Home Cooking and Warm Hearts

I was going through divorce proceedings, ending my first marriage, at the age of 45. Kids remained in the home bought with their mother, and I found temporary residence in a nearby town.

I had made a month-to-month arrangement to rent a mother-in-law apartment above the two-car garage/workshop attached to an old farmhouse owned by an older couple, Tom and Carole Hall.

When we met to go over the lease agreement, Tom shared that he was 66, retired from a state job, keeping busy by tending the crops he grew on their five acre farm. He told me that Carole was 58, and she worked for the town in some capacity.

Tom was tall and fit, maybe 6 foot 2 inches, with grey/blonde hair and a mustache that matched. His light blue eyes were soft behind gold wire rimmed glasses. Tom was the typical flannel shirt and denim type of guy. He carried himself with confidence and energy.

Carole was about 5 foot 6 inches, with dark brown hair - probably from a bottle (based on her grey roots), light grey eyes, a pretty oval shaped face featuring a cute button nose, and a broad smile with bright white teeth highlighted by a slight overbite. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes only appeared when she smiled; she could have passed for mid-forties.

It was difficult to discern her figure due to the oversized clothes she seemed to always wear, but I had seen her wear an open shoulder blousy sun dress a few months back that revealed a multitude of tattoos on her round shoulders and broad back. She certainly wasn't a big woman, but I gathered that she was a bit more busty than the average woman, and a bit of a free spirit. I truly never gave a second thought about her.

Tom and Carole were friendly, good conversationalists, and welcoming to me during a difficult time in my life. My apartment was accessed by either a rather steep, narrow stairway outside of the garage or a wider staircase through the mudroom in the house, adjacent to the kitchen. I usually took the inside route, either carrying my laptop bag home from work or groceries or some other bulky load. On many occasions, as I returned to my new "home" after work, Carole would be preparing food in the kitchen and would share a friendly greeting. Often Tom was at the table working on his laptop, also always acknowledging me with a friendly "how are ya!"

On a particular Friday in late September, it was my birthday, if truth be told, and I was in a foul mood when I arrived at the Hall home. I was livid that the baby mama had refused to let me see my kids outside of our agreed schedule, even on a day when they asked if they could celebrate with me.

As I stepped into the mudroom, Carole called me into the kitchen. I really didn't want to be sociable. I was going to scrounge some leftovers from the apartment fridge and spend the evening jacking off to porn to forget my anger. But I couldn't tell sweet Carole about my plans, so I  put on a fake half smile and poked my head into the kitchen to find out what she wanted.

Carole was preparing food behind the island in the Hall's country kitchen, her hair under a pink headband. She was wearing what looked like an Air Force t-shirt, oversized, maybe belonging to Tom. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, the years only slightly betraying her cute round fair-skinned face.

I could only see her from the stomach up, and it seemed like she was braless, her breasts swaying as she added ingredients to a pot on the cooktop in the middle of the island. I thought that I caught a glimpse of her nipples pressed against the T-shirt fabric as she grated cheese into the pot, her arms trapping her ample breasts in the innocent cooking task. My eyes quickly averted to fix on her forehead.

"Hey, Jack, there's a piece of mail that was left in our mailbox rather than yours, over there!" She pointed to a card that was propped up on a nearby cookbook rack.

I recognized the handwriting as my sister's, and I assumed it was a birthday card. When I grabbed it, I saw that she had written "happy birthday" on the reverse side of the envelope.

"Do you have a birthday comin' up?" Carole asked, obviously having seen the writing, too, smiling as she leaned forward, testing her chin on her hand. It was the pose of someone who wanted the scoop, and was genuinely interested. It warmed my heart, and I couldn't lie.

"Yes, today, actually. I'm 45." I gave her a half smile and shrugged, in a way that communicated the thought that you can't stop Father Time!

"Oh, Happy Birthday!" She gushed, dashing from behind the island and rushing at me, hands out-stretched.

As she had approached me, emerging from behind the kitchen island, I became aware that her long t-shirt ended mid-thigh, with no sign of shorts beneath. She cut an attractive form, reminding me of Linda Ronstadt, a singer that I had crushed on in my youth. Her fair-skinned legs were toned, and her bare feet were slender, with dark blue nail polish.

As she approached, I caught the scent of patchouli, an herb that a free-spirited aunt had liberally used as a body spray...home remedy...bug killer... everything, everywhere! With Carole, that scent, along with an aroma of aloe vera, made me feel calm and all right with the world, suddenly!

