Sucking the Old Folks at Home!

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By Lauren McAllister

So, I was sitting home one Friday night, telling people on Facebook why they were congenital morons, when I came across this article someone had posted about how my generation is so selfish and jaded and not worth the sperm it took to create us. Well, that sure picked up my mood. As if I didn’t have a sufficient number of bum nuggets on my life-plate already to harsh my mellow! For one, I had to break up with my boyfriend of two weeks, after he took me to my cousin’s wedding. Plus, like, my hair dye job was just a total bust and I was going to have to… forget it. Even I’m not interested in what I’m going to have to do.

Let’s just say that it really set my mind to thinking, as I polished off my third vodka and Sprite. Was I a selfish, do-nothing waste of space? After all, I was 19 and what had I spent all my time doing besides masturbating and texting my friends – and sometimes texting my friends while masturbating? Was I an irredeemable hedonist, as this opinion piece so insultingly laid claim? Up until that moment, the biggest question I had to answer that night was “vibrator or do I call a girlfriend?” Now, there was some serious shit to consider. I poured myself a generous one – light on the Sprite – and decided it was time for some concentrated introspection.

The next morning, after waking up on the floor of my living room, I continued to ponder over some strong coffee and a very small piece of dry toast. I felt that performing a simple good deed right away for someone would be an excellent start on my road to a lifetime of laudatory altruism. Perhaps doing something for someone older? They always seem to need some sort of help. This was so neat! I was going to be a humanitarian. Now, I just had to figure out to who I was going to be it to.

Luckily, there was no shortage of old, creaky people in my town. Some of them were nice but some of them, quite frankly, were not inclined to let a smile be their umbrella. So, I was at the food court a couple of days later with some of my BFFs and I see Mr. Ziegler ambling by with his groceries. Zigs, as we used to call him in the neighborhood, had always been a kind person. When we were kids, he doled out some of the best candy on the block. He drove us to school sometimes, if he was passing by and it was raining – and no I never got the perv vibe from him. His wife had died about five years ago from one of those awful diseases that old people die from. Since then, he’d been bravely carrying on but now he was just a withered widower with only his budgie for company. “How lonely he must be,” I thought, as I finished up my Panda Express orange chicken.

And suddenly, BINGO! I had found my goodwill project. I was determine to show that prick on Facebook that some of us teens can be majorly cool and considerate people.

That evening, I took out a pen and some paper and spit-balled a few goodwill ideas. How could I contribute to making this old dude’s life less of a steaming shit sandwich?

Zigs really didn’t need his groceries fetching for him because, despite being a little wobbly, it was probably good exercise. Nurses and social workers dropped by regularly to make sure he was still alive and remembering to wash his narbles. Hmmm, what was missing from his life that I could provide? Then it hit me, like a case of the shits after a Mexican holiday! His wife was dead and he was so ancient, he was practically covered in cobwebs, but he was still a man. And what do men like? They like us women (well, except for that one bar down on the high street). This old bastard hadn’t had more than Kleenex for “special time” company in over five years. Yes! My mind was made up. I was going to give Zigs a little by of my sugar before his date with the grave.

My whole philanthropic plan was set in motion that very Sunday. This first thing I did was toddle over to my parent’s house and steal a couple of my dad’s Viagra pills. I baked them into cookies and dropped them off at my lucky beneficiary’s house that morning. I figured he’d eat them with his lunch and his blood would be nicely flowing southward by the time I wandered by in the afternoon.

The butterflies were swarming around in my stomach like crazy as I Anyway,  I’d never had sex with someone over 30, never mind 75! Wisely, I’d consumed a couple of large Southern Comfort and Dr. Peppers to steady my nerves.

The door opened and Zigs stood there like had had no idea I was about to come in and marinate his boner. Aren’t men clueless?

”Hi. I was wondering how you liked the cookies.”

“Oh, they were wonderful,” he replied, with a warm smile on his face.

Stage One of “Operations Feels on Wheels” was complete.

“Would you like to come in?”

Bingo! Bingo! My internationally recognized humanitarian award was practically in the bag.

