11 comments/ 86043 views/ 24 favorites Connie Panetta and Summer 1970 By: furryfan In my youth... Back in the late 1960's, I had as many hobbies as the typical American teenage boy. The Yankees, DC comics and James Bond movies were among my vices, and seemed they would always be my major interests until I started noticing girls. At that point, everything else took a back seat to trying to attract them, even though my awkward attempts at that would often fail miserably. There were some really cute girls around there, but when it came down to it, my dream girl wasn't a girl at all, but a woman. I think I was always in love with her, even when I was a little kid, but it wasn't until much later that I realized that. She was the mother of a good friend of mine, and to be honest, I know that I spent a lot of time around Leo just to be around her. If it wasn't for her, I suspect I wouldn't have been as close to Leo as I was. He was a year ahead of me in school, husky and not real popular, but I thought he was okay. His mother though - now she was a goddess to my eyes, although that proves that love is blind, because to look back at the couple of photos I still have of her with me and Leo, you wouldn't call her a raving beauty. You wouldn't, most likely, but I did. Leo's parents had both come here from Italy after the second world war, just after they married and a few years before he was born, determined to make a new life. They became citizens and learned the language, although Mrs. Panetta still had an accent that betrayed her roots. Back in 1970 she was in her mid 40's. Mrs. Panetta - her first name was Connie which was short for Concetta - was about 5'6", and during the years I knew her I started out being a head shorter than her and ended up about that much taller than she was when I stopped growing. There wasn't a Mr. Panetta around any more. He had been killed in an industrial accident before I started hanging around Leo, which had to be a bummer for both of them. Mrs. Panetta wasn't a slender woman by the standards of that era, which would make her plump these days judging by the anorexic looks of many of the women considered beautiful these days. Solid, not fat, but thickly built. Her face reminded me of the woman whose face used to be on the advertisements for Celeste pizza. She was Italian and truly looked it, with her rich olive toned skin and her jet black hair which was wavy and so thick looking that I always wanted to run my fingers through it. Mrs. Panetta always wore these rather plain looking house dresses. To the casual observer, one would think that she only had one dress and wore it everyday, but I was such an a staunch observer that I knew better. She had at least a half dozen of them, even though they were pretty much the same style. Only the colors and the patterns were different. They came down below her knees, which was a shame because I knew from the brief glances I would get that she had nice legs, more slender than you would imagine from the rest of her body. The dresses didn't flatter the rest of her either. She was what they used to call a "bosomy" woman. In our teenage vernacular, that meant Mrs. Panetta had big tits, even though she never flaunted them and almost always kept them hidden. The one time I did get a bit of a look at them, the image was so strong that it remains burned in my memory even today. Leo had coaxed his mother into taking us to a nearby lake during a heat wave, and to my surprise Mrs. Panetta stuck around to take a dip. Her bathing suit was very puritan even by the standards of the time, a grey fully cut one piece that she probably hadn't wore in years. It was snug on her, and she spent a lot of time fiddling with it as it rode up on her in a few places. When the leg openings moved up, I caught glimpses of her pubic hair peeking out at the insides of her thighs, which made my own bathing suit a bit crowded. Like I said, it was a different era, long before women began waxing and obsessing about hair removal, so it wasn't all that unusual to get a peek at pubic hair like that. That was probably part of my being intrigued by natural women from the start. Mrs. Panetta didn't shave her underarms either. This I already knew from getting frequent glances at her armpits courtesy of the house dresses she wore, which had these little sleeves that cupped the tops of her round shoulders but left her underarms exposed for my eyes whenever she would reach upwards for things in the cupboard or take clothes off the line. We had a girl in our school, Fawn Monroe, who was a hippie before we even knew such a thing existed, and she didn't shave her pits either. A lot of guys made fun of her, and I admit that I laughed along with everybody else, but the fact was that it really turned me on. With Mrs. Panetta in the bathing suit, there was no peeking necessary because it was all there for the viewing, and Mrs. Panetta was generously endowed. Her armpits were filled with thick tufts of jet black hair, so much so that even with her arms at her side some of the hair peeked out. Her legs were shaved, although she had some down on her thighs. Although he said nothing and I never raised the subject either, my friend Leo was obviously embarrassed my his mother and her armpit hair, and I saw him cringe whenever she would raise her arms when somebody else was nearby. His shame did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm and adoration though, and all that day I was in heaven. The only thing that distracted my attention from her armpits were her breasts. Even in the matronly bathing suit there was no hiding those beauties, and I know that I must have made her uncomfortable the way I kept staring at them, because she caught me drooling over her a number of times during the day. 42DD. That was the size of the bra she wore. I knew that from doing detective work at their house, finding one of the over-sized harness in the clothes hamper and examining the huge cups intensely, trying to imagine what the jugs that filled the bra looked like. Seeing Mrs. Panetta's breasts swaying in that bathing suit all day drove me wild. Sadly, that was the only time I ever got to see Mrs. Panetta in a bathing suit, despite my suggesting another trip to the lake to Leo every chance I got. I suspect that my leering might have freaked Mrs. Panetta out, or maybe Leo might have even noticed my obsession with his Mom. It wasn't like I was all that subtle, even by a teenager's standards. Becoming a man... When Leo graduated from high school, he joined the Navy, which found me needing to think up reasons to visit the Panetta household. Going from a daily dose of Connie Panetta's magnificent assets to just random peeks on the street or at church would not do