Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2003 21:00:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Louisa Bowen <louisamay1111@yahoo.com>
Subject: Olympic Memories

 So long ago. Almost. . .twenty years? No, twenty years exactly.  Yes.
1983.  Was when I first started seeing Mrs. Moore. Mrs. Sylvia R. Moore.
Wealthy widow who lived two houses down from us, and a former Olympian. Or
so we'd all been told.

 I remember thinking, when I'd first learned of this exotic-seeming aspect
of the woman, that she was WAY too old too be in the Olympics! I must have
been five or six at the time. Even then, when she'd babysit my sister and I
every so often, she was already OLD! (I believe she'd have been just over
forty or so then.)

 But she was SO. . .elegant! And just, well, exotic, I suppose, with her
jet black hair, and smooth-yet-craggy, tanned face. It wasn't a beautiful
face, but it had more than enough 'character', I think they call it, to
make it up ten times over. In fact I came to see her face, eventually, as
quite beautiful. Gorgeous, even. But by then I was madly and
tiny-teen-passionately in love.

 And if I'd just paid a bit of attention to things at age six as I did
later, at age ten, I'd surely have noticed what a magnificent bod the woman
had on her. At forty. So of COURSE she could have been an Olympian. But in
the late 70's, I had no real concept of what that WAS anyway. I think I
thought of it as some sort of vague Wonderwoman-ness. I also had no real
concept of 'Had-Been'-ness, either, so that was that. BUT. Then, a few
years later, I'd had a report to do, on -- you guessed it, The Olympics. I
was in fifth grade, I think, and STILL had no real idea of what the damn
things were (those Olympics), it being 1983, and the US having boycotted
the 1980 games. And my mother suggested I see Mrs. Moore down the street.
Ohh, yeah. . .She was in. . .? Right. So my mother called, and arrangements
were made, and I, on a bright May Saturday morning, set off for the Moore
house.

 Maybe that particular morning as an extra kind of haze around it, but I
remember it being almost hot, and it was still pretty early. And the bees
whizzed lazily around her freshly fragrant hydrangeas as I strolled up her
front walk. She'd been a widow for as long as I could remember, and her
large front porch was clean and open. A white linen hammock hung about
halfway down, and there were newly blooming potted plants all over. It was
neat, I thought.

 And before I could ring the bell, the door opened, and out she came,
holding the lattice screen. " Good morning, Patti! Come on in," in that
wonderfully low, velvet voice of hers.

 I noticed immediately, as I followed her through the sweet-smelling
hallway to the kitchen, that she wore a kind of robe? or Asian dress or
something, that was very lightly fabricked, almost see-throughey, and also
really quite short. And it was funny, all those years of babysitting, and
here I was for the first time noticing what amazing legs she had! I mean,
they were like, like perfect! Like Wonderwoman, I thought, and smiled to
myself. And she was barefoot, too, so I could see too how firmly sculpted
her dark brown feet were. It gave me this funny feeling, and I just
thought, Man, Mrs. Moore is one Cool lady, that's for sure.

 I even remember, in those first steps through her hallway, noticing how
her hips moved inside her robey thing, and how smoothly her bottom worked
as she walked. And I got a little hot in the May weather, and was glad to
reach the airy kitchen.

 "Eaten breakfast?" As she held a pantry door open. I nodded. "Want
something to drink? It's gonna be a hot day."

 "Okay," I felt a bit subdued for some reason.

 "I have. . ." as she perused her fridge, "let's see. . ."

 And see, I was behind her, I'd kind of sat down at the table, so when she
was looking in the fridge, I noticed. . .no, couldn't be. But I was
absolutely riven by the sight of, yes, I was really to realize that she
didn't have any underpants on!!! I felt my mouth open a little, and shut
it, and kept looking, as she leaned over, quite athletically, to search the
fridge. . .

 ". . .Tomato juice. . .ummm, a little tonic water, but you wouldn't want
that. . .let's see. . ."

 And I could feel my head kind of juuuust leaning to spy. . .at the top of
those gorgeously tanned and muscle-smooth legs, I saw the paler-skinned
crescents of her bottom! And even the dark, mysteriously fuzzy center,
where legs and bottom all met together. She reached down and in to the
lowest shelf, and Gosh Almighty, I saw her very own little slitty!!
Mrs. Moore's slitty!!!

