Mature Man & Maiden Maureen Ch. 19

Mature Man & Maiden Maureen, Ch. 19

A white, gloved sexy woman my age in nylons, white panties, garter belt, and bright, red, lip gloss continues where Colleen and Gwen ended. Maureen's and Gwen's 50-year-old mother, Carol, arrived for a weekend visit.

# # #

Continued from Chapter 18: Mature Man & Maiden Maureen

'I need a drink,' I thought.

Yet, not wanting to drink alone and not wanting to get drunk again, I promised myself to have only one drink. I broke open my scotch, the good stuff, the Glenlivet, 21-years-old. I poured myself a double.

Ah, if only I had a hot, young blonde or a sexy, young redhead with big tits here with me now, I could do her proud. Then, I thought of Gwen. Suddenly, even with her need for physical pain and hurtful punishment, I missed her.

# # #

"Good evening," I said acting foolish and pretending that I was meeting a young, big breasted woman for the first time.

I slowly sipped my scotch.

"My name is Mark. What's your name young lady? Emma? That's a lovely name for such a beautiful woman. Would you like to accompany me home and fuck my brains out? You would? Wonderful. Let's go."

While continuing to slowly sip my scotch, I imagined making out with this imaginary, mystery woman. I imagined touching and feeling her through her clothes while kissing her. I imagined slowly undressing her. I imagined fondling her through her bra and panties before removing them and stripping her naked. I imagined having sex with Emma, whoever she was.

# # #

Only, sadly, and sexually frustratingly, I was already home and there was no one here but me and the dogs. I let the dogs in again but as soon as I did, they wanted to go outside again. I imagined that they were suddenly afraid to stay in the house as much as I was. No doubt, my deceased girlfriend, who is now a ghost, is haunting me.

I wondered if she haunted me because she was angry that I had sex with her sister. Maybe, she haunted me because I had sex with her best friend. Maybe, she haunted me because I had threesome sex with both Gwen and Colleen. Maybe, she haunted me because I had sexually inappropriate thoughts about her mother, too.

Maybe, she haunted me because I had wicked thoughts of getting her mother inebriated and helping her to bed. No doubt, Maureen knew that her mother was not only a nudist but also a whore. Perhaps, she knew that her mother would sexually seduce me as much as much as I hoped to sexually seduce her.

Maybe, Maureen already knew that her mother would want my help in undressing her. Maybe, she already knew that her mother would want me to strip her naked. Maybe, she already knew that her mother would want me to touch and feel her naked body everywhere. Maybe, she already knew that her mother would want to have sex with me as much as I'd hoped to have sex with her.

'Suck my cock, Carol. I need to cum in your beautiful mouth,' I imagined saying to her.

# # #

Mature Man & Maiden Maureen, Chapter 19:

The next several days slowly drifted by until it was late Friday night, a little after 9 pm, when Carol pulled in my driveway. Expecting her earlier, she must have hit some traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike. She drove one of those Volvo V90 Cross Country things.

I hate Volvos, especially crossover SUV's. They're so safe, so dependable, so boring, and not much fun. I hoped her personality wouldn't be just like her car. After having had sex with her daughter Gwen, if she was a car, she'd be a yellow, Lamborghini, or a red Ferrari, brutally fast, flashy, and sexy.

To me, there's nothing like taking my life in my hands in a rear wheel drive speedster, such as a Mustang GT or a Camaro Z28. I loved peeling out and burning rubber, as I sling the rear end sideways, until the traction and stability control kicks in and catches it, just before it spins a donut. Now, those are real cars, especially during a first snowfall in the winter and, especially, with the traction and stability control turned off.

'Yahoo!'

It's more fun not knowing if I'm going to make it home alive. Hang on to your balls because, unsafe at any speed, we're going downhill on an icy road and taking dead man's curve at twice the sane speed. Yet, after Maureen died hitting a tree, that removed my need for speed. I drive more carefully, now. I drive like an old man.

# # #

Just before Carol arrived, I thought that I should have gotten her cell phone number because I was beginning to worry. Figuring that she'd be here late afternoon, I thought she'd be here by now. Granted it's a long drive, about 6 hours without traffic but it was getting late, too late for a woman to be on the road alone, especially after what had happened to Maureen. Hoping that she wasn't in an accident, I was glad when she finally arrived.

