Women I Have Known: 05 Miss Trodick

Women I have known: 05 Miss Trodick

5th in the series

Thirty-three hundred words, Approximately thirteen minutes to read.

{The first story is the story's background (Women I have known: 01 Willadean), followed by what appears to be eleven completed except for editing, and more depending on life. Or depending on being eighty. Hmmm, maybe that is the same. So on with the show.

Enjoy, review, and suggest a sequel, please. (At eighty, I may have that experience already to edit and move to the head of the editing line.}

ExperienedStoryteller

To bypass the introduction, move ahead to the ninth paragraph below, starting, "I had an old rebuilt Columbia bike...."

"A newspaper delivery boy was the best (most fun) job I ever had. I had lived on a dairy farm in the county since I was four. The farm was seven miles from town. Then we moved into town, and I went down and got a paper route for the evening paper that I delivered five evenings a week.

I had numerous jobs to contribute financially to the family. I was a dependable and harder worker than my friends. As an eighteen-year-old, sinewy and lean, handsome in an immature way, smart, eager for a buck, and naive about women, with a chiseled, sexy body, I was 'hot,' although, in those days, that wasn't the word; 'cool' was the description.

I had thin, light blond hair cut in a butch flat-top. It was the same color around my genitals. At eighteen years old, I'd been delivering newspapers for three years, always working diligently to win the monthly prize money and trophy for the paper boy of the month. 

When I earned the thirteenth trophy in a row, I received a note that I would receive the twenty-five dollar prize money every month but would be ineligible for more trophies or to be recognized as the monthly winner. The paper created two new plaques for the office wall of the Linotype machine operators. They were the 'Carrier Of The Year,' with my name as the first winner. The paper also hung a plaque with only my thirteen monthly wins shown.

I then competed monthly against the motor routes, including newspaper drops at grocery stores and newsstands in three counties. The monthly prize for these routes was one hundred dollars. I won the first three months until the other carriers understood the prize was paid monthly. 

  The advantage I had, and figured out that first Christmas, was two-fold. I knew nearly all of my customers' first and last names and their dates of birth. I usually included a Birthday card with the paper I threw the day before their Birthday. Then I attempted to hand deliver the paper on their Birthday. The reception I received after a Birthday card delivery was absolutely unpredictable.

I seldom had delivery complaints, and usually, when something went awry, I received a phone call or a note in their paper box the next day. I collected in person each month and had good tips for the efforts I went to for my customers. I had begun the paper routes with a route of one hundred papers in the poorer part of town. Quickly as the circulation manager recognized my dependability, my route increased until I was throwing three hundred to three hundred twenty-five papers every evening in what had been three routes.

I had an old rebuilt Columbia bike, a one-speed, with a reverse pedal Bendix brake. I could carry the entire 300 papers for the route on the bike. But steering became very difficult, so I separated the route into two sections. I could do the route delivery in an hour and a half. It took me an hour to roll and pack the carrier bags. The handlebar hanging bags made the bike difficult to steer and slowed the bike down due to the clumsiness of three hundred papers hanging and swinging around irregularly. 

Miss Trodick was kind enough to let me place two bags of papers in her entry while I threw the first half of the routes. I gave her the paper for free in exchange. That kept the papers dry and safe for me. This tale is about the struggles Miss Trodick, and I went through to begin the bags inside-the-door routine, which was her gateway to my cock and a long period of sexual training.

The day I was collecting, there was heavy rain when Miss Trodick said, "Son, place some papers in here to keep them dry. Pick them up for the second part of your routes. You do not ring the doorbell. Open the door and place the papers inside, right there. Then when you return, you again do not ring the doorbell. Open the door, retrieve the papers, and close the door when you leave. 

I always had to collect payment and introduce myself. The paper did not have billing for home delivery, except for annual subscriptions. I had a three-by-five-inch index card with my name, etc. I would ask them to call me rather than the paper if I missed their delivery or they couldn't find their paper. Still, the newspaper editor's office telephone number was on the card. 

While I was collecting from Miss Trodick, she was so concerned about me and getting my papers soaked that she said insistently, "Son, leave some papers here for later. They can sit right inside the door. Do not ring the doorbell; step in and get them when you are back by here in a few minutes."

I agreed without comment because that would make it faster and easier to finish the route. Leaving about half the bags inside, I thanked Miss Trodick and headed off to deliver the rest of the first bags. I knew I was supposed to open the door, come in and grab the bags with newspapers, and then leave.

But when I came back, I rang the bell. I waited a considerable length of time until Miss Trodick forcefully jerked her front door open, which fluttered and tossed its curtain, making apparent the amount of emotion she was handling. 

Miss Trodick said, "Well, Son, I told you to step inside and take those bags, not to ring the doorbell. Now you have to be punished. We will go upstairs for that. You will serve me as your punishment. You will fuck me and leave an orgasm of come in my vagina. So, get those clothes off. Now. Do it now! I also have your money bag up there." 

