When I was a growing up in the mid 60's, there was this woman, Mrs. Campbell, who was really nice to all of the kids in our neighborhood. It didn't matter that we were a lot younger than her son or that we were never his playmates, she just treated us all as if we were. She'd give us pieces of watermelon or ice cream cones in the summer, lots of candy at Halloween, and hot chocolate in the winter. She even played baseball and touch-football in the road with us a couple of times when a team was short a player.

All of my friends noticed that she seemed to treat me a little bit better than the rest of them. I always got the biggest or the most of whatever she was giving out to us. My friends teased me sometimes, saying that Mrs.Campbell was sweet on me, but I just told them that I had better manners than they did, and that Mrs.Campbell liked that. I never did tell anyone that I really did have a crush on her. She was pretty, maybe the prettiest mom in the neighborhood, and she always smelled really sweet. She was always ruffling my hair, and once in a while she would stand next to me and give me a hug with one arm around my shoulders. I loved how my body would sink into her hip, and she always felt warm and soft.

Then one summer Mrs.Campbell and her husband sent their son away, to some sort of military school we were told. He'd be gone for a few months, come home for a week or two, and then leave again. When he first went away, we saw a lot less of Mrs. Campbell.

Then one hot Friday I was hanging out by myself. One of my friends had gone away to visit relatives, a few others had baseball practice, and I think another went to our local park to go fishing. Everyone else was sort of gone, and if their family was lucky enough to own an air-conditioner, they were in their house. Anyway, as I rode my bicycle past the Campbell house, Mrs. Campbell came quickly out of the front door and called to me. It was great to hear a friendly voice because I was starting to feel real lonely.

I quickly circled back and I saw that Mrs. Campbell seemed to be really happy. She asked where everyone was and I told her what was up. She then said that she was all alone too and told me to park my bike around back and to come inside for some ice cream. I happily did as she said, hiding my bike under the back porch because I didn't want any stranger trying to steal it. It was a cool bike back then. It was called a "Sting-Ray". It had "monkey bar" handles, a "banana seat", hand brakes and three speeds.

Mrs. Campbell had the back door already open for me as I climbed the stairs. I remember that she locked the door as I entered the kitchen, and then went to the refrigerator to get me a creamsicle. She sat across from me, smiling and not taking her eyes off of me as I ate. When I finished she quickly went to get me another. When I was done we talked, I don't remember what about, but I do recall her saying that she really missed her son. That's when she asked me if I would like to see his train set.

Now there had always been a rumor passed on by all of the kids in the neighborhood that Matthew Campbell had one heck of a railroad set assembled in his basement. No one had ever seen it, but we all believed the rumor to be true. We all had tried to look into the Campbell basement but curtains covered the small basement windows. That simply added more fuel to the fire that every boy's dream railroad was down there.

I was really nervous as she led me down the steep steps and into the dark basement. I couldn't believe that she was going to show me the fabled train set. I felt like I was going to meet Mickey Mantle. And when she flipped on the light switch at the bottom of the steps, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Before me sat a menagerie of Lionel trains, sitting three feet above the floor on top of a huge wooden table. A two foot aisle allowed a person to walk around the perimeter of the table. Three trains, each with two engines pulling seven cars, were spread out on tracks that had bridges, tunnels, a station yard, a town, and even a small river...with water! At the far end of the basement was a platform where the transformers were located, and that's where Mrs. Campbell took me.

My hands shook as I took control of the trains for the very first time. Mrs. Campbell had shown me the basics, and then she let me take over. She stood behind me at first, and as I guided the second train out of its holding place, I got so excited that I started to get a hard-on.

I was so wrapped up in watching the two trains circle the table that I never noticed Mrs.Campbell as she moved to kneel by my side. I only became aware of her movement when I felt her wrap her left arm around my waist. My eyes briefly left the tracks to look down at her. She was smiling happily up at me, her right hand now resting on my thigh. I remember her asking me if I was having fun and I told her yes. She then said that she was going to have some fun too.

I didn't know what she meant by that but as I turned my attention back to the trains, I suddenly felt Mrs. Campbell's hand begin to rub my hard cock through my pants. Panic prevented me from moving or saying a thing. I continued to stare at the tracks, hearing the trains as they rumbled on their course, but not really seeing them. In my minds eye I only saw Mrs. Campbell's smiling face.

I remember feeling the cool air of the basement as Mrs.Campbell unzippered my pants and fished my hard cock out. I felt her fingers as they wrapped around my small cock and gently caressed it and I remember her telling me how handsome it was, what a mature boy I was, and how much she wanted to make me happy. Once again I only heard the sound of the trains rumbling on their path as Mrs. Campbell brought her face towards my crotch.

The next time that I was aware of my surroundings I saw Mrs. Campbell wiping up a few wet spots on the floor of the platform that we were on with some tissues. The trains had stopped running, my cock was back in my pants, my zipper was up, and I was no longer hard.

"Did you have funny Davy?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," I said sheepishly, not knowing if it was the right answer, but knowing that it was probably the answer that Mrs. Campbell would want to hear.

"That's good sweetheart," she replied with a smile. "I had fun too."

She patted me on the head and then led me upstairs. When we got into the kitchen Mrs. Campbell told me to wait because she wanted to give me something. I thought about running out the door, but I didn't. When she returned she was carrying her purse. She opened it up and dug inside and then reached out and gave me four shinny new quarters.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A dollar," was her response.

"Why are you giving me a dollar?"

"Because I want you to have it," she replied. And the she went on. "You're a good boy Davy, and I like you a lot. But I want you to promise me that you won't tell anyone about today. You can't tell anyone about being in the basement with me. Understand? If someone finds out that you were downstairs we'll both be in a lot of trouble. It has to be our secret. Yours and mine. If someone else finds out me and my family will have to move, and you don't want that to happen, do you?"

I shook my head no.

"That's a good boy," she said smiling and giving me a gentle hug. "I knew I could count on you."

She followed me outside and waited until I got my bicycle.

"Would you like to play in the basement again Davy?

"Maybe," I answered quietly.

"That would make me happy," she said, and then she blew me a kiss.

Instead of going home I headed up to the corner to Leon's Deli. I filled my pockets with candy and still had fifty cents left. Then I went to see if I could find any of my friends. I shared my candy, but nothing more. On Monday I went to play in Mrs. Campbell's basement again, and by the next summer I had another new bike. A five-speed Sting-Ray.

Comments

Anonymous

by Anonymous on Dec 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM

Posted my age wrong. Should be 60.

(0)  (0)
Anonymous

by Anonymous on Dec 21, 2014 at 4:47 AM

There should be a special holiday in honor of women who teach young boys the joy of sex.
instead they are often disgraced and branded as criminals. It's all fucked up.

(0)  (0)
Anonymous

by Anonymous on Dec 21, 2014 at 8:47 PM

to number 2, I totally agree. My 4th grade ccd teacher, a nun, my 8th grade English teacher and my aunt all contributed to my sexual education and coming of age. My aunt gave me my first blow job when I was 5. The nun taught me the joys of BDSM/fem dom and my 8th grade English teacher tutored me in both advanced English and as well as French. She is the reason that I am now an expert in eating women to orgasm.

(0)  (0)

Comment this

Can't read the image? Click here to refresh