Sylvia’s Mother, a Redux

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I have decided to rewrite this story because of several comments from my readers. I must admit that I did rush through it on my first effort. On rereading after it was posted I realized that I made several errors and skipped over a lot of details that should have been included. This time I will also add my apologies to the ghost of my favorite poet, Shel Silverstein.

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I met Sylvia Avery on my first day of Kindergarten at Bartonville Grade School in September of 1954. She was a skinny little girl with gangly legs and arms, and long fiery red hair that she always wore in two long braids that hung almost to her waist. She had ghostly fair skin, and freckles on her cheeks under the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I was instantly smitten, but too embarrassed to talk to her because I was painfully shy.

Since our last names came alphabetically (Joseph Archer, Sylvia Avery), we were seated next to each other. She was as shy as I was, but somehow, we got over our awkwardness and quickly became best friends. Since we only lived two blocks apart, we were inseparable, and spent almost every waking moment together over the next thirteen years. We often ate at each other’s houses, shared our first kiss, went to the Junior and Senior proms together, fell in love, and talked about marriage after exploring each other’s bodies in the back seat of my mother’s 1960 Thunderbird.

By the time we were in our late teens, I had grown to be a head taller than her at 6′ 2″, and her formerly skinny little body had really blossomed. By the time she turned eighteen she was 5′ tall, her boobs had grown to C-cups, and the rest of her had filled out into an hourglass shape, making her an incredible beauty. We had fondled each other, I had sucked on the bright pink nipples of her barely B-cup boobies, fingered her nearly hairless vulva to orgasms, and she had masturbated me to completion, but we had never gone ‘all the way’.

Everything changed soon after we started community college together in September of 1967. I received a letter that started “Greetings from the President of the United States of America…” We cried together that night, and she offered to drive us to Canada so that we could be together. Since my family had a long history of service to our nation (my great-grandfather was a civil war veteran, my grandfather was a veteran of WWI, and my father had served in the PTO in WWII), I felt it was my obligation to answer my ‘Call to Duty’.

We had a tearful goodbye at the train station, and Sylvia promised to wait for me till I got home. I departed for Ft. Brag in North Carolina for basic training and sent a letter to Sylvia every week I was there. I never received a reply to my letters, and when I graduated after nine weeks of my small taste of ‘Hell’, only my parents and siblings were there to congratulate me.

The day after I arrived home for a two-week break, I went to Sylvia’s house to ask why she had not answered the letters I had sent her while I was at Boot Camp. Her father explained this by telling me that Sylvia had transferred to a college in California. He gave me an address, and said, “If you send your letters to her there, I’m sure she will answer them.”

I started writing to her again soon after I arrived in Texas for training to become a helicopter mechanic. Since my father and grandfather owned a garage, and I grew up working on cars and trucks, learning how to maintain helicopters was a ‘piece of cake’. I excelled at my job, and was promoted twice before I finished my training, and graduated as a Corporal.

During my ten weeks in Texas, I sent a letter every week to the address Sylvia’s father had given me. Two days before I graduated Technical School, nine of them came back to me marked ‘undeliverable, wrong address’. I didn’t know what to think, but immediately after I graduated, my instructor told me that my proficiency was urgently needed in Southeast Asia. My parents met me in Clarksville, TN to see me off (Yes, the song by the Monkeys was about a young man going to war, because Fort Campbell, that straddled the Kentucky/Tennessee border near Clarksville was where most soldiers departed for Vietnam).

I eventually ended up working on a barge moored to the banks of a nameless river, somewhere in the backwaters of Southeast Asia. We were never told exactly where we were, because our location was considered ‘Top Secret’. One of my buddies said he was sure we were in Laos, but no one really knew for sure. We were far from any combat, and during my time there, I often wondered where the war was, because all we had seen any of it were the bullet holes and blood stains in the unmarked black Huey’s we repaired.

Time seemed to drag on forever, and the only way we kept track of how much had passed were the furloughs we were given every three months in Japan. Eventually my ‘time in Hell’ was over, and I was sent home to Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, to serve the remainder of my obligation to my country. The first thing I did after arriving there was call Sylvia’s house to let escort kartal her know where I was. The call went very much like the song lyrics;

‘Sylvia’s mother says, “Sylvia’s busy, too busy to come to the phone.”