Spying on her, I watched her from the upstairs window as she pulled in the driveway. Curious what she looked like, before running downstairs and opening the front door, I wanted to take a peek at her in person. I got a good look at her through the windshield of her car from my upstairs window. She looked exactly like her photos, albeit, fully dressed.

Much like her daughters, Maureen, and Gwen, she looked very attractive. Then, I ran downstairs to open the front door and greet her. Of course, the dogs greeted her, too. Once outside, I watched her from my front porch.

I was shocked when she opened her car door and stepped out of her car. Something that I hadn't expected, with her legs spread wide open and the hem of her skirt nearly up to her crotch, she flashed me the tops of her nylon stockings, her garter belt, and her bright, white panties, too. A sucker for upskirt peeks, I couldn't believe that I saw Carol's panties.

'Wow,' I thought! 'Seriously? Are you kidding me? She's wearing silk stockings and a garter belt. Sexy mama.'

# # #

Yet, more surprised by who she looked like than surprised seeing her panties, she looked like and reminded me of, the late, great, Dina Merrill from the original mission impossible fame when she was in her prime. With her a tall blonde, that's who she looked like. She looked just like Dina Merrill.

Only, be still my heart, she had the body of Angie Dickinson of Rio Bravo and Policewoman fame. Two hot women wrapped in one, Carol was spectacular. She was as beautiful as she was sexy and shapely.

'Fuck me,' I thought. 'I don't believe this. I can't believe that this is Maureen's and Gwen's mother. Holy smokes!'

A cross between Dina Merrill and Angie Dickinson, she made me wonder what grandma looked like, too. Between Maureen, Gwen, and now Carol, the gene pool in this family is amazing. My fantasy, dream women all rolled into one, indeed, she had the face of Dina Merrill and the body of Angie Dickenson but with bigger tits.

She was wearing a short, above the knee skirt, and a low-cut blouse with a plunging neckline. From my second window perch, I could see her long, line of sexy cleavage. When she moved, her breasts jiggled. Much like her daughters, Carol had huge, natural tits.

'Wow,' I thought! 'She's hot!'

So, this is what Gwen will look like when she's 50-years-old. Carol was absolutely stunning. Truly, I figured that she'd be short and hippy and look nothing like her daughters. Boy was I wrong.

# # #

The genetic makeup of Maureen and Gwen's family is spectacular. They must be Nordic because they certainly aren't one of us fat Americans. I could just see the three of them skiing down a mountain slope in the Bavarian Alps, while representing Sweden, Norway, or Denmark in the Olympics. Tall, shapely, beautiful, with blonde hair, unless she and her redheaded daughters were from Texas, women around here don't look like them.

Now, I know where her daughters received their beauty from because Carol was a knockout. Definitely, she didn't look 50-years-old. Had I not known her age, I would have guessed that she was in her late thirties or early forties. She looked that good.

As soon as she walked from her car to my front porch, I took her suitcase from her. Then, as if I already knew her, I gave her a big hug. She felt firm in my arms when I hugged her pelvis to pelvis. Her perfume sexually assaulted my senses. She smelled wonderful, too. She smelled like a woman and not like the young women that I had been bedding, Maureen, Colleen, and Gwen.

"I love your perfume," I said breaking the hug and taking a step back. "What fragrance is it?"

Seemingly happy that I noticed her perfume, she gave me a smile.

"Chanel," she said.

I knew that for it to smell that good that it had to be expensive. It had been a while since I had experienced the floral aroma of Chanel perfume. To my nose, there's not a better perfume in the world.

# # #

Now that I think about it, with Carol born 50 years ago, it had been a while since I've been with a woman my age. After having had sex with three women half my age, Maureen, Colleen, and Gwen, I've become a dirty, old man. Doing sexual things that women my age would never do, I've become a perversely, perverted degenerate.

I carried her overnight bag inside and gave her a quick tour of the house. She kept eyeing me out of the corner of her eye. She gave me was a curious, coy look of interest. Incorrigible of me to think that, I hoped her look was of sexual interest.

"What?" I checked my fly and looked down at myself to see if there was something wrong. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" I chuckled her a smile.

She laughed. I loved her laugh. She had the same musical laugh as Maureen.

"Like what," she asked with a chuckle?"

Refined, properly poised, and educated, she even sounded like Dina Merrill, but she had the sexy, bodily movements of Angie Dickinson. It amazed me how much she looked like Maureen and Gwen.

"You look at me like you're curious about me and unsure what to make of me," I said.