But, a few minutes later, we’re drinking tea in his living room and, to be honest, I’ve never been so un-turned on in my life. Don’t get me wrong, he was a sweet, lovable old guy but that didn’t exactly fire up the old genital generator, if you get my drift. His budgie was more alluring. I would have gone to the bathroom to fiddle my middle in order to get my battery started, but I was afraid he would fall asleep in his chair before I got back. There was nothing to do at this juncture but bravely jump to Phase Two.

I had a plan – it wasn’t a very good one but, then gain, how good does it need to be when you’re a young woman offering to gobble an old guy’s gonads?

“Oh no!” exclaims I. “I’ve spilled tea all over my dress.”

Zigs expressed suitable concern.

“If I don’t wash it right away, I’ll never be able to get the stains out.”

“Oh dear. Oh Dear. Well, I do have a washing machine,” he kindly offered.

Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!

“Really?” I batted my imploring peepers. “Could I possibly impose upon you. This dress cost me a fortune.”

“Why certainly.”

I thought his eyes were going to fall right out of his wrinkled head when I unzipped the only piece of clothing I was wearing and let it drop to the floor in front of him. My vagina was nicely shaved and my nipples reacted well to the temperature in the room. It was actually a bit of a turn on being naked in front of someone that you shouldn’t be naked in front of. I pretended to readjust my breasts, so his eyes would be drawn to them and then swept a little non-existent fluff off of my soft, puffy pussy.

After a few seconds of bewildered shock and heavily disguised delight, the blood returned to Mr. Ziegler’s brain and he gallantly offered me something to wear. I said that I was really hot from the tea and would it be all right if I cooled down first. Let’s just say that he didn’t offer to arm-wrestle me for it.

Bless him, his gray, cloudy gaze never drifted below my chin. I was heartbreaking how honorable he tried to be while instructing me on how to operate his antiquated laundry machine. I made a point of accidentally rubbing my tits on him as often as possible during the lesson. There was also a series of long, improper hugs and an immodest number of “thank you” kisses. I was more touchy/feely that a game show host.

As much fun as it was, almost poking his eye out with my stiff nips, it was probably time to get down to some serious business.

When he wasn’t looking, I stuck my finger in his cup of tea. Yep, barely above room temperature. OOOPS! Son of a gun, if I didn’t spill his morning brew all over his pants. And oh, how I apologized and begged for forgiveness.

And then…

“Say!” it fake-suddenly occurred to me. “We can wash your pants along with my dress. Here, let me help you off with those.”
Zigs was mortified, but I lyingly assured him that I did this sort of thing all the time when I was candy-striping down at the local hospital. The closest I’d ever been to a hospital was dumping Bobby Danwich there when he got completely shitfaced on tequila and sliced through his thumb instead of the lime. Before he could mount any sort to objection, I was on my knees and unzipping his loose-fitting, synthetically fibered pants. “Oh no, you’re underwear is all stain too.” Yank.

As I relieved his cock from the confines of its cottony housing, it didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me. I put it down to the awkwardness of the situation. His penis flopped onto my palm, looking like a very sad elephant.

“My what a cute wiener you have!” I disingenuously remarked. And without further ado, into my mouth it went. Now, I don’t want to brag, but I can’t ever remember removing a man’s pantaloons (no matter what the circumstances) and being presented with “a softie.” I guess the men I usually date are in their golden age or raising a bone. This was a slightly humbling experience for me but… I know he was no spring, or even a summer, chicken but… I had infused those cookies with enough Viagra to give a dead guy a woody. For the first few minutes, it was like sucking on a flavorless gummy worm. The poor guy was probably a little nervous because his geezer geyser hadn’t been called to duty in quite a long time. The key was to remain patient and keep the subject calm.

I was gnawing away on his lady-lance like it was the first ripe strawberry of the season. I slurped loudly, tickled his nuts and scrotum and prayed. I don’t know which one of us was more relieved when his lap-compass began to point north. It was slow at first, like I was inflating a beach mattress with one of those foot-pumpy things. Soon though, I could feel his shaft skin starting to tighten and the head of his cock began to make friends with the roof of my mouth. The blood flow had finally commenced. Phew!

