It looked like we’d get an early spring (at least according to Punxsutawney Phil). During the winter I had been unable to reconnect with Pam or even talk to her. I was hoping that with warmer weather, she would resume jogging on our street. I was really looking forward to seeing her bouncing tatas and those shapely legs.

It wasn't as if I hadn't seen her, at least from afar. While driving in or out of the subdivision, I'd seen her walking, bundled up in a heavy parka with the hood up. I just couldn't force myself into pulling up next to her and rolling the window down for a chat.

I didn't want to come across as creepy; but heck, I was the old guy who had shot his wad in his own pants.

It was late March, highs in the lower ‘70s and lows above freezing. In short, perfect weather to be out cleaning up the flower beds. Also, perfect weather for Pam to be trading in her heavy sweaters and sweatpants for more revealing tees and running shorts.

I had been thinking about Pam a lot, at least when riding the clothes hamper and jacking off. I still did the pervy sniffing of Julie’s undies, but fantasized they were Pam’s. I craved the real thing.

Julie had given me an outside to-do list while she was having lunch downtown with her sister. It included planting two flats of pansies in the front bed, out by the street.

I'd eaten an early lunch: a Boar’s Head Tavern ham and havarti cheese on rye, a handful of Lays chips and a Schoenling Little King. I wasn't much of a day drinker, but I tended to reward myself once or twice a week.

I was on my hands and knees in the front bed with a second unopened cream ale sitting atop a small cooler and ready to be cracked, when I heard an, “Hey, stranger; day drinking?”

I looked over and spied a pair of neon-yellow Hokas, white bobby socks and very shapely stems. Tilting my head upward, revealed frost green, painted-on yoga shorts terminating at unmistakable camel toes.

My gaze probably lingered longer than polite, but it wasn't every day (or decade) that I was face-to-face with a set of monkey lips. My eyes drifted upward, past a diamond-studded pierced navel to the braless and unmistakable 34 Ds of my neighbor Pam.

I raised my right arm. “Give an old guy a hand up.”

Pam smiled and pointed to the green bottle nestled in the fescue. “Got a cold one for a hot girl?”

I might have been a geezer, but I knew a double entendre when I heard one. I gave her a “How ya been?” as I dug into the cooler, pulled out a frosty seven-ouncer and handed it to her. She popped the cap off and chugged the contents in one pull and asked for another.

She burped and laughed. “Well, I’d like to talk to you about that. Can we go inside?”

Oh crap, here it comes. I expected, “I feel so ashamed. I'm not that kind of girl. Yadda, yadda.”

Instead, as we ascended the steps out of the garage, Pam began, “I can't thank you enough for what we did last month. It had been almost a year since my last really rocking orgasm.”

Did I hear that right? It seemed kind of stupid, but I answered, “You're welcome.”

Pam unexpectedly fell into my arms, her face buried in my chest. She began sobbing. “I know Nate loves me; but since he gained all that weight, our love life has been next to nonexistent. His, his, well, his stuff was always kinda, well, small. I think he’s ashamed that it’s barely visible with his big belly. I'm so frustrated. He now dresses in the bathroom and won't even eat my, my, you know.”

I stroked her hair. All I could think was, “No! Don't even give it a thought. This isn't a movie in which Sean Connery ‘consoles’ the young starlet, needing a cigarette afterward. Stop. Don’t spring a boner.” What came to mind was the scene from Animal House: angel on one shoulder and devil on the other.

Pam made up my mind for me. She pulled her face off my chest, sniffed and wiped the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She rose up on the toes of her sneakers, simultaneously pulling my head down toward her pretty face.

Pam closed her eyes and opened her mouth as our lips approached. I responded by first lightly nibbling her lower lip, then teasing the tip of her tongue with mine. I both heard and felt her sigh.

At some point, I had fully embraced her, my hands under her crop top. I slid them downward slowly to the silky curvature of her lower back and pulled her belly toward my groin. She momentarily broke our kiss, shifted her hands around her torso and then over the top of mine. She repositioned my hands down onto her buttocks. She clearly wanted me to knead her dough.

Pam moved slightly to my right and began grinding her pubis against my upper thigh. I responded by squeezing her ass cheeks, the tips of my fingers sinking into her crack.

I felt my cock begin to stir.

I could have continued with this foreplay for hours. I was beyond starved for affection and in dire need of a female lusting for my cock.

Pam broke our kiss and leaned slightly back, keeping eye contact. I felt her fingers fumbling with the buttons of my Filson collared nerd shirt, then my belt buckle.