She nodded her head with a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please forgive me for staring. I was just trying to see what Maureen saw in you." She waved her hand as if erasing her words. "I mean, a woman who could have had any man, why would she want to be with a much older man?"

I looked down at myself again while thinking of myself as a much better choice than her asshole ex-boyfriend.

"Do I look that terrible," I asked?

She laughed again.

"No, not at all," she said with another laugh. Her laugh made me laugh with her. "Actually, you look quite good. Now I understand why my daughter would find you attractive and irresistible, actually. You're quite, delightfully charming and fetching in a manly sort of way, much different than her Dad."

I laughed.

"Being that Maureen was never close to her father, with her dating you, I feared she'd be looking for the Daddy figure that she never had."

I laughed away my awkwardness.

"Thank you," I said. "I think."

I gave her my best smile.

"Maureen said that I looked like Clint Walker when he played Cheyenne Brodie in Cheyenne," I said.

She gave me another long look, this time more approving.

"Actually, you do. With your broad shoulders and squared off jaw, I can see the resemblance," she said.

# # #

In the way that she looked at me up and down, I looked up at her up and down, too.

"You don't look 50," I said looking at her from head to toe.

She laughed.

"Actually, I'm not 50. Please don't prematurely age me," she said with a laugh. "I'm 49. I won't be 50 for a few months, yet."

I gave her a big smile.

"Thank you," she said beaming with my compliment. "You don't look 50, either."

She returned my smile with her smile.

"Thank you," I said. "After entertaining Gwen and Colleen, I feel seventy-years-old," I said with a laugh. "With them always wanting to do things and go places, they wore me out."

Truthfully, we went nowhere and did nothing. All we did was have sex. When I wasn't having sex with Gwen, I had sex with Colleen, or with the both of them as a threesome.

She looked at me as if rethinking the question that she was about to ask me. I suspected, no doubt, that she wanted to ask me if I had sex with Gwen and/or with Colleen in the way that I had sex with Maureen. Not wanting her to ask the question, I interrupted her thoughts by complimenting her again.

"To be honest, if I was to guess your age, I'd say that you look more like 39 than 49," I said.

I made my compliments a little thick. I deliberately wanted to interrupt her thought process before she asked me the dreaded question that I thought she'd ask. Did you have sex with Gwen and/or with Colleen, too?

Yet, indeed, not exaggerating her beauty by giving her false compliments, she did look ten-years younger than her age. She smiled at me again. She was even more beautiful when she smiled.

"Oh, you're such a flirt, you bad boy," she said with a blush and touching my arm with her white, gloved hand.

# # #

Too busy noticing her pretty face and her shapely body, especially after seeing a flash of her panties when she alighted from her car, that's when I noticed them. She wore white gloves. Unless they're in service as a waiter, a waitress, a maid, a butler, or a doorman, whether man or woman, no one wears white gloves anymore. I haven't seen a woman wearing white gloves since Donna Reed of the Donna Reed Show, and June Cleaver of Leave It To Beaver in the fifties and sixties.

Where do you even buy white gloves today? I imagined that most department stores no longer carried white gloves. Then, I imagined that any big, online retailer still sold white gloves. No doubt, with white gloves now made and imported from China, they sell everything.

Yet, a woman wearing white gloves was a little creepy, scary, and sexy all at the same time. Suddenly, I imagined her white, gloved hand wrapped around my cock, as she stroked me to an erection, before she took me in her mouth. I imagined her continuing to stroke my prick with her white gloved hand while she sucked my prick.

'Stop It,' I thought! 'I can't believe that I'm thinking of my beloved Maureen's mother in that sexually inappropriate way.'

# # #

As if she was about to challenge me to a duel, I imagined her slapping me across the face with her glove. Something so erotically exciting, I was consumed with sexual lust for her white, gloved hand. Something that I had never seen before, I was transfixed watching her remove her white gloves, one, slow, sexy, manicured finger at a time.

She put them in her purse, along with her vibrator and dildo, I imagined. I have to stop thinking of her like that. Christ, she's my age. More important than that, I needed to show her some respect.

'She's Maureen and Gwen's mother,' I thought. 'I can't go there. I can't think about her sexually. That's nasty. What's wrong with me?'

She's very beautiful and had a hot body for a mature woman. Nearly my height, Carol was tall, as tall as Gwen. She wore high heels and her hair was made up higher than how her daughters wore their hair, long and flat to their heads.