Zigs let out this little old-man moan. The trick now was to not let up. I was doing such an amazing and thorough job; I was beginning to wish that I was the one with the penis. This was indisputably one of the finest, wettest and deepest blowjobs I had ever administered. And I was doing it for charity! Really, that was the most fulfilling part. It was intense, passionate and noisy. I practically stuffed his joint down into my lungs and then lightly dragged my teeth across the length of his budgie-perch as I pulled it back out. There were more moans, a few jerky motions and then Zigs grabbed onto the top of my head. The time was nigh and I girded myself to taste a big blog of septuagenarian cum. It had been laying around in his happy-sack for god knows how long, so it was probably going to taste a little on the stale side. Hey, if it was all fun and games, it wouldn’t be a selfless act of generosity, would it?

The moaning became louder and his grip tightened. I doubled down on my head-bobbing speed and increased the suction. I didn’t care if all he had was dust in that nutsack of his, I was going to get it out of there. Zigs was now leaning down on me really heavily and his knees began to buckle. I did my best to support him but this girl can only do so much while on her knees with a mouthful of a guy’s spew toy.

Bam! A little squirt of spunk landed on my tongue. The flavor wasn’t gag-inducing but I wouldn’t want it on my toast in the morning. Then Mr. Ziegler folded in two and collapsed right on top of me. Christ! I almost bit the end of his knob off. Face first into the goddamn carpet I went and I found myself pinned under an avalanche of sweaty, saggy flesh. I politely waited for a moment or two for him to move but it was beginning to get really gross and squishy down there.

“Hey Zigs, want to see me swallow your cum? Can you get off me?”
He didn’t answer. Finally, I’d had enough of all this respecting your elders bullshit and I pushed him the hell off. I have to tell you I was a pretty disappointed in the old bugger. You’d think after all I’d just done, he’d have been a little more considerate and grateful. That’s when I noticed that his eyes were closed… and he wasn’t breathing. Like, not at all. SHIT!!

Of course I called the authorities immediately and they told me not to touch anything. Boy, it was sure embarrassing being completely naked and stuff when all those cops showed up to examine his body. Several of them seemed to be far more interested in my body, if you want to know the truth.

I just wanted you to know; that there was no way I was going to let this initial setback deter me from my highly commendable do-gooding activities. I mean, grow a brain, people. Which do you think Zigs would have preferred, drifting off to heaven in the middle of “Dancing With the Stars” or check out while jamming his righteous cock down the throat of a super-happening chick? If I were a gentleman of a certain vintage, I know which one I would choose.

So, I now have three grizzled old fellas that I spread ‘em for. They can only manage it about once-a-week each, so it’s not a huge time commitment. They put on suits and buy me flowers and wash and comb there hair. It’s so darn cute! And when they open the door, their smiles are so big, you’re afraid the top of their heads are going to fall off. Just try to get that kind of unbridled appreciation from some 22 year-old!

It’s sorta fun in a don’t-think-too-hard-about-it sort of way. If they’re feeling especially perky, I let them get on top of me until they run out of breath, but mostly I just suck ‘em or ride ‘em, have tea and leave.

In Conclusion:

Ladies, if you want to make a difference in this world – I mean a real difference – find yourself some lonely, doddering old retiree and fuck his brains out. Though, I would advise taking a certified CPR course first, just in case. And it’s not just about the sex with these courteous codgers. Sometimes they just want to put their glasses on and want you to masturbate or have you lie naked in their arms. For them, it’s just knowing that “it ain’t over” and that, girls, can make all the difference in the world.

Anyway, I have to go in the other room now and feed Zig’s budgie. As a side-hobby I’m collecting up the newspapers he poops on so I can shove them up the ass of that idiot motherfucker on Facebook.

The End

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“Don’t Fuck With The Nurse!”

A nurse gets called in on a really shitty day to to give a physical to two complaining, middle-management douchebags. A good life rule: Don’t piss someone off when you’re not wearing any pants.

Copyright Lauren McAllister 2022

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