Obsession

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

So Here’s To You, Mrs. Robinson

In the overactive fantasy life of every young man, lurks some captivating older woman. She is perhaps the best friend of his mother’s, an attractive aunt, or the hot mom of one of the guys he hangs out with. Her beauty stuns him; her un-approachability stops him in dead his tracks. He can only stare in awe while she seems unaware of the devastating effect she has on the poor lad. At some point, she enters his life and then leaves, leaving behind an image: A pair of glamorous nyloned legs, crossed so negligently, a mane of thick dark hair that shakes when she laughs, sparkling eyes that regard him with smiling interest, so that he has to turn away. These things will sustain him through many lonely and desperate nights. Such a woman is Mrs. Robinson.

Looking back on it, those summer days seem so unreal; unbelievable. Sometimes I can’t believe it all actually happened at all — let alone happened to me! Yet, during the summer of my junior year in college, I found myself, for a few glorious months, passionately involved in a hot and heavy affair with a fantastic woman, an older woman — who happened to be the wife of my Dad’s business partner.

Even today, when I think back on it, I still hear ‘Scarborough Fair’ going through my head. It was the song Mrs. Robinson used to hum in that deep velvety voice of hers, whenever she was getting dressed; running a brush through her heavy black hair, smoothening her dress into place, repairing her lipstick in the front of the bathroom mirror, while from my position on the bed, I watched her: fascinated by the ritual of feminine fussing and primping she put on, before she donned those dark glasses of hers, and went out to face the world. I was to learn that whenever she hummed that little tune, she was feeling really good: a well-satisfied, sexually-satiated woman. When those sweet memories flood back on me, they inevitably bring another picture to mind: the image of that elegant lady’s long inviting body, all naked and exciting, and just waiting for me as she lay stretched out on that motel room bed.

***

Mrs. Robinson didn’t say a word when I nudged her hip; just turned over obligingly to flop on her belly, to lay with head turned to one side, black hair spilling down on the pillow, eyes closed, and a little smile on her painted lips. It gave me the chance to just sit there and contemplate her smooth naked back, and her gorgeous ass. I loved that womanly ass of hers; softly voluptuous, and oh so caressable. Couldn’t get enough of that ass. I loved to lay on the bed, and watch her as she got up to go to the bathroom, fascinated by the jello-like jiggle of Mrs. Robinson’s plump mounds as she padded off to the bathroom.

Now I would lay on that same bed, propped up on one shoulder, staring at the upturned ass, poised just inches from my face. I liked her best just like this; when she was perfectly happy to let me do what I wanted to her, while she lay there — all soft and warm and passive. Once she let me take her clothes off while she just stood there, with arms dangling down at her sides. With trembling hands, I unzipped her dress, came around in front of her and pulled it off her shoulders and down her front, and then kept on undressing her piece by piece, with her smiling at me all the while, and not saying a word. I really liked her like that.

She never said much when she was in one of those quiet moods, just let me do what I wanted…to a point, that is. One time she confided in me that she liked it best when a man acted like a man; a real man, the kind that knew how to take charge of things in the bedroom. I kinda liked that too. Of course, there were other times, most times in fact, when she wanted to be in charge, to control things, everything. If she was in a bad mood, she could be a real b***h, treating me like I was stupid or something, ordering me around like I was the hired help. It was hard to tell with her.

And I never knew when we met in the coffeeshop just what kind of mood she was in. This attractive lady would stroll in with that air of supreme self-confidence she had; always well-dressed, meticulously groomed, perfectly made up, looking great: a tall and slender brunette in high heels and some exclusive designer outfit, with those big dark glasses of hers. With her dark silky hair tumbling down to her shoulders in a mass of thick soft folds, Mrs. Robinson was one helluva beautiful woman. She even smelled good!

The minute she sat down, she began explaining the way she arranged things: a competent woman with a mind of her own. She knew just what she wanted. And she seemed always in a hurry, eager to get started. She hated wasting time; constantly looking at her delicate Cartier watch, telling me how much time we had, and explaining what I was to do. She would already have gotten the room, and she’d slip me the duplicate keycard under the table. She would tell me how long I was to wait before I went upstairs. I was to leave first, to avoid the lobby, come back by the side door, and be sure to use the back elevator. She always asked if I had parked around the back, so that her cream-colored Mercedes wouldn’t be seen in the same parking lot as my beat up old Toyota, even though she knew I parked out back every time we got together. Mrs. Robinson was like that — super-careful. But then, I couldn’t blame her really. After all, she had a lot more to lose than I did if her husband ever found out she was spending her Thursdays at the Holiday Inn humping some college guy: a guy young enough to be her son.

Of course I knew her son, Kyle. Besides Mr. Robinson being my Dad’s partner, the Robinson’s were friends of my parents. They lived nearby, in the same plan as we did — Fairmont Acres, and we saw them a lot. Kyle was away at Kent State now. He was a jock, and a loud-mouthed jerk, who was always bragging about girls were always coming on to him. It’d blow his mind if he found out that I was banging his good-looking Mother!