for a red blooded American 18 year old. I started to make regular stops at Mrs. Panetta's house, just being a good neighbor of course, to inquire whether or not she needed anything at the store. Since I had been pretty much a fixture around the place anyway, Connie Panetta didn't seem to mind, and since college was a couple of months away I had nothing but time since my evening job stocking shelves at the supermarket was only part-time. As a matter of fact, I think she might have been lonely since Leo had entered the service. Now with the house empty, my company seemed to lift her spirits. She began to cook again like she had when Leo was home, making big pots of sauce and rolling meatballs, knowing that I would stick around and eat with her. One day Mrs. Panetta gave me a cooking class, showing me how to roll meatballs in my hands so they they would stay together as they cooked. I wasn't very good at it, but that was because I was busy watching her breasts sway around as she balled up the meat between her olive-toned hands. "I'm gonna make a chef outta you yet, Jimmy," Mrs. Panetta declared in that lyrical voice of hers, with just a trace of an Italian accent left over from long ago. "Soon you'll be cooking for your Mom and Dad. You're gonna be a regular Chef Boyardee!" I had little interest in cooking, because I was just there to be near Connie Panetta, but I laughed and told her that I was happy to learn. "I'm a willing student," I assured Mrs. Panetta. "Women love a man who knows his way around a kitchen," she said as she gave me a nudge. "You know, my brother has a daughter about your age." Mrs. Panetta proceeded to tell me all about this girl that I didn't have the slightest interest in meeting, especially when she said she was 14. "I just got my draft card last week," I told Mrs. Panetta, who laughed when she saw I was a little peeved at her. "I don't need to go to jail." "I forget that you're a big boy now," she said, pinching my cheek. Anybody else doing that would have gotten a different reaction than the shrug of my shoulders, but that was Connie Panetta touching me, and that made it alright. "Son-a-bitch!" Mrs. Panetta suddenly yelled, jumping back from the stove. The pot of sauce had started bubbling when we started talking and Connie Panetta had gotten spritzed by the spatter from the open cauldron, leaving the front of her house dress covered with drops of sauce. "Stupid!" Mrs. Panetta said as she wiped the front of her dress with a dish towel, and for a minute I thought she was mad at me, but she was ticked off at herself. I didn't know any Italian, but I could tell that the string of words coming out of her mouth were probably just as spicy as the sauce. I wanted to volunteer to help her clean the front of her dress, but kept quiet. "Keep an eye on this for me, Jimmy," Mrs. Panetta said as she turned down the flame of the burner and left the kitchen. I wiped down the stove-top and turned the burner down a little bit more as I watched Mrs. Panetta disappear down the hall. For some reason, I felt the urge to go to the bathroom, so I put a lid on the sauce and went down the hall to use the facilities. On the way... Connie Panetta was humming something unrecognizable when I reached the doorway of her bedroom. The door was half-open, and as I stood off to the side I watched Leo's mother reach back behind her neck for the zipper of the dress. As Connie reached back I savored the beauty of her bronze arm, the round curve of her bicep swelling as she strained upward. There she was, exposing all of her natural charms to my hungry eyes, and then the dress was coming up over her head. It was even better than seeing her in the bathing suit that day. That bra I had held in my hands was now cradling Connie Panetta's breasts, which looked like rounded footballs as they tested the strength of the harness that held them, Mrs. Panetta's panties were full cut, which managed to contain the hair that had peeked out the leg openings of her bathing suit that day, but I could clearly see the dark outline of her bush through the white cotton briefs. "Uh." That sound came from me, and even though I spun away from the door I was certain that Mrs. Panetta had seen me leering at her like a pervert. What had caused the sound? My hand had somehow found its way down to my crotch, and I had been moving things around down there, because my underwear had gotten awfully crowded. I barely touched myself at all - never making actual contact with my dick except through my shorts and underwear, when it happened. When I started cumming, it came over me so fast and so intensely that the force of my orgasm doubled me over for a moment. As my cock spat out a load into my briefs, I knew that I had to get out of there, so I staggered down the hall. I didn't need to turn around to know that Mrs. Panetta was right behind me, and my the time I made it back to the kitchen she had me by the shirt. "What were you doing Jimmy?" "I - uh - had to go to the bathroom," I stammered while trying to hide the evidence of what felt like a hell of a mess that was probably leaving a tell-tale sign in the front of my shorts by then. "How many times you come to this house?" Mrs. Panetta asked me. "All of a sudden you don't know where the damn bathroom is?" I shrugged, knowing there was no use in playing dumber than I already seemed. I knew where the bathroom was alright, because I had passed it on the way to Connie Panetta's bedroom. "I'm sorry," I said, and when I saw Mrs. Panetta looking down towards my crotch I knew I was exposed. "Guess you do have to go to the bathroom," she said softly, and when I looked down and saw the massive dark spot on my jeans - the diameter of a baseball and getting larger by the second - I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. "Go clean up. You're not gonna go home like that." Humiliated beyond belief, I slithered out of the room and to the bathroom, where I gingerly peeled off my shorts and briefs. "Omigod," I muttered when I saw my underwear, which were saturated with what had to be the mother-lode of ejaculations, even by my lofty standards. My pubic hair was covered with cum and was drying fast, and so when I saw that this was a job that went way beyond a washcloth at the sink, I stepped into the shower and sprayed my lower torso and did a quick cleanup before turning off the shower. Outside the shower curtain, I heard the click of the door, and when I ducked out from behind the plastic I saw that my clothes were no longer on the hamper where I had left them. Everything; socks, sneakers, shorts, briefs and shirt were all gone. That answered the question that I had pondered while cleaning up, which was what good was washing up if I had to put on the same