From: an397288@anon.penet.fi
Subject: searching for honey 1/1 (FF, age diff, romantic)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
It began the fall of my second year in grad school, at
Ann Arbor, Michigan. I was twenty-three years old, a young
woman living on my own for the first time, my life dedicated
wholeheartedly to the study of physics, which I immersed
myself in till my dreams were full of conversations between
quarks and neutrinos. I knew Joanie from the weekly
department parties. She was the wife of Jack Holcombe,
esteemed professor of mathematical physics, who taught my
tensor calculus course. Ex-wife, I should say. About half-
way through my first year, the news came that they were
separating. But after fifteen years as a faculty wife,
Joanie was as much a part of the department social life as
Jack was, and so no one found it odd that she kept coming to
the department parties; it was Jack who dropped out.
For a woman in her fifties, Joanie was quite
attractive. Take it from a woman who's spent a lot of time
fantasizing about other women. She wore her long silver-
grey hair pulled back in a neat braid or pony tail. And if
her round face was creased with laugh lines, it was because
Joanie laughed often, easily. She was short and rather
heavyset; but to my taste, she was heavy in just the right
places.
Now, as for me, I have short brown hair, slightly buck
teeth, and big brown eyes. In high school, my nickname was
"Gopher." I'm fairly petite, not very well-endowed in the
chest department; though I have rather wide hips for my
build (like a bottle of salad dressing, a girlfriend once
said). I've been called cute more than once; though only
Joanie has called my beautiful.
I began to realize I was a lesbian in junior high.
I had a miserable, protracted love affair with Karla
Gringold, which began in seventh grade, and didn't end till
tenth. Mostly it consisted of me hanging around her like
a devoted puppy, while she ignored me. Just when the pain
got to be too much to bear, and I pulled away from her, she
would suddenly turn into Ms. Sex Kitten around me, and we
would feverishly kiss, touch, and -- when we got a little
older -- lick and suck. Then she'd turn back into the Ice
Princess. I never figured out what game Karla was playing
with me, but when I finally broke up with her, I resolved
to play it "straight", date boys, and channel my passions
into my studies -- and so I did through the remainder of
high school and, aside from a couple of flings, through
college as well (though by then, I'd given up on men as well).
But as I say, that didn't stop me from fantasizing.
I could fantasize about Joanie Holcombe, over a glass
of white wine, from across the room, watching her gab with
the senior faculty ... admiring the radiant smile that
periodically flashed across her face ... admiring the
generous curve of her hips beneath her denim skirt, the
heavy swell of her bosom straining against her blouse. But
Joanie was straight -- not to mention old enough to be my
mother, and I don't have a general thing for older women.
She was friendly enough to me, asking me how my research was
going, telling me not to let Dr. So-and-so intimidate me,
and so on. But she belonged to the world of the senior
faculty: overlapping with, but far above my own world as a
grad student. And so, it never occurred to me that I could
actually have this woman as a close friend, let alone lover.
It was a few days before the Thanksgiving break. The
party was winding down. I bade my farewells to the host,
and headed out the door to my car. Joanie was parked behind
me, trying to start her car.
"Molly," she called to me, "do you happen to have
jumper cables? I must have left the headlights on." I
didn't. We went back inside. It turned out that nobody
there had jumper cables. "Um, I'd be glad to give you a
ride home Joanie," I eagerly offered. "Your car will be
safe here till tomorrow."
"Are you sure it's not too far out of your way?"
And so she climbed into my rusty Toyota, and we headed
off into the frosty November night.
"This is really very sweet of you Molly. I owe you one
for this, OK?"
"Oh, come on," I protested, "I'm just giving you a
lift."
"Well, how about if I cook you a nice dinner sometime.
You know, living by myself now, I miss being able to cook
for other people." The loneliness in her voice was
palpable.
"That'd be great," I replied, trying to sound
nonchalant.
"Say," she suddenly lit up, "are you going to be around
for Thanksgiving?"
I was. I didn't say that I would probably be spending
Thanksgiving hunched over my readings, eating a turkey TV
dinner.
"Well then, it's settled. Why don't you come over in
the early afternoon."