Carole took my face in her hands, pulling it down to her level as she rose on tip-toes, and planting a wet kiss on my forehead. "And you don't look a day over 30!"

I had been told before that I looked younger than my years, but I always dismissed those comments as politeness. I had kept my head shaved since losing my hair at an early age. Lately, I had recently lost weight, looking fit at 185 pounds and standing at just under six feet tall. I felt that, yes, I did look younger!

Tom had joined Carole in the kitchen, apparently fresh from the shower in long running shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. He extended a hand for a handshake, putting his other hand on my shoulder. "Happy Birthday, Jack!" He warmly offered. "Any plans for the evening?"

"No, no plans. Just another Friday night," I sighed.

Carole stepped back, scampering to her cooking duties. She tipped the stew pot towards me, indicating how full it was. "I am making Amish cheese chicken soup, and there's way too much! You're staying for dinner!"

"Yeah, Jack, please, otherwise I'll be eating leftovers for a week!" Tom chuckled.

The soup smelled delicious and looked so hardy, chunks of chicken potatoes, and carrots abounded. I figured that stroking my carrot could wait while I enjoyed some home style cooking, so I responded, "Thank you, you're both so kind! I accept your invitation!"

The dinner was delicious, conversation was easy and light. I learned that Tom had served in the Air Force for ten years, flying A-10's for two tours in Vietnam and training pilots for the rest of his service. He had married Carole in 1970. She had lived a free-spirited life, living in a commune as a teenager and attending Woodstock at the age of 17.

Carole recalled seeing Jefferson Airplane perform on Sunday morning at that momentous event, after a rather chaotic trip that included squeezing six people into a VW Beetle for four hours, abandoning the vehicle just hours from the event, stealing bicycles to finish the voyage, and sleeping under a tarp on Saturday night before Grace Slick finally began singing.

I asked if the stories of sex and drugs were true and she blushed, took Tom's hand, looked deep into my eyes, and whispered, "What happened at Woodstock, stayed at Woodstock!"

Tom cleared the dinner dishes while Carole covered the soup pot and left it to cool. The prep area was cleaned up and I stood up, planning my exit. Carole approached, hugging my arm to her ample chest, and said, "You're not leaving before having some apple crisp I baked today!"

Tom added, "And I'm heating up some mulled apple cider that I bottled a few months ago! Let's go in the den. The pellet stove is warming as we speak!"

The den was a more intimate atmosphere for us. Tom sat in an easy chair with the pellet stove on one side and the stand holding his acoustic guitar on the opposite side. I sat on a small love seat facing the pellet stove, and Carole entered  carrying a tray table with a pitcher of warm cider as well as dishes heaped with the warm apple dessert. She handed me a dish and a mug of cider, then sat beside me with her own cider, covering her legs with a quilt from the back of the love seat.

Filling his own mug, Tom solicited my opinion of the beverage. "I think it's my best batch ever, so be honest, how is it?"

I tasted the brew, detecting the cinnamon and nutmeg spices embracing the apple flavor. I told him that it was delicious! As I drained the mug, Tom quickly refilled it for me. The dessert was also heavenly, warm and sweet. Tom and Carole raised their mugs and toasted my birthday before refilling all of our mugs.

During my third mug, I felt my skin flush a bit. I don't drink alcohol and hadn't considered whether the cider was alcoholic. When I brought it up, Tom acknowledged that it had bourbon added. I decided to slow down on my consumption, but I was already feeling a little fuzzy.

Carole was on her second mug and seemed to be a little mellowed. She leaned back, pulled her headband off, tossing it aside as she ran her hands through her hair, leaving it tussled and wild around her face. She spoke slowly with the slightest slur, saying to Tom, "Play something on the guitar, Sweetie! Something lively!"

Tom stood, raised the guitar, and began to strum the first notes of Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone." It was thrilling to hear it sung with such passion - Tom's soprano voice was pitch perfect, including when he hummed the refrains where Dylan used a harmonica. Carole leapt to her feet, whirling in rhythm to Tom's performance. I was mesmerized by her breasts as they seemed to jump and sway independently under her shirt. As she spun, I saw the shirt become pinched between her full, round ass cheeks. It occurred to me that she may have been totally naked under that shirt - no bra or panties!