spunk filled stuff. There was a big bath towel on the hamper, so I wrapped it around myself and peeked out into the hall. Freshly out of the shower, the aroma of the spaghetti sauce was even stronger, but I had lost my appetite by this point so I stepped lightly down the hall and looked around the corner into the kitchen, where Mrs. Panetta was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in a bathrobe that she clutched around her neck when she saw me. "Your clothes are in the washer," she told me. "You might as well get comfortable. I got your things set on quick wash but it will be at least an hour before they get dried after the wash." Suddenly the towel that had seemed so big now felt small around me. Most of my legs and all of my above the waist was bare, and while I had been in a bathing suit in front of Connie Panetta before, I suddenly felt very naked. "What's the matter?" she asked when she saw me hesitate. "You don't like the idea of somebody seeing you half-naked?" "I'm sorry," was all I could think of saying, wishing I could turn back the clock and just have stayed at the stove instead of stalking her. "Come in and sit," Mrs. Panetta said, motioning to the chair opposite her. "I'm not gonna bite you." "I don't understand," Mrs. Panetta said after I slithered into the seat. "I never figured you for one of those - what they call them - Tom the Peepers?" "Peeping Tom," I said, trying not to smile. "I'm not. I mean, it's not something I do. It's just that I couldn't help myself." "Leo always said how much the girls like you," she told me. "He said you could have your pick of the litter." "I don't know about that," I answered, because while I was nowhere like that, I guess compared to Leo I probably seemed a lot better than I really was. "You're different. You must know that I've had a crush on you for years." "What would you want with an old woman?" she scoffed. "I guess I don't look at you the way you look at yourself," I said. "I always hoped that when I got older, you would think about me like I do you." "Jimmy, I got socks older than you," Mrs. Panetta said. "What am I gonna do with a kid?" "I'm not a kid," I answered with a trace of annoyance. "So you got a draft card," she replied. "Now you're a man? You probably wouldn't know what to do with a woman." "I never had no complaints," I told her, although out of the two females I had managed to have sex with, at least one of them would probably disagree. Bonnie Durren, the girl who took my cherry, didn't seem too thrilled with the 15 second ride I had given her, I had to admit. I did better with my second, Joyce Audi, but Joyce was no conquest because she screwed everybody in the neighborhood with a pulse. "Like who?" Mrs. Panetta challenged. "You mean names?" I said, flustered. "I can't tell you about anybody. That wouldn't be right." "You don't fuck and tell, huh Jimmy?" Mrs. Panetta said, setting me aback with the use of that word, although I suspect I had hear the Italian equivalent of it many times before. "That's right," I sniffed, figuring that taking the moral high ground was my only hope of saving face at this point. "You know I never been with a guy since my husband," she said. "Is that why you're sniffing around here? Figure I'm so desperate that I'm easy pickings? The widow lady don't get any for a while so sniff around?" "That's not it at all," I said. "All I know is that I've thought you were beautiful and sexy from the first moment I saw you." "Beautiful?" Mrs. Panetta said with a laugh. "I'm 51 years old, for crying out loud! You need glasses." "I want to - make love to you," I said, nearly substituting the word fuck. "I want to make you happy." "That right?" Mrs. Panetta said, and I nodded while looking as defiant as I could manage while my knees were knocking. Ten seconds later, I nearly knocked over the kitchen table when my knee accidentally smacked into the table leg, a spastic reaction to Connie Panetta standing up and letting the bathrobe she had been huddled under, fall to the linoleum floor. Mrs. Panetta was wearing socks - little white ones that didn't even reach up to her full and shapely calves. besides that, she was naked. "What's the matter, Jimmy?" Mrs. Panetta said as she stood there five feet in front of me with her right hand on her hip, barely flinching when I nearly sent the table flying. "Cat got your tongue?" "Maybe I'm not so pretty now that you see all of me," she said as she looked at me sitting there like a zombie, my mouth open as I got my fondest wish. It was a case of too much too soon, and it was nothing like I had fantasized about. I had pictured a romantic seduction like happened in the movies, even though I had no experience in that area either. So I sat there with my jaw hanging down, acting nothing like Omar Sharif seducing Sophia Loren, but instead doing a great impersonation of Goober Pyle leering at Juanita from the Mayberry Diner. As I sat and stared Mrs. Panetta started to shrink, apparently realizing she was standing there naked in front of a kid - and let's make it clear - that right then although I fancied myself a man, when faced with a real woman I was exposed for what I was. Mrs. Panetta started to reach down and pick up her robe, and that took me out of my trance. She must have mistaken my inaction for something other than it was. In fact, she was so much more incredible looking than my mind had pictured all this time, that I was speechless. Connie Panetta wasn't anything like Bonnie or Joyce, or any of the women in the Playboy magazines I had seen. Mrs. Panetta was not an airbrushed Barbie doll, but a real live woman. Voluptuous beyond belief, with an hourglass figure that was not perfect but was real. So real and so sexy and so right in front of me. Connie's breasts were gigantic and bell-shaped, and hung down to her waist, which was thick but solid. Her nipples were a brownish-crimson in hue, thick stubs that were centered onto outrageously large pebbled aureoles. Below, that glorious bush twinkled in the kitchen light. The hair, so black in color that it still managed to contrast boldly against the olive skin that surrounded it, was not a trimmed delta but a wild untamed forest. Connie Panetta's pubic hair grew thickly and densely, wide and high, and there was even a trail of hair that wound upward from the timberline to her navel. Connie Panetta and Summer 1970 And I was blowing it big time. "No," I cried out and I jumped up, stopping her as she began to pick up her robe to hide under and deprive me of my view. "Please," I begged, although I didn't know what to say after that, only that I wanted her badly. I remember Mrs. Panetta freezing in place, her eyes going to me as I leaped to my feet. The damp towel had remained on