"Fuck," I murmured.

"Exactly," she uttered while nodding and grinning.

Pam squatted and pulled my cargos down around my ankles. I shook one, then the other leg off my feet.

“Oh my, Bart," she whispered, cupping my semi-erect meat like a bun holds a hotdog. “Where have you been when I needed you?”

I’ve never been one of those horse cock kind of guys; sporting maybe just six and a half inches on a good day. On the other hand, my cock was wide, exacerbated the last few months by the Cialis my urologist had prescribed for an enlarged prostate. Because of the Cialis, I walked around most days at half-mast, semi-erect.

Pam looked up and locked eyes with mine. She brought the head of my prick toward her lips and slowly painted them with my glistening precum. Pam parted her lips and hesitated.

I didn't.

I placed my left hand on the back of her head and gently directed my cockhead between her precum-lubricated lips and into her warm mouth.

I closed my eyes and Pam took over.

Pam clearly was no stranger to cock sucking. I felt her shift her hand from the wiener bun position to a bat grip. I snuck a peek. Her tiny fingers circled Old Dan, but came short of approximating by a good inch.

And then she took over.

Pam began licking the uber-sensitive frenulum area, bobbing her head slightly with each tongue thrust. Complimenting her technique, I growled, “Yeah, Baby. That’s it. Suck my cock.”

She began vigorously jacking the shaft, rotating her grip with each pump. I could have been selfish and shot my wad within only a few seconds of her service, but I instinctively knew Pam needed a good fucking. I tried to refocus on anything and everything, but my cock.

I looked up at the corner of the mudroom ceiling: spiderwebs. I’d have to get to that. Were the pansies drying out in the front bed? Did the Braves have a game today? Nothing really worked. I was close to filling Pam’s mouth with hot jizz.

“You gotta stop, Baby. I’m gonna cum.”

Pam’s response was to shake her head “no” and to double down on her jacking speed. She was clearly protein-deficient.

I cupped my right hand over her tiny jacking fist to stop her frantic pistoning and pulled her ponytail with the left. My cock plopped from between her lips.

I didn't have to telegraph my intentions. As Pam arose from her kneeling position, she pulled her crop top over her head, tossing it onto the nearby Maytag washer. Against all odds, she was able to shimmy her yoga shorts down and off her sneakers. She stood with her hands on her hips, buck-naked.

“Fuckin’ A,” I uttered. Pam truly had star-gazers. Bob Seger’s lyrics came to mind. “Points all her own, set up high.”

She impatiently shifted her weight from one foot to the other, drawing my attention down to her bush. The carpet matched her deep brown eyes and eyebrows, but not her blond-highlighted curtains. Her mons sported a well-coifed, quarter-sized puff of chestnut-colored pubes.

Pam wasn't exactly light as a feather; but at around 95#, I easily hoisted her up onto the dryer, her cute little ass just at the edge. She leaned back and supported her torso with her elbows on the lid, her head just clearing the overhanging cabinet.

She telegraphed her wishes by spraddling her thighs outward.

I got the message and wasted no time burying my face in her briny-smelling pussy. Pam knew she was pretty much in the driver’s seat. With her left hand, she pushed my head downward such that my lapping was forced away from her clit, but down to her taint and pucker. With her right hand, she began furiously diddling her pearl, her long finger on the button and the others extended up in the air. Luckily, I was wearing my trifocals or I’d be typing this account in braille.

I was enjoying rimming her tiny anus, but I was getting a crick in my neck and a cramp in my right calf. Just as I was beginning to lose focus, Pam abruptly locked her thighs inward onto my head, mashing my face into her taint. She bucked her pelvis upward and growled, “Lick my ass. Lick my ass, Baby. I’m cumming.”

Pam seemed possessed. She added her right hand to the back of my head and pulled my face tightly against her privates. I could feel my nose sliding up and down her swollen clit; at times as she rocked, slipping into the entrance to her love canal.

Just as I was nearing asphyxia, she uttered a guttural “uhhhhgggg” as she climaxed

She shoved me away. “Too sensitive.”

I stood hunched over, my hands on my knees. After catching my breath, I peeked up at Pam. Her chest was heaving up and down, but she had a smile on her face. She opened her eyes.

“Bart, it’s your turn.”

Yes, I wanted to give Pam the fucking she had been missing; but I’d have to stand up awkwardly on my tiptoes to do her missionary on the Maytag and there was next to no way I could stand erect and hold her for the monkey climbing the palm tree. Luckily Pam had other ideas.

