My wife, June, has a way with young people. Perhaps it’s because I have a low sperm count and we have never been able to have children of our own. Perhaps it’s because we live in a college town, and are surrounded by young people. But June really warms up to the youngsters. She insists that every school year, we make our guest bedroom available free-of-charge for one deserving student. She never chooses young ladies–I think she is a bit jealous that my wandering eye may secretly spy on them–she knows me so well. She knows that I can’t be trusted not to lust after pretty young coeds, and she gets extremely upset with me if she so much as suspects that I am looking at another woman. So her one rule to the young men who are invited to live with us is that no female visitors are allowed to set foot in the house. Period.
But don’t think of her as unreasonable. She is so generous. She treats each young man like the son we never had. She insists that the boy consider her like their mom away from home, and asks the boys to call her Mama June. She also tells the boys to call me Uncle Willie. You might think that she would have chosen to have them call me Papa Willie, but I’m afraid I don’t cut much of a father figure for the boys. June also insists on calling them her “boys.” I am fearful that they might be offended, because she treats them as though they are younger, less mature than they actually are. I think this is because she knows that many of them are living away from home for the first time (she likes to pick freshmen), and that they no doubt miss their mothers.
It’s wonderful that she has this outlet for her maternal instincts. It gives such a warm family feeling to come into the den and watch her cuddled on the sofa with one of our young charges. She will often let her pick for the year rest his head on her lap while watching a DVD. It is so heart warming to watch as she strokes the boy’s hair, tickles his chest, rubs his shoulder, or scratches his back. June knows it’s hard for a boy to lie on his arm. She says it could cut off the circulation, which wouldn’t be healthy. So to get them comfortable, she encourages her boy to snake an arm around her hips or under her thighs, even though I know he must be understandably shy about doing so.
You might wonder how June finds the boys to live with us. Every fall, at the beginning of a new school year, June takes out an ad in the local alternative paper. She says that’s the paper that most of the college students read. It has a rather unusual personal ads section. This is the ad that she runs:
Free Room and Board. Bored housewife looking for handsome, muscular young student to live-in. Must be full-time student. Prefer weightlifters, athletes, at least 6″ tall. Willing to help with heavy lifting. Applicants must send two photos: face and full length.
I have always found the ad a bit objectionable, but I have never dared to tell her so. I think it quite unnecessary and irrelevant for June to say she is bored. It actually makes her sound like a less vibrant and interesting person than she actually is. June also makes the same typographical error every year. She must not realize that “feet” as in “6 feet tall” should be rendered with a single quotation mark, like this: ‘ . But every year she makes the same mistake and uses the double quotation mark, “, that means inches. Clearly, she doesn’t want a boy who is at least 6 inches tall. That would be ridiculous. Frankly, I don’t understand why she has a height requirement at all. I also find it somewhat curious that she specifies weightlifting and heavy lifting as qualifications because, in truth, there is very little heavy lifting around the house, and she doesn’t ask our young tenants to do even the most minimal housework. She expects me to do all the cleaning up after them, which I really think is a bit unfair, though I would never say that directly to June.
June spends a week or so interviewing the applicants to determine which lucky one will receive free room and board. She likes to conduct the interviews in private, which I suppose is understandable. Each interview takes about an hour. She interviews them in my study, but closes the door and keeps me out. She thinks it would make the boys nervous to have both of us interviewing them at once. Sometimes I think the interviews must make June nervous as well. She really overdresses for them. You would think it was June applying for a job, not a young man seeking room and board. Although she is a natural beauty, June nevertheless spends a great deal of time applying make up before each interview. Rouge, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick. Perhaps she’s trying to hide her age, although she really doesn’t need to. She is in her late thirties, and still looks great, even if not like the slim college coeds that are ubiquitous in our neighborhood.
June’s beauty is softer, more voluptuous, fully feminine. She wears clothes that accentuate the hourglass figure that she maintains. She conducts the interviews wearing a sheer, button down blouse unbuttoned to reveal her deep cleavage. Her breasts are held in place, but hardly contained, by low cut frilly bras that show through her silky blouses. My guess is that June thinks of her breasts as a warm, inviting, maternal feature that will put the boys at their ease.