I could tell she was upset. I knew it was because I didn't open the door without knocking or ringing the bell. I'd not done as she asked. "Oh Fuck!" Damn, I knew I was in deep trouble, somehow.

On the way, I followed Miss Trodick up the stairs. I could see the curly red hairs peeking around her panty legs and crotch and the firm shape of her camel toe between her legs. I also could see the bottoms of her tits as they swung side to side above me under a ragged, oversized crop top T-shirt that billowed out in front with her big tits and long thick nipples pushing and pointing away from her chest.

In the last second ever of me thinking of it as a request, I instinctively knew she intended to rule over me and that it was an order, not a request. The next few seconds were the first I woke up to being a sexually aware adult, as a potential parent, conscious of my drive to procreate the species. It was the first time I considered sex as having the possibility of a fun side when she seemed so threatening and in command.

The instinct to procreate IS alive in me! (I was about to become a mature man.)

The erection I created while following, watching, expecting, and imagining as her ass swayed so visibly and above her ass, her tits were exposed from the sides. Miss Trodick, up those stairs, would end my lack of information about sex! My erection, ME, I was going to see, feel, touch, and rub inside a cunt, a vagina, a pussy, the infamous birth canal, and her mysterious sex organs. I was about to grow into a man by entering an older woman.

We were about to do this single act that I will never forget.

At this point, my life's sexual discoveries began with her and her intent for dominance. Along with her promise to teach me a trove of information I might not ever have a way of learning, I was in love. The first love is a hopeless type of love, a crushing carnal love. Fucking love, nasty, slick, and slimy, fuck and eat, and probe and examine love. I was in a submissive role, and when I thought about it, I would become erect and need to jack off.

I became a moldable 'Slave-son Dale' for her. Wow, It hurts to think of such love again. What a delicious memory that includes a recall of the mental destitution and desolation when it was over. I felt an internal wasteland again for sure, even now, over sixty years later.

(The personal experience of such crushing happiness was just remembered again by the author. At over eighty, it can still happen, folks. I hope! Wow, It hurts to think of such love again, even though it included a recall of the mental poverty and desolation before it was over. What a delicious memory! I feel an internal wasteland again for sure now, over a half-century later.) Immediately after Miss Trodick, I seemed to focus that affection and powerful desire for sex toward my Mother, but that would be a different kind of result.

We went up the stairs to a loft with a large bed in the center of multiple mirrors positioned for maximum visibility from the bed.

Laying on the bed were various things that looked like all sizes and colors of my cock when I was hard. Grace sat on the foot of the bed and pointed firmly to the carpet at her feet. 

However, softly, she said, "Stand there, Son, and tell me your name, please."

I'm Dale," I replied, wondering how her mood changed so quickly. It took me days sometimes to get over being as upset as she seemed when she had so violently jerked her front door open.

Her voice had no compassion or caring, and her clipped speech amplified her physically aggressive presence. "Hurry, Son. You'll have to hurry so you can finish the paper delivery. Get those clothes off. All of them, get them off for me, now."

I started to remove my clothes. Apparently, I wasn't quick enough because Miss Trodick had my pants and underwear around my ankles before I could get out of my raincoat. She stroked my cock as I removed my shirt, and I was coming in her mouth as I unbuttoned the cuffs on my shirt. 

She reached for and grabbed my moneybag from the nightstand, opened it, dropped four silver dollars in it, and released it to me. With a chunky slime of come sliding off her chin, she asked, "Did you say your name was Dale?"

"Yes, Mam." I was barely able to mumble. I was in shock. I had come a whole load, a lot, in this striking and strange lady's mouth. 'Hot-damn, Fucking-A,' I silently whispered to myself. 

Her hand was back on my cock, with her tongue wrapped around the head. I was shaky and unstable after coming. I became even more unstable as I approached an immediate and welcome 'Second-Coming.' 

Somehow, she was aware of all of that and asked, "Did you like that? I bet you never had your cock in a woman's mouth, nor have you come in her mouth? Have you ever come on a woman's face or her tits? Have you had a 'tit-fuck?' Of course, none of those. We have done all that, Dale, so let's get started on the rest of my list. What do you think?"

An orgasm larger than any I had known seized me when she said the word, 'face.' After coming this third time, I was still pretty hard when she said, "Wow, you pack a punch. That was pretty spectacular to watch. 

"Look at all that come on my chest! What a 'Comer' you are, Dale." 

"I have to get dressed, Dale. "Will you stay a little longer and still be able to get home at a reasonable time? I love to show off. I know you would like to watch as I get dressed. After all, you look like an Adonis with your shiny hard-on still hard and pointing at my mouth."

I replied in a clear voice, "Yes. I want to watch you. I will wait."

"Before I dress, I want you to lick the come off my face and tits. If you do that for me, I will masturbate while you do, okay?" 

I knew, of course, how aroused she had become watching me, a strapping young hard-as-nails cock and six-pack abs standing in front of her.

"Oh, Dale, I love using your come to make my pussy this slippery. For now, guess how many fingers I can slip into my vagina. I promise you cannot get that answer right, the first guess. Try to guess. Go ahead now. How many?"