“Look out.”

Pam hopped down with seemingly little effort and spun around. She leaned over and supported her body weight on the washer with her forearms, allowing her belly to sag downward. This rotated her pelvis backward, exposing her tiny tan pucker and glistening wet slit. This position and her narrow hips brought to mind a jockey posting up on a trotting thoroughbred.

Don’t get any ideas. I have zero interest in tiny dudes wearing riding boots and harlequin-patterned silks. Well, maybe just a little.

Much as I would have enjoyed burying my face in her taint again, I intuitively understood that Pam needed a good fucking. This feeling was reinforced by Pam looking over her shoulder and arching her right eyebrow, giving me a “What’s a girl got to do to get humped around here?”

I ran my left hand over her downy ass cheeks and lasciviously surveyed her dewy back, waist and hips down to her pouty lady lips. At some point, Pam had slipped her left hand down to her pussy, forming a “V” with her index and long fingers. The pink was there for my taking.

I positioned myself behind Pam, licked my thumb and lightly touched her anus. There was an involuntary muscular pucker, accompanied by a single utterance, “Ummmm.”

I slid my thumb downward across her taint, pausing between her moist inner fronds. Pam impatiently pushed her pelvis backward, swallowing my digit up to the knuckle. I found the rough patch just behind her pubis and began lightly massaging her G-spot. Pam released the “V” and began working over her clit. After no more than thirty seconds, her body stiffened and through clenched teeth, she repeated the pirate-like guttural sound of her second Big O.

I realized Pam might need a pause in the action after cumming twice, but I was in full breeding mode. I retracted my thumb from her box and brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply her musky woman scent. My eyes closed involuntarily, as I hungrily sucked the girl juice off the digit.

It was time to get back to business.

I cupped her waist just above the pelvis with my left hand and spit into the opposite palm. I added the saliva to the dripping precum on Mr. Johnson’s head as additional lubricant. I brought the very tip and slit to her back door and once again lightly touched it. Pam’s external sphincter again tightened, but this time her response was, “Uh-uh.”

I guess she figured I had an anal workout in mind.

Pam slid her fingers away from her clit and across her taint, grabbing my throbbing prick. She directed the mushroom away from her brown eye, bringing it forward to her vaginal opening. As I leaned forward, she rotated her pelvis backward. I felt the head slip past her silky labial folds.

My cock was officially visiting Pam’s cunt.

Much as I wanted to give her a pounding, I intuitively understood my fat prick might be a tad big for her sex-starved, under-poked pussy. As a result, I began a slow and gentle pistoning of my weapon in and out of Pam’s honey hole, carefully pulling her pelvis toward my groin on each stroke.

Pam knew how to flatter an old guy. In between strokes, she looked back and said, “It’s so big, Baby. I want it all.”

And with that, she redirected her hands to the washing machine control panel and shoved backward, her cunt swallowing my cock, balls deep.

We settled into a fucking rhythm like an old married couple. I sensed what she needed and seemingly she, me. After a few minutes, I was starting to feel that impending lava eruption deep in my taint. “I’m gonna cum.”

Pam responded, “Not yet, Baby.” She shifted both hands around her torso and grabbed my hips, effectively locking us together. “Take a deep breath.”

I laughed and we resumed our fucking.

Pam took the lead. I stood upright, my hands on my hips, watching her in action. She ground her hips on my rod in a table-dance fashion and egged me on with a variety of back alley utterances that would make any sailor proud. She commanded through gritted teeth, “Yeah, Bart, fuck your little whore. Give me all your cum. Make me your bitch. I want your baby.”

She gave me the go-ahead signal when she dropped her right hand down to her quim and began furiously abusing her clit. I grabbed her pelvic wings with both hands and began pounding her cunt. Within seconds, I had reached the point of no turning back.

And then Pam froze. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m cumming.”

I pulled out maybe an inch, hesitated; then plowed forward, depositing a half-dozen ropes of steamy jizz deep into her cunt.

I added my own “Fuck” to the chorus and collapsed onto her back. It was then that I felt an overwhelming sensation of warmth on my meat, nads and legs. Was Pam a squirter?

I caught my breath and pulled my overly sensitive love stick out of Pam’s furnace. She turned to face me, then looked downward. "Oopsies," she laughed.

I followed her eyes. Rivulets of pee traveled down our legs, forming a puddle between our feet, snaking toward the floor drain.

I laughed with her and added, “You know what they say, Pam. You don't buy beer. You rent it.”