A 60-year-old ex-tutor’s chance encounter with a lusty woman he taught 18 years earlier instigates a passionate and highly sexual romance between them.
Part One
My name is Richard Hoffer. One Friday afternoon in 2023, not long after I had turned 60, I was spending an enjoyable afternoon at the main branch of the public library in my hometown. I went there at least twice a week just to read magazines and browse at the marvelous collections of books on every topic imaginable. I was about to leave the venue when I suddenly remembered the main reason I had gone there in the first place. I had ordered a book about Charlie Chaplin, whose movies I’d always enjoyed, via inter-library loan. I wanted to know when I might be getting it.
“It’s only been a couple of days since you placed your order, Richard,” the head librarian told me. “Depending on where we get the book, it might take as long as ten days to arrive. Rest assured, someone from the library will promptly call you when it comes.”
I accepted the good news with a smile, thanked her, and then turned toward the door. I was stopped in my tracks by a female half my age who stepped in front of me to stop me from leaving. “The librarian called you Richard! When I saw you from a distance, I thought you might be Richard Hoffer. Are you? Oh, please say you are!”
“Yes, I am Richard Hoffer,” I told her, wondering why that bit of information was so important to this apparent stranger.
The woman, a nicely shaped female with long and curly blonde hair, smiled for a moment and said, “You don’t recognize me, do you, Richard? Hey, I can understand that. The last time we talked would have been about 18 years ago when I was just 12. I’m Bethany Curtis. Now do you remember me?”
It took perhaps five seconds for her name to ring a bell with me—but then it did. I had tutored her and her sister Janie for about six months. Bethany’s looks had certainly taken a few leaps forward since 2005 when we had our last session.
“Wow! Is that really you, Bethany? Long time no see!” I stated warmly.
Bethany surprised me by giving me a strong hug and a terrific kiss on my lips. Then she paused for a few seconds and repeated the kiss—this time it was longer and better.
“I don’t recall you ever doing that when I was showing you how to divide fractions for sixth-grade math, Bethany!” I stated jokingly. “I recall a few hugs now and then, but I think I would have remembered kisses like that!”
“I may not have kissed you when I was 12, but I certainly wanted to do it!” Bethany said. “Richard, I thought the world of you.”
All of a sudden, I was no longer eager to leave the library. I suggested we get reacquainted in a secluded area of the building where we weren’t likely to be disturbed. I found a cozy table for two near where the volumes about philosophy and theology were stacked. Based on my many years as a library patron, I rarely saw anyone there.
We sat down. Bethany immediately grabbed my hands. She reminded me that when she was 12 and her sister was nine that money was tight at their apartment home. Her father had medical issues that prevented him from working regularly. Her mother worked three different jobs to make ends meet. Having a tutor, even just for an hour a week, was a luxury. I remembered that I gave them a discount rate. Sometimes I didn’t accept payment at all because Bethany and Janie never gave me a bit of trouble—and I recognized the financial difficulties the family was having.
“I didn’t know until afterward that you weren’t charging your regular rate,” Bethany said. She was now starting to cry. “I remember you brought Janie and me large packages of colored pencils when you saw we didn’t have any. How could I not love you for being such a sweet, caring person?” Then she leaned across the table to hug and kiss me again. I guess it’s true that you often don’t realize the impact you have on others. I started to tear up, too.
Bethany said her parents now lived 400 miles away in a city where her father has a prominent position with a manufacturing company. Janie was married and living in another community about 100 miles away. Bethany, though, was still residing in town, employed as a nurse at a prominent medical clinic. She was unmarried.
“A girl as affectionate as you are—and such a beauty—unmarried?” I said. “That’s hard to believe.”
“You might recall that I was a chunky little girl, a little bit on the fat side,” Bethany said. “I’ve lost 80 pounds in the past two years to look like I do now. It took a lot of time and effort. I vowed I’d never be a fat girl again.”
Now the whole picture was coming back to me. Yes, Bethany had been a heavyset girl. As a 12-year-old, that meant she was more sexually developed than her sixth-grade peers. I laughed at something I hadn’t thought of in 18 years. “I do recall you giving me a special hug one day when I was about to leave your apartment. You whispered in my ear, ‘I’m the only girl in my class who needs to wear a bra. I wanted to press my boobs against your chest because you deserve it. Maybe we can have a fuck someday.’”
“Oh, wow!” Bethany stated. “Yeah, I remember that incident, too. I think you were too dumbstruck to give me an answer.”
I laughed and told her I had turned 60 two weeks ago, which made me exactly twice her age after I did the mental math to figure out how old she was. I had stopped tutoring because I became quite wealthy after I inherited my parents’ estates and invested that money very wisely. I was unmarried—and a little bit lonely at times. I figured I was barely average-looking. No female was going to pursue me for companionship. That had been the case all my life. Furthermore, I had never been much of a skirt-chaser, although I loved looking at beautiful females as much as the next guy did.