As I pulled up in front of her house, she thanked me
again, then kissed me on the cheek.
"See you Thursday," she smiled.
Now, despite my impending "date" with Joanie, despite
the kiss, despite the fact that this magnificent woman had
asked me to share most of Thanksgiving day with her, I spent
the next couple of days determinedly keeping cool, reminding
myself that Joanie was straight, she was understandably
lonely around holiday time after her divorce, and that she
undoubtedly saw me as, at most, an ersatz daughter.
Thanksgiving morning, I showered twice, and finally
settled on a dark-grey blouse and slacks. The color
reminded me of her hair. At 1:30 I took off for her place
in my Toyota.
When she met me at the door, we both burst out
laughing. She was wearing the exact same outfit, the same
shade of grey. She made a joke about our "nun's habits",
and ushered me into her house. Her house was small, simply
decorated, but comfortable; and at the moment the atmosphere
was filled with the comforting smell of roast turkey and
stuffing. Vivaldi was playing on the stereo.
"Now then, the turkey will be done in about a half
hour, and everything else is under control; so until then I
suggest we park ourselves on the sofa and have a martini or
two."
"Um, OK, I'm not exactly used to drinking martinis
though."
"Well, neither am I," she laughed, "But you and I
have some ice-breaking to do; and for that, I think at least
one martini per person is required."
One martini per person later, she had told me about her
degree in musicology, what Jack had been like as a young
man, her work in the university music library, how the
physics department had changed over the years.
"I'm sure you know that they all think you're their
brightest student in years," she dropped. I sat for a
moment, digesting this piece of news, feeling my head swell.
And then I came out to her.
"I thought you might be gay," she said quietly. "You
don't flirt with the men. You know -- hang on, this is gonna
take another martini." She poured herself one, took a sip,
then resumed. "You know, I slept with a woman once. A few
years ago. I've never told this to anyone before. She was
an art historian visiting from another university. I helped
her find some library materials, and then she took me out to
lunch. I don't know how to make sense of it: she just swept
me off my feet; and completely on impulse, we went back to
her hotel room and made love. She went back to California
that evening. I got a few cards from her, but I haven't
seen her since."
As she told me this, a tingly feeling shot down my
spine, right into my cunny, which suddenly had become quite
moist.
"Is that why you and your husband split up?"
"It was a contributing factor. Not that I ever told
Jack about her. We had already drifted pretty far apart by
that time. After my experience with Jeanne, I realized
there was a part of me that was never going to be satisfied
in a heterosexual marriage; but you know, a marriage can
keep going for a long time on inertia, because it's
familiar, and the thought of actually severing the ties is
painful. Then one day Jack told me he was having an affair
with a woman he'd met at the APA conference, and he asked
for a divorce."
I took her hand. She sat silently for a moment. Then
her eyes popped open.
"Oh, damn! The turkey's burning."
We rescued the turkey in the nick of time. As we sat
down to dinner, I must have looked dazed: in truth, my mind
was reeling from the martini, and from the bombshell she'd
just dropped. Joanie took my hand.
"Molly, I'm really glad you're here and that we're
getting to know each other. I've wanted your friendship for
a long time. I ... well ... I didn't know how to approach
you without making you worry that I was ... coming on to you
or something."
"I've wanted you too. I mean ... I've wanted your
friendship," I stammered, turning crimson. Then I ran to
the bathroom and threw up my martini.
"Are you OK?" she intoned from the bathroom door. "I
feel awful for making you drink that martini."
"I'll be fine in a minute," I replied, rinsing my face.
"I don't suppose you feel like eating a heavy dinner
right now."
"Not really. Could I borrow a toothbrush, to get this
taste out of my mouth?"
Luckily, she had an extra one, unused. I brushed my
teeth in her bathroom sink. She told me she would wait to
eat too. Then we sat back down on the sofa. Strangely, I
felt emboldened: I'd survived the embarassment of thowing up
in front of Joanie Holcombe, and I felt I could face
anything.
"Joanie, what do you think would happen if you did come
on to me?" I traced my fingers over her cheek.
She was silent for a long time, looking down at her
hands. "I'm a good thirty years older than you, you know."
