Ida had told Andrew to keep it quick. He was staying with her for the long weekend and planned to leave after his convocation. He had no family in the small university town, and hotels were far too expensive for a fresh graduate. Andrew couldn’t afford to add to his mountain of student debt, and so his mother’s friend Ida had agreed to let him sleep at her home until he left.
He was grateful, and had enjoyed the stay so far, but he’d been annoyed from the beginning by how stingy Ida was with hot water. She had an old water heater, she said. She’d been meaning to make repairs, but it would be another few months before she had the funds. She, like Andrew, was far from rich.
So Ida demanded that his showers be quick. It was her only rule, really, and when he had first arrived, she’d been very clear about it. No more than five minutes, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough hot water for the both of them. He’d kept to the rule well enough for the first two days, but now it was the third—the morning of convocation—and his mind was elsewhere. He was becoming anxious, thinking of all those eyes on him when he took to the stage, and he’d decided to relieve that stress in the shower, in the best way he knew how. He figured he could be quick enough—doubted that Ida really kept that close an eye on the time anyways.
And so, with his hair plastered against his head by the hot water, and the rest of him slick and dripping, he’d gotten to work, closing his eyes against the steam and beginning to feel himself, and to let his imagination work. Today it was a simple fantasy. Standard stuff, but it did the job. He imagined a college locker room, a cheerleader whose face was red with worry that her routine was not where it should be. He imagined her asking him to watch, to tell her it was alright and that she was the best of the best.
Of course, it didn’t matter why he was there in the first place, or why she thought his opinion would be any good to her at all. What mattered was the hourglass shape of her body. What mattered was the way her breasts bounced, braless, with her movements, and the way her nipples pressed against the fabric of her uniform. What mattered was that she wore no panties, as he saw when she first kicked her leg up. There was an instant’s flash of bare skin, labia shaved bald, sleek white legs growing from round buttocks that bounced with her movement. It only took a few seconds for him to go rock-stiff.
His right hand worked quickly, and his foreskin saved him the trouble of finding a bottle of lotion. He used a tight grip, not interested in prolonging the experience. He needed release, and he needed it quickly. His left hand cupped his scrotum, and he imagined that he and his cheerleader had moved to the shower. It was she that cupped him, she that stroked him, and he imagined her breasts, still perky in their youth, brushing against his chest as his hands closed on her buttocks.
He felt his orgasm coming. He worked fast and hard, hand moving over his mushroom and striking softly against the base of his shaft with each stroke. Just one or two more, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out, facing the drain, opening his eyes to watch himself discharge. He generally considered himself straight as an arrow, but there was something about watching himself cum that—
“Alright kiddo, I don’t have time for this. Move over!”
The shower curtain flew aside, and a chill from the outside washed over him. He turned unconsciously, and was suddenly face to face with Ida. At first her expression was wry. She’d expected horror on his face—expected to give him a good scare for taking so long in the shower. Her hair, usually waist-length, was pulled up in a bun, her face framed by a few errant strands, and the corner of her mouth was turned up beneath big green eyes. Her lips were full, even pressed together in her knowing smile.
She was naked herself. She faced him straight on and made no attempt at modesty—likely wanted him to see it all, he would think later. One hand was outstretched, pushing aside the shower curtain, the other rested on her hip. The breasts that hung between her shoulders were by no means young, but they were full for a woman of forty, and immense, too, with nipples hard in the cold air. Just below a modest belly, between hips that no young cheerleader could ever hope for, her pubis was a dark wedge where trimmed pubic hair covered the open lips of her labia.
There was no time for horror, which Andrew surely would have felt had Ida intruded just a moment earlier or later. There was nothing but the constricting pulse in his cock, the heat that flashed through his stomach, and the small moan that escaped his lips. The lithe, young figure in his head had suddenly become a full, real one right in front of him, mature and strong in her beauty.
His orgasm was so intense that he almost fell back into the shower stall. His eyes roved over her, drank her in in all her fullness, and he had the size of her before she could move. His moan was breathless, and as his hand pumped down he came as if for the first time.
The wry grin on Ida’s face became a slack-mouthed “O,” whether of shock or approval he could not tell just then, and her eyes went wide. A jet of semen erupted from the end of his cock and cleared the edge of the shower to slap across Ida’s belly. She moved now, breasts shaking as she jumped in surprise, thighs rocking and hands coming down to cover herself. But it was too late, and as Andrew’s arm pumped again another white rope shot out and landed between her legs, from the middle of her bush to the inside of her left thigh.
Now the moan was hers, high-pitched and shocked. She took a step back, producing what might have been a laugh, and putting her hands between her naked shape and the orgasming Andrew. Her arms pushed her breasts together as she did so, and they spilled over her feeble attempt to cover herself. One hand came down over her crotch, small, delicate, and unable to fully cover her mound.
“Oh my god!” was all she could say. “I—” she tried, but then Andrew’s third contraction came, and she leaped back, squeaking with surprise as an even stronger ejaculation landed on the hand she’d placed between her legs.
Andrew was waking up to what was happening now, the intensity of his orgasm giving way to profound embarrassment.
“I—I Uhhhoooo” He couldn’t finish his sentence, and broke into a moan, pumping one last time and feeling warmth flow over his clenched hand. He couldn’t believe it— was at a loss for words. He had to force himself not to keep stroking, and finally tore his hand away. His cock, dripping and still half engorged, swung down between his legs, foreskin pulled back. Andrew was too stunned to cover himself, and he stood there with the shower still running over him and semen pooling in the water at his feet, utterly exposed and humiliated.
The shock on Ida’s face remained, but she did not flee the room like Andrew expected. Her mouth was still slack and her eyes still wide, but she seemed to soften now. Her hands fell away to her sides, she cocked a hip to one side, and her gaze moved from Andrew’s own wide eyes to his groin. Slowly, her mouth closed again, and her smile returned. Her eyes narrowed now, and went from his dripping cock down to her belly and bush. She held up her hand, inspected it, and drew apart her thumb and forefinger so that a strand of jizz stretched between the two digits. She looked at it intently for a moment, and then sniffed.
“Well.” She smiled, wiping her hand absently across her breasts where— Andrew now realized with amazement—the nipples had grown even harder. “It looks like we both have some cleaning up to do.”
And with that, as if were the most normal thing in the world, she stepped forwards and joined Andrew in the shower. His erection returned then, harder than ever. Ida didn’t seem to mind.