The Window

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Note: This is just a simple little tale of first time experience… it is somewhat an autobiographical tale… enjoy!


“Jeez, Andrew, that’s my teacher’s window!” One of the players howled.

When the long fly ball went through the neighbor lady’s kitchen window, two entire baseball teams full of Andrew Wilson’s friends and peers disappeared.

Now certain that the world as he knew it would end in a manner of moments, Andrew was stuck with the ball bat and the consequences of his own actions.

This was old lady Heloise’s house, and everybody knew she was a kid hater.

Like so many of the older people who still lived around the neighborhood, she’d call the police on a kid just for the fun of it sometimes.

Old lady Heloise was out the door in moments watching the kids darting this way and that, trying to get out of her sight before she blew up. Oh man, she was dressed in her jogging outfit, too: leggings of that purple color that all the girls at school called plum, and a white cropped sweatshirt with some sort of kitty design on it. But those weren’t running shoes, maybe they were just for around the house.

“Clayton Denny!” she called out. “Don’t think that I didn’t see you!”

But before she could start running, Clayton yelled from down the block: “I didn’t do it, Ms. Heloise.”

She stopped, looked around, and focused on Andrew.

“Did you hit that ball?”

Andrew took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Acting like she didn’t hear him, the lady pointed at home plate. “All the way from over there?” He nodded again.

“Wow.” She walked over to the batter’s box, and, putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the distance to her window.

“Must’ve been a pretty solid hit.”

Andy forced out a couple of words. “I never belted one like that before.”

“What’s your name, young man.”

Staying silent, Andy bit his lip. He wanted to hide, but he knew he was just too damn big to fade away to nothingness.

“You may as well tell me, I’ll get it from Clayton easy enough.”

“Andrew Wilson.”

“Do the other kids call you Andy?”

Shaking his head, he laughed embarrassedly. “They call me Andy.”

“Andy, eh?” the neighbor lady looked him over.

“You’re pretty tall, Andy. Are you older than the other kids?”

“Not really, I just been growing a lot since I turned eighteen.”

Walking back over to him, she said, “Well, Andy, you put that baseball right through my window so hard it landed square in the butter dish on my kitchen table.” Up close, Ol’ lady Heloise was actually shorter than Andy, and that surprised him. Of course, it could’ve been because she seemed so authoritarian from a distance. “I can always replace the butter, but what are we going to do about my window?”

“I guess I’m going have to pay for it.”

“Have you got the money to replace a broken window?”

Andy shrugged. “No, ma’am.”

“I didn’t think so,” she replied. “Still we have to figure something out.”

“My mom’s going kill me.”

She laughed. “I doubt that, but, if you want me to, I’ll talk to your mother for you.”

“Ain’t going help,” Andy said. “I’m still dead.”

“Well, let’s see if we can make a deal, Andrew Wilson,” the neighbor lady said. “Look, if you agree to work off most of the damage, I’ll cover the initial cost of replacement. But I’m still going have to get your mother’s permission.”

So it wasn’t the best of deals; at least his mother wouldn’t kill him.

That was how his summer job started. Just eighteen year old Andy who had to hide any pictures of naked women and still had to deal with an occasional nocturnal emission began to work off his debt working for a woman who was probably in her mid-forties, but not old old.


The first time he went over to Ms. Helosie’s place to work, she was dressed in one of those old fashioned check flannel halter tops which had an extension which went down to cover the ribs (“It’s called a bustier.”) and a pair of shorts to match. He spent the whole day in the living room, moving furniture, covering and taping drop cloths and papers into place so they could paint the room without spilling paint on the floor.

Once or twice she came in to assist him with some of the more difficult stuff, and when she bent down Andy could see the mold and curve of her breasts as they strained against the bustier halter.

Her scent sweetly hint at some savory aroma when she stood close, and a few times Andy found himself trying to force down an involuntary response inside his pants when she came near.

Still, once he got to know her, Andrew Wilson and Ms. Heloise got along quite well.

“I’d better get us something to drink. Do you want Coke, or some Mountain Dew, Sunny Delight, or iced tea?”

“What are you having?” he asked politely.

She pushed back a long strand of her light brown hair from her forehead as she spoke. “Iced tea.”

“Then that’s what I’d like, mecidiyeköy escort please, Ms. Heloise.”

“You know, while we’re working together in here, why don’t you call me Helen. We’ll save Ms. Heloise for outside.”

