Fucking Mrs. Gold

An excerpt from Fucking Mrs. Gold

Mrs. Gold shifted her hips and pulled at the starched collar of her white summer blouse. It was sheer enough for him to see the movement of her breasts thru it. "Have you taken her for a ride yet?" she asked casually.

"I— We— Yes, we went to the park on Wednesday. The game booths are still—"

She pulled off her sunglasses languidly. "I'm talking about hanky panky, Roger."

The young man swallowed hard. "I'm— I don't—"

"Oh, come on," Mrs. Gold teased. "You're a handsome boy. My daughter is a pretty girl. She likes you a lot, you know. I'm an open-minded woman," she said. "Surely you've had her out in a secluded spot somewhere, soaking up the moonlight...."

Roger twisted the wrench in his hands. "She's not— You know. She's a nice girl, Mrs. Gold."

"I know. It's a pity," she said, tapping her sunglasses in her palm. "Even nice girls need a little now and then." Roger tried to turn away, to go back to the Jaguar's greasy parts. But before he could get his hands dirty again, Mrs. Gold advanced on him, backing him away towards the Lincoln.

"Roger, have you ever slept with an older woman?" she asked.

"N— No," the young man stammered. She came closer, practically pinning him to the Continental with her big breasts. Her cleavage seemed to Roger like a deep chasm he might fall into and never climb out of.

"It comes down to experience, Roger," she cooed. "Older women know what they want. They know how to ask for it. Roger... they know how to get it."

"They do?" The crisp white blouse brushed against his T-shirt.

"We do," she breathed. And she pressed a warm kiss on his mouth that sent electricity down his spine strong enough to electrocute him if he hadn't been wearing sneakers.

The wrench fell on the floor next to the Jaguar's carburetor.