Jenny Juice

It began quite simply, I suppose, to paraphrase the proverb. And it did. I had empty-nest syndrome at the time. I was, to put it mildly, alone. More specifically, I was living alone in a large, five-bedroom home on a huge plot of property out here in the country close to Richmond, Indiana. Ten acres in all, including a lovely three-acre pond. On the north and south are woods, a farmer's field is on the west, and a little-used gravel road is on the east.

Behind the home, between it and the farmer's field, was the pond, which I've always adored. a lovely, intimate setting, I was feeling down about myself. Halfway through the summer, I struggled to keep the house tidy due to my small size—I weighed only 52 pounds—and the fact that I was still working two days a week, although part-time. I didn't need to work with my money from investments and everything else. Even though it was just two days a week, I took the job since I got bored quickly. I worked in the office of a car dealership. I was considering putting the house up for sale and moving to a condo in the next town, approximately 10 miles away. However, the phone rang while I was moping about and feeling sorry for myself. I said "Hello" as I picked it up. "Hello mom," roared my son's voice from the other end of the line. "Hello, sweetie," I said with a grin. After twenty minutes of conversation, I could tell something wasn't right because of the tone of his voice. His mother and I recognize that tone.

Usually, it denotes a request for a favour. He eventually remarked, "Listen mom, I need to ask you something," proving I was correct. Here it is when I naively inquired, "What's that, Nathan?" You remember Frank Jones, right?" he questioned. He was one of your attackers on your college soccer squad, right?," I chuckled. He chuckled. "He is that, yes. He's going back to Richmond, however, to work at the State Hospital. Since you're by yourself there and he needs a somewhere to stay, I reasoned that you may be able to put him up in a room for a while." This suggestion seemed odd to me, so I giggled. I'm unsure why I responded as I did, "Yes, of course. He is capable of helping me out around the home "whatever I did. Nathan responded with a smile. "Great. I'll call and ask him to give you a call." I just chuckled as we exchanged "I loveyou"s and "good-byes" before hanging up. When Frank Jones phoned later that night, we arranged to meet for dinner at a local restaurant the next night. Well, the supper was quite enjoyable. When Nathan said the young man's name, the only thing I could recall about him was that he was a team member. But I grinned when I saw him, full six feet tall and 190 pounds of his strong, ethnically mixed frame. His mother was white, and he was half black. He is really from Cleveland, but he attended a local college with my son when he was Nathan's age, and the two of them played on the team for all four years.

By the conclusion of the dinner, I was more than delighted to ask the kind young guy to move in with me. Before deciding on a rent of $700 per month, we discussed what I would need him to accomplish, including lawn mowing and building upkeep. Considering that I was also volunteering to cook and clean for him, you may assume this was a lot. The agreement was shaken. We planned for him to move in over the weekend so I would have time to prepare a bedroom for him. In preparation for his move into my home, I cleaned up a room across the hall from my main suite over the next two days. Along with some grocery shopping, I stocked my pantry and refrigerator with food to feed this young guy. I initially gave him a tour when he came on Saturday morning. I initially handed him the key to the garage so he could park his Dodge Viper. The home tour will then begin on the first level. Usual floor plan: kitchen, dining room, spacious family area, living room, tiny guest bedroom with private bath, and the room my son had set up as an exercise space; it still included all of his equipment and was ready for use. When Frank saw it, he grinned widely. I then took him upstairs to his room, which is the first door on the right. He was then shown the other two bedrooms, their respective bathrooms, and finally, my suite, which has its bathroom. We returned downstairs and entered the backyard terrace. When he saw the hot tub and the little pond, he grinned. That's when it dawned on me that I would need to wear a swimming suit, something I hadn't done in years. Well, I guess I'll have to get by, I reasoned. I observed as I swept the house and did the laundry as he transferred his possessions to his new place. I did take him to the washing room so he could bring his filthy clothing there. I hoped he would clean up after himself more effectively than my kid. The first month passed swiftly and extremely well. When he wasn't working, I was enjoying his company and discovering that I liked to prepare meals for him.