the chair, and while I hadn't planned on making such a dramatic presentation, what happened, happened. As it turned out, this picture spoke volumes to her, because while I could have spent the afternoon trying to tell Connie Panetta how crazy I was about her and how sexy I thought she was - whether she was 51 or 101 - the evidence of how I felt was swaying in front of me. While not absurdly well-endowed, I definitely hadn't been cheated as far as the size of my cock goes, and I guess that when Mrs. Panetta saw my erection bobbing up and down in front of me, it was clear that while I might act immature, I was not a kid. So I stood there, naked as the day I was born, standing within arm's reach of the woman I had lusted over my entire teenage life, and what did I do? Nothing. My feet were glued to the linoleum, and the only moving parts of me were my chest, which was heaving, and my dick, which sprang up on it's own every few seconds. Mrs. Panetta didn't move either, and stood there with her robe clutched in her hand, waiting - waiting for me. I only had to make two steps towards her, and I managed them about as gracefully as Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. I poked her with my dick as I got close to her, and that made me cringe. Mrs. Panetta didn't laugh though, and instead when I leaned down to kiss her, she let me. Those lips, so red and full - how many nights did I dream of kissing them? They were soft, and after I pressed my lips into them I was about to lean back away from her, but something stopped me. It was Mrs. Panetta. As our kiss ended I found myself looking into those smoky eyes, and after our eyes met it was as if something registered in Connie Panetta's mind. Maybe something like - this kid really wants me. "What?" I said after Mrs. Panetta said something in Italian, the meaning of which that I had no clue. "I said I'm going to go to hell for doing that to you," she said in her slightly broken English. "You didn't - I mean you didn't do anything to me. We did that together. Like this." I leaned down and kissed her again, and this time she not only accepted my affection but gave it back, and as our tongues dueled my hands went around to her backside, squeezing her ass while pulling her into my cock. "Jimmy..." Mrs. Panetta said after our lips separated, and she was breathing heavily as she looked first at me and then at the ceiling above while putting her hands up in an feeble attempt to conceal her massive breasts. It was as if she was looking for some kind of divine intervention, or a sign from above as to what should happen, as she whispered "if somebody ever..." I imagine she might have thinking that I was some dumb-ass kid wanting to knock off a piece of tail and then run down the block and tell all of my friends. From there she might have been fearing the word would spread to the Ladies Auxiliary of the Italian Benevolent Society and the women of the church chorus, which would make her the talk of the town. That was never going to happen, and I think I might have tried to tell her that before finally just shrugging and offering to leave, if that was what she wanted. Her lips moved, and for a second I was afraid Mrs. Panetta was going to take me up on that, and if she had I would have been crushed. Instead, she slowly turned and walked over to the stove. My eyes took in the glorious sight of Mrs. Panetta from behind, savoring every second as I committed each curve to memory. The smooth round shoulders, the thick but solid waist, the lush buttocks and the full but surprisingly shapely legs - all of this I remember today as if this was happening yesterday instead for 40 years ago. I also recall how Mrs. Panetta reached over and turned off the burner that the sauce was still simmering on, and then she turned around to face me. I stood there where she had left me, and nothing had changed. She could tell that when her eyes went down and saw my erection was still very much there, bobbing uncontrollably, and then a tiny smile appeared as her hands came down from her breasts. Mrs. Panetta walked - maybe floated the way I saw her - and the next minute she was leading me down the hall, past the bathroom and into her bedroom. The door closed behind me, and then I heard the lock click. The next thing I knew we were on the bed and Mrs. Panetta was using her hands to persuade me from doing what I was crudely going to do when I climbed between her legs with my cock in hands. "Slow down Jimmy," I heard her say as she moved me down with her hands on my shoulders. "Been so long." I found myself with my face hovering above Mrs. Panetta's pussy, and while I liked to think that I knew my way around, this was something foreign to me. I hadn't done anything but crudely stick my cock into the other two women and thrust away, and now I was faced with something different and being asked to do something equally foreign to me. Mrs. Panetta might have sensed my confusion, and it was then that I felt her hands in my scalp. pulling me gently downward until my cheeks were buried into what felt like a jungle. The hair was blacker than black, and the denseness of the growth made in impossible to see the opening, but with Mrs. Panetta's guidance my mouth found the way. The smell was overwhelming, similar to the scent that came from Bonnie and Joyce only much more so, and as my tongue slipped inside Mrs. Panetta the bitterness burned while sending shivers down my spine. My tongue slapped around, swabbing blindly as Mrs. Panetta's hands moved my head when she wanted it to go as I looked through the dense bush to see her reactions. Blocking the view of her face were the undersides of her massive breasts, which were heaving wildly as her plump thighs squeezed my head. Mrs. Panetta was thrusting her hips up into my face, forcing my nose into what had become a sloppy fold, and then the hands in my scalp were not pushing me in but instead bringing me up to my knees while her creamy thighs parted. "Easy Jimmy," she was saying as she took my cock from me and guided it to her opening after I fumbled around for a second. "Been so long." I had done this twice before in my brief adult life, but was now acting like the virgin. My love was patient though, and as I felt my cock inch into her I was glad I came before when I was peeking at Mrs. Panetta in this very bedroom, because otherwise I would have cum right away while trying to penetrate her. "Easy!" Mrs. Panetta cried out as she took her hand from between her legs and gripped my biceps tightly. "Cazzo! Merda!" I was learning what the Italian equivalent of fuck and shit were, but I was too occupied in what was a pussy tighter than the allegedly virginal Bonnie's pussy was to take notes. Instead I watched Mrs. Panetta