Hank's college landlady

Gary paused for a minute after his climax, not moving. Then he gently pulled back and moved aside, revealing who he'd been plowing so vigorously. Lying down on the sheet-draped platform of cushions was a full-figured black woman with large soft breasts and erect nipples. She smiled a broad, open-mouthed smile up at Gary, her round cheeks marked with laugh lines and her curly hair touched with gray. A gold cross lay half-buried between her breasts.

The other young people around continued to rub her nipples or caress her warm brown skin.

Gary's parents Hank and Veevee watched from across the dimly lit living room.

"Is that...? Is that your old landlady?" Veevee whispered to Hank, squinting across the dimly lit room.

"Umm...yes!" Hank whispered back. "It's Zora Wells... Zora Jackson, I guess."

The sight of Zora's face took Hank back to his college days. He had rented a basement room from Zora in her house near the railroad tracks. She had been ten years older than Hank, a young widow with her own home, putting her life back together. Every Sunday she came home from church with a smile, her eyes glowing, still humming the songs she had been singing with the congregation, to find Hank studying.

Hank found out that he got on well with his landlady, a woman he wasn't expecting to find much in common with. He helped tutor Zora for her GED exam, and she often cooked him dinner. One evening she invited him to a gospel concert in a big tent in a field a short walk from her house. Hank came along partly out of friendship, partly out of curiosity. The choir and the lead singers were powerful and charismatic, and by halfway through the concert, they had the house of a thousand people on their feet, singing along, shouting praises. Hank was carried away and jumped up with Zora, singing along with her. Somewhere in the singing, she took his hand. He felt her flesh, hot, trembling with the voices and the music. They walked home hand in hand, and that night he became her lover, each of them eager and passionate, each learning about themselves with the other.

During the week, even most Saturdays, he and Zora were little more than their public roles -- boarder and landlady, student and young working woman. They never went anywhere together. But every Sunday after church, Zora came home filled with music and passion, and she took Hank into her bed. Hank checked out books on sex from the college library, and they read them in her bed, sometimes pulling the sheet to cover them if she thought the subject was extra naughty.

Eventually a preacher, Mr. Jackson, a widower with two sons, came to court Zora, and she warmed to him. Hank had asked Zora if they should stop, but she just hushed him, and every Sunday afternoon, Hank was in her bed. The last time they were together was the morning of Zora's wedding day.

He could remember that morning vividly. He'd waked early and went to the downstairs bathroom. The door opened as he stood before the toilet with his hands in front of him. There she was in her open dressing gown, one hand raised on the doorframe to display her tempting curves. The sight of her body and the gaze of her hot eyes sent a warm rush through him, hardening Hank's cock to salute the wandering bride. Her hand, reaching out, taking him by the cock, leading him out of the bathroom, up the stairs to her bed one last time. Dropping her gown, stripping off his flannel pajamas -- dalmatians and fire hoses -- pulling him down on top of her. Her lips, hot, wet, her tongue, her arms wrapping round him. Her breasts and belly, so warm, so soft, erect nipples rubbing like extra fingertips on his chest. Her hand reaching down, putting him inside her. So urgent, such a hurry. Did she have her diaphragm in? Devouring her lips and tongue. Pushing back, rearing up to look down, his lover big, beaming, brown and beautiful, saying "Get back on, boy!" Lifting her thighs, his fingers sinking into her flesh, his cock parting her inner lips, so bright, so pink, so hot and wet. Feeling the tingle, the swelling, the urgency of his imminent orgasm driving him into her hard and fast. But as he rose, Zora peaked first, with a loud cry, her eyes squeezing closed, her big, strong body rolling and shaking him on top of her. His climax answered her, and his cry joined with hers.

And she was gone. To her wedding, her honeymoon. And he was gone. Summer, and back to an apartment, new, modern, next to campus. And she was married. And he had a girlfriend. And that was that.

A few years ago, Hank had run into her and her daughter, a tall, slim young woman with an open face and surprisingly light coloring. They had met each other at a charity event and caught up on their lives. Her stepsons were grown and gone, her older husband had died not long ago. Since then they had been sending each other Christmas cards and good wishes, and he hoped he'd see her again someday. But Hank had never expected to see Zora again this way, naked in his living room, on her back with her legs open, dribbling his son Gary's semen from the wet pink tunnel Hank's cock had known so well.

Veevee squeezed his hand and whispered, "What to do?"