As she left the room, Andy watched her walk away, his eyes following every move of her trim legs and firm buttocks. “Stop that,” he told himself.

But he was too late, and the straining bulge behind his zipper began again.

“No wonder you can’t get it to go down.”

Am I being wicked? Helen queried to herself as she glanced back and saw the growing response in Andy’s pants. Maybe just a touch. But when she brought him back his iced tea, she accidentally brushed against his arm with her breast.

Andy was nearly sweating under her scrutiny.

“So how come I don’t remember you from the twelfth grade classes, Andy?”

“I go to St. Luke’s Catholic school with the rest of the guys.”

“Oh, I see,” she finally said. “It’s almost noon. Finish your tea, and go on home. We’ll call it quits for today.”

“What about painting the living room?”

“Too hot to paint now,” she said. “We’ll start first thing in the morning. Be here early, okay?”

“You mean like eight o’clock?”

“That’d be fine,” Helen said. “Hey, Andy. you did a good job today.”

He broke into a huge grin.


The next morning Andy was at Ms. Heloise’s door by 7:49 am. but Helen Heloise had overslept. When the neighbor lady looked out the upstairs window, she saw Andy waiting on the steps to the porch.

She grabbed a fashionable floor length peignoir style robe to cover herself, and headed downstairs. As she opened the door, she said, “What are you doing here so early?” At first stunned by the cutaway flourish of ruffles which allowed her cleavage to redefine the definition of sensual, Helen’s words caused Andy unexpected pain.

“I’m s…sorry, but you said eight o’clock, and…”

“Really? So I did,” she sighed. “Come on in, then.”

Helen turned and walked back through the living room into the back of the house. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

“I had some cereal.” The sunlight behind her caused the curvy silhouette of her body to show through the translucent lacy black robe. Andrew Wilson gulped..

“You want me to fix you something?” she called from the kitchen door. “How about coffee?”

“Um, okay,” he answered. Walking into the little alcove between the kitchen and dining room, Andy studied her as the loose filmy material shifted back and forth along the curves of her body while she sleepily puttered around the kitchen. When she bent over, he noted that her abdomen drooped slightly like some of the women in his family.

Maybe her stomach wasn’t flat, but she displayed a subtle ripeness that he found pleasing.

“I always look like hell if I haven’t done my make-up and had my coffee in the morning.”

Andy wondered if he should fight the impulse to compliment her by saying that she could never look like hell. His social inexperience worked against him as Andy argued with himself for so long that he almost lost the moment entirely.

“I don’t think you could ever look bad,” he finally mumbled.

She’d rattled a frying pan as he spoke. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

She sat across from him at the kitchen table as he started sipping his coffee, trying very hard not to burn his mouth, Andy debated on telling Helen that her robe was pulling open at the front. He decided to stare down at the swirls of milk making patterns in his coffee rather than chance the embarrassment of confronting M. Heloise with something so objectionable. She obviously didn’t realize what was happening, and he wasn’t going to tell her.

Reading the confusion in his eyes, Helen felt he was taking his gentlemanly ethics a bit too far. But then again, he could be scared stiff to tell her.

You couldn’t second guess a young man like that. So she very matter of fact closed the front of her robe. Getting up later to put the breakfast dishes away, Helen swept in close to Andy once more as she bussed the table in front of him.

She patted his shoulder with one hand, and said: “I’ll shower and dress so we can start painting this morning before the summer heat makes it unbearable.”

When the shower started, the noise of the spray seemed louder than he expected; so, Andy carefully treaded up the stairs to see why the sound was so prominent all of a sudden. When he reached the top of the landing he observed that Helen had left her bathroom door cracked open about three inches. He caught a glimpse of her buttocks and back as she pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped cautiously into the tub enclosure.

“Yeow! Hot!” she shrieked, as the spraying water splashed all over the small bathroom. She immediately jumped out of the tub enclosure and bent down to adjust the faucet. Her pale legs and butt forming a sensual arch of lovely flesh as he opened the door a touch wider.

This time Andy glimpsed kağıthane escort the distinctly furry thatch of brown pubic hair that surrounded the enigmatic double lipped formation that peeked out from the crevice of her buttocks like some mound of mystery. Then she was back into the shower once again, and the curtains were pulled tightly closed.