 Only it wasn't that little, really, compared to my own and my sister's,
the only slitties I'd seen. Like some ripe, dark fruit. And it was weird
seeing it from the BACK, because it was just. . .I don't know, it was like
this amazing, amazing, perfect part, the REALLY perfect part of this
amazingly perfect woman. I mean, it had taken me all of, what, like five
minutes, to all of a sudden just feel woozy with admiration for
this. . .goddess. Perfect day for a crush.

 She turned kind of suddenly, and I felt a bit guilty, and could feel how
hot my face was. She knew? Looking back, of course -- DUH! But at the time,
I didn't think so.

 "I do have some ginger ale downstairs, if you'd like."

 "No thank you," I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "Water's fine."

 She smiled. "Sure?" I nodded. She got some from the tap and dropped some
ice in. "Now, let's go look at all those memories!" And she took my damp
hand and lead me into her sunlit sitting room.



 The feeling I have for that room, even now. . .a warm, sensual feeling, a
little dizzy-making, even, and bright, bright with the sound of
Mrs. Moore's gentle, husky laugh, and the reflections of pastel sunlight
coming off the swimming pool outside. She sat me on a long, cushioned
chaise, picked up a large album from a side table, and sat cross-legged
beside me. But she sat against the arm, perpendicular to me.

 She smiled, and placed the heavy book of snaps into my lap. "Alright now,
you asked for it, Patti girl. . ." and she opened the book for me, and the
cover page read, "1956 Olympics, Melbourne."

 "Wooow. . ." I really was quite impressed. In the scope of my new
attraction, this was just further proof of Godhood.

 "Mm-hm." She smiled, a mix of mockpomp and actual slight smugness. Well,
she had every reason in the wide world to be smug! "Go ahead, you turn the
pages, I'll tell you what you want to know."

 And I did, and she did, and the time just flew! I was so fascinated, and
lovestruck, yes. I mean, here she was, calmly describing being in the
Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics, and being at this party with this
famous person, and that party with that one. I of course knew none of these
people, but I believed they were quite big stuff in their, and her, day.

 And every so often, she would tap-tap-tap on a certain picture in her
humor, or active remembrance of something, and the feeling would
reverberate right into my lap and little slitty just below. The spine of
this tome rested right on my sensitivity, and when she tapped, wooo! It
just made my insides do flips! I absolutely LOVED it here!

 Another, delicious thing: sometimes she'd lean in to me to tell me about
one of her athlete friends, speaking low (as if they could hear!) And as
she stared at the picture, I'd peek up to see that I could see her bare
breasts just hiding behind her light robe. They were. . .cute, I
thought. But what was so special, so strange and seemed to go right along
with the feeling I got under the book. . .her nipples were so LONG! My
gosh, they must have been oh, like 2 inches or something! Maybe not that,
but they just looked so. . .exciting!

 And every so often she'd pat or lightly rub my knee or my thigh to make a
point, and I liked that too. It was just so comforting, and kind of, I
don't know, like our own little sneaky secret that we could feel all lovey
together. Or at least I could. And I loved being able to see her nakedness,
little peeks that excited me.

 So that when the honk came for my ride, I moaned out loud, and Mrs. Moore
smiled, and said that maybe we could finish the book next week if I wanted?
with a shrug.

 "Oh yes, yes, I'd like that, could I?"

 Her teeth were so perfect. "Of course, dear, I'll talk to your Mum."

 And I gave her a quick, passionate hug, and ran out. I could smell her
subtle musk for hours. All that week I thought about Mrs. Moore. It was so
weird. I'd never thought about ANYone like that, not even the boy whom I
and all my friends said I had a crush on. No, my thoughts for Mrs. Moore
were NOTHING like my off-and-on, will-he-like-me, he's-so-cute thoughts for
Timmy Morrissey. These were thoughts that really took me places. My gosh.

 I'd lie in bed and just couldn't stop thinking of Mrs. Moore's pretty,
lush bottom slipping out from beneath that cool robe, and her plummy, ripe
slitty perched so calm and elegant, and my little finger would slide down
to my own smooth, humid slit, and it was like I'd moved closer to
Mrs. Moore, and she was leaning further down to look for drinks, and I
touched her there, and moved my finger slowly, slowly, so as not to shock
her, and I felt her get so happy, I felt her smiling so beautifully for me,
and moving her hips like she did so smoothly, and OOHHHhhhh, gosh,
Mrs. Moore, ohhHHHHh, hmmMMmmmm. . . I'd gotten myself so worked up over
the week, that by the time Saturday came around again, I was afraid she'd
see, that I'd just be a bundle of little-girl jangles. I put on, then took
off, about eight little outfits, then decided I'd just wear what I wore
before, 'cause she seemed to like that? And a barrette in my hair.  Hmm...
I looked at my little ten-year-old, slim and almost hipless, almost
breastless body in the mirror. Barrette? Cute. I took it off. My dark brown
bangs fell over my forehead. Put it on again. Sure, OK, what the heck. . .