“So you’re not in any type of relationship at the moment?” she asked with a hopeful tone in her voice.
“Nope. I’m single, never married. No kids. I’m a free agent on the romance market,” I replied.
Bethany then gave me a cheeky smile and said, “My offer from 18 years ago still stands, Richard. Do you want to have a fuck—or several? I just finished my shift for today and I have absolutely nothing on my agenda until Monday morning.”
“I’d be a damn fool to turn down that offer!” I agreed with enthusiasm.
Bethany smile widely and said, “Great! Give me your address and I’ll meet you there in about an hour. Consider it payback for all your past good deeds.”
Part Two
I rushed home, showered, put on some sexy cologne that I hadn’t used in 20 years, and waited patiently for my ex-student to make her appearance. I made my bed, thinking it was a waste of effort because Bethany and I would be using it for copulation purposes very soon. I had just fluffed the pillows when I saw a blue automobile turn into my driveway. Out stepped Bethany. She had upgraded her wardrobe. She was now wearing a very sexy blouse with a pleated skirt. Nobody who saw her that day would ever have pictured her as having been a chunky 12-year-old.
I opened the door before Bethany had time to knock. Within seconds we were locking lips. I could taste the wild cherry lip gloss Bethany had applied. Bethany realized that I was now wearing sexy cologne. We each understood we were doing our best to try to impress the other person. It was a good sign.
Bethany immediately asked me a personal question that made me chuckle: “Do you do much fucking, Richard?”
“Damn little, I regret to say,” I responded honestly to the blunt query.
“So what do you do for a sexual release, Richard? Do you just jerk off?” was Bethany’s blunt follow-up question to me. She seemingly had no qualms about openly discussing delicate subject matter.
“Well…yes, mostly,” I acknowledged. Then I admitted something else. “But maybe once or twice a month I go to that Asian massage parlor on the other side of town for a bit of fun. I usually hire a cute, busty Filipina girl who works there. She gives me a hand job while I fondle her tits. Eventually I drain my dick. It’s very enjoyable; it’s really quite wonderful recreation for an old guy like I now am.”
Although I had every right to ask Bethany about her sexual activities and how frequently she partook in coitus, I decided against it. I was very old-fashioned. I simply could not bring myself to ask a female about such things.
“As for that massage parlor you enjoy so much, I have a hunch you’ve spent your last dollar there,” Bethany told me. “I plan on being your fulltime bedmate from now on, Richard. There will be no reason for you to have to spend any money on sex. Any objections?”
“I was kind of hoping things would work out that way,” I told Bethany with an enormous smile. In fact, in the 45 minutes since we left the library in separate cars, I had been doing plenty of fantasizing about Bethany. I decided that when I came during today’s romps, I wouldn’t pull out of her. I had fathered no children in my life—and my window of opportunity was getting smaller with each passing month. Accordingly, I planned on depositing as much sperm into Bethany as her vagina could hold. I wouldn’t tell her in advance, however.
Despite my grandiose plans, I did have one very basic biological concern: As a new sexagenarian, I was now experiencing the problems of age that frequently afflicted males once they hit that milestone. I had been that way since I was 57. I definitely wasn’t the man I had been even a decade before when it came to obtaining and maintaining erections. Sometimes it took my sweetheart at the massage parlor 20 minutes of gentle tugging to get me solid and generate an ejaculation. As a teenager, it would have taken me about 20 seconds to get my penis ready for sexual intercourse. As George Bernard Shaw once noted, “Youth is wasted on the young.” Fortunately, gazing upon 30-year-old Bethany in her birthday suit got me hard almost instantly. She was quite lovely without any clothing on. She had a very nice set of breasts and a shaved pussy. (Bethany later told me she had employed a razor on her most private of bodily parts in the brief interim between the library and my house.) There was also the undeniable “taboo” aspect of my screwing a former tutee—even though I last taught Bethany 18 years ago. That fact was an additional turn-on for me. When she declared, “That’s a nice strong dick you have there, Richard!” I was overjoyed.
We kissed briefly, but we were both eager to get down to business. I had a huge bed, so there was plenty of room for sexual escapades. Bethany lied in a perpendicular position so she could do her magic with my erection. She tugged on my shaft, licked it, rubbed it against her face, and did the same with my balls. While she was busy sexually stimulating me, I began fingering her vagina. More specifically, I stuck one finger and then two inside her. Bethany became wet in a hurry, and I was enormously aroused by everything that was happening in my bed.
“I have to fuck that beautiful, shaved pussy of yours, Bethany,” I informed her. “I can’t resist it for another moment. It’s fabulous!”