recoiling back toward the headboard while my cock tunneled deeply into her, and her skull was against the wood by the time I fully impaled her. "Jimmy!" she cried out as her eyes rolled back in the sockets, and then I felt her chubby legs surround my hips while I pulled myself out a bit. Soon I was moving in and out more freely, and as Mrs. Panetta loosened up, I began to thrust with a little more confidence, and that was when Mrs. Panetta started to come alive, grabbing my arms and grunting each time I thrust into her. I wanted this to last forever, but I was too excited and too caught up in actually living out a fantasy, but fortunately I was able to last until Mrs. Panetta came, and boy did she cum. That was what sent me over the edge. Seeing my dream lover wild-eyed and practically screaming, clawing at my arms and shoulders while her pussy tried to crush my cock, I lost control and sent what felt like a massive load of my seed deep into Mrs. Panetta's womb. Her pussy was still convulsing as I went limp inside of her, and one of those contractions forced my deflated dick out of her, causing her to shiver and moan. I held myself above her, my sweat dropping down on her voluptuous body, and her breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath. "Oh Jimmy, that was so good," she sighed, and for whatever reason, I lost it. "What's the matter?" she asked, as confused as I was over my released emotions, and I eased myself down into her arms and hugged her. "Nothing," I said, wanting to tell her that she was acting the way I had always fantasized her to act, and saying the things that I thought would only come out of her mouth in my wildest dreams. "Just happy." "Crazy kid," she said softly as we embraced, and said something in Italian. Eventually I rolled off of Mrs. Panetta and joined her in staring at the ceiling for a while before turning to face her. She looked so content and happy, with her eyes closed and her hands linked behind her head, and I took the opportunity to drink in all of her natural beauty. How long I was in that trance-like state, I don't know, but when I glanced up Mrs. Panetta was watching me watching her, and she had an amused expression on her face when I found out I was busted. "Thought maybe you had a stroke or something," she commented. "You're just so sexy," I said, and found myself reaching over to her, first running my palm over her enormous breast and then letting it glide over her smooth olive skin until my fingers were under her arm. "That's sexy, huh?" she clucked as I raked my fingers through the moist jungle of hair that filled the gentle recess of her underarm. "Leo always tells me to shave there like all the other mothers do. I tell him, who's going to waste time looking under my arms?" "Me," I admitted. "And you're telling me that makes you excited?" she said just as my erection brushed against her hip, and when she looked down at my boner she burst out laughing and started speaking in Italian. "What was that you just said?" "If you knew Italian you wouldn't have to ask," she said, but when I pressed her she translated. "I said that being with you is like going to the zoo because you're as crazy as a loon, you're hung like a horse and you got the stamina of a bull," she said. "I suppose you think you're up for another go at me, huh?" "That's - uh - well - it's up to you," I stammered. "I dunno if I'm up to it," Mrs. Panetta confessed. "You got me using parts that aren't used to it, and they are feeling it." "I'll be gentle. I want to make love to you," I said, and then added, "Concetta." "You never - that's the first time you ever called me anything but Mrs. Panetta." "Is that okay?" I asked. "After all this, I guess it has to be," she said, and seemed to be getting a little misty-eyed. "And you called me Concetta instead of Connie. Nobody has called me that since..." "I always wanted to. It's such a beautiful name, and you're such a beautiful woman," I said, not caring how schmaltzy I was sounded because I wanted to make love to her. Not like a crude teenager, but like a lover would, even though I was so inexperienced that I didn't really know all that much about it. I only knew I wanted to try, so when I climbed between her full thighs, I didn't jump in and root around. Instead, I explored. I massaged those magnificent breasts, delighting in their lush fullness as those amazing nipples came to life under my touch, and after kneading the pliant flesh and enjoying Concetta's reactions becoming less reserved all the while, I went lower. My hands caressed her right down to her toes, exploring every pore with a gentle touch, and after rubbing my way back up her shapely legs I found myself using my tongue, starting just below her breasts and working downward. My tongue traced the faint trail of hairs that started just below her navel and licked my down until the trail became the forest. The rich black hair buffeted my cheeks, the slightly coarse bush having an almost spring-like feel to it. Lower still, I saw her opening, the prominent lips of her sex visible despite the profuse growth of hair that surrounded them, and from that opening I saw the evidence of what we had done. My semen had oozed out of her, and the contrast of my milky white seed on her jet black hair was so stark that it made my cum seem to glow. I knew what I wanted to do, even though I really didn't have a clue as how to do it, but I was going to try, and the presence of my cum didn't make me think twice. I buried my head between her legs again, reveling in bathing my face with our fluids while I licked her where she seemed to like it best, all the time feeling my cock re-energize, and when I was hard again I climbed back up between those plump thighs. This time, I tried to make love to Concetta, or at least the way I imagined somebody good at it would do. I took my time and stayed in control, although that might have been more a product of having cum twice in less than an hour, and when she had an orgasm, this time I was able to fully enjoy it with her. Everything was incredible; watching the veins in her neck strain and she face contort while her pussy squeezed my cock, and having the noises and words she spat out while she writhed under me, it was all even better than cumming myself. I did cum, eventually, and this I timed it so we came together. The feeling we shared as we clutched and held each other as I filled her womb with my seed - I can safely say that I never had a feeling better than at that moment - and we held each other a long time before we spoke. "You gonna make some girl real lucky one day," Concetta said. That was fine with me, as long as that girl was her. Why on earth would I look elsewhere when she was the perfect woman? So