When my lips found hers, she did not pull away, and she
soon began kissing back.
"Molly darling, when I invited you over, I honestly
wasn't setting out to seduce you. But, God, now that you've
started, please don't stop."
I had no intention of stopping. My lips were getting
drunk on the warmth of her skin, and my panties were
sopping. As I kissed my way down her neck, her hands began
touching my breasts through my blouse. Now, as I explained,
I'm rather flat-chested; but I have big, extremely sensitive
nipples; and Joanie's fingers were driving me crazy.
"Joanie, take me to bed: I want to see you naked."
Our arms round each others' waists, she led me back to
her bedroom.
We fumbled with buttons, zippers, sleeves, and
pantlegs, until she was in her bra and panties. She
unbraided her long silvery hair, and it fanned out over her
back like a waterfall. I unhooked the bra, it sagged
forward, and she slipped it off her shoulders. Her
untrammeled breasts seemed even larger than I had imagined:
they hung down almost to her navel, a delicate tracery of
blue veins visible beneath the skin, capped with large,
brownish-pink nipples. Her rounded belly seemed soft and
inviting. It was the body of a mature woman: there were
stretchmarks and wrinkles and flab; but I fell in love
with it on the spot.
"You undress too, love," she whispered, stepping out of
her panties.
Taking off my clothes had never felt so deliciously
erotic before. I felt proud and powerful, as her face
registered admiration for my body. She took me in her arms
then, and the shock of her warm, soft body against my bare
skin sent me into an altered state. I could feel her thick
erect nipples grazing my ribs, my tingling nipples rubbing
against her skin. My hands travelled down her back and over
the immense, soft roundness of her ass. Cupping one of her
heavy breasts in my hands, I lifted it to my mouth, and
began to lick and suck on the nipple. Her excited moaning
suddenly became a sharp cry of pleasure, and her knees
buckled. We staggered backward and flopped down on her bed.
"I came," she beamed, "just from you sucking my titty.
God, look how excited you've gotten me."
She guided my hand down to the thick dark jungle
between her thighs. As I rubbed her, my hand immediately
became wet with her juice. I had to taste her. I clambered
between her knees; taking her broad hips in my arms, and
burying my face in that luscious grove, I drank deeply. Her
honey tasted so good, I couldn't stop till she had come
several more times.
Finally, she pulled my head back. "Now it's my turn,"
she growled.
She rolled me on my stomach, and began kissing the back
of my neck, giving me delicious shivers; leaning the full
weight of her body upon me, so that I felt engulfed in her
warm softness.
"I've wanted to do this ever since the Christmas party
last year," she said huskily.
She kissed a wet trail down my spine, down to my
tailbone. Her hands began massaging my ass cheeks,
spreading them apart and squishing them together. I felt
uneasy: no one had ever done this with me before; and in
fact, I wasn't quite sure what she was going to do next.
But I didn't want her to stop either. Then I felt her hot,
wet tongue travelling down between my cheeks, and my
inhibitions went out the window. Her tongue circled around
my madly contracting anus, then down into my sopping wet
cunt. I heard her slurping loudly. A moistened finger was
touching my anus now, slipping inside, and I bucked against
it, taking it in deep. Her tongue was slip-sliding over my
clittie. Other fingers were filling my vagina. The orgasm
started like a gentle wave that picked me up, then
intensified, carrying me higher and higher, till I felt I
was riding a tidal wave, or rather a series of tidal waves
that buoyed me up, one after another. Gradually, they
subsided. I opened my eyes. The bedroom seemed to be
suffused with a soft rosy haze, and through it, Joanie's
face was beaming down at me.
"How about a hot turkey sandwich?" she asked.
She brought me dinner in bed. We both lay there naked,
feeding each other forkfuls of turkey and mashed potatoes.
Then she brought in apple pie and coffee. Food had never
tasted so good before; though perhaps it seemed so because I
was falling in love with her. When she asked me to spend the
night, I wasn't about to turn her down.
"What can I do for you now?" I asked her. She thought
for a minute, her arms folded behind her head. Then a smile
lit up her face.
"I feel like taking a bath with you. Would you wash
me?"
