to grow up in the town of Handsborough and move on, forgetting about the harsh reality of the past. This proved to be difficult as I imagine it should be. Living in such a small town, the news tended to travel quickly making it impossible to lead a normal life.
And so, Jane packed her bags and left Handsborough when her son was of the age of five. Greensville was lucky enough to accept the magnificent babe. Why Greensville? Who knows and who cares? But the house she lives in now was not entirely up to her decision. Rather she picked a cheap, decrepit house in a good neighborhood because of financial problems she was still suffering from. With her parents still helping out with her money issue, she is apparently looking for a job in hopes to pay them back someday. Meanwhile, Billy was none the wiser and is living his life happily in a blue ribbon school system. And sex addicts from the town of Greensville are also able to live their lives happily. Except me. Because I needed to play with Jane McCarthy oh so badly. Like an itch from a mosquito that won’t go away so was the craving to fuck our Ms. Widow.
Here we are. Only, before you go getting all sad for our local slut, there is one very significant detail that I forgot to tell. Jane has four L’s in her live. She was large, and is to this day lonely, loveless and lustful. Lust. She tries to fuck her misery away one night at a time, one lucky guy at a time. She has no real motivation to get a job or pay her parents back…Just to hump. So before you go calling me a creep, or a perverted freak, realize that Ms. Jane McCarthy is the hottest MILF on the planet and that I’m just a horny fucker going through puberty. There are many others of us staring at this woman and I find no problems with it at all. She never says “Stop…Don’t…Please…” but rather “Please don’t stop!” so what’s the deal? Please understand that Greensville is severely limited in its selection of females. And don’t you dare say you wouldn’t stalk her through the bushes because…Just trust me, you would. Because she wants to “Come Outside and Play” and you feel like if you walk over there like so many others and it’s the “wrong moment” she will reject you. So you wait awkwardly and wipe out your dick and start whacking it and remember to stash a Trojan condom in your back pocket before you leave the house. Maybe some breathe mints. If it’s one thing I’ve learned about Ms. McCarthy it’s that pretty much as long as you are decently attractive and pick the perfect moment to pounce, you’re bound to score. Besides, how long can she keep these nightly fiasco's gong?

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…With my plaything poking through my boxer and jean shorts hole, I was J-ing it very violently at this point, the image of a nude Jane McCarthy penetrating my mind. It was beginning to get very, very good and reach the height of sensational overpowering: the climax. I kept going faster and faster. Out of nowhere I felt a yank on my headphones as they were lifted off my head. I couldn’t stop. Then Ms. McCarthy’s beautiful angelic voice: “Heyyy, honneeyyy.” I stood up out of surprise and shock and the climax was here. Was I dreaming? That day, August 10, 1977 I nutted all over Jane McCarthy’s face. It got dead silent. Even the music knew to stop (disconnected through my pocket). We stood there face to face, jizz running down her cheeks, my penis fully erect. And the next thing she did I will never forget. She bend down, butt sticking out, giving me an awesome view of her cleavage. And with one long perfectly shaped fingernail scooped up a big clump of cum dripping down her chin, presented it to her mouth, tasted it with her wet tongue and big, full lips, and swallowed. She got closer. I was motionless. She put her lips right next to my ear, bent over and whispered: “I swallow.” I nearly died. Ms. Jane McCarthy then proceeded to grasp my hand with her smooth palm and delicate fingertips oh so gently and lead me up her creaky, punished stairs into her old, rickety house. Condom and breath mints at the ready.