NANCY PALMER
The thing I remember most about going down on a woman for the first time was the sheer sensuousness of it, the feel of her stockings under my hands, the gauzy nylon contrasting with the soft white flesh of her thighs, feeling it rubbing against my cheek as I closed in on her cunt; and of course the smell and taste of a woman's sex. The combination of these three senses and the memory of it will stay with me forever. I'm in my sixties now and this, my first time, was over forty years ago. I'll tell it exactly as I remember it. Please forgive the flowery prose where it appears...
The lady in question was my boss at the packaging firm where I used to work. She was in her early forties, I was 21. We'd been out on an office social evening and she had asked me back to her home afterwards for a nightcap.
We were in the kitchen, she was sitting on the worktop and I was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar having the nightcap -- a glass of wine each. Her skirt had ridden up and I couldn't help looking. She didn't seem to mind, she had the most amazing legs for a woman her age -- forty had seemed old to me back then. I was starting to feel quite heady, but it was the tingling between my legs that told me I was not my normal self that evening. I suddenly had a real urge for her, but at the same time I wasn't sure what to do, after all, this was new territory for me... I'd only ever dated boys.
Suddenly her voice snapped me out of my daydream:
"Come here, Nancy."
"Why?"
She smiled. "I know what you want and so I'm going to make it easy for you."
I felt nervous, but compelled to do as she bid. She was a very confident and persuasive professional lady... and of course, my boss.
"Stand in front of me." I did. "Closer." Again I complied. I was now leaning against her legs, her knees digging into my tummy. "Here," she said, holding out her hands to me. I took them and felt her squeeze. "You're a very pretty girl, Nancy."
"Thank you." My face suddenly went hot and I felt quite giddy. She pulled me closer and leaned forward to kiss me. I'd never been kissed like that before. It was so genuine, affectionate and passionate. She guided my hands onto her thighs, encouraging me to caress them as I leaned against her. The feel of this woman's nylon-clad legs under my hand just blew me away. My heart was already racing and I could feel the mounting excitement between my legs. The crotch of my panties was beginning to stick to me. She encouraged my hands to go higher and when I felt the bobble catch of her suspenders and then the contrast of her soft flesh after the coarseness of her nylons, I almost swooned.
"Have you ever kissed a woman here?" she said, quite matter-of-factly, pressing my hand against her warm, damp pussy.
I just about croaked: "No."
"Would you like to?"
I didn't bother to reply. I bowed my head and started kissing her thighs, just above the knee. The gauzy nylon grazed lightly against my lips. I was overcome by the desire to do obscene things to her. She took her hand off mine, confident now that it would remain on her pussy, and began fingering strands of my long hair, playing with it, teasing it around her fingers.
I worked my way up her thighs, kissing the nylons all the time, until I came upon the deliciously white soft flesh of her bare legs. Now, mixed with her perfume was a kind of muskiness, a sexual womanly odour that I had sometimes encountered with myself in times of heightened desire. Except that hers was a richly potent smell, the sexual scent of a mature and stimulated woman. Soon my mouth was on her shrouded pussy. I could feel the springy pubic coils under the silk of her underwear, the fragrant essence of her sex filtering through. I breathed in her musky aroma through the silk and felt my cunt twitch in response. She pressed my head against her and sighed.
"Why don't you take them off?" she said. "It will be easier and much better."
I did, sliding them down underneath her girdle while she wriggled her bottom free. She pulled her hem up higher, easing my path, and her cunt was no longer in darkness now, but gloriously exposed under the kitchen lighting. It was a vision that I'd only glimpsed in magazines, bare, bold and brazen. But this was real.
I could see little drops of moisture, like raindrops on the petals of a rose, gathering about her pussy lips and on her pubic hair, of which there was a keen abundance. Her sexual scent grew stronger and ever more divine as her excitement and expectancy increased. The sweet and sour muskiness of her cunny filled me with lust and desire, and the urge to devour her. I parted the luxuriant black hair and brushed the lips of her sopping slit with the tips of my fingers. Her skirt was up around her waist now and her legs were wide apart and welcoming.
I opened her, dividing the two sides as if they were the halves of a ripe plum. Her cunt opened into a glistening pink grotto, a magical cave with wet dripping walls. I dipped my tongue into the juicy ripeness of her cloying maw. I felt the urgent need to make love to it, as if a separate entity.
I wasn't sure if I was doing it right, but it sure felt good to me, the lushness of her fruit and the slickness of it on my tongue. It was like spooning honey. I could feel her body responding, her hips taking up the rhythm of my thrusting tongue. It was wonderful. She was sighing and groaning, her breathing ragged.
"Higher..." she said. "Lick me higher."
Again I wasn't sure what that meant. But I tongued her higher up her vagina and hoped this would please her. And then I discovered something that seemed to very significant to her enjoyment -- a little morsel of flesh, like a tiny bean under my tongue and as soon as I touched it I felt her body jerk and writhe. I thought I must have hurt her and stopped for a moment. She almost shrieked at me, tearing at my hair:
"Don't stop now, Nancy... you found it. Again, please... do that bit again, it will make me cum..."
And I did as I was told, her juice soaking my chin, pungent, viscous, and delicious. I had satisfied the boss. It was one of my most memorable experiences. Perhaps I would get a raise on the strength of it.
Funny to think that if she's still around, Marion will be in her eighties now... how time flies.