Walter Ramsden - Doris and Dad

Sometimes, she almost gave him the creeps-especially that Monday afternoon when she smelled of gin or something and had hugged him, took his face in both hands and kissed him sort of sloppy-like right on the mouth.

Vern scowled as he reflected on the incident. She had even licked his lips like she was trying to put her tongue in his mouth. And another thing, he mulled the afternoon over in his mind, he wasn't sure at the time, but he didn't think she had been wearing anything much under the wrapper that ballooned around her lumpy figure like a tent.

When she had passed through the slanting gleam of sunshine, he had been able to see quite clearly the slack outlines of her big bosom and her legs right through the thin wrapper.

He shrugged. If she would let him have a dollar for the movie, he didn't care if she patted his head and wanted to give him a sloppy, wet kiss on the mouth.

"Just a lonely old woman, I guess," Vern muttered, smoothing his short-cut straight hair down over his forehead. "She must be sixty."

Norma Patterson was not sixty, just a few days short of turning fifty. Vern was right about one thing: She was a lonely old woman. And business was not very good with only three of her twenty-four units now occupied.

At the moment Vern Myles was plodding along Route 41 in the hot sun, she was sitting in her tomb-quiet office staring moodily at the slack traffic and taking a sip straight from a bottle of Gilbey's gin and easing the acrid bite with a sip of Seven Up.

Wordlessly, she cursed the heat and removing her bra and pan tics hadn't helped much-with the air conditioner acting up. She leaned forward in one of the cheap office chairs to blow her breath down the front of her wrapper against her sweaty breasts that one renter she had laid told her would each fill a lunch bucket.

Norma slumped to one side then the other to free the fabric of her wrapper from one huge ham, then the other. She stretched a leg, acknowledged her ankles were still trim and petite, any way, if the rest of her had gone to hoggishness, and turned the electric fan slightly on the floor.

She drew up her legs, pulled the tail of the wrapper to mid-thigh so the draft of the fan wafted up between her legs to blow futilely against her heavily thatched snatch.

That insulting, ungrateful bastard had given her a pretty good screw, but she had kind of hated him for talking about the size of her tits and teasing her acidly that anyone with a small dick might fuck her in a wrinkle of fat and never know the difference.

In truth, Norma Patterson was not that obese. True, her hips were heavy and broad, but her thighs were firm and tapering, surprising for a woman barely five feet tall. There was a slight roll of belly fat, but it far from sagged over her Venus region, a mound that was firm and sported a luxuriant growth of brick-red wool the texture of a Brillo pad.

Her breasts were, really, the only abnormal thing about her. She was still a size 42, but each boobie was full and rubbery, the nipples still rather dainty and uncrinkled. Her buttocks were solid with no trace of skin sag of many women half her age.

Norma's face wouldn't stop a clock as some of her crude bed mates had taunted her-but it would have slowed it a bit before she had had a facelift. At the moment the few wrinkles at the corner's of her wide-set green-grey eyes were almost perpetually concealed by dark prescription glasses. The nose-job she had received at the time of her facelift had transformed a cow-like face into a rather attractive impish one and she had a nice mouth.

As several of her "acquaintances" had told her in admiring tones, she knew how to use it almost as well as she did her deep, surprisingly snug pussy.

Norma was just lowering the bottle of gin when Vern Myles eased into the shadowy confines of the motel office, squinting from the harsh glare of the brassy sun. Norm a didn't move, gasped a little from the swig of gin and lifted the half-full bottle of Seven Up.

"You look hot," Norma said smiling and peering keenly at the kid through the dark glasses. "Get a dime, Vern, from the wooden till behind the counter and get yourself a cold drink."

"Gee, thanks," the boy nodded, seeming to ignore her until he had a bottle of Hires root beer in hand.

"Sit down here by my knee, in front of the fan," she said, a stab of illicit desire and excitement a sharp pain of need in her loins. Almost imperceptibly, she moved her feet wide apart. "No picnic for you?" she said, touching his sun-bleached hair, patting his head gently a couple of times.

Her expression was inscrutable, smile enigmatic. But her thoughts were far from dull. Her narrowed eyes never missed his momentary tensing as he turned his head to look up at her and his gaze swept up under the hem of her wrapper.

His gaze wavered from her implacable face to her "carelessly" exposed snatch with its red forest. "I didn't want to stay. I just was wondering if I could do anything for you around the motel and get a dollar for the movie?"

His hang-head demeanor of supplication didn't fool the forty-nine-year-old redhead at all. Even though his head was down, the wrinkles in his brow told her he was taking a long, devouring look at her.bare crotch.

"It's hot," she said, idly, as if she hadn't heard his question. She tilted the bottle of gin again and guzzled the remainder.

"You want a dollar, huh?" she said when he was silent. Christ, did she dare? Blood raced through her slightly corpulent body. She recalled some fifteen years ago she had been escorted out of town at midnight and told to stay out-or go to jail.

Norma shivered, in spite of the sweat trickling down the deep, tight pinch of her big tits. But that time she had been dallying with four young boys at the same time, in the same bed when the police had come.

Perhaps with just one boy there was not the danger, she mused, peering down at Vern who still sat with head down, but eyes up-up her dress tail, so to speak, "I can advance you a dollar for the films," she said, "if you want to go. But I can think of things you can do and get five dollars, but you'd have to give up the movie today-maybe go this evening."

"Five dollars?" the boy looked up quickly, then hung his head again, not turning away. "That would be okay. I don't have to go to the show," he said a little eagerly, sincerely.

For some intuitive reason, Norma knew she had little to be concerned about with the slender boy. She just knew he wouldn't talk around-but she mustn't hurt him.

"Okay," she said, "get five dollars from the till and a dime. Get me another Seven Up and come on back in my apartment." She didn't wait for him to comply, but swept through the heavy curtain that separated her quarters from the office.

As soon as he joined her, she handed him a glass with a good swallow of gin in it. "First, swallow this and take a drink of your root beer." As soon as he weathered the liquor, she put the gin bottle and the two bottles of soft drinks on the kitchen table.

Then she hugged him to her and covered his lips with her wide open month. "Kiss me," she mumbled, trying to get her tongue in his mouth. "Open your mouth," she said, an urgency growing in her. Timidly, he let his jaw slack open and the eager old redhead inserted her tongue, tickling the roof of his mouth and dashing her tongue around his, flailing with it until he gurgled.

Her arms trembled as she released him, took his hand. "Come on, Vern." She led him to the back bedroom. "You're such a lovely young boy," she crooned, slashing the zipper down the front of her wrapper and letting her enormous tits tumble out before his astonished eyes.

"Aaaaaahhh, yes! A lovely young boy." She groped for his genitals and rubbed them through his jeans. "Yesssssss, nice down there. I bet you are big as a house or a horse, Vern. She kissed him again, guiding his inert hands to the cones of her big tits that spilled out on either side of his trim body.