‘Sylvia’s mother says, “Sylvia’s trying, to start a new life of her own.”

‘Sylvia’s mother says, “Sylvia’s happy, so why don’t you leave her alone.”

‘And the operator says, “Forty cents more, for the next three minutes,”

“Please Mrs. Avery, I’ve just got to talk to her, I’ll only keep her awhile.”

“Please Mrs. Avery, I just want to tell her Goodbye.”

The call ended with her mother telling me that Sylvia had found someone to spend the rest of her life with, and that I should forget about her.

I called my parents next and told them I wouldn’t be returning home until I was discharged, because Sylvia had decided to ‘move on without me’, and I didn’t want to come home with her not there.

I decided that since the ‘love of my life’ had decided not to wait for me, there was no reason for me to remain a virgin. I decided to remedy this as soon as possible. My bunkmate introduced me to a woman named Bonita when we were on weekend passes in Kansas City, and after four more visits, several boxes of condoms, and several hundred dollars, the senorita informed me that I had graduated with ‘flying colors’ from her ‘school of erotic love’.

After I finished my obligation to the US Army, I returned home, and was welcomed by my parents, younger brother, and younger sister. My things were still in my old room, so I moved back in and tried to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. After about a week of looking into colleges and jobs, I saw a newspaper advertisement for the Peoria Area NECA/IBEW Local 34 apprenticeship program.

The evening after I made my application, I shared what I had done with my parents, and they both agreed it was a good career path for me to take. Years ago, before my father opened the garage with his father, he had worked on the assembly line of the local company that made the big yellow earthmoving equipment and he said working as a Journeyman Wireman, what I would be when I finished my apprenticeship, was one of the best career paths I could follow.

Later, when I was helping my mother with the dishes after dinner, she asked me, “Have you been in touch with the Avery’s since you’ve been home?”

When I told her I hadn’t, she said, “Zelda’s husband George died of a stroke caused by a malignant brain tumor about the same time you came home from overseas, and she really took his death hard. She told me that Sylvia ran off and got married soon after her father died, because she couldn’t deal with her grief.”

Angrily I responded, “I called them as soon as I got off the bus at Ft. Leonard Wood, and she wouldn’t let me talk to Sylvia. Why should I waste my time with her now?”

My mom touched my arm and said, “She is a sad lonely widow and her devotion to her dying husband drove her daughter away. She didn’t tell Sylvia you were home, because she was afraid her daughter would desert her. When Sylvia left anyway, the poor woman was nearly inconsolable. The ladies from the church were visiting her daily until a week ago when she told them she wasn’t going to do anything ‘rash’. Please go visit her tomorrow son.”

I told my mother I would and went to my room to ponder my place in the world. I had served my country with honor. I had not been wounded, or even seen combat. Although many of my friends and classmates had been wounded, and several had died, I had been left with a wound that didn’t show, a broken heart. I fell into a dreamless sleep, and awoke more confused than before, but when I smelled coffee and fresh baked goods in the morning, I got out of bed immediately.

I got dressed in a stripped polo and Levi’s and went downstairs to find that my mother had made a layer cake, and a batch of blueberry muffins (my favorite). When I asked her who the cake was for, she said, “It’s for Zelda, I called her last evening after we talked, and told her you were home from the Army, for good, and were coming over to visit her this morning,”

I grimaced, and thought, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think my mom was trying to set me up with my ex-girlfriend’s mother.’

When I finished breakfast, I took the cake, and walked the two blocks down to the fifth of ten nearly identical brick bungalows on the west side of Madison Street, with 109 over the front door and knocked. The sight that greeted me when the door opened nearly took my breath away. The woman standing before me didn’t look anything like the Zelda Avery I remembered the last time I dropped off her daughter at this house.

Zelda had always worn dowdy looking house dresses before when I had visited the Avery house, but what she had on today did little to hide the amazing figure of the beautiful MILF I was now staring at. She was wearing a light blue chiffon dress with a plunging neckline that displayed the most incredible cleavage I had ever maltepe escort seen on any woman. Her red hair was wavy, instead of being in a tight bun covered with a hairnet, and just touched her shoulders, and her fair skin and blue eyes were adorned with just the right amount of makeup that made her look sexy. She took the cake and invited me in. I followed her watching the hypnotic way her incredible ass twitched back and forth and made the dress sway when she walked, exactly like I remembered her daughter doing.