Andy treaded lightly back downstairs in order to force his new found erection to quiet down. He was still measuring his breathing in and out, when Helen Heloise appeared dressed in work overalls and a tee shirt, and wearing a ball cap over her wet brown hair.

“Ready to paint?”

Fighting the impulse to cross his legs in her presence, he nodded. “Any time.”

“Let’s get started then,” she said. “By noon this place will be an oven.”

Helen had put on her collection of white bread pop and rock artists of the day: tame things as the Moody Blues with “Nights In White Satin,” the Association doing “Cherish,” the Zombies and “She’s Not There,” the Beach Boys’ recording of “Don’t Worry Baby,” and the Rascals’ pretending to be “Groovin’.”

Finally Andy said, “Don’t you have any songs with a bit more soul? What about James Brown and the Flames?”

“You can’t paint to James Brown,” she replied. “But I’ll see if I can’t improve matters a bit.”

The painting itself was careful work. A couple of times Helen had to come over to him and slow Andy down. So that his brush strokes were even and consistent, she’d come up behind him and guide his arm with her hand, standing so close he could feel the body heat she generated. What was playing? The music had taken half a step up with pieces like the Bee Gees singing “To Love Somebody,” and the Rolling Stones doing an old Solomon Burke tune called “Cry To Me.” These were followed by a pair of songs by Eric Burden and the Animals: “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” and “House of the Rising Sun.” Still Andy had to endure a pseudo-soulful rendition of “Come Home” by the Dave Clark 5.

By lunchtime the first coat of paint had been applied. Though both Andy and Helen were speckled with beige colored dots and splatters, they were pleased with the result. Their nearly finished job looked competent, almost professional.

Helen sighed. “That’s it for today, Andy. It’ll have to dry overnight before we do a second coat. I’m hungry. Want some lunch before you go?”

Andrew Wilson agreed to clean out the paint brushes and get himself cleaned up. Meanwhile Helen Heloise made lunch, as the Beach Boys played “Good Vibrations,” and the Rascals’ “How Can I Be Sure” for about the fourth time. By the time he was finished, she was ready to serve soup, sandwiches, and chips at the tiny table in the breakfast nook.

When the Dave Clark 5 halted right in the middle of their hit song “Because,” she came into the kitchen and sat down directly opposite of him.

As she began to pour two glasses from the pitcher with a number of tea bags floating in the water, Helen grinned.

“I found some music that’ll sound a little less like some old lady’s record collection,” she said quietly as the curious percussive guitar chops of Jimi Hendrix filtered in from the next room.

Even as he began to eat his soup, Helen seemed different to Andy.

She’d removed her baseball cap and had allowed her hair to flow loosely down around her shoulders. Her shoulders? That was it!

Where Ms. Heloise had been wearing a white tee shirt all morning, there was only the raw exposed skin of Helen’s shoulders, neck, and upper chest which was barely hidden behind the front flap of her Osh Kosh style overalls.

Now the luscious curvature of Helen’s breasts pushed that front bib flap to its very limit.

Helen had also removed her paint spattered shoes.

Slowly, timidly, she let her right foot wander up and down Andy’s lower pants leg. Now distracted, Andy nearly bit his lip as her warm foot slid up and under his jeans to explore his lower limb further. Her soft foot felt warm and soothing against his skin. But he stared at his food, trying not to look up at her face while enjoying the overwhelming feeling of anxiety and sexual awakening. Once again the bulge acted up at his groin.

Suddenly Andy recognized the Jimi Hendrix song as “Are You Experienced?” Nothing else was said as they finished the small meal. Then as she got up to clear the dishes from the table, Andy fought back a gulp as he saw the firm curvaceous profile of Helen’s pale breasts pushing at her bib overalls from the side.

“So,” she said as she placed the dishes in the sink.

“We’ll finish up tomorrow, I think.”

Andy nodded. As he headed out the door, she called back at him, “Are you planning on being here for breakfast again?”

Andy turned to face her. “You want me to?”

She smiled. “Yeah, sure. See you then.”


“I borrowed some records that I thought you might appreciate today,” Helen said. “Take a look over on the table.”

Andy saw a stack of 45’s and albums which were left beşiktaş escort on the china cabinet in the main dining area. He picked up the first one and read out loud, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling’ by the Righteous Brothers. The Four Tops– I Can’t Help Myself,’ the Temptations and My Girl.’ These are a big improvement.” Then taking a chance by allowing the intimate memories of yesterday to surface, Andy asked, “You going to play Jimi Hendrix’s Are You Experienced’ again?”