As I was repositioning her for a missionary-style fuck, Bethany said, “Feel free to come inside me.”
Yes! All I could say was thank you—and then I began to screw her passionately. Bethany possessed a reasonably tight vagina that felt wonderful to penetrate. I drove my penis inside it with rapid-fire thrusts. Bethany began to moan loudly while I grunted with carnal bliss. After five or six minutes of truly intense screwing, I felt an ejaculation mounting in my testicles. I knew it was going to be a substantial cum shot.
“Bethany, I’m going to come hard!” I warned her…and that’s exactly what I did. I felt four successive spurts of jism exit my throbbing shaft and enter Bethany’s glorious 30-year-old pussy. It had literally been three decades since I had last ejaculated inside a woman. I guess I was trying to make up for it with one spectacular blast of semen.
“That ought to make a baby,” I told my delighted bedmate, who was lying below me with an absolutely radiant glow on her face.
Bethany then announced, “I’ve decided we ought to stay in your bed here for most of the weekend so you can keep coming inside me. That was excellent screwing, Richard. Let’s do some more fucking, please!”
I approved of Bethany’s optimistic plan. I pulled my rod from her vagina and rubbed it along her tits. That got it hard in a hurry. My merrily sucking on them for five minutes brought me to full erection status, so back on top of her I got! I resumed the same level of intense screwing that had produced my first orgasm. It took me approximately 20 minutes, but I attained a second one. It was not nearly as large as number one, but that would have been plainly impossible for a 60-year-old to achieve. I figured even a healthy and horny 20-year-old male couldn’t have two huge cum shots in such a short span of time, but I might be mistaken about that. Anyway, every drop of cum was launched inside Bethany to produce a baby.
We took a recess from screwing—but not from having sex. We decided to have a shower for two, where we explored each other in wild and wonderful ways. I enjoyed Bethany resuming her superb blowjobs—and I got into it by trying to shove my aroused shaft into her mouth as far as it would go. Then we ordered in two Chinese dinners, consumed a large bottle of cola, and munched on sugar cookies to keep our respective energy levels high. Then we enthusiastically returned to my bed.
Bethany took charge now. She told me—it was more like an order—to lie on my back and simply relax because I had earned what she was about to do. Bethany quickly mounted me in cowgirl fashion. She gyrated and bounced with my dick impaled firmly in her pussy. The sight of her boobs bouncing rhythmically was captivating to me. After about ten minutes of this fun activity, I fired another cum shot into my ex-student without bothering to announce I was going to do it. “Sperm delivery number three,” was all I uttered about a minute after my ejaculation.
I was dead tired and showing my age. “Let’s call it a night, have a good sleep, and continue our fucking in the morning,” I suggested. I also added, “Bethany, my love, I’m beat. I’m about to fall asleep in about 30 seconds.”
“I’m a little tired myself,” my bedmate admitted. “Yeah, let’s just cuddle together and fall asleep.”
Bethany dismounted me, sprawled on top of me, and drifted off. Her choice of location didn’t affect me at all as I did fall asleep in under a minute.
Four hours later, I awoke in the middle of the night. Bethany was now lying beside me, still asleep, with her arms wrapped around me. I glimpsed her sexy, naked body, and discovered I had a passable erection. Thus, I decided to fuck her for a fourth time. She awoke when my dick entered her now familiar vagina. “I couldn’t resist,” I explained—which was the absolute truth. Five minutes of fucking produced another ejaculation, which was little more than a few dribbles. It did wonders for my male ego though. Any doubts I had about declining sexual prowess went out the window with cum shot number four, tiny as it may have been.
We followed Bethany’s plan to the letter. We spent all day, both Saturday and Sunday, in my bed, only stopping our passionate screwing for showers, meals and restroom breaks. Over those two days, I managed to achieve another four ejaculations to put my weekend total up to an impressive eight. None of them were as intense as the first two, however. When Bethany tried to get my manhood aroused for a ninth fuck, it wouldn’t cooperate. Even her excellent fellatio skills couldn’t get it to rise. Apparently, this was a first for her. Bethany started to panic, worrying that she had lost her sex appeal, or that she had broken my dick! I calmed her down and told her she had simply drained me dry and that she had given me and my 60-year-old rod an unparalleled weekend of happiness. I emphasized there was no way she could ever lose her sex appeal, at least as far as I was concerned.
Bethany finally returned to her home on Sunday night after we enjoyed a fine Italian meal at a local restaurant. She informed me she had a shift at the medical clinic on Monday from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. and then the rest of Monday off. When I noted that I’d likely regain my sexual stamina by that time, I suggested more screwing for Monday night, perhaps at her place for a change of venue.
“No, let’s pass on that until at least Tuesday night, Richard,” she said. “I should use Monday night to do some important shopping…for maternity clothing.”
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