Perhaps in an effort to look younger, she wears skirts for the interviews that I would have to say are more than a bit too short. She favors the little black skirts with a slit up one thigh that the coeds like to wear. June’s hips and bottom are fuller than the 19-year-olds on campus, however, and her skirts are very tight and hug her upper thighs and hips very tightly. I usually greet the young men when they arrive at our front door, and usher them into my study. June is usually waiting for them sitting in my swivel desk chair. The young man’s first sight of June is as she is sitting in my chair with her legs crossed. She greets the boy while seated, which usually affords him a revealing view down her blouse. The short skirt makes her legs look very long.
June likes to wear high heels, which make her legs look even longer. The mini skirt also hikes high up her thigh. After a boy takes a seat across from June, she uncrosses her legs. I catch a glimpse of panty, usually quite a colorful flash because she likes to wear red panties when she wears her black mini skirt. But I’m probably the only one to notice that because I have a panty fetish and my eyes are always locked on her legs at that moment, because she always uncrosses them at just the same time after the boy sits down and before I leave my study. I’m sure the boys don’t glimpse her panties because they no doubt are struck first by June’s bright green eyes and her vivacious smile.
For some reason, June seems to think that muscles are important, even though she really doesn’t put our young man to work. She keeps a bottle of massage oil on my desk during the interviews, the better to discern their muscle definition, she says. I find this very messy, and can’t understand why their muscles are so important to her. It wouldn’t be so bad if June just asked the young men to take off their shirts and apply oil to themselves. But June can be very clumsy. I almost always have to bring her a change of blouse between interviews, because she almost always spills oil on the front of her blouses.
At the end of interviews, both June and the interviewee are usually a mess. June’s blouses invariably are stained with oil and somehow she has managed not to button them up correctly. This upsets me because it is very difficult to get oil stains out of blouses (but of course I would never say this to June — I wouldn’t want her to think of me as a complainer), so I have to take them to the dry cleaners. The boys’ clothes are also often stained with oil. I see blotches on their shirts and pants that certainly weren’t there when they arrived. The boys usually look embarrassed and avoid eye contact with me as they leave, which I guess just proves June’s point that they would be nervous if I actually participated in the interviews.
My study is always left quite a mess at the end of each interview. I keep a wooden ruler in my desk, and I notice that during the interview week, it is oily and often discarded in odd places. I can only guess that she uses the ruler to measure the boys’ height, since the personal ad says they must be at least 6″ tall (oops, I mean 6′ tall — now I’m even making typographical errors). As I said, I don’t know why that’s important to June, but she must use the ruler to make sure that they meet her height requirement.
I find that the carpeting in my office is also left a mess. After every interview there is usually a fresh spot on the carpet or sofa. I have to make sure to get down on my hands and knees with carpet or upholstery cleaner after each interview and clean up or it will be sure to stain. I have asked June what causes these strange spots because they look less like oil spills than like miniature oysters. June says that it is from a special hand lotion that she keeps hidden, but uses to try to keep her hands moist and youthful looking to make a good impression on the interviewees. To her credit, June is apologetic about being so clumsy and spilling her viscous hand lotion on my office carpet and furniture so often.
As I said, she must be very nervous to make her hands shake to spill so much of it. She must really be unnecessarily nervous about the interviews, being so concerned that she makes a good impression on the boys. It just shows how much she cares about them. I am so impressed with her caring and concern, that I don’t complain about the mess that she leaves for me to clean up after.
The young men must really be desperate for free room and board, because during the week she is deciding, they call often begging to speak with June, they bring flowers to the door, they use every excuse to hang around, offering to help June around the house, anything they can do to ingratiate themselves to her. It’s nice to see how popular our offer for free room and board has become. We have really gained a great reputation over the years, and have more and more applicants every year. I sometimes feel as though I have to beat them away with a stick (just a manner of speaking of course; I would never do such a thing).
I am never entirely sure the criteria June uses to make her final pick for the year. But invariably she picks very healthy, handsome looking young men. I would say in most cases, the young man who stays with us could easily get a job as a male model, particularly the ones you see in underwear ads.
When she finally chooses the lucky boy for the school year, we do our best to make him feel welcome and like one of the family. June tells the boy that he should feel like this is his own home, and for him to be completely relaxed and feel free to walk around the house in his underpants or even completely nude if that is how he is most comfortable. Most of them respond positively to that invitation, which leads to another secret observation I have made about our young house guests. It’s quite a coincidence, but invariably they all have had what I can only describe as enormous cocks. Quite frankly, it makes me feel a bit self-conscious, because I don’t measure up, so to speak.