“I might,” she responded wistfully. “Depends on how long the painting takes.”

“Guess we better get started.”

Painting the second coat on the living room walls took less than two hours with both of them working steadily. The walls echoed with the sounds of the Crystals, the Shirelles, the Ronettes singing “Then He Kissed Me,” and the Supremes lamenting “My World Is Empty Without You, Babe.” It was old sixties soul stuff, but Andrew Wilson got into the mood of things as the music continued. There was even a couple of James Brown and Wilson Pickett songs played intermittently with the girl groups. Eventually, when the walls were finished, they listened to a reprise performance of the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Quietly, as the songs progressed, Helen closed the blinds in her living room, and said, “Dance with me.”

As Helen Heloise moved carefully into Andrew’s slim but strong arms, the overall atmosphere of her dwelling changed as the emphasis of the songs slipped softly into such classic ballads as Aretha Franklin’s “Natural Woman,” the Staple Singers emoting “I know A Place,” and the Ronettes again with “Be My Baby.” Through those three songs the young black man and the older white woman held each other closely.

“You’re a pretty good dancer, Andy.”

He grunted an acknowledgement. “Not as good as you.”

“I think we’d better get cleaned up before lunch.”

Andy shrugged.

“Come with me.” Taking his hand firmly in her own, Helen led Andy carefully, but determinedly, up the stairs to the bathroom. “We need to shower some of this paint, dirt, and sweat off.”

“What?” Barefoot, and eager, Helen stepped out of her jeans outside the bathroom door. Now that she was down to her panties and tee shirt, she began to undo Andy’s shirt buttons. When she had him down to his bare chest, Helen peeled her top off. As Andy suspected, she was braless under her shirt. Her breasts were full, jutting decidedly out from her chest and shoulders. Dazed for a moment, Andy didn’t know what to say. As his eyes drank in the sight of her lush, fleshy breasts, Andy watched entranced as Helen slipped out of her panties as well.

He saw that she had a rather sparse swatch of pubic hair which the covered the generous mound at the base of her abdomen. But Andy was fascinated all the same. How could such a aesthetic eyesore turn into the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen? Her round nipples and the surrounding aureole enthralled him. While his gaze remained transfixed on her loins, Andy barely noticed that Helen was undressing him.

Then she started the shower and motioned that he was to get into the tub enclosure beside her. Taking a large bar of soap into her small hands, she began to lather up every inch of skin surface and down into every crevice of Andy’s body. Soon Andy eagerly followed suit by soaping up Helen’s skin; all the while examining her naked body in its entirety.

Back and sides, hips and thighs, and then Andy rubbed his soapy hands all over Helen’s full breasts. Naturally the young man’s involuntary response stood up forcefully aware.

This part of their shower experience was sublime.

Each one caressed and stroked the other while learning the specifics of each other’s torso.

Finally, they kissed each other gently, and then more passionately as they gained each other’s trust. While Helen stroked and cleaned his standing elongated organ with soft soapy hands, Andy tried to slip his fingers into the open slit of her vagina. However, Helen cautioned him to rinse his fingers of the soapy residue first. Then as Helen leaned limply against him, Andy’s slender fingers explored the new warmth and wetness of a place he’d never known before.

Out of the tub ten minutes later, they dried each other off. Running the soft, thick white terrycloth towel over his stark, pinkish complexion, Beth asked: “Did anybody ever teach you the horizontal bump?”

Standing perfectly still, enjoying all the attention he was getting, Andy shook his head. “Is that a new dance?”

“An old one,” she replied. “Probably one of the best ever devised.”

She patted dry the droplets which still clung to his neck, back, and shoulders. “Come into the bedroom, and I’ll teach you.”

She’d borrowed a portable cassette player from another teacher, and she’d assembled a play list of romantic soul tunes which drifted through the air like so many seductive kisses once Elizabeth laid him on his back on top of her bed. Ben E. King started the final set with “Stand By Me,” as her lips dropped down to torment the sensitive glands at the tip of Andy’s penis.

Helen stopped somewhere in the midst of the song which followed, Robert Knight’s rendition of “Everlasting Love.”

“Just relax,” Helen said as she took hold of the tip of his hard on. “We’ll be together in no time at all.”

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