When we got to the kitchen, she told me to sit at the table and I did. She set an empty cup and saucer in front of me, and when she bent over to pour my coffee, I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra because her boobs jiggled, and her left nipple and areola were peeking at me through her cleavage. I knew my face was turning red because it felt hot, but what surprised me the most was that my cock was fully erect and straining against my boxers under my jeans.

She sat across from me, and we talked about my time in the army and her husband’s untimely passing for a while. When my coffee got low, she got up from her chair to refill my cup.

This time she shrugged her left shoulder, allowing her entire left boob to come into view. She stood up, and didn’t bother to cover herself as she said, “Do you like what you see young man?” When I just stared and didn’t answer, she pulled the dress off both her shoulders and down to her waist, exposing both of her large boobs, and hefted them with her hands, saying, “Not bad for an old broad, eh?”

I had to admit that they were the most magnificent pair I had ever seen, at twice the size Bonita’s were, and they hardly sagged at all. When I told her what I was thinking, she smiled and said, “Thank you very much for the compliment. My daughter always said you were a boob man, and now I’m happy to see she was right.”

They looked exactly like her daughter’s, but they were several cup sizes larger, and I could not stop myself from reaching out and fondling them. They were heavy but soft, and very warm. Before I realized it, I was sucking on her huge dark pink nipples as I fondled these massive mammaries, causing her to moan loudly. Suddenly, she started shaking, and I could tell by the aroma coming from under her dress that she was having an orgasm. I knew this because I had once given her daughter one the same way, causing Sylvia to soak her panties, and the back seat of my mom’s Tbird while we were parked in the back row of the Bellevue Drive-Inn.

When she finally came ‘back to earth’, she unzipped her dress the rest of the way and let it fall to the floor. She was not wearing panties, and her shaved vulva was soaking wet. I could see that her juices had run down her legs and were forming a puddle on the kitchen floor.

She reached down and grabbed my bulge, saying, “I haven’t had a cock in my pussy in six years, and I need yours in me now!” She stepped out of her dress and walked out of the kitchen toward the stairway that led to the second floor of the house.

Dazed, I followed her to the second floor, shedding my clothes as I went, and when I reached the master bedroom, she was already lying on the bed, with her legs spread. I climbed onto the bed and dove face first into her dripping wet vulva and dined on her juices that tasted exactly like my fingers did after I had masturbated Sylvia, until she came again. Then I crawled up her soft, shapely mature body, and drove my cock, that had not penetrated a vagina since my last ‘trip’ to Kansas City six weeks before, deep into the tightest vagina I had ever felt. She wrapped her legs around me and soon we were fucking like two horny animals.

It didn’t take long for us to explode together, and as we were catching our breath afterwards, I gazed at the beautiful, sexy, mature woman next to me and thought, ‘Damn, if Sylvia is going to look like this and be this horny twenty years from now, I really fucked up!’

When Zelda looked up at me, she asked, “What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

When I told her, she said, “No dear, you didn’t fuck up, my impatient daughter did. You are the best fuck I have had in my entire life, and that includes my George, God rest his soul. The next time I see my daughter, I am going to tell her that to her face.”

She asked me if I had ever fucked her daughter like I had just done her. I told her that Sylvia and I had never had never actually had sex, we only ‘fooled around’. She told me, “Darling Joseph, if you would have done to her what you just did to me before you left for the army, my Sylvia would have waited for you, no matter how long it took.”

I looked at her seriously and said, “Mrs. Avery, Sylvia and I were both virgins when I left for boot camp. I was still one when I came home from Vietnam, but after our phone call, I remedied that situation because I had just lost the love of my life. A friend suggested a ‘certain lady’ in Kansas City, and she was able to help me ‘become a man’.

She then reached down and pendik escort bayan started fondling my half hard cock and said, “First of all, please call me Zelda. After what we just did, Mrs. Avery is too formal. Second, my daughter was foolish to let you go, and third, this is quite the impressive piece of equipment you have here Mr. Archer, let’s see if there is some more life in him.” She then took my cock into her mouth and swallowed me whole. About three deepthroats later, she had him fully hard again, and climbed atop me for and lowered herself onto my manhood. I mauled her huge boobies as she rode me through two more of her own orgasms until her third triggered mine.