I figured without the heels and hair that she was the same height as them, 5'8" or 5'9". She was thin but shapely, a size 6 or 8. I can never tell dress sizes with women, and she, judging by her side profile, was a full D cup, maybe even a double D cup, much like Maureen and Gwen. She was a good-looking woman with big tits. I have a weakness for big, breasted women no matter their age.

I laughed to myself suddenly having sexual thoughts of bedding Maureen's and Gwen's mother. That would just be deliciously wicked of me to do something like that. Suddenly feeling perversely perverted, immediately, I erased the sexually inappropriate and erotically outrageous thoughts from my mind.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what she looked like beneath her dress. I couldn't help but wonder what she looked like in her bra and panties, topless, and naked. I was surprised to see her wearing silk nylons and a garter belt instead of pantyhose. Who still does that?

Other than strippers, no one wears sexy lingerie like that anymore. Nearly every women wears pantyhose or thigh-high stockings beneath their skirts or pants. Yet, with her going against the norm by wearing silk stockings with a garter belt, that was hot. The erotic part of it was, instead of feeling older as I did with Gwen, I felt younger in Carol's presence. I liked that feeling.

# # #

"What can I get you, coffee, tea or..." me, I wanted to say, but I didn't dare.

She looked a little embarrassed asking but she asked anyway.

"Do you have any scotch? After that long drive, I need a drink," she said.

'A scotch drinker,' I thought. 'That's something that we have in common.'

"Scotch? I have scotch," I said.

I gave her a surprised look over my shoulder. I had pegged her for a tea sipper and not a whiskey drinker.

"I'm glad that you're a scotch drinker because I am, too," I said.

She smiled.

"Well, I'm a little fussy as to the brand of scotch that I prefer but..."

Glad that I bought it and opened it, I had a bottle of quality scotch.

"I have Glenlevit that I occasionally take a dram of when I'm alone and watching television late at night and just want to relax," I said lying about the amount of scotch that I drank.

For fear that she'd make a related comment and think me preoccupied with things in their 20's, I didn't dare tell her the age of the scotch. If only she knew that I had sex with Gwen, too, she'd probably flee from my house. What respectable man has sex with women half his age? What respectable women has sex with a man twice her age? Yet, according to Colleen, Carol was guilty of having extramarital sex with younger men, too.

# # #

"Glenlevit is good," she said smiling.

I walked to the liquor cabinet to get two glasses.

"How do you take it," I asked?

She smiled at me again.

"Straight up with just a splash of water," she replied.

I returned her smile with my smile.

"Ah, a scotch connoisseur," I said. "I take it the same way. Ice waters down the taste and ruins the bouquet."

I turned to pour her a scotch while talking as I walked away.

"I can tell a true scotch drinker by how he or she takes it," I said as if I was a professional bartender in a high-end and classy bar.

She looked down at herself.

"If you don't mind, before I relax with a drink, I'd like to freshen up a bit first," she said. "May I use the ladies room?"

I nodded my head.

"Certainly. The ladies room is down the hall. The first door on your right," I said.

I hoped that she'd return wearing a short, low-cut, sheerly revealing, sexy nightgown.

# # #

Unfortunately, and disappointingly, when she emerged from the bathroom, she was still dressed in her clothes. I poured her drink, splashed some water in it, and handed it to her. She took a long sip as if she needed it. Probably, she did after that marathon drive from Rochester, New York to Boston, Massachusetts.

"Very smooth." She took another small sip. "Glenlevit eighteen,' she asked while holding up the glass to look at the scotch?

I shook my head while glad that I bought the more expensive vintage.

"Twenty-one," I said with pride.

She nodded.

"I'm impressed. I never had Glenlevit 21. I can't afford it," she said with a laugh.

I waited for her to make a twenty-something-year-old comment, but she didn't. Obviously, she had more class than that to take a cheap shot at her host. Moreover, perhaps, she had no idea that along with having had sex with her deceased daughter, Maureen, she was unaware that I had sex with her younger daughter, Gwen, too.

"I've tried many brands of blended scotches before I discovered unblended scotch. I used to drink Dewars, Cutty Sark, Chivas Regal, and Johnny Walker black. Then, I waffled back and forth between Glenlevit 12 and Glenfiddich 12, that is, until I discovered Glenlevit 18. There's a huge difference between the 12 and the 18 and an even bigger difference between the 18 and the 21," I said as if I was an expert on scotch.