On those Saturday evenings when he prowled the streets looking for some chickie-poo to have a go with, I couldn't help but grin. When he originally left, I was concerned since he didn't return until quite early the following morning. But then I understood that I shouldn't be behaving like his mother since he wasn't my son. I was giggling as he entered the kitchen after a tough night out on the town after the fourth Saturday night of roaming about. I asked him, "So, did you have a nice time last night?" while he sat there looking like garbage. I was grinning the whole time. He grinned before responding, "Yeah, kind of," with a smile. I questioned, "Is this the same girl from last weekend?" He laughed and said, "No, not at all." I may have scowled as I gave him a weird look as he continued: "I was hit on by a woman. I'm convinced she's old enough to be my mother." I replied, "Oh really," feeling both astonished and curious. I placed a plate of food in front of him while he chuckled and said, "Yeah. She was really insane." After finishing my breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I chuckled and shook my head before continuing with my daily activities. Frank conducts the yard work on Sunday mornings, and I go to the grocery store as usual. But I had a nagging feeling. Frank carried it out with a senior lady. What age? How come she did it? With a considerably younger guy, how could she possibly like it? My late Ron was the only guy I've ever slept with, and we had our final encounter just before he was slain, which was close to twenty years ago. It was via a large wrongful death claim and a life insurance payout that I initially acquired some cash, which I invested. You could say it was kind of like winning the lotto, which is weird because I also won three years later. After taxes, the amount was precisely seven and five million. Do you have any idea how I was able to pay for Nathan to attend a private university? Anyway, I began to wonder whether I missed having sex. Not really, no. There wasn't much to miss. Maybe there was?

I did, at least temporarily, miss having a warm body next to me. But I moved beyond it. Women who miss having sex and how other women love sex more than I could ever fathom have been mentioned to me in books and articles. I suppose I began to wonder what I was missing this morning. My perspective on sex underwent a little change due to contemplating what it would be like to engage in it once again. By noon, I had returned home, and for lunch, I cooked sandwiches. I discovered he was content with only some cold meats and bread for Sunday lunch. He also participated in a soccer league, and because their matches were on Sunday afternoons, he finished mowing in the morning, ate lunch, and then headed out to play soccer. Due to my alone on Sunday afternoon, my thoughts had more time to stray. I tidied up the home, even going into his bedroom to dust everything. I grinned as I left his room and went to the laundry room since he is a wonderful child and keeps his room tidy. Even though I had finished a load the previous evening, I still hadn't put them away. I took a stack of his clothing and returned to his room upstairs with them. Normally, I don't store his clothing, but I did today. I immediately tucked his socks and underpants away after locating them in the top drawer.

I was placing some t-shirts in the second drawer when I saw them. the magazine's edge. I reached inside and took it out to see the cover, which featured an image of a naked, very bust-heavy blond with a large, black man's penis buried deep inside her. I immediately tucked the item back beneath his shirt, shut the door, and left the room while hastily putting away the rest of his clothing. I felt humiliated. I entered my bedroom, shut the door, and sat on my bed to begin thinking. Damn, Frank's room has porn in it! I mean, what else could I do? He was a tenant, after all, not my son. I could only approach him and let him know that I didn't want that in my home. Would that, however, be? I then began to consider his most recent victory. Had she funned doing it? Why? Is he decent? I decided I had had enough of this bullshit and got up to take a bath in the hot tub. I undressed, retrieved my swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed outside to the patio, where I dove into the hot tub. While enjoying the water whirling about me, I grinned as I activated the jets. I also had an inward hunger, but I couldn't put my finger on what I wanted. I recalled Ron in my mind. I grinned, thinking back to our first date. I was an impressionable teenager who was cut off from the reality of life. I was a secretary for my father's insurance company. I was twenty-seven years old, a few weeks from becoming twenty-eight, in 1977. I had never been in a relationship and had always rejected the guys. I just wasn't drawn to the rife free-love culture because I was a girl of the 1960s. Naturally, my father protected me from everything. I attended a premium, all-girls school, but I skipped college since my mother passed away, and I started working for my father immediately. My father and mother, and I were never that close. We didn't speak, however. I worked for him for seven years before Ron's arrival. Ron asked my dad whether he could ask me out on a date, which astonished me. Dad telling me that it was up to me startled me even more. A first date, indeed.

