Curt Aldrich: Hot widow, no panties

Jennifer was silting in her living room staring blankly at a late-afternoon soap opera on TV when the newspaper truck pulled up across the street and dumped two large bundles of fresh newspapers at the curbside. The young truck driver, with muscles bulging under his T-shirt, looked so much like George, her recently deceased husband, that she jumped up off the couch to take a closer look. The young driver spotted her and gave a smile and a wave. Jennifer gave him a half-hearted wave back and sank back down on the couch. She didn't look up again from the TV until she was sure the truck had left.

Although the soap opera didn't interest her, she watched it anyway for something to do to keep her mind occupied. In fact, ever since the accident and George's death, she'd been doing little else than watch TV – the good-morning shows when she got up, the game shows all morning long, soap operas all afternoon. In the evenings she watched whatever was on, falling asleep in front of the TV and crawling to bed sometime during the night.

It had been six months since she'd received the call informing her that a crane had fallen on her husband at his construction job, killing him instantly, and she was still unable to believe it. She kept expecting George to pop in the door at any moment and tell her it had been a joke.

Bin it was no joke. George was dead. Jennifer was alone. She wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life in front of a TV set, staring blankly at it.

The quarter-million dollars in life insurance benefits she'd received as a result of George's death were a mixed blessing. With the money wisely invested and earning dividends, she was set financially for the rest of her life. She'd never have to work to support herself.

But maybe it would have been better if George had left her nothing and she'd have been forced to go out and get a job. A job would have been good for her, would have taken her mind off the loss of her husband and given her less time to brood. How could she motivate herself to go out and find work though, when her quarter-million was earning her more money than the knew what to do with? So she sat home, watched TV, and brooded over the loss of George, wondering if she'd ever be happy again.

Across the street the two paperboys had arrived and were stuffing newspapers in their paper-sacks. They were both shirtless, and wearing skin-tight jeans. Both boys had dark tans and bushy, disheveled hair. The boy that delivered her own paper, Gary, was barefoot. The boys laughed as they worked, and their loud voices carded through Jennifer's front window. In a way, the boys reminded her of George, sweaty, hard-working, good-natured, and sexy.

Jennifer and George had both been seniors in high school when they'd met, and only months later, soon after June graduation, they'd been married. When they'd first met, Jennifer had been a virgin, but George had taken care of that situation at a drive-in movie a few nights later.

The moment Jennifer had felt George's big cock inside her, she'd become hooked on him and had realized that she'd never be happy unless she could marry him and spend the rest of her life with him. For the ten years of their marriage, Jennifer and George had fucked at least once a day without fail. Jennifer had lived for their fucking. She'd lived for the feel of George's hot cock grinding in her pussy. How could she ever be happy again without George?

She couldn't imagine finding another husband. In the first place, where was she going to find one? And even if she did manage to find out, she knew no man could ever satisfy her the way George had. Although she'd had no sexual experience with anybody but George in her life, she just knew that there could never be a bigger, harder, hotter cock than George's anywhere in the world, and she knew that no man could ever give her as much pleasure and satisfaction as George had.

A pair of stray dogs, one of them an Irish setter, the other a large mongrel, came bounding along the sidewalk across the street, and the mongrel stud caught the setter bitch right in front of the paperboys and mounted her. The stud's tongue dangled and dripped as he humped his furry loins and pistoned his stiff dog cock in the bitch's cunt.

The paperboys nudged each other, snickering. Gary, the blond, got down over his newspaper sack and mounted it, his loins humping as he imitated the mongrel stud. The other boy clutched his stomach with laughter. As an aghast old woman slowed her car and glared at the wicked scene, the boys shouted at her and gave the finger. She roared off in disgust.

Jennifer watched wide-eyed. She'd seen boys being rowdy before, but never so obscenely suggestive. She'd seen dogs fucking before too, but she'd always turned her eyes away in embarrassment and hadn't really watched. Now she became so engrossed in the scene across the street that she crossed the living room and nearly pressed her nose to the glass.

The mongrel's snout went up in the air. His eyes glazed over and his flanks shuddered as he pumped his spunk into the bitch. The two boys stopped their antics to watch the two dogs climax, and Gary stood up. Jennifer could see enormous hard-on's in the boys' threadbare jeans, and she swallowed to moisten her throat. The outlines of their hard-on's looked too big to be real. How could boys with bodies so slender, with hips so narrow, have cocks so long and thick? Her eyes must be playing tricks on her.

As the dogs uncoupled and the mongrel dismounted, Gary stuck his bare toes under the bitch's tail and tickled her cunt. The bitch yelped and ran away. The boys panted after her, their tongues hanging out. When she was out of sight, they punched each other, laughing wickedly. Their hard-ons hadn't gone down a millimeter.

The dark-haired paperboy hoisted his sack, throwing the strap over his shoulder. He tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes and started off down the sidewalk, tailing something back to Gary and he disappeared from Jennifer's view. Gary shouted back at him and gave him the finger, then hoisted his own paper-sack.

With a toss of his blond head to get the hair out of his eyes, Gary started across the street toward Jennifer's house. She was the first customer on his route. As he padded along barefoot, the bulge down his right leg looked like it would tear through the tight-stretched, threadbare denim. His cock was so hard in his tight jeans that Jennifer could see its head outlined.

As Gary approached, Jennifer moved out of view so the boy wouldn't see her. Her heart was thumping and her face was misted with sweat. Her own jeans suddenly felt two sizes too small, for her pussylips had swollen and the crotch seam of her jeans had pulled up between them like a gag. Her tits had swollen in her red blouse, her hard ripples tingling as the blouse material rubbed against them. Like Gary, she was barefooted, and she wasn't wearing a bra either.

Staying out of sight, she peered out the window from the side and watched the bushy-haired teenager come up her walk. He was pulling a paper out of his sack and folding it over. She could hardly think. She hadn't been fucked in six months, not since the day George had been killed, and until this moment she hadn't realized just how unbearably frustrated she was. As she stared at the paperboy's huge, bulging hard-on, her pussy contracted and she moaned out loud.

The doorbell rang.

She couldn't believe it. Instead of just tossing her paper on the porch, he'd rung her doorbell. What could he possibly want? She'd just paid him a few days ago. The doorbell rang again, and she scampered to answer it.