Yeah, he’d really go nuts if he knew the truth about his Mom: that classy Mrs. Robinson, with her big expensive house, her fancy dinner parties, her bridge games, and her charity work, was one horny b***h who was crazy about young guys, and who f****d like a mink.

Oh, yeah she liked her s*x alright, but she liked it her way. Everything had to be her way. Whatever we did in bed, she called the shots.

I remember sitting on the bed together, both of us naked, with our arms around each other, when I buried my face in her soft, wonderfully smelling hair and kissed her along the neck. She arched back and let me ease her down onto the bed. She reached up for me, but I pulled back and instead nudged her hip urging her over, and after a slight hesitation, she let me roll her onto her belly. And then that day, for the very first time, I kissed Mrs. Robinson’s ass.

She folded her arms under her head; a dreamy smile curled her lips. Her long legs slid open, scissored languidly on the cool sheets, and she gave an excited wiggle, rubbing her p***y all over the mattress. You could tell she loved it: being felt up, having a guy play with her ass. Her wriggling response fired me to go for more, and I started to fondle that generous, nicely-shaped bottom, using both hands, grabbing full handfuls of meaty ass; squeezing and moving the wobbly mounds all around while Mrs. Robinson hummed, and squirmed in growing excitement. How I loved getting my hands on that wonderful ass!

That day, on a whim, I pried her cheeks apart and held her open to me. Suddenly, she tensed up as she realized that I was looking into the opened crack to examine her asshole. It was small and pinkish, and I watched it clench down, tightening before my very eyes upon being exposed like that. Fascinated, I extended one finger and lightly touched her there.

Instantly, a hand shot back; grabbed me by the wrist, pointed nails digging viciously into my flesh. “No!” she snapped, yanking my hand away. “Not there! I don’t like that sort of thing!” Her tone was cold, hostile, insolent, demanding. The vehemence of her reaction took me by surprise. It was the sort of sharp rebuke an angry parent lays on a naughty child. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

It ruined the mood, for both of us I guess, and though later she tried a little to make it up to me, she still remained kinda frosty for the rest of the afternoon.

And after that, whenever we got to rolling around on the bed, kissing and feeling each other up, and I tried to stick a finger in her butt to play with her asshole a bit, I got the same violent reaction. The hand would fly back to stop me, grabbing my hand and flinging it away. Once she even slapped my hand and snarled at me to cut it out. After that, she’d suddenly turn cold, her face set hard and hostile, as though I had turned off a switch. It sure put a damper on the afternoon. But I couldn’t help it. The more she cursed me out, rejecting my exploring finger, the more obsessed I became about visiting that clenching little asshole of hers — in more ways than one.

I thought of her angry reaction…a lot.

Of course in the end, it always went down her way: She’d be naked, down on hands and knees, floppy t**s hanging down below her, and she’d want me to f**k her from behind. Other times she’d kneel on the bed and get down on her elbows with forehead on the pillow, offering up her beautiful rich ass in my direction. The first time she did this, I just stood there with my hardon sticking up in the air, just staring at her. I guess I didn’t move fast enough, because she looked over her shoulder at me and snapped: “What the hell are you waiting for, Benjamin…do it! f**k me!”

Yeah, Mrs. R. was one of those horney chicks who simply loved a good f**k; couldn’t get enough of it. And she went crazy when she was taken from behind. She wouldn’t go down on me. No way was she going to give me a blow job. Wouldn’t take it in her mouth, or even as much as kiss my c**k when I tried to offer it to her. And no missionary position for that gal! No, she wanted it one way. What she wanted was a good stiff c**k up her cunt, from behind, always from behind. You would never know it to see her strolling so coolly in her high heeled shoes through that coffee shop, but Mrs. Robinson loved nothing better than being mounted and f****d like an animal.

I’d climb up on the bed behind her, on my knees, grab her by the hips, and slip it into her wet. She’d explode — just go wild: squirming hotly, panting and moaning, and shaking her head, her hair flying around like a crazy woman’s, as I pumped into her and did my level best to hold on, and keep from coming too soon.

Yeah, Kyle would never know just what how sexy his Mom was; besides being a classy lady, she was a great lay. Quite a piece of ass! But there was one other little piece of information about his oh-so-proper Mother that he would never believe; that no one would ever believe. It turns out that his Mom, our Mrs. Robinson, was really into the kinky stuff! And what really turned her on was being tied up. That turned her on big time!

That little piece of news was something I had only found out about only two weeks ago, when she told me to bring a handful of my old ties with me next time. She casually asked if I remembered to bring them as she sat on the bed unhitching her long black stockings, and rubbing them down her beautiful legs. And when I hauled a bunch out of my backpack to show her, she smiled at me and told me I was a ‘good boy’. I almost expected a pat on the head!

Then, standing up and turning around away from me, she reached up in back to undo her bra. I watched her fingers work open the little clasp, as she asked me, over her shoulder, if I ever played games with my ‘little girlfriends’. Did I like tying them up, for example. I just stared at her; not sure I had heard what I thought I’d heard!