Culvert Mozart Lane - chapter 1 - Sex Stories

Culvert Mozart Lane - chapter 1

... ‘bouncer’. I happily watched her chest bounce as she led her sons up or down the church’s front steps. I chatted with her at a picnic the next weekend, then took her to a dance the following Friday. Her oldest boy Lawrence was 13 and capable of looking after the other three. It boggles my mind now, that I had a stepson only five years younger than I was, and a wife only seven years younger than my mother. My father had been 29 when they married on Mom’s 18th birthday, so I didn’t think it odd until much later.

For the morals of the time, Elaine was practically a slut on our dates. She was desperate for a husband to help with her farm and boys. She gave me a few long glances down the top of her blouse and a goodnight kiss at the end of our first date. It was even a wet kiss, French style! I got several more kisses, an exciting long hug, and a brief bum squeeze on our second date.

A week later I was quite a bad lad. I told my parents I was borrowing their ’33 Ford Coupe so I could take her to another dance, but drove to a lake where we shared a six-pack and smooched by moonlight. On only our third date, Elaine let me get a hand in her big brassier and happily wanked me off, but told me she wouldn’t go any farther without a ring.

After a few more nice times by the lake, I nearly emptied my bank account writing a check at the closest jewelry store, which was a two-hour drive. Just getting there and back used half my gasoline ration for the month. Elaine and I returned ...

... to the lake and moved our fun to the rumble seat after I proposed. We made love for the first time under the stars, in the back of my father’s car. I nearly wept with joy remembering, when I saw a car the same year and model in a ‘ZZ Top’ music video 50 years later. I didn’t care for the song, though.

Elaine had a firm grasp on my heart, or maybe something a little lower down. Instead of signing up for the Marines or Army, I signed a marriage certificate at the end of our wedding ceremony. When I wrote and told my buddies, they wrote back about the war and said they understood my decision. Two even told me they would have done the same, since she was a ‘bouncer’.

We didn’t have a honeymoon, and after the wedding I moved my clothes and few other things to her farm. Other than the small and steep stairs leading to the house’s cellar and attic, it had been planned out very thoughtfully by her ancestors. There was a pond on one side of a small hill, and they built the barn on the other side. It was only a twenty yard walk to carry pails of water from the pond to the cows, and the hill stopped any barn filth from reaching the water. At the back of the barn the ground sloped downward, making it a good place to put the manure when we cleaned the barn.

There was a dairy shed down near the creek, where we made butter and cheese. They call the types we made ‘Colby cheese’ and ‘Farmer’s cheese’ now, but to us it was just ‘white’ or ‘yellow’. We sealed some of it in wax and it ...