Tom then transitioned into another folk song of the 60s, Donovan's "Catch the Wind." It's a slow love ballad, and Carole slowed her dancing to the pace of this song. Tom sang it to his wife, pausing to lean close and kiss her several times through the song.

Carole then turned to me, reaching for my hand. "Dance with me, Jack!" She whispered. I joined her and we swayed together as Tom circled around us, finishing the song.

When the song was over, Carole took the guitar from Tom and returned it to the stand. She whispered something in Tom's ear, causing him to smile and nod.

Carole clapped her hands and said, "Ok, time for a game! It's something we used to play with another couple from time to time. Strip Simon Says! Are you game, Jack?"

The cider and dancing had my head spinning. I was sweating and my heart was racing. Inhibitions were set aside - I was game - hoping to have my questions answered about this sexy mature woman's body!

To my surprise and disappointment, Carole sat in the easy chair, her legs folder under her, preparing to be Simon. I then turned my focus to not being the one forced to shed my clothes in front of strangers! Tom and I stood about three feet apart, side by side, facing Carole. She launched into the game:

"Simon says, pat your belly!" Tom and I complied.

"Simon says clap your hands!" She called, as she clapped. We both complied.

Carole started to get tricky, "Simon says touch your nose!" As she said that, she brought her finger to her chin. I was too busy staring at this charming grandmother and I touched my chin!

"Gotcha! Off come your shoes!" She laughed and clapped her hands in glee, as I stepped out of my shoes.

The game continued, with Carole's trickery catching both Tom and me a few times. I had just lost my shirt and pants in successive failures; my cognitive abilities were very impacted by the cider. I glanced at Tom and realized that he was down to socks and his tighty whities, revealing a substantial package challenging the fabric. My only apparel, my boxer briefs, were looser, and I'm a grower; my package was in a rather unimpressive state.

"Which of you boys is losing your panties first?" Carole giggled, rubbing her hands together.

"Simon says...hands on your knees!" Carole threw her hands high in the air, but mine went to my knees.  Tom's hands flew high

"Ohhh, you got me!" He sat, pulled off his socks, and stood up, ready for the final infraction that would leave one of us naked to all.

A series of rapid fire commands, some accompanied by'Simon Says' and some not, had Tom and me pushed to the limit. Carole had hopped to her feet and, with a bit of a stumble, hopped in front of us as she tried to draw us into an error.

Suddenly, Carole spun, turning her back to us. Lifting her shirt to expose her white, fleshy ass cheeks, she called out, "slap my ass!"

Tom complied, landing an open hand on one cheek, with a very sharp "SMACK!" And just as suddenly, as Carole let out a "whoop" and as he realized his error, Carole spun to face us, pointing at Tom and laughing.

"Sweetie, I got you!!!" She exclaimed, a smile wide across her face. Pointing at his briefs, she declared, "Let loose the beast!"

Tom shrugged, raising his hands and laughing, "You got me!" He then slipped out of his underpants, releasing his thick, long, about eight inch circumcised cock, hanging down over a sack that sagged low, surrounded by a thick bush of golden grey curlies.

"Oh there it is!" Carole slurred just a little. "My man's trouser trout!" To my total surprise, she leaned over towards Tom's soft but big cock, cradling the head in her small hand, as she sucked on the head for just a couple of seconds. She then guided Tom back into the easy chair as his cock started to stir.

I the meantime, I became dizzy and tried to sit back in the loveseat. My butt grazed the edge of the cushion and I wound up sitting on the floor with my back against that piece of furniture.

Tom was oblivious to me, preoccupied by his growing arousal. I must admit, his cock was impressive - thick, long, with a prominent crown. He casually took it by the base, holding it out towards Carole. "Coming back for more?" He snickered.

"Aw, you know you lost the game! The treat goes to the winner!" She giggled, turning toward me with her hands on her hips. Her beautiful light grey eyes were half shut, her disheveled hair all about her face. The room was lit only by the flame in the pellet stove but she was a sexy grandma, for sure!

Carole straddled my outstretched legs as I sat on the floor. As she looked down at me, and our eyes locked, I saw an expression on her face that I had seen on other women just a few times - lust. One of her hands slipped around to the back of my head, as the other casually lifted the front of her shirt, pinning it to her round belly, just above her deep navel.

My eyes broke from hers and trailed down her body, taking in her thick brown triangle of hair, trimmed only at the bikini lines but thick and curly around her labia.