she was older than me? I didn't care. She didn't look 51 to me. That wasn't the end, but only the beginning. The next morning I came back over to her house, managing to wait until almost 9 a.m. before knocking on her door. The door opened only a little bit, and Concetta peeked out at me, with her bathrobe clutched at her neck. "I just got out of the shower, Jimmy," she said softly. "What you want?" What did I want? Was that it? One afternoon of heaven and then that's all? Did she have second thoughts? Make confession to Father Tony? Was she kidding? "You want this, dontcha?" she cackled while backing up and opening her robe, showing me the most voluptuously sexy body on the planet, and I walked in to embrace her. "Lock the door," Concetta said, freezing me in my tracks, and after I secured it and turned around she was back at the hall doorway, her robe on the floor while she stuck her tongue out at me. "You want me you gotta catch me first," she giggled before scurrying down the hallway. I caught her, of course, but she didn't run all that fast. Not as fast as she could have, and I grabbed her just in time to send us both tumbling into the bed, where we stayed for the rest of the morning. It was a little after noon, and after we had rested for a while I began to poke Concetta's side with my erection. We had already made love 3 times that morning, and I was ready for more, living proof that there is nothing in the world more resilient that a teenage guy living a fantasy. "Jimmy," Concetta sighed. "I gotta tell you something. You make me feel like a kid again, but you're wearing me out. I'm so sore down there. Really. It's really good and I love doing it with you, but there's only one 18 year old in this bed and it ain't me." "You could get on top again," I suggested hopefully. Late yesterday afternoon, and then again this morning, Concetta had been showing me some new positions, since all I knew was the missionary one. When Concetta climbed on top of me, straddled my cock and put it in, I couldn't take it. The sight of her looking at me from on top of me, with those enormous breasts dangling down, was too much. I reached up and hefted them, and the next thing I knew I was cumming. This morning that was the second thing we did, and it was lucky she came twice the first time because she didn't get much out of her second ride on me. This time, I tried to avoid looking up at her, but as she rode me I heard her making noises and took a peek. Concetta was kneading her jugs hard, and then grabbing one in both hands while trying to suck her own nipple. Forget it. That move would soon become known as my Kryptonite. After seeing me put my sad puppy face on, Concetta shook her head and sighed while moving down the bed a bit, saying, "I don't know if I remember how to do this. Been a long time." There she was, my beautiful Concetta sitting at my hip, reaching over and grabbing my semi-turgid cock while bending down and licking the tip of my dick before letting her lips slide down, and by the time her mouth was halfway down I was fully engorged again. Before then, I thought that "blow jobs" as they were known, were highly overrated. I had receive the gift from the two girls I had been intimate with; the first, Bonnie, had done her best but her teeth took all of the enjoyment out of it for me. I guess it was new to her too, and it showed. The second time, with Joyce, was better but left me cold. I like watching my cock go in her mouth, but after she bobbed up and down half of my dick for a couple of minutes she took it out of her mouth and jacked me off to orgasm. It was okay. My opinion of fellatio changed the minute Concetta's mouth touched me, and if she was out of practice, I couldn't wait until she got back into form. She made love to my cock. Her full red lips slid further and further down the shaft until she nearly had all of me in her mouth, and all the time her hands were busy, kneading my balls and squeezing the base of the shaft while I writhed on the bedding. "Let me know when you gonna shoot, Jimmy," Concetta said quickly before going back to sucking me hard, and while I had been fighting the urge to cum, I knew it was a fight I was losing so I resigned myself to a stroking climax, although because it was Concetta's hand it would be as good as that could get. Instead, Concetta's hand began squeezing my nuts hard, and instead of her lips coming off of me they slid down until her face was in my pubic hair. All the while, although her lips stayed locked around the stump of my cock she kept sucking somehow with her throat or something, like she was trying to swallow my cock whole. My body practically lifted up out of the bedding as I came, my cum being siphoned by Concetta with only a brief choking sound while my body shuddered as I spoke in tongues, and I finally had to pull her off of me when my going limp didn't stop her. "Got a little carried away," she grinned as she looked over at me, with a trickle of cum oozing out of the side of her mouth. "You like?" "I love you," I said and I jumped up and hugged and kissed Concetta. "That was amazing." "Something I learned in my youth back in the old country," she confessed. "Back when I was young and silly like you." "Viva Italy!" I declared, grateful that they had created such an amazing woman. "Now I'm never gonna get rid of you," she said with rolling eyes. "You wear out my puss and then you just go to another hole." That wasn't true, because I told her that if I ever got to be a pain in the butt she should just tell me and I would be gone. "Wouldn't like that," I admitted, but so smitten was I with her that I would do anything she asked. She never asked, and was even willing to put up with my insaitable desires and sometimes kinky tastes. Connie Panetta and Summer 1970 "Where you come up with this stuff?" Concetta said one afternoon when I suggested something a little weird. "In a book," I responded. "Hey, I never knew about all of these positions you taught me, but I was nice enough to try them for you." "For me?" he laughed. "Okay, for us." I agreed, and then explained what I was wanting her to do. "Like this?" Concetta asked as she positioned herself across the bed and over my hip, while I propped all the pillows up behind me so I could see it clearly. "Now lower your arm down," I directed. "Doesn't this hurt?" Concetta asked as she followed my directions. "No. It's incredible." It didn't hurt, but while it felt nice, it was the visual impact of what was happening that made it special, much like her playing with her breasts would affect me. With Concetta laying sideways on top of me, I had positioned my erection so when she put her arm down, my organ was crushed in the fold of her armpit, and while the warm