"Oh honey, you bet I will!"
I was delighted by her deep Japanese bathtub, big
enough to hold two adults comfortably. As the tub filled,
and the water heated up, we soaped each other up outside the
tub, Japanese style. I paid particular attention to her
nipples and the undersides of her breasts, before my soapy
hand travelled down her belly and between her legs. She
leaned back against the side of the tub, spreading her legs
to give my hand better access. Soon three of my fingers
were twisting and thrusting inside her honey-filled cunt.
She was so beautiful like this, and the sounds she was
making were driving me crazy; but I wanted to give her more.
"Turn around," I growled. Her back now toward me; she
bent over the side of the tub, presenting her magnificent
ass to my hungry gaze. I ran my fingers from her honey-hole
to her anus, back and forth, till her whole between-the-
cheeks area was lathered with soap, and with her honey.
"Please, Molly, touch me inside my ass," she whimpered.
"I need you there." I did. Three fingers in her cunt and
one in her ass, I thrust in and out of her, as I showered
her beautiful broad buttocks with my kisses. I felt the
beginning contractions of her orgasm against my fingers,
fore and aft. Leaning over her, I murmured in her ear,
"Joanie Honey-comb, Honey-woman, I love my Honey-woman.
Make honey for me... "
"Oooooooouuuh, Molllyyyy, I'm cuuuummmmmminnnnnggg!"
she keened.
We sank down on the floor together. "Whew!" she said,
when she could breathe again. "I've never come that hard
before. God you're sweet."
We slipped into the tub then, letting the heat of the
water envelope us. I wanted to hold her, so I sat behind
her, my thighs wrapped round her waist, as she leaned back
against me. My fingers brushed lazily over her stiffening
nipples.
I admitted I'd had a crush on her for a long time. She
was surprised.
"Our age difference doesn't bother you?" she asked
timidly. "I'm not exactly ... well ... I'm an old woman,
Molly. And you're so young and lovely."
"No, Joanie, don't think that. Your body's fantastic.
When we made love just now I felt so happy just looking at
you and touching you, you took my breath away. And you make
me come like gangbusters. Does it bother you that I'm an
inexperienced kid?"
"Molly, I'm so happy, so blessed, to have you as a
lover." She turned back and flashed a knowing grin at me.
"And I wouldn't exactly call you inexperienced."
We sat in the tub, kissing, laughing, holding each
other, till our fingers and toes were wrinkled. At last we
crawled out and towelled each other off. Joanie put on her
bathrobe, and lent me a nightie. We went into the kitchen
and she made us some tea. I sat drinking it, happily
watching her, as she put away theThanksgiving leftovers.
Then we did the dishes together. I felt so comfortable with
her, so natural. When we finally went back to bed, I
joyfully cuddled up to her, smelling the wonderful scent of
her body.
"I'm falling in love with you, Joanie."
"I love you too, Molly. I've never been in love like
this before. I never loved Jack like this; even when we were
happy together, it wasn't like this." She turned to face
me. "Can you stay with me tomorrow? I have the day off."
She started to kiss her way down my belly.
"Mmm, yes. Maybe we could go to the art museum
together? Ahhhhhh! There's a new surrealist show-
ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
I'm not generally an early riser. But when I awoke at
6:45, I was too excited to fall back asleep: it was going to
be our first whole day together. I got up silently, put on
my nightie, and found my way to the kitchen. After a fairly
exhaustive search of the cupboards, I found the coffee and
the coffee pot, and started it going. There were some eggs
in the fridge, and some milk, some tomatoes and onions.
Soon I whipped up an omelette, made some toast, found the
tray from last night. Proudly, I carried the tray of
breakfast back into the bedroom to my sleeping Joanie.
"Molly?" she murmured sleepily; then she opened her
eyes and sat up. "Have I died and gone to heaven? Darling,
this is wonderful; nobody's ever brought me breakfast in bed
before. Nnn, don't kiss me, I have morning breath."
I kissed her on her forehead. Her radiant smile melted
my heart. If she smiled at me like that, I'd gladly make
her breakfast every morning for the rest of her life. I
sank down beside her and began to feed her bites of
omelette, and she did the same for me. We drank our coffee
slowly, and formed our plans for the day.