 "Patti!! You ready??"

 "Be right down!"

 So my Mom drove me, even though it was just a couple blocks, 'cause it was
raining, and she was on her way to do errands. So, I ran up Mrs. Moore's
walk in the rain, and her door opened, and she grinned, and I grinned, and
we were inside. She handed me a small, soft towel. "You're not too wet, but
don't want to catch cold. Love your barrette! Is it pearl?"

 Boy, did I blush. I was so happy she noticed that, I could have just done
a backflip. "Thanks," rubbing my wet neck, "nope, don't think so. Maybe."

 "Well, it's wonderful imitation, if not." And she started off to the
kitchen, as I dropped the towel on the bench and followed. Same gliding
catwalk. Her bottom-parts swinging in perfect time. Perfect. And this robe,
a shade darker, seemed to hug her hips a little tighter, I thought. Her
bottom just swish-swished against it.

 In the kitchen, she turned with an adventurous look.

 "What?"

 "Well. . ." and she turned to look outside at her rain-stippled pool, then
back to me, "what do think about a swim before school?"

 "It's . . .it's raining!"

 "But it's warm, and the pool's wet anyway, and a swim in the rain is
MARvelous!" And she lifted her arms and twirled.

 I grinned. "Okay. But," and I grimaced, "I don't have a suit. I guess I
could run back and get one." And I started for the door.

 "Patti, no!" I stopped, my brows raised. She came to me and gently removed
my barrette from my hair. As she placed it on the table, she said, "I never
wear a suit in my private pool." With a look like, 'silly girl.'

 I think my mouth was probably open, 'cause she giggled. "Not something you
do every day, huh?" I shook my head.

 "Well, you don't have to. But I'M goin'!" She looked out again. "And I
might as well not get this wet out there," whereupon she undid her robe and
just took it right off, right in front of me!!

 Now, 'breathtaking' is a term well, well-used, but I am not kidding when I
say that she did just take my breath away. I stood there gawking like a
beached carp. She was just so beautiful!

 She stood, naked, smiling at me. "Never seen a naked lady before?" I could
barely gain enough sense to breathe, "Not like you. . ."

 "Ohh, you're sweet. . ." and she came to me and kissed my forehead. Her
hand rested lightly on my waist and she patted. "Really, you don't have to
swim if you don't want to. It's just," and she grinned, "really really
GREAT in the rain." Another pat, on my bum. "And I waited for you."

 I felt myself blushing. My feelings of TOTAL physical inferiority were
acute, as I murmured, "No, I'll. . .I wanna. . .swim."

 She clapped her hands. "Yaaay!" And turned to pull out a chair. Her bottom
without ANYthing was just awesome. Like a sculpture. But warm-looking. And
jiggly, but happy-jiggly, not fat. She tapped the chair. "You can put your
things here. Nice and dryyy when we get in." Another sly grin.

 Sooo, I started to undress. Gosh, for like the 10th time today? But it
wasn't my mirror looking at me, it was Mrs. Moore! In the absolute flesh!!
And she was, too.

 "You really do have a beautiful body, Patti." Did I blush? Is pee warm? As
I stepped out of my shorts and underpants, she cooed, "swimmer's legs!"

 "Huh?" I turned, my underpants at my ankles. I watched Mrs. Moore breathe
deeply.

 "You've got the legs, the legs and the butt of a swimmer. Turn around." I
did, a bit confused, and was quite shocked to feel her hands run up the
sides of my legs. "Your musculature. Long. But firm."

 And I felt her hands grab my butt, both cheeks, and
squeeze-squeeze-squeeze, like she was checking a melon. "Squeeze your
bottom!" I did, and felt her finger start worming in between my crack! "And
don't let my finger in!!" I squeezed, hard, harder, really getting a bit
alarmed here, and totally confused. And, yes, excited. But not consciously
so. Yet.

 "Good, good!" Her intruding finger went away. I felt her hand pressed
against my tummy. She'd had it there for leverage. "You can let go now,
Patti dear. Unsqueeze." And she gave it a little *smack*.

