10 comments/ 101693 views/ 8 favorites And Here's To You Mrs. Robinson Ch. 01 By: BOSTONFICTIONWRITER I was 27-years-old. She told me she was 42-years-old. I found out later that she was 45-years-old. What did it matter? It didn't matter to me how old she was. I wanted her. Certainly, she didn't look her age nor did she act her age. She was zany. She was fun. She was everything that the younger women my age were not. She was beautiful. She was sexy. She had dancer's legs, an incredible body, and she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I loved her. Back then, there was a climate of change that made it acceptable for younger men to be with older woman. Suddenly, respectable mature women became lecherous cougars. Suddenly, the tables turned from the rich, fat, powerful men with women half their age to well groomed, good looking women who didn't want to age gracefully and who wanted some hot action on the side from a hard bodied, young stud to make them feel younger, wanted, and alive. Hormones raged everywhere. Paul Simon of Simon and Garfunkel fame with his song Mrs. Robinson musically saved the memory that the movie The Graduate created on the big screen for every testosterone filled male to imagine when fantasizing about making love to an older woman. In the privacy of our bathroom or bedroom we stroked our excitement while envisioning Mrs. Robinson's, played by Anne Bancroft, shapely, nylon covered thighs when she exposed more than her personal life and more than her lust to Benjamin Bradcock, played by a nervous Dustin Hoffman. Suddenly, it was the cat chasing the dog. "Meow!" If you were as horny as I was back then, when I imagined the erotic movie scenes I made it more personal by inserting an older woman I knew and wanted to seduce. Because of what the director, Mike Nichols, didn't show compared to what he did show, the scene where Mrs. Robinson sat on the bar stool with her legs spread was just as erotic as was the scene when she ran to him naked and trapped him in her bedroom slamming shut the door behind her. Be honest, how many of you called him a moron for running out of her bedroom? Anne Bancroft? Back then? She was naked for God's sakes. Yeah, I'd do her. She was sexy in a Lauren Bacall sort of smoky way. Yeah, sure, her husband just came home, but Benjamin wanted no part of this seduction long before hubby called up to her from downstairs that he was home. Although they never showed it, we imagined her panty clad pussy or maybe she wasn't even wearing panties, daring for 1967, but that scene was all so very erotic just the same. Erotica is when there is less to make you imagine more and later in the movie when they quickly flashed on Anne Bancroft's naked form, you imagined more than what you saw of her in her body stocking. Unlike Barbarella and The Last Tango in Paris with the movie Caligula blowing film noir puritan censorship to bits a few years later, The Graduate is more remembered today because it chose erotica over full frontal nudity. Much like the feeling received when reading a book and allowing your imagination to run wild to fill in whatever details that appeals to you that the writer has omitted, imagining and visualizing what they don't show in the movie is more powerful, provocative, and memorable than what we can see. A perfect example of that are porn movies. What are the major complaints when watching porn movies? There's no storyline and the dialog sucks. Except for a few porn movies, even though they are graphically and sexually explicit, we forget what we watched as soon as we watch them and oftentimes are bored to death after only a few minutes. Not so with an erotic movie, such as was The Graduate. Erotica titillates our own erotic thoughts exciting of our lustful desires enough to take over where the directors, actors, and writers have left off. If that movie was not enough to stroke a horny male's secret desire to bed an older woman, the Summer of 42 with the beauty of Jennifer O'Neil, playing Dorothy, befriending a young, innocent man, Hermie, played by Gary Grimes, while vacationing on Nantucket Island was what inspired erotic dreams, nighttime erections, and premature ejaculations. I spent many a restless night imagining Jennifer O'Neil's naked form in bed with me. Suddenly, it was the '70's and there was an explosion of sex. Woody Allen was there to tell us all about sex with his movie, Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask and Allen Funt of Candid Camera fame was there to show us naked women with his movie What Do You Say To A Naked Lady. With mini-skirted women showing their shapely legs and exposing their panties at school, in work, and on the subway, sex was everywhere. Fortunately sometimes and unfortunately other times, erotica was what we had left when we weren't getting lucky. Only and unbelievably, with the advent of the Internet search engines that will find whatever floats your boat videos, there's even more sex today than there was then. Receiving