After a quick shower together, we stopped by my place,
so I could get some clean clothes and some toiletries. Then
we headed downtown to the art museum. I insisted on paying
for her ticket -- so it would feel like a real date. We
strolled through the museum together, holding hands when
nobody was looking. I liked the dreamy quality of Chirico's
paintings. Joanie filled me in on all the artists, and what
the surrealist movement was about. Apparently, she knew
about painting as well as music.
Outside the museum, we ran into my best friend from the
department, Ken, with his girlfriend Sarah. They were
heading in to see the show, but Ken, intrigued at this
unexpected social development, persuaded Sarah that we
should all go for lunch together first. We settled on an
inexpensive Italian place nearby. I hung on to Joanie's arm
proudly. Later, Ken told me I was grinning like the
Cheshire cat. "You might as well have been carrying a sign:
'Look at the babe I just landed!'" he teased.
After lunch, we left Ken and Sarah at the museum, and
headed over to the park. It was a brisk November day, but
the sunshine and movement kept us warm. Here we could
wander, holding hands, nobody else around. In a secluded
corner, we huddled together on a bench, and made out.
Unfortunately, it was too cold to do what we really wanted
to do without risking frostbite.
After a while, we set off to find a find a cup of
espresso and a place to pee. Later, as we walked back to
the car, she suddenly told me to wait, and dove around the
corner. A minute later, she came back and presented me
with a single red rose. "For ardent love," she said. I
kissed her on the mouth, right there, standing on the
sidewalk, in front of everybody. "Goddam dykes," some guy
muttered. Joanie glared at him and he slunk away. We
walked quickly back to the car. The raw hatred in that
jerk's comment shook us both up a little. But in the car,
Joanie said, "I know there's a price to be paid for being
'out' as a lesbian. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from
loving you." I felt safer after that.
We went home, and Joanie made up a delicious turkey-
vegetable soup from the leftovers in her fridge. It was
piping hot, and it thoroughly warmed me up.
"Stay again tonight?" she asked. I nodded happily,
sinking into her arms.
"I've been waiting all day to make love to you, Honey-
woman. Let's go to bed now."
"Oh, Molly, I get so wet when you call me that ..."
In the bedroom, I undressed her, savoring the softness
and the fresh smell of her, kissing her all over her body,
slowly treasuring every dimple, every freckle, every hair.
"I don't want there to be an inch of you I haven't
kissed," I growled possessively.
After a while, Joanie whispered, "Darling, my cunny,
please..." And I moved down between her legs and began to
lap up her honey. She came easily and powerfully for me,
again and again; I felt so proud of my ability to give her
pleasure.
Eventually, I crawled back up beside her. She sat up
in bed, cradling my head against her ample bosom, as her
fingers found their way down between my thighs. I took her
nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, as I felt her fingers
slipping between my dripping lips, sliding over my tingling
clit, filling me up deep inside, frigging me hard as I
bucked and shuddered against them. All the while, she
murmured into my ear, "Come for me, darling, come give it to
me, give it to your Honey-woman..."
I moaned into the fat breast that filled my mouth as I
came and came for her till I was exhausted.
We fell asleep, cuddled together, my head pillowed on
her soft warm bosom; happy, dreamy smiles on our faces.
After a few days like this, it was obvious that I had
no more use for my own apartment; so I terminated the lease,
and moved my computer and books into Joanie's house. She
set up part of the study as an office for me, and my life as
a grad student continued. At school, Ken teased me
something terrible about Joanie: I was trying to sleep my
way to the top, he laughed, but I'd made the mistake of
sleeping with the professor's wife instead of the professor.
Really, though, he was very supportive of my relationship
with her, and when I sometimes had arguments with Joanie, I
would go to Ken, and he would help me to cool down and and
then go back and make up with her. The rest of the
department, as far as I could tell, shrugged their shoulders
and paid our relationship no mind. Jack Holcombe never said
anything to me about Joanie. That spring, he anounced he
was taking a job at Stanford. Joanie told me that that was
where his new girlfriend was. Soon, I was typing away at my
dissertation, while Joanie practiced away at her cello
pieces.