 She turned me to her, smiling. In that smoky voice that just made me wet,
I know it now, she looked down at me and said again, "Good. You have good
muscle control. That was an exercise we had when I was a girl. Quite a
surprise the first time, yes?"

 And when she grinned, I grinned back, and nodded. "I'll be ready the next
time."

 Her eyes kind of changed, and she said, "Good girl," and took my face
between both of her strong, sweet-smelling hands. "So. . .next time I say,
'Testing!', you'll be ready?"

 I nodded solemnly.

 And then she leaned down to my face and kissed me softly, firmly, briefly,
on the lips. Then back, her eyes popped, and: "Let's go SWIMMING!" And we
did, and it WAS great. Just so so FUN. So WET, and FREE, and NAKED,
and. . .ohhh, boy, do I miss that. And her.

 And I know now that she was kind of softening me up, probably, as we swam,
and splashed, and giggled, and shouted. When she'd touch me here, caress me
there, hug me, and all. Naked. I don't know, I suppose in hindsight you
think, of COURSE this was all moving towards the sack, getting the naked
little ten-year-old girl into your matronly bed, but. . .at the time, I
really was unaware. I just thought, if and when I even DID think, that she
was just an eccentric older lady, who liked touching a lot, and heck, I
didn't know the world, and she did, so okay, this is the world. And I have
to say, I liked it. I LOVED it. So much attention, so much FUN; I just felt
freer than I ever had, but in this new and naughty, breathless way. With
this wonderfully sexy, unpredictable, NEAT old woman! Mrs. Moore!



 "Call me Sylvia!"

 We'd been playing this game for awhile, kind of like Marco Polo, but
instead of calling out Marco! and waiting for Polo!, the person with eyes
closed would have to try to tag the other by following their splashes.
AND. . .the fun part (Mrs. Moore --Sylvia -- always made it FUN) was that
the tag-ee could poke you or give you a butt smack while you tried to get
THEM. And she was quick!

 So she just loved smackin my little butt -- I'd hear a splashing, then a
little chuckle, and then-- *smack* (underwater), but by the time I flailed
around to get her, I'd hear her giggle yards away.

 "Mrs. Moore! No fair, you're too fast!!"

 "Call me Sylvia!"

 I tread water, eyes closed, trying to somehow corner her voice slowly. Fat
chance. "Sylvia. . ." ooh, I liked saying that. "Sylvia, you're too fast!
Woah!!"

 I felt a finger just graze my bottom. Then a low but clear voice,
"Testing!" And I immediately squeezed my cheeks together as hard as I could
as I felt her finger push, then begin worming into my crack. Woahh, this
was in the water, it was slippy, it was feeling PREtty weird, 'cause
despite my huge effort at compression, I was feeling that questing, strong
digit inch, almost drill its way toward my poopy hole!

 And just when I thought sure it was going to reach, and plunge so wildly
and strangely into me, she stopped. "Verrry good!" A hand patted my
shoulder, and then my still somewhat strained bottom. "Even in the water!
Excellent!" And she turned me around.

 Her dark hair was plastered to her well-formed skull, and those green eyes
were huge. Her lips were so nice and puffy, too. She was kind of flushed.
"Patti. . .you really do have the makings to be quite a swimmer."

 I grinned a little. "'Cause my butt can stop your finger?" And immediately
blushed hugely. What a STUpid thing to say!

 But she grinned back, and touched my cheek. "Yes. . .and because you are
STRONG." She tilted her head, and raised a brow. "Want to test ME?"

 My stupefaction must have looked quite comical, as she burst out
laughing. She kissed my cheek, then my lips, again, briefly, softly, then
looked at me. By now we were at the shallow end; she was standing mid-thigh
in water, I up to my ribs or so.

 "No, I want you to. I want you to feel the muscles involved." She turned
around, presenting her rounded, firm, womanly bottom to me. "And. . .here,
give me your hand. . ." And she placed my right hand, fingers up, on her
right cheek. Oooh, it felt as good as it looked!

 "Now. . .for MY test, I want you to push your THUMB in between my
cheeks. Alright?"

 All I could do was nod dumbly.

 "Alriiiight. . .GO!"

 And I pushed, I really did push, and soon I was pushing with all my might,
'cause I really did feel like I could do it, I could get my thumb in
between her bottom. And I felt and saw her bottom flesh crinkle with her
effort, as her cheeks squeeeezed themselves together. And I started kind of
worming like I had felt her do, and I knew I was almost there---!