Guessing a number I thought she would want to hear, I said, "One finger, maybe two."

"I had begun to relax and enjoy her excitement at my coming all over her and then smearing, eating, and licking up as much of the mess as she could.

Miss Trodick said, "Who will you first tell about today?"

"Tell someone? I don't think so. This is so great I will never tell anyone."

"Well, Dale, that is truly music to my ears. We will talk about it again tomorrow. 

"I get home from school about...."

Miss Trodick interrupted him, "Here's the deal, Dale. I am available to do this again tomorrow after all the papers are delivered. If you can, come to my bedroom if you can return when you are through with the route. I will be waiting for you. 

"Do this right, Dale, and I will teach you everything you need, and I am sure you want to know, about women and having sex with us. Your cock is something very special. I will start tomorrow by teaching you what I like and can expect from your cock, tongue, fingers, and imagination. I hope you will quickly understand that sex and all we associate with it are best served by the brain and the tongue. Most of the rest of the parts, pieces, and often the players are unnecessary."

"These lessons will remain our secret since I know your Mom and Dad. One would hate me, and the other would celebrate for you. To reduce any suspicion, I will arrange a cover for all of us, do not change anything about your typical day until tomorrow evening when we meet here."

"Okay, Miss Trodick."

"Oh yes, my name is Grace, but I want you to call me 'Mother' or 'Mommy' when you are learning." 

I realized Grace had said '...for all of us.' Then I deduced that there were more people that Grace knew and I would meet.

When I got to Grace's, another lady, Mona, a newspaper advertising customer who was also Grace's closest friend, was seated on a stool at Grace's counter. She was leaning backward on her forearms and elbows against the counter. That pushed her tits straight forward. With her hard nipples and no bra, they looked like a potato in a plastic bag, a lump at the bottom of her saggy tits on two sides of her chest.

Mona's legs were bare up to where the apron of her fat stomach lay on her thighs, shading and hiding the apex of her crotch, which I had checked out. The way she was sitting, I couldn't determine if her crotch was bare of clothing.

Grace taught me to look at a woman and not appear to be leering, even if staring and drooling. The key, she claimed, was getting the twinkle going in her eyes. 

"The first minute a woman looks," Grace said, "make a move as though to touch your cock. A female brain would lock on the action, and her eyes would look at your crotch. After that, now you can move in because she was caught perving you. She will feel as 'caught' as you would have had she caught you."

Instead of getting caught looking at her tits, I caught her looking at my cock exactly as Grace had told me. The twinkle was immediate. I raised my finger to my eyebrow and flicked her a little salute and a big knowing smile. 

She blushed, smiled, and squirmed. Her unrestrained, extremely long hanging tits shook over to the side as she slid off the stool and said, "Hi Dale, I'm Mona. I told your Mother I was the woman she didn't want you to get mixed up with. When I recovered from what your Mother said in her acid voice, I heard your Mother ask, nearly whispering, What did you say?"

"I told her again, "I am the very woman you don't want your son to get mixed up with."

I said, "Are you THE woman my Mother didn't want me to get mixed up with, or ANOTHER of the hundreds of women she doesn't want for me? What's so special about you that Mother fears us knowing each other?"

Mona said, "Let's ask your mother."

Grace laughed. "Mona, my son here still doesn't realize that while he is here, I am his Mother.

When she said the words that I was her son, my hard-on lurched as it got harder, and I became more aroused thinking of her power over me. I had a firm and pointy erection as perfect as I ever had. Mona and Grace stroked their hands around and around the end while a hand was pumping my cock. They owned it right then, for sure. I hoped they would take out a long-term lease when they sucked me off, and I wished they would snowball me. 

Grace snowballed Mona. Then we all French kissed and snowballed until we had our mouths full of saliva and come. I swallowed and dove below Mona's apron of the flabby fat stomach to the cracked crotch hidden there. A black thong was stuck tightly in her ass crack and inside her labia to her folds, hiding her clitoris. She had the knots and seam of the cotton crotch pulled tight and hard onto her clitoral mound, jilling herself toward an orgasm by stimulating her clit.

When Grace and I had each dumped three samples of our motility, Mona was stretching Grace's legs apart, slobbering, and eating noisily from Grace's come-smeared vagina and ass.

After the threesome, we were stretched across the bed like three cadavers, exhausted and filthy with body slime from all three.

The drop point for the papers lasted until I quit the routes. After the routine of daily blow jobs, cunnilingus, sixty-nine, and daisy chains with three of Grace's friends, I could date the girls at the high school because my self-confidence was as strong as it would ever be.

I continued to fuck and frolic with these half-dozen cougars. Although back in the 1950-1960 era, we didn't call them cougars, they were known as widows, spinsters, and divorcees. FYI, their names formed a favorite word when listing their first initials.

P was Paula

U was Ursula

S was Susan

S was Sally

I was Iona

E was Erma

S was Sarah 06 Women I have known

Each of them was a unique experience. Hopefully, that experience will be a future story listed in this series if I can still remember and write about them.