Carole guided my face into her bush, moaning as I kissed and gently tugged her hair between my lips. Inhaling deeply, I detected a delicious scent of lavender and chamomile, understanding that Carole's preferences for natural hygiene products tracked with her personality and style. I find women with natural, hairy pussies to be a huge turn-on, and Carole's natural bush was getting me very hot!

My hands glided up the back of her legs to her soft, smooth ass cheeks, pulling her even closer, as I bent my head back and opened my mouth wide, taking in her wet, parted pussy lips. Her inner lips were deep, dark red, meaty, and so wet. My tongue reached low, just beyond her pussy, and danced around her lips - teasing, barely touching, moving up just before her clit, and back down again, just a few times.

Carole wanted more, and demonstrated her desire by pushing her pussy tighter to my face. My nose nuzzled her clit, and my tongue dug under her, poking at her tight hairy asshole, eliciting a loud, guttural "Ohhhhh" from her.

Peeking to my left, I saw Tom watching his wife ride my face to her pleasure. He was languidly stroking his hard cock, spreading the precum over his pronounced head, down the veiny shaft, and over his full, hairy sack. His free hand played with his hard nipples, his eyes locked on his wife as he absently licked his lips.

I brought one hand around Carole's body, sliding it under her T-shirt to caress her breast. The full weight of her soft boob excited me to even greater heights as my thumb circled her areola before caressing her hard, erect nipple - which was surprisingly big, like my baby finger- sized, to the first knuckle!

Carole wanted me to suck her clit, I knew, as she pivoted her pussy forward and began to grind it on my mouth. I found her clit, engorged and as large as my thumb, and began to suckle it. My tongue swirled her long pubes around the tasty bud, tickling it and stimulating it with this unexpected sensation. I licked over her hood, along each side, and under... attempting to roll my tongue around her excited nub. And Carole continued to grind down on my tongue...mouth...nose, finding her most enjoyable stimulus.

Carole's arms were outstretched, holding herself up against the loveseat, above my head. I saw Tom rise from his chair, his big cock drooling strings of precum, and sensed that he had moved behind Carole. I felt his hands on her, lifting her shirt, and removing it over her head. Carole's breasts swung above me, my left hand caressing from one to the other.

From behind, Tom moved up against Carole. My right hand, on her ass, was pinned between them, his cock brushing against it as he rubbed it between her ass cheeks. I felt him draw back, his drooling cockhead bumping my thumb for just a second, leaving his juices on it, before I felt his cock push between her legs, using my chin as a runway to lift into her pussy.

I had never tasted another man's cock at that point in my life. I had sucked my own, as a teenager, but that's another story. In my cider-drunk state, I was willing to experiment, though, and on Tom's first thrust, I opened my mouth and took about three inches of his manhood over my lips and onto my tongue. I tasted his salty syrup, and tickled under his leaking head, causing him to moan out, "Oh shit, oh that feels good!"

Carole shifted, basically demanding that my tongue return to pleasuring her delicious pussy. As she moved, Tom's cock popped from my mouth. His next thrust found the mark, pushing deep up into Carole. My licks then alternated between Carole's clit, Tom's shaft, and his big balls that were dragging over my chin.

The combination of Tom's cock stretching her pussy and my tongue lashing her clit we're taking Carole to her apex. Her moans rose higher in pitch, suddenly sounding like short "yips!" I had heard those sounds before, in the Hall house, from my apartment, always assuming they were from the couple's dog, begging to be let outside. I now knew - Carole was cumming - and her pussy let loose a torrent of nectar into my mouth, her spasms starting quick, then slowing to a quiver before stopping.

As Carole's pussy spasmed around his cock, Tom moaned, "Ohhhh, I'm cumming!!!" On my tongue, I felt his cum travelling up his urethra once, twice... ultimately four times. And I tasted it as his jizz dribbled out onto my mouth during their mutual orgasm. As they both relaxed, Tom drew back, his cock slipping from her pussy's grip, falling squarely on my lips and resting there as Tom hugged Carole from behind.

Still highly aroused, I opened my mouth and sucked his head in, cleaning their juices from it, as well as receiving the final drooling of cum from the softening magnificent mature meat of my landlord.

Tom then backed up, and sat back in his chair, as I returned my attention to Carole's dripping pussy. A gush of cum - her juices mixed in with Tom's - fell on my lips as Carole stood. She knelt over me, straddled my legs, leaned down, kissing me deeply, her tongue seeking the juices I had just taken in.