Upon his arrival, June insists that the boy relax on our sofa as June gets better acquainted with him. She starts having me serve them snacks and drinks. She also insists that I carry all the boy’s luggage up to his bedroom. This strikes me as unfair, first because I am not a very strong person, and usually am left huffing and puffing to lug his possessions up the stairs, while the boys in every case are quite obviously stronger and more fit than I am. Secondly, I’d like to get to know the newcomers as well. By the time I get to join June and the new boy, my face is usually beet red, I’m out of breath, and sweat is streaming down my face.
By this time, June is ready to show the boy his room. I would happily make one more trip upstairs to help show him around, but June tells me to tidy up from their snack.
We usually get into a nice routine with the newest member of our happy little family. Unfortunately, I work long hours and have a long commute. So I have to get up extra early to make coffee and fix breakfast for June and our pretend son. June prefers to have breakfast in bed, so I keep a coffee warmer in our bedroom, and fix her a tray that I place on a night stand by her bed. I give her a light kiss, and sneak a peak at her lovely breasts, and am on my way. When I get home in the evening, I need to clean up June’s breakfast tray, and see that there is always an extra coffee cup and extra utensils, indicating that our house guest has been kind enough to keep June company during breakfast to give her someone to talk to.
I also make both our bed and the boy’s, since June says boys never make their own beds, and shouldn’t be expected to do so. I pick up their dirty clothes off the floor. They both must kick the clothes around, because as often as not I find the boy’s underwear discarded in our bedroom and June’s panties and other items in his.
Although the boys do not wear much in the way of clothes around the house, June insists not only that I wash their dirty laundry, but that I iron every article of clothing, including boxer shorts, T-shirts, saying that it would reflect badly on our house if the boys went out in wrinkly clothes.
June herself usually wears lingerie around the house. She prefers long, silky translucent robes that barely cover the sexy little negligees that she wears underneath. June tends to be a bit forgetful, and often the robes, held only by a tie or sash at the waist, loosen during the course of an evening, usually revealing the frill of see-through wispy lingerie underneath. Her negligees usually hold just enough of her full, round breasts to accentuate their succulent splendor. Just as often, her robes open at the thigh, revealing her deliciously inviting thighs. I have told her a number of times that her revealing evening wear might disturb the boys, but she always tells me I am being nonsensical, and that they are just boys and look upon her as a mother figure, and I should be ashamed to think that they would be sexually aroused by their mothers.
As I said, she treats the young men as though they are much younger than they actually are. For example, she likes to help give them baths, particularly after they have been out playing rough sports, like football. She clucks and worries over the young returning warriors from their fields of battle. She insists that I fill the tub for them, making sure the water temperature is just right, putting a nice combination of relaxing oils into the bath. I would think a young man would prefer privacy, but June insists on following him right into the bathroom, helping him to undress, and assisting him into our sunken tub. As the boy relaxes in the tub, she kneels by the tub and washes his hair, sponges his body, massages his neck and shoulders. It is hard for her sometimes to get just the right angle without getting her clothes wet, so she has learned to strip down to a little undershirt and panties for bath-time.
Even so, by the time bath-time is over, June is usually soaked to the skin. It is one of my favorite times to see her. Usually she waits until after the young man leaves the bathroom (it is off the master bedroom, where I always wait, so the boy has to pass by me to get back to his room) with a fresh towel around his waist. I can’t help but notice the large bulges under the towels, which suggest to me that June is not altogether aware that that these boys really have reached full maturity.
When June emerges from the bathroom, she always looks ravishing to me. She doesn’t wear a bra under the cotton undershirt, because she says that would just be one more article of clothing to get wet. What she doesn’t realize is that the wet undershirt plastered against her body clings and shapes her heavy, full breasts, and that her dark aureola and pointy nipples are clearly visible in contrast to the white, softness of her flesh mounds. The wetness of the undershirt, usually causes it to ride up her waist. As I said, June is in her late thirties, but because she has never had a pregnancy her figure is outstanding for a woman her age. What little bit she has developed in the way of a tummy and a softness around the waist is accentuated by the skimpy undershirt and panties in a way that I find quite fetching. It actually makes me want to feel her hips and kiss her tummy, but I guess young boys would not react the same way. Perhaps most revealing of all are her wet panties.