Dinner, a movie, and then he drove me home made for a wonderful experience. Ron would take me out for the same thing every night for three weeks. A few weeks later, on my birthday, he suddenly proposed. Heck, we hadn't even exchanged a kiss yet! He was attractive, don't get me wrong. He was a solid six feet or taller built. quite similar to Frank. Now, why did I make the comparison between the two? Yes, I preserved my virginity until our wedding night the following year when we were married. How was it? Yes, I suppose so. Ron was kind as he carefully undressed me, taking his time and, in a sense, making me anticipate it. I recall his tongue and hands because they touched my sensitive skin, my tiny, delicate breasts, and my sex. Oh, my sex, very certainly. I was aware of his experience, but I never inquired how he had learnt since he had already made sure I was prepared to accept him the first time. Looking back, it was fantastic because he made me feel good throughout most of our wedding night and the duration of our honeymoon.

Did he cause an orgasm in me? Of course, I recalled how his tongue worked its magic on me the first time he laid down on me while probing my sex with it. But that was the issue. He did make me cum, but I never found it enjoyable. The same thing happened: he would go down on me, cover me with water, and then enter me to drop his load deep inside me. Although he never attempted it, I never enjoyed having sexual relations. We also stopped having sex after I became pregnant with Nathan, and we only resumed it a few months after Nathan was born. I seldom ever gave Ron oral instructions, too. I suppose that's how I began to think that sex was dull. And I didn't believe that other people had appreciated it. Maybe I believed that enjoying it so much made you a slut and that doing so was bad. As you would expect, I would soon have a change of heart. Soon after I got out of the hot tub and changed into some ordinary clothes, Frank arrived home. As we were eating my pot roast, I became aware of it. The looks. There were a few instances when I caught him staring at me with an odd expression on his face. Look at my physique, not my face. I shifted about throughout the remaining dinner portions as I suddenly felt a little uneasy. He must have seen this because he stopped staring, raised his head, and grinned at me. I returned the grin and completed my lunch. He stated he was going to take a shower and then jump in the hot tub while I went about cleaning up.

As I got to work in the kitchen, I gave it no more thought. I heard him exit the dining room via the patio doors and enter the deck ten minutes later. While I was at the sink, I raised my head to peek outside. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of swim trunks that hung close to his knees. However, when he entered the tub, I saw that his shorts' front was somewhat exposed, where his hard cock was creating a tent. When I saw how much the cloth was pulled out, I gasped and estimated that it must be close to 10 inches. My Ron was a skinny eight-year-old. and I questioned the size of the child. Hunger struck me once again. He's much too young; I reminded myself as I shivered. Yes, I finally understood the source of my hunger. lust-fueled hunger except for the few times I started intercourse with Ron; I hadn't had it in years. Or do I? I was perplexed. I wasn't sure what to do since my emotions weren't in control.

After completing the kitchen, I watched TV in the living room. Frank and I both grinned as he returned to the room after his soak, and then he turned and walked up to his room. As I felt warmth in my crotch, I pondered if he would read his porn. Wow, where on earth did it come from? In the hopes that it might assist, I crossed my legs. Not at all. Frank came back down and sat in the chair as he silently watched the movie I had on. He was wearing a shirt and athletic shorts. I sat there admiring his figure as I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. And the more I admired, the warmer I felt, the more my stomach began to coil up, and the itchier my crotch became. After an hour of this, I finally got up and decided to go to bed. As I continued up the steps, he replied, "Good night." I entered my bedroom, changed into my pyjamas, and climbed into bed. I sighed, perplexed and a little disappointed. What did I desire?

Although I knew what I wanted, my conscience warned me against it. My loins were telling me differently, however, as I could feel a fire growing down there as I lay there and thought about the look of his enormous, chiselled frame and his complexion, which was a rich shade of chocolate. I was also thinking about this afternoon when I discovered his magazine. She was hit in the birthing hole by the cover with the busty blond and the large, coal-black cock. I struggled to fall asleep as I lay there, unsure what to do and becoming uncomfortably uncomfortable with each passing minute as I felt the need in my crotch. a desire to utilize something. The alarm went off on Monday morning at the regular time, but I was not myself. I struggled to get out of bed and into my bathroom as I struggled to get much sleep. Before getting into the shower, I undressed and checked myself in the mirror. My shoulders were covered in thick, free-flowing curls from my red hair. As I turned to look at my profile, I groaned as I saw the scattered grey streaks. My breasts were cupped.