a blowjob today on the first date is oftentimes expected and is now nearly on the same excited level as receiving a goodnight French kiss and a handful of tit that it was forty years ago. Times have changed. The definition of what is considered sex may have been graphically and publicly redefined with Bill Clinton's explanation after receiving a blowjob from Monica Lewinski, but thank God erotica is still the same as it was when Gustave Flaubert wrote Madame Bovary and D. H. Lawrence wrote Lady Chatterley's lover. It was a time when Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson played non-stop over the car radio never allowing horny young men to forget the erotic and once forbidden mystery of a younger man having sex with an older woman. Before the term MILF was popular, we all wondered about the charms of our older sister's friends, our friend's mothers, our mother's friends, the older women at the checkout in the supermarket, the older women shopping at the mall, and the older women who cashed our checks at the bank. Suddenly, twenty-something-year-old men realized that when their twenty-something-year-old girlfriends didn't want to give it up and put out because they wanted to save their virginity for their wedding night, there were an army of sexually unsatisfied and frustrated, horny forty-something-year-old women, who wanted to be part of the sexual explosion and who were ready to make our sexual fantasies erotic memories. "And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, for helping to make my erotic memories something that I can now look back with deep desire sated." To be continued... And Here's To You Mrs. Robinson Ch. 02 I was working as an accountant then in of all places, South Boston for a small numismatic and philatelic company that was owned by General Mills. Just as the North End of Boston was mostly inhabited by Italians, South Boston was predominantly Irish. My opinion is that women who have any amount of Irish in their heritage are the most beautiful women on the planet. I love Irish women, especially Irish women with freckles. Wilma was the manager of one of the retail stores that sold our collectibles. My job was counting inventory and because the inventory was so valuable and easy to steal, I took a physical inventory once a month and another inventory when the salespeople removed inventory from the vaults to take to coin and stamp shows and when they returned. Everyone wore security badges and I wore a red one, the highest color, that allowed me to go anywhere in the company including the vaults to count. The first time I met her, I was squatting down by a counter in the retail store inventorying stamps. She leaned across to me from the other side of the glass display peering down at me. "Hi," she said, "I'm Wilma, the manager." She smiled her infectious smile. "And you are?" I stood and as soon as I stood, I noticed three things about her seemingly all at once. She was very pretty, had the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen and I had an unobstructed view down her blouse. Along with a good portion of her bra, she was showing plenty of cleavage of her B sized tits. "Hi," I said turning red, "I'm Freddie." As soon as we shook hands, we were friends. It happened that fast. She mesmerized me. She had a wicked fun sense of humor, a sense for the ridiculous, and an outrageous sense of teasing. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, I was in love with her. Every day, I made an excuse to make my way out to her retail store on the pretense of needing to do something with taking a count of her inventory. I was in Heaven when they expanded the responsibility of my job to collect the cash receipts at the end of the day from the three retail stores for the daily bank deposit. I needed my daily dose of Wilma. She even joked about our names, Fred and Wilma, playing off the Hanna Barbera cartoon, The Flintstones. Every day, she told me a new joke endearing her to me more. Every day, she accidentally on purpose flashed me a view down her blouse when she leaned forward to rest her forearms or up her short skirt when she squatted down to show me more than stamps and coins, but her panties. Every day, I wondered what color bra and panties she wore today. She was pretty in the way that Tuesday Weld or Joey Heatherton was. Google those women if you need to know that they looked like because Wilma had that kind of a sexual attraction and sensuality that affected men turning them to quivering idiots. She was sexy. Standing about 5'5" with multi-colored blonde hair cut to her jaw line and that moved with her every motion like a shampoo commercial; she was my dream woman and my sexual fantasy. I took her away with me every night to imagine what it would be like to be in bed with her naked. She was my Mrs. Robinson. After a few months of flagrant flirting, sexual innuendos, and pre-pillow talk, she invited me to her house in Hull one summer weekend. I had never been to Hull. She had this great place that was a street away from the beach. Even though, I had visions of the movie The Summer of '42 with Wilma as my Jennifer O'Neil, I was so naïve and too afraid to make a move. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't want to ruin our friendship by making an unwanted pass that she didn't reciprocate. I never figured that she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. I figured we were going to talk about work. We didn't. Somehow alone with her in her little house, work never came up in the conversation. I knew she was older than me, but I didn't know how much older. Her age was part of the attraction. I figured she was in her late thirties. She nearly knocked me off my feet when she told me that she had two sons, the older of which was only six years younger than me. She blew my mind when she told me she was 42-years-old and I couldn't believe it when I discovered, by the slip of her son's tongue, that she was 45-years-old. Had she not been so pretty, had she not been so sexy, had I not been so attracted to her, I would have felt uncomfortable, especially after meeting her sons for the first time. "Bring your bathing suit," she said, "and we'll go to the beach." Realizing that she was nearly as old as my mother, realistically, I imagined her in a one piece bathing suit that did it's best to cover her pot belly. I imagined her wearing a cover up over her swimsuit that hid her cellulous thighs. I imagined Spandex doing it's best to shape her fallen ass and push up her sagging breasts. She shocked me when she wore a bikini. She had a wonderful body. She was as firm as she was slim. She told me that she was once a dancer and now was relegated to playing a lot of tennis to stay in shaped because she didn't have the flexibility to make the dance moves anymore. We hung around the beach for a few hours before the heat of the sun heated up more than our temperatures. Between seeing her in a bikini, the hot sun, and being a testosterone filled man, I had a constant erection. It happened so quickly that I don't remember all of the details, but... "You have sunburn," she said. No way, I thought looking at the back of my shoulder in the mirror, but not being able to see because the sun had fried my vision. With my Italian olive skin, I don't burn unless I'm somewhere tropical. I tan. In hindsight, I realized that it was her clumsy excuse to touch my body. That was the thing that I most remember about being with her and about being with an older woman. She was more aggressive than women my age. She knew what she wanted and, just as Mrs. Robinson did in the Graduate and Dorothy did in the Summer of '42, she went after it. She wasn't shy. She wasn't a cock tease. She was a seduction machine. After she rubbed a bit of lotion on me, she climbed on the bed face down. "Can you put some on my back too? I'm feeling hot." At the time, I thought she meant she had a hot spot on her back from the sun. I had no idea that she had the hots for me between her legs. "How's that," I said rubbing the stuff on the top of her back while excited to touch her naked skin. "Undue my top and rub it there, too." She didn't have to ask me twice. To be continued... And Here's To You Mrs. Robinson Ch. 03 I unhooked her bikini top and couldn't believe it when she removed the straps from her shoulders. With nothing holding her top on her body but her downward pressure and modesty, my immediate erection tested the spandex of my Speedos. I stared at her nearly topless body and could see the sides of her breasts. I've always been such a degenerate tit man and she looked like she had beautiful tits. I had a vision of reaching my hand forward and feeling her tits before leaning down to suck her nipples. From what I could see from the sides of her breasts, they appeared very shapely and not saggy. If I wasn't horny before seeing her in her little bikini, then I was surely crazed now seeing her lying there with only her bikini cups covering the front portion of her tits. I hoped beyond hope that I could gather the courage to make a move. I couldn't wait to see her tits. Only, she made the move first. She turned her head, looked at me, and then stared down. "Is that for me?" "What?" She stared at the bulge my erection made in my bathing suit. "Sorry," I said turning red. I was so embarrassed. I felt like a pervert. My cock was so erect that the tip of it nearly poked its head out of the top of my bathing suit. "Don't be sorry," she said reaching out her arm and touching the hard bulge with her fingertips. She touched my cock, I said to myself. I couldn't believe she touched my cock. When she leaned to reach back and touch my cock, I couldn't believe how much of her tit was showing. If she lifted herself up just a bit more, I'd see her areola and her nipple. "Can I see it?" "What?" Reflexively I asked knowing full well want she asked and what it was she wanted to see. She asked to see my cock. My head was ready to explode. Wilma my dream fantasy