pocket felt nice, it was seeing the head of my cock sticking out of the fold surround by her armpit hair that drove me wild. "Roll your shoulder a little," I gasped as I thrust upwards, and when she started to move against my thrusts it got even better The head of my cock started sticking way out of the fold when Concetta would move downward, and she cackled when she saw the red knob bulging under the pressure, flicking the tip with her tongue as it popped out from the nest of hair that surrounded it. "You like it when I lick it, don't you Jimmy?" she cackled while watching my face probably making faces too bizarre to imagine. "You think you gonna..." I'm not sure what Concetta was about to ask, but if it was an inquiry about whether I was going to be able to have an orgasm, she found out as my cock began making like a geyser, with the first blast hitting her face as her tongue was reaching the tip. "Son of a bitch!" she yelped, but she didn't stop what she was doing and merely leaned back to let the rest of my load land harmlessly on my chest and stomach. "Sorry," I said as my orgasm ended and Concetta tried to wipe the cum off her face with the sheet. "Serves me right to do crazy things like that. Now I gotta wash my hair tonight," she said with a shake of the head and a glance that told me she wasn't mad. "Next time we do that maybe I bite the head off if he spits in my face. Gotta make meatballs tomorrow anyway for the auxiliary." "Next time?" I said hopefully, not thinking she would want to indulge me again after that. "Hey, at least it gave my puss and jaws a break." "You can let go, you know," I reminded her, as my cock had gone limp and disappeared from view, but was still trapped in the fold of her arm. "I think I'm gonna keep him right there," Concetta declared and she clamped down tighter. "Feels kind of nice there under my arm now that he's soft." "If that is supposed to be punishment, I'm fine with it," I said with a smile. "I can stay here like this until school starts next week." The summer had flown by, and college was going to begin in only eight days. That wasn't something I was looking forward too, and not just because summer was gone because I hardly spent any time outside, what with work, stopping at home briefly and then coming to Concetta's. "That's right," Concetta said. "Then I finally going to have some time to get this place back in order without you sniffing around." "You still going to come visit me sometimes?" she asked after I didn't bite at her attempt to get a rise out of me. "What do you think?" I asked, and in fact I would end up doing my homework there many evenings, along with sleeping over on some weekends. "I think you better do good in school," Concetta said. "Oh! I forgot! Leo - he's coming home for the holidays." "Great!" I said, because I knew how much she missed him, and I missed the guy too, although I knew that after he got done with leave, he was going to be deployed somewhere, and the odds were it wouldn't be anyplace good. "Well, I better get in the shower," Concetta said. "Wash your sap outta my - what the?" It seemed that my dick must have been dripping because things had gotten a little sticky in the vice my dick had been in, and although we managed to extricate my cock from the sticky hairs, the abundant forest had become quite a tangle. "Look at that!" Concetta said as she surveyed the twisted sculpture of drying semen and hair. "Oh well, guess I better go shave." "Let's not get crazy here," I protested. "Why, you wouldn't like me without my hair?" she asked playfully. "Shave them and see" I said, knowing full well that while I liked the hair, I loved the woman and would be fine with whatever she did. "Should make you do it," Concetta said as she headed for the bathroom. "Okay," I said, and the thought of doing that was not unappealing to me, since it would afford me more chances to touch her. "How about we take a shower..." "We?" "Sure. If we can't get you cleaned up I'll be glad to shave you," I said while figuring that with a combination of warm water, soap and maybe my tongue, we could fix the sticky problem my semen had created. "You a crazy guy," Concetta said as we headed into the shower together for far from the first or last time. "Lucky you know I can't say no to you." Actually that wasn't quite true. One time Concetta did sort of say no. We had been having sex - surprise - and it was the week before Leo was due home on leave. I had finished my term paper and read it to Concetta, who declared it sounded good even though she didn't have a clue about what it was all about, and as a reward she suggested we take a break. This was a turn-on for me, having her initiate sex, and it was happening a lot as our relationship progressed. Concetta was on all fours, with me humping her from behind while holding onto those fleshy hips. In his position, I had a lot of self control because not only couldn't I see her breasts but because they hung down and rested on the bedding I couldn't get much of a grip on them either. So as I thrust hard and confidently while spreading her cheeks, my eyes went to the crevice of her ass cheeks. Although Concetta had the hairiest pussy imaginable, the hair stopped down in the area between her pussy and her anus There was a little cluster of black hairs around her puckered ring, but the pink orifice was clearly visible, so I found myself wetting my finger and sliding it around the knot before poking it in. Concetta didn't stop me, and in fact let out a moan as I slid my finger in deeper, and soon I was impaling her in both orifices at once, bringing her to orgasm in the process. As I pulled my finger out it struck me - she would probably like me to put my dick in there, and because I had never done it or really thought about it before, it seemed like a good idea. So I was surprised that well I pulled my cock out of Concetta's pussy and pushed it up against the anus, she squealed and rolled out from under me, yelling, "No No No!" "What's wrong?" I ignorantly asked as I knelt over her with cock in hand while she rolled onto her back. "I thought you liked it." "Your finger. That was okay. Kind of nice, but your thing? No. At least not like that," She said, and while I knelt there with a boner and a stupid expressing on my face she explained. "You can't just put your thing in there. You need to lubricate it first. Both your thing and the girl's bottom. That's a tiny hole back there." "I guess you're right," I said, feeling just as stupid as I was. "I never did it before, so I was curious." "I have," Concetta admitted. "Long time ago, and it really hurt. Maybe I'm small back there, or maybe I'm a big baby. And that man's thing wasn't nearly as fat as yours, but I'll go to the drug