My parents weren't as supportive as Ken. They met
Joanie at my graduation. I introduced her to them as "my
partner," but I guess they thought that was some kind of
academic relationship, like research partners or something.
Anyway, at the graduation party, my mother saw Joanie put
her arms around me, and she screamed, "Get away from my
daughter, you freak!" I quickly bustled my parents out the
house.
"Listen to me! I yelled at them. "Joanie and I love
each other: we're a couple. If you can't respect that, you
just get the hell out of our house." And that's what they
did. Without a word, they got in their car and drove off.
Joanie came out and took me in her arms. I collapsed
against her, sobbing.
"I wish," she said, "my love could wipe away the hurt.
I wish I could be your mother, so I could tell you what a
wonderful daughter you are, and how proud I am of you."
"You're my real mother now," I bawled. "You're my
family. You're the one that loves me."
She took me back inside. "Should we keep the party
going, or do you want to be alone."
"'Lone, with you."
She graciously sent my professors and friends away.
When she sat back down next to me on the couch, I sniffed,
"I need some good loving from my Honey-woman."
"Your Honey-woman wants you to take your clothes off,
Dr. Molly Steiglitz," she whispered in my ear. "Right
here." I obeyed. She kissed and licked the tears from my
face while her deft cellist fingers thrummed a concerto on
my bare nipples. Soon she was kneeling on the floor, her
head between my legs, while I rode her face to orgasm,
bursting through the tears, surfacing into the sweet warm
sunlight of pleasure. She took me to bed, tore off her
clothes, and climbed in with me, cradling me against her
warm naked body, lulling me to sleep with the sweet pounding
of her heartbeat beneath my cheek.
I've barely had a word from my parents since that
night, though it's been ten years.
I was offered several post-docs. When I suggested
taking the closest one, so that I could drive home on
weekends, she shook her head.
"Darling, I'm ready to retire from the library. I can
sell the house. You take the post-doc that you want,
wherever it is; and I'm coming with you." I hugged her long
and hard for that.
I took the MIT post-doc. Joanie and I found a lovely
little apartment right in Cambridge, which she began
decorating with great glee. She told me she was happy to
have a home that we were building together. She delighted
in the rich classical musical scene in the Boston area, and
soon joined a string quartet. Around the spring of my first
year, the chair told me that a tenure-track position was
opening up in the department, and encouraged me to apply. A
few months later, I learned that I had gotten the job.
The night she took me out to celebrate, Joanie told me
we'd gotten an eviction notice. It seems the landlord was
planning to tear our building down and put up offices. I
checked the figures in our bank account: we had a large
amount from the sale of Joanie's house, on top of our
substantial savings. The next day we walked into the
landlord's office and bought the building out from under
him, a hundred percent down. Instantly, we were the heroes
of the other tenants. We promptly fired the property
management company (it specialized in forgetting about
repairs, and losing rent checks) and Joanie took over as
property mangager (she bopped me on the head when I called
her "Mrs. Worth").
The other tenants love her. We've never had a single
problem from a tenant. Recently, various neighborhood groups
have been urging Joanie to run for city council. If she ever
decides to do it, I'll support her a hundred percent, and I
know she'd be great for the community; but I'm not crazy about
the idea, because I'm afraid it would cut seriously into our
time together. And so far, Joanie has refused to run.
Joanie's sixty-five now, and I'm thirty-four. Before I
met Joanie, I suppose I thought that sixty-five was way over-
the-hill as far as sex is concerned. But that woman's
appetite for sex just gets stronger and stronger. And her
body is as beautiful and dear to me as it's ever been. My
Honey-woman: I get wet thinking about her heavy breasts, and
that special honey that flows for me in her secret place.
I know that our remaining years together are limited;
that I will probably survive her, and have to face a long
rest-of-my-life without her. So I savor the time we have
left; and it makes our pleasure together more poignant. But
who knows: maybe Joanie's going to be one of those feisty
old ladies who lives to be a hundred ten. And I'll be an
old lady sitting beside her in the rocker, with my hand up
her dress, searching for honey.
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