 FLOOP! In one split second, she'd loosened, then trapped my thumb!

 "Hey!" I couldn't move my thumb. I did feel a warm softness at the tip--
wooow, was that really Mrs. Moore's own poopy hole?? --

 She chuckled down at me. "Stuck, huh?"

 I tried pulling out, but I was really and truly STUCK! Boy, she was
strong. And it was kind of hurting my thumb.

 "Alright, my lamb, be free," and I felt her butt muscles soften. I
withdrew my thumb, but not after a brief feel of, yes, that soft hole; I
managed a tiny forward motion before withdrawing. I even heard her make a
little noise, like a little growl.

 She was looking down at me, her lips slightly parted. Presently, she
started murmuring, in a breathy sort of way, "See, see, Patti. . .there
are, umm, many, many muscles, and different kinds, of muscles, that are all
working down there. . ."

 "Uh-huhh. . ."

 "Uh-huh. . .and, um, I want to show you some of them, and how they
work. Okay?" She had a kind of glassy look.

 "Okay."

 "Okay. Okay, honey. Now," and she sort of leaned forward, and put her
long-fingered hands on the side of each cheek. And kind of. . .pulled her
bottom apart for me! "I want you. . . I want you to examine the muscles
here," and she lightly tapped her fingertips on her inner cheeks, " and
here, right around my rectum. Okay?"

 "Oh-okay," I breathed, barely able to make a sound, 'cause I was just so
so overwhelmed at this. I mean, I'd been aMAzed that I'd seen, then touched
her bottom, then even lightly touched her, her bottom hole. . .but here I
was looking RIGHT INTO her . . .RECtum. And I had to say. . .I don't know,
I would have thought that seeing Mrs, Moore's rectum would be a for-sure
gross-out, but it was so so so much a turn-ON!!! I don't know why!! It was
just. . .here was this really cool old lady Goddess woman, who liked me so
much that she would show me her butt --and peel it open for me like a ripe
peach!

 And now her rectum moved!

 "See that?"

 "Woow!"

 "That's just muscle control, honey." And it moved again, opening, then
shrinking like a little sea urchin or something.

 "That is so cool!!"

 "Touch it, Patti, feel how it moves."

 "Really?"

 "Yes, go ahead, love, touch my rectum, touch all around it."

 And so I did, I reached out a little finger and just barely *touched* the
soft, brown halo skin around the dark hole.

 "Good, honey. Huhh. . .touch harder, right on my rectum hole. I'm going to
massage my vaginal muscles while you do. . ." and I saw her other hand
slide between her legs and begin smoothly stroking her ripe, plump
slitty. . . And so my finger touched right in the middle now, right on Mrs,
Moore's bottom hole -- and the dark hole itself opened up like a mouth and
snatched at my fingertip!

 She chuckled shakily, looking back at me. "See? Muscle c-control, honey."
Her hole opened up again. "Push your finger inside, Patti, feel the muscles
along the walls of my rectum. Go on, push it in, honey." And I saw her
fingers working faster at the muscles in her slitty.

 So I touched my finger again to her spongy rectum, and this time pushed,
and began sinking my little index finger in. And I remember smelling her
now, a kind of sweetish musk, a little poopy, but hardly at all. More spicy
kind of, and exciting.

 And her hips were moving around some now. "Oh, oh, Patti, honey, oooh,
that's good, mm-hmm, that's good. Are you feeling the sides? Feel the
sides. Way in, honey. W-waaay in. . ." And so my finger kept going waaay
in, I was almost in as far as my finger could go! and it felt so smooth,
and slick, and Hot. And my finger felt Mrs. Moore's insides going all
squirmy inside her bottom, as her fingers flew at her pretty slitty.

 "OHHhh!" She tried talking to me normally, but couldn't, really. But she
tried. "Now, see Patti, mmmMMMmm, the reason, the-huuhh reason I'm getting
kind of. . .boisterous here, ohhhhHHH GODD!! --- Cause, 'cause some muscles
down there are veryeeeeEEE, mmmm, very sensitive, and they just, they just,
huhh, huuhh, they just feel reeally really good. Ohh, so good, honey, mmm
that's right, move your finger around in there, yeaaaahhh,
ooohhhhhHHHHHHHHH. . .!!!"

 I didn't know what was really going on, but I was proud, and excited, and
very happy to be making Mrs. Moore feel this way; I wiggled my little
finger inside her bottom as hard and fast and deeply as I could. Maybe I
could again sometime. I hoped so.