store tomorrow morning and get something to lubricate us." "That's okay," I said, and when she started to tell me that it wouldn't be a problem since she had to get to Walgreen's anyway, I stopped her. "No," I said, honestly having lost any desire to do it. "Why would I want to do anything that would hurt you?" "I'll do it," Concetta assured me. "I know you would. Thank you, but no thanks." "I wish I was 30 years younger," Concetta said, and her eyes seemed to be welling up as she spoke. "Or you were 30 years older." "I don't care about age," I assured her. "I know." "I love you," I said. "I love you too Jimmy," Concetta said. "These months without Leo being here. I don't know what I would have done without you being here." I leaned down and kissed Concetta, the woman who I wanted to marry and live the rest of my life with, and she kissed me back while her hand snaked down and grabbed my cock, which had lost a little stiffness but immediately came back to life in her hand. "Want to put this big boy between my boobies?" she asked playfully, and I jumped at the chance, since while I loved doing it, Concetta didn't like getting semen in her eyes. "I'll be careful," I said as I maneuvered up and put my cock in in the deep valley created as she pressed her arms to her sides. "Don't be," she sighed. "I love watching the fat head pop out from between my boobies. The hole opens wide and then the dick goes away." "Think you can get me to cum with dirty talk?" I asked as I reached down and played with the fat pegs of her nipples and traced the outline of her coaster-sized aureoles. "Maybe," Concetta sighed. "When you do, I want you to shoot your seed right into my mouth. If you think you can reach, that is?" "You know better than that" I retorted, since often to her dismay I would spray her face and hair while doing this if conditions were right. "But I think I'm going to just keep doing this all night because it feels so good." "Oh yeah?" Concetta asked. "You in control, huh?" "You know it," I replied, and then shook my head when I felt her hands grab my wrists and push them unto the sides of her breasts. This kept the tight squeeze her cleavage had around my cock, but when I saw her put her hands behind her head and cackle, all I could say was, "Not fair!" "Look at me, Jimmy," Concetta giggled while I stared at the painting of Venice behind her headboard, the picture of her and Leo on the night table, and anyplace else besides down. "Look at me, honey," she cooed. "You know you want to," and when I gave up and looked down at her heaving breasts and her furry underarms exposed for my benefit, she sighed, "In my mouth -give it to me." I gave in, pushing my cock out the top of her cleavage a second before I erupted, and while a little went in her open mouth, most of my ejaculations ended up on her cheeks and neck, with one rope hitting her in the eye. "Sonofabitch!" Concetta cried out, laughing as I tattooed her pretty face with my cum. "That burns!" *** It was great to see Leo again, even though it meant that me and his Mom had to lighten up on our activities somewhat. He had really changed over the few months he had been in the service, and while he had been around me he had been sort of a little brother to me despite him being almost a year older, he had really matured. With Leo around Concetta was happy all the time, glowing as she made her rounds of the neighborhood about how proud she was of her boy, and it made me happy to see her so alive. It was a way that I made her feel as well, but only for brief periods of time. When Leo left to go back, I didn't realize that it was the last time we would ever see him. He was killed a few weeks later, not in war but in a stupid training accident, and when the word got back to his Mom she fell apart. I tried my best to comfort her, even sort of taking on some of the responsibilities and planning of the services when his body was shipped home, not caring how it looked to others. By then I was practically living at her house, and while we continued our relationship it was clear that there was nothing I could do to make the pain go away. Still, when she broke the news to me that she was moving back to her native land, it was still hard to take. "I go nothing here, Jimmy," she told me one night. "I have some family back there. My sister and a lot of cousins. I love this country, but it just hurts too much to stay around here." I argued that she had me, and there was no way I would ever leave her, but I guess in my heart I new she was probably right. She had come here for a new start and within a decade had lost her husband and only child. I helped her sell her household goods and packed up what little she was taking back to Italy, and before I knew it I was saying goodbye to her at the airport. It must have looked pitiful, like a kid saying goodbye to his mother and bawling like a baby, but I didn't give a damn. It was when she was walking through customs that I noticed something. It wasn't the first time I had noticed it, having seen her naked nearly every day for months, and while I had been tempted to ask her, she had been so distraught since burying Leo that I didn't want to insult or upset her. Connie had lost some weight during the many months of our relationship - not a great deal mind you - but enough that I had noticed it, most noticably in her butt and arms. That I had mentioned to her, and she blamed it on me giving her so much exercise, but the last night we were together I had watched her while she slept. As she turned and waved, I looked at Connie's profile, and while maybe the slight swell under her huge bosom was always there and I had been too obsessed with other parts of her, I didn't know. We promised to stay in touch and we did for a while, and I had even mentioned in one letter about whether she had gained back the weight she had lost and kept asking her whether there was something she wanted to tell me, she never directly addressed the question I was too afraid to actually come out and ask. After a few years the letters stopped coming and my own correspondence got returned stamped addressee unknown. I suppose I could have done some investigative work but was too afraid about what I would find out so I let it go. If she wanted me to know anything, she could have told me, and I would like to think that I would have done right by her, but I'll never know and that's obviously the way Connie must have wanted it. Then again, maybe it was all in my head. I still think about her sometimes even now more than forty years later. I've had a good life, with a great wife and wonderful children, but I know it would never have been the same without Connie Panetta and that incredible summer of 1970. *** thanks for reading