When we woke up several hours later, Zelda smiled, and said, “I had a wonderful time today young man, and as much fun as it was, at my age, I don’t think I’ll be able to do this every day. Would you be willing to ‘visit’ me once a week to help me ‘scratch my itch?”

I told her, “I will be by every Saturday morning to ‘take care of your needs’.” I redressed, gathering my clothes that were scattered down the stairway and into the kitchen. When she kissed me at the back door, wearing only a very sheer robe, she gave me an extra key and said, “I’ll be waiting for you in my bed, naked, every Saturday morning from now on, at eight AM.”

I walked down the alley to our house with a spring in my step, thinking about the amazing sex I just had, and wondering if Sylvia was living the life she wanted. Then I shook myself out of my funk, and thought, ‘To hell with Sylvia, her mother is the wildest fuck I’ve ever had’.

For the next seven weeks, as I waited to find out if I had been accepted into the Apprenticeship, I did yard work for elderly neighbors and other menial jobs, and spent every Saturday tending to Zelda’s ‘needs’. I managed to save enough money to put a down payment on a used 1966 Mustang at Gene Brown’s Zephyr Service and Auto Sales and connected with several of my old school buddies. They all asked me about Sylvia, and when I answered them, they all told me some variation of, “Bummer man, she doesn’t deserve you.”

One Saturday, about two months after Zelda and I had started our ‘arrangement’, we were both naked on her bed in the upstairs master bedroom. Zelda was riding me like she was a cowgirl, and I was a wild mustang, when we were startled by a bloodcurdling scream.

When we turned to see the source of the noise, we both saw a very tired and disheveled looking Sylvia standing in the bedroom with a shocked expression on her face. When she stopped screaming, she lost consciousness, and collapsed on the floor in a heap. I pushed Zelda off me and ran to check on her daughter. When I determined she was still breathing, I picked her limp body up and carried her into her old bedroom, laying her gently on her bed.

Just then, Zelda came into the room, wearing her robe, and handed me a man’s robe, saying, “You should put this on.” I did as she told me, and sat on the edge of the bed, holding Sylvia’s hand and waited for her to wake up.

About ten minutes later, Sylvia started to stir, and opened her eyes. I could tell her vision was blurry, because she started stroking the plaid cotton robe, saying, “Oh Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here, I’ve missed you so much.”

I realized that she was not fully alert, and that I the robe I was wearing was probably her dead father’s, so I said nothing. Soon she started to become more alert, and when she finally focused on my face, her expression changed from happiness to extreme fear. She started pounding on my chest, and screamed, “You can’t be real, you’re dead!”

Just then, her mother came back into the room, redressed in one of her dowdy old house dresses and her hair tucked up in a bun. She pushed me out of the way and held her daughter telling her, “Everything will be alright Dear.”

She shooed me out of the room, so I took that opportunity to retrieve my clothes, redress, and go down to the kitchen, where I made a fresh pot of coffee. As the percolator did its job, I could hear angry voices coming from the upstairs bedroom, and about the time the arguing stopped, the coffee was finished. I took three mugs from the cabinet, filled them with the steaming hot caffeinated liquid, and waited for the ladies to join me.

About five minutes later, Sylvia and her mother came into the kitchen, and both women sat down at the table, where they drank their coffee in complete silence. Finally, Sylvia looked at me through eyes reddened by crying and sobbed, “I never heard from you after you left on the train, and when I wouldn’t stop asking him why, my Daddy told me you had been killed in Vietnam.”

I responded, “Sylvia, I wrote to you every week the whole time I was at Ft. Bragg, but you didn’t answer any of my letters. When I came home after I graduated, your father told me that you had transferred to a college in southern California and gave me your address there. I wrote to you every week during my time in Texas, but when they all came back ‘undeliverable, wrong address’, I didn’t know what to do. I went to Vietnam not knowing what had happened and wondered if you still loved me. When I got back to the states, I called you from Ft. Leonard Wood, and your mother told me you had moved out and were getting married.”

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