June would be embarrassed if she realized that her pubic hair is completely visible through the wet panties, and that the view from behind is equally, breathtakingly revealing, as the panties tend to ride up her bottom and so that they do little more than draw attention to the still firm roundness of her derriere. The sight of her bottom is enough to make me fall to my knees.
I sometimes wonder that the boys might also react this way, but then again they probably never see her from behind when her panties are wet and hiked up. It must be the heat and steam from the hot tub, but June always emerges from bath-time with her face flushed and her chest heaving, as she struggles to catch her breath. I always have a fluffy towel warm and ready for her, and love to peel her out of her wet clothes and dry her off.
On bath-time nights, after our young house guest has taken his bath, she tells me to take a bath in his dirty water. By that time it is usually cold. She supervises my bath, watching me naked, stepping into the now cold tub. I usually stand there for a while, reluctant to submerge myself in the cold, dirty water. She supervises as I slide into the dirty bath-water from the young athlete. I must say that I get a bit jealous, though I would never tell June this. But I know that she likes to sponge and wash her boy child, but I guess because she sees me as an adult, she doesn’t wash me (as much as I would love it if she would). Instead, she sits and watches me, commenting on my body. I am in my late forties, and no longer very fit. I have a paunch, and my penis is not large when erect, is quite small when I’m not aroused, and seems to get much smaller in the cold water. She comments on how small it is compared to the boys when they take a bath. I sit in the tub shivering, listening.
I’m not sure why she likes to tell me that even the little boys that she bathes in the tub have stronger muscles and bigger cocks than me, but it does seem to give her some additional pleasure to make such comparisons and humiliate me. I tell her that I’m cold and beg her to let me pull the drain. While I’m in the tub, she is usually admiring herself in the mirror, applying make up–eyeliner, eye shadow, lipstick, and blow drying her hair.
Usually, I am shivering before she gives me permission to let the water drain out. I sit in the tub as it drains, and I get colder and colder. At the end, I am sitting naked in an empty tub. All that’s left is a ring of dirt at the high water mark and more dirt on the bottom of the tub. June hands me cleanser and a brush, and watches me on my hands and knees as I scrub the tub clean. She says it’s better to clean a tub right away so the dirt doesn’t get caked up.
I realize that she is being thoughtful and making the job easier for me than it would be if I followed my own inclination and waited until later to clean up. When the tub is shiny and clean, June gives me permission to get out of the tub. I take the used dirty towel off the floor that our young athlete used and dry myself as best I can. I have to remain naked until after I have helped her dress for the evening. I pick out a pretty pair of panties, usually a silky string bikini, see-through, often black or red. I find a matching negligee and robe.
You would think for comfort that June would prefer warm slippers, but she prefers to wear spiked heels around the house, often as high as four inches high. I think they must be uncomfortable, but she seems to like them, and I must admit that I find them quite sexy.
Although we are both 5’7”, with her heels, June always looks much taller than me, but because the boy staying with us is always tall, it makes me feel especially short.
After I have dressed June for the evening, she then returns the favor and picks out a pair of her panties for me. June usually picks something very feminine for me. She especially likes pink frilly panties for me. She has me step into them. That’s all I’m allowed to wear for the rest of the evening. It wouldn’t bother me so much to dress like this for June, if that’s the way she likes to see me.
But it does embarrass me to have to walk around our young male house guests in June’s little see-through pink panties. In skimpy, lace panties, my penis seems to shrink even more. I know that the boys don’t mean to be unkind, but they can’t help but snicker when they see me dressed this way.
Most days, and always on bath days, I make a nice dinner for June, our youthful house guest, and myself. I putter around the kitchen in my pink panties, or whatever lingerie June has chosen for me. By dinner time, the boy usually has a huge appetite and June and I watch in open admiration as he devours my cooking. June keeps a watchful eye on his plate, and whenever he begins to finish something, she tells me to serve him more.
Sometimes I think because we are offering our young students free room and board, they should help more with the cooking and housecleaning, but June says that no one can cook and clean as well as I do, and that these are just boys, and she knows boys don’t know how to cook and that boys this age never clean up after themselves. So I cook and serve all the food. Also, in addition to my demanding job (June doesn’t work, I earn all our income), it bothers me a bit that not only do I have to pick up after June — which I really don’t mind (I actually like picking her soiled panties off the floor, and hand washing her laundry) — but I also pick up after the boys who stay with us, clean their dirty sheets — you should see the stains these boys leave on their sheets! — and do all their laundry as well.