woman just asked to see my cock. She wants me to show her my cock. "Can I see your cock?" "You want to see my cock?" I still couldn't wrap my brain around that fact that this older and unbelievably gorgeously hot woman wanted to see my cock. "Yes," she said with a smile. "I want to see how big it is." I thought I was being coy and not really believing that she would show me her tits. "Okay," I said with a dirty smile. "Show me your tits and I'll show you my cock." Immediately, without hesitation, games, teasing or feigning modesty, she sat up in bed without reaching for her top. She was topless. Her tits were there before me and they were beautiful. She had shapely tits with nice sized nipples that were already erect. Maybe, she's cold, but it didn't feel cold in here. Actually, it was hot, so very hot. "Go ahead, don't be shy. You can touch them." I reached out my hands and fondled her tits while fingering her nipples. They were nice and firm and fit perfectly in my big hands. I sat there staring at her tits. This was all so new to me having a woman who was not shy about sex. I was such a dork. "Now it's your turn. Take off your bathing suit." "You first," I said. "I have already," she said looking down at her tits. "You're bottoms. I want to see your pussy." "You want to see my pussy?" "Yes, I really want to see your pussy." "And what will you do when I show you my pussy?" "I'll show you my cock." "And then what," she said as she knelt on the bed while slowly peeling off her bikini bottoms. "I'll need a bit more motivation than just seeing your cock to show you my pussy." "I'll lick you. I'll eat you. I'll make you cum with my mouth, tongue, and fingers." "Don't you want to fuck me, too?" God damn, she was so friggin' sexy and was being such a tease. "Oh, God, yes. Yes, I want to make love to you." She had only pulled down her bikini bottoms to her knees when I reached for her, pulled her nearly on top of me, and kissed her. The feel of her tits against my naked chest was unbelievable. She parted her lips immediately and the feel of her tongue was a rush. I felt my dick swell when I felt her little hand feeling me through my trunks. She climbed off the bed and stood. Her brown pussy was neatly trimmed and her ass was so shapely round. I imagined all her years of dancing and playing tennis that gave her a body that any 30-year-old woman would envy. I figured she wasn't a natural blonde and now I had proof. She tucked her fingers in my trunks and slowly started pulling them down and off me. As soon as I was naked, she climbed back on the bed and we started making out, again. Her kisses were magical. Never had I French kissed a woman who was so much older than me. I felt her fingers wrap themselves around my cock. She felt the head of it with her palm before moving her hand down the length of me and up again, slowly. It felt good to feel her touch me before stroking me. She moved away, slid down closer to my cock and stared at it. "I've never been with anyone but my husband." "Really?" I didn't know what else to say to that. Her confession made me feel awkward and a bit uncomfortable. I would have preferred if she had been more sexually experienced. Still, from all the men she could have been with, it was a turn on that she chose me to share her new found sexuality. "You're much bigger than my husband and so much harder." She looked at me with a face full of pain. "He was a drunk. He'd rather drink than give me affection." "How long were you with him?" "We were married twenty years and dated three years before that." "So what happened?" "What do you mean, what happened?" "Why did you divorce?" "Another woman," she laughed. "He married a 23-year-old woman who was 25-years his junior and only two years older than my son. He's such a pig. I hate him." "Easy," I said. "You're hurting me." "Oh, sorry," she said leaning down and kissing the head of my cock. "There, is that better?" "It still hurts," I said hoping she'd take the hint. She laughed instead while staring at my cock and stroking me. She was so close to my cock that I could feel her breath. I figured she was going to stick it in her mouth and suck it. I rested my hand on her back while lightly massaging her shoulders. "I've never given a blowjob," she said staring at my cock before looking up at me with those big, beautiful green eyes. Her confession shocked the shit out of me. All this time with all the innuendos, the flirting, and the teasing, I figured she was experienced and definitely more experienced than me, especially since she's been on the planet 18 years longer than I have. "C'mon, you never blew your husband?" "Oh, God, no. He said that a wife should never put her husband's cock in her mouth. He said that was what prostitutes were for." "Has he been with prostitutes?" "My husband? I'm sure he has. He's a pig." "Why do you say it like that?" "Don't you know who my ex-husband is?" "No, why would I?" I looked at her with curiosity. "Who's your ex-husband?" To be continued...