June also insists that I clean the boy’s bathroom. You would think that guys who play sports would have
better aim, but they seem content to pee in the general direction of the toilet. Sometimes June and the boy will stand in the bathroom doorway and just watch as I scrub in and around his toilet. I guess they want to make sure I don’t miss any spots.
The only time June serves at the table is to fill the boy’s wine glass. She loves getting young boys to drink wine. She treats it as something very, very naughty. “Don’t tell your mother,” she’ll say, “or she won’t let you stay with me.” Or, “This is our little secret.” Or, “Tell me if this is making you tipsy.” When she says these things, she is usually pouring with one hand, while the other hand is touching the boy, and she leans over and whispers these things in his ear, like it is a little secret. When June pour the wine, she leans forward and the low-cut negligee invariably opens up, revealing mere inches from the boy’s eyes the most beautiful breasts any of them have probably ever seen.
June also likes to nurse a bottle of wine throughout the course of an evening. June is happy spending an evening on the sofa watching videos and drinking wine with a young boy under her arm. Although she only officially lets the boy have a glass of wine at dinner, during the course of an evening, she likes to share her wine glass with her boy, holding it to his lips and letting him sip.
I have told her that I don’t mind if the boy has his own glass of wine during the evening, but June has her own ideas about parental responsibility when the kids are away from home, and thinks this is the best way. The boys don’t complain, so I guess they don’t mind her treating them like children. Sometimes, she spills the wine on the boy’s lip, chin, or chest. Not wanting to lose a drop, she will either lick the wine off his neck or chest, or take the wine on her finger, and place her finger in his mouth. I usually am sitting next to them in my recliner. I have always enjoyed watching June get tipsy. Wine makes June very affectionate, very touchy-feely. It really brings out her maternal instincts.
The more wine she drinks, the more she likes to cuddle the boy’s head in the soft warmth of her breasts. I am sure at these times she is thinking of the baby she was never able to nurse, because some evenings in the darkened room I look over and see her actually suckling the young boy like a baby. She feeds him her nipple as though her engorged breast is filled with warm, sweet mother’s milk and he greedily sucks like a little baby. I confess this also makes me feel like a proud papa.
It is not drinking wine and watching TV, of course. Our boy is a student, and June takes her en loco parentis role seriously. June insists on helping the boys with their homework. Sometimes I wonder how helpful she can be. Though June has many fine qualities, she would never be confused for a college professor. She went to some sort of junior college, and from the best I can tell majored in the equivalent of cheer-leading and sorority parties. But she insists that the boys staying with us spend quiet quality study time with her in their bedroom with the door closed so there will be no distractions.
I have mentioned to June more than once that it might be very distracting for the young men to have a beautiful, scantily clad woman alone with them in the room while they are trying to study. But June says that her presence has just the opposite effect. By staying in the room with them, she makes sure they stay where they are and don’t wander off where other distractions (and temptations) await. June says she can help make studying fun. When I asked her how, she just smiled and said “Rewards and Punishments.” I have some understanding of that because June essentially controls my behavior through rewards and punishments, so I know how effective that can be (although in my case, I secretly am just as happy with June’s punishments as I am with her rewards — but I am probably a little perverse in that respect and nothing like our normal, healthy young men).
Another of the jobs June has assigned to me is to proofread and to type or retype all of the papers the boys write. While I end up staying up late in my study typing a boy’s paper and editing it (actually, in most cases, this means rewriting it), she remains with the boy in his room helping him with an extra study session. Sometimes by the time I have finished the paper it is late, and when I knock on the boy’s door I can see that they have been studying so hard that they have both fallen asleep. I give June a little nudge to wake her up and extricate her from the boy’s arms, and lead her back into our bedroom and into our bed. Although she is usually groggy with sleep, this is when she shows her appreciation and likes to push my head down and guide me between her legs. I can tell it’s been a long day and she hasn’t had a chance to shower. On late study nights, she tends to be pretty redolent and slushy down there. But I don’t mind. I inhale deeply and lick the slop around her inner thighs, wipe her wet and pungent pubic hair with my face, and clear out the bitter taste of her rank pussy with my tongue. She’s too tired and spent to clean herself, so its my husbandly duty to keep her as fresh and clean as my tongue can make her.
(to be continued — Maternal Instincts 2)
Proundly signed,
Willing Wimp