I woke up feeling better than the day before. It was quite late (but I had gone peeing in the wee hours of the morning). This time, I thought about taking my temperature, of course according to Mrs Ganty’s rectal specification, and indeed I no longer had fever. I swabbed the device with alcohol as instructed, then took a shower. My bedroom needed airing; my digestive issues were not over.

Mrs Ganty had left breakfast on the table ready for me. I was eating with appetite when she came back. I greeted and thanked her, and helped her store her groceries (“wash your hands! I don’t want to catch your bug!”).

“By the way, did you take your temperature?

— Yes, 37.5°C.

— Excellent. Did you swab the thermometer?

— Of course ma’am.

— Very good. How does your stomach feel?

— Er… still gassy.” (I blushed.)

“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, why don’t you help me cook?”

Mrs Ganty actually gave me a cooking lesson. I barely knew my way around a kitchen; my mother had decreed all males incapable of such delicate tasks and had declined teaching me anything, while still deploring she did not receive enough help at home. What was most unusual, however, was that at times, Mrs Ganty’s hand patted my behind, or caressed other parts of my body. I did not dare reciprocate or comment… but I was hard.

We had a pleasant lunch, and I helped her cleaning the table and kitchen (with reminders to wash my hands). Then, Mrs Ganty announced that she would like to give me another examination:

“You seem better, but I would like to check you in more detail than I did. Can you please go to the toilet, try doing number one and two, and wait for me in your room?”

She came with a medical bag and instruments. She started with my ears, using an otoscope. Then, she checked my throat, using a tongue depressor. A little check of my teeth, using a little mirror on a stick.

“I used to do some screening for cavities doing physicals in schools”, she explained, “to send kids to the dentist if appropriate. Now please remove your shirt.”

She felt my throat and under my armpits (“for ganglions”, she explained), then listened to my lungs and heart with stethoscope. She checked my blood pressure as well.

“Now I need you undressed.”

Was I supposed to get fully naked? Given the level of intimacy that Mrs Ganty had had with me, I suspected so. I thus removed my pants, briefs, and then my socks as keeping socks only would have seemed a bit ridiculous. As I was doing so, she installed a towel on the bed.

“I know you took your temperature this morning, but since we’re doing a complete physical we should do it now as well, shouldn’t we?”

I understood, and laid down on my tummy. The thermometer was soon in. Mrs Ganty sat next to me and caressed my back, behind and thighs as it registered, telling me that I was a fine young man and asking me questions about my past health issues.

“Done. 37.6°C. Stay on your tummy.”

My head turned to the side, I observed her cleaning the thermometer with alcohol and storing it, then putting on a rubber glove. Given that I was to lay on my tummy, I suspected this had to do with my fundament.

“Ma’am? Again? You said I did not have appendicitis.

— Yes, but this is not for appendicitis diagnosis. This time, I would like to check on your prostate.”

I had heard the name, in the context of an older male relative who had trouble with this organ, but I was not too clear about its location and function. I was soon to be.

Mrs Ganty parted my buttocks, rubbed some lubricant on my anus, then told me to bear down, and soon her finger was in. The feeling inside was different from last time; she was searching for something by pressing towards my navel, and found it. I felt a strange sensation and gasped.

“Was this painful?

— No, but it surprised me. A bit uncomfortable, and I felt like a strong urge to… pee.

— This is your prostate. This gland wraps around your urethra and produces part of the semen. It should be checked for abnormal growth. But a little rubbing may have other interesting effects…”

Her finger moved in my anus. The pressure on my prostate was softer, and I liked the movements she was making. She did it for a moment, then withdrew.

“On your back now.”. She discarded the glove.

I obeyed. My erect penis came into view.

“See? A healthy reaction to a finger in the rectum. By the way, you told me you had pains during masturbation by a girlfriend?

— Yes. And sometimes if I masturbate too much by myself.

— Show me where.”

I pointed to part of a pink area in between the corona and the skin.

“I see. Seems like the circumcision scar is a bit sensitive at that place. Better use a lubricant of sorts. Let me feel all around.”

She felt all places on my glans, the shaft skin, the scar and in between, asking me about the sensitivity and possibilities of irritation. I explained to her where I had injured myself masturbating. All this touching kept me hard.

“I see. Now please legs apart.”

I obeyed. Her hands went on to feel my testicles, one at a time. It was a bit uncomfortable—not painful though—but somewhat exciting.

“Good. No lumps or anything unusual. Unfortunately testicle cancer may be an issue in younger males.”

Then she began feeling my abdomen. Not much pain, but some discomfort.

“Gassy, as you said. I could give you an enema but it will have to wait; I think there are better things to do right now.

— What things, ma’am?”

Mrs Ganty did not answer. Instead, she started undoing her shirt. I stared in astonishment. Soon, she had opened it, and I could see her brassiere. She then removed it and placed it onto the chair, next to the desk, her son’s former desk. She then turned back to face me, and undid her brassiere, which she placed on the chair. I had never seen a women’s naked breasts before, except my mother when I was little (I very vaguely remembered it) and some glances at pictures in naughty magazines. I was mesmerized. Mrs Ganty seemed to enjoy being looked at. She undid her skirt, removed it, and folded it on the chair. Then, she removed her socks. She looked at me, and slowly pulled down her panties, which she put on the chair. Again, apart from glances at naughty magazines, it was my first time seeing female pubic hair.

I later saw “strip-tease” scenes. This was not a true strip-tease, complete with burlesque poses, teasing, winces, and so on; still, Mrs Ganty definitely had wanted to give me a show. She had looked at me in the eye, taken her time. And now that she was naked, she came closer to me, turned around to give me a better sight of her behind, which she shooked a bit, then faced me again.

“So, young man, it seems you like what you’re seeing!”

Indeed, I did. Of course, time had taken some toll on Mrs Ganty, but was still darn attractive in a way. She came to me and sat on the towel next to me.

“Is this the first time you see a naked woman?

— Yes.

— Then have a good look. And a good feel.”

During that sad event with the girl who had hurt me trying to masturbate me, I had fondled her breasts a bit through clothing. This was nothing compared to the delicate sensation of Mrs Ganty’s skin. I lightly caressed her nipples.

“Good. The nipples are sensitive. Do it gently.”

I had an impulse, raised, and buried my face in her breasts, and kissed them. I kissed her nipples and gently sucked on them.

“Very good Daniel. My neck now.”

I kissed her on the neck. Then she took my head and kissed me on the mouth. A true “French kiss”. I had done it with the girl, but this woman was quite expert; caressing my neck as she did it.

She then laid on the bed on her tummy next to me.

“I’d like a massage. Shoulders to thighs.”

I had no experience massaging, but I tried to do my best. I really enjoying doing so, especially when I reached Mrs Ganty’s buttocks. I had petted the girl a bit there, but again this was not comparable to this delicate skin on skin contact and that sight of bare flesh. Oh, I liked seeing that behind. I could not resist and planted a few kisses on it. Mrs Ganty had a little laugh.

“Daniel, you seem to enjoy my buttocks! Go on my dear.”

I then did her thighs, then went back to her back, then her buttocks again. Curiosity took the better of me, and as I was petting her buttocks, I parted them to get a glimpse of her anus. After all, it was only fair, after all she had done to mine! Plus, except for one time when looked at mine with a mirror, I had never seen any anus. What a nice wrinkled hole!

The backrub and petting went on for a bit, then Mrs Ganty rolled on her back and sat. Smiling approvingly at my still erect penis, she tapped it with her finger, then looked at me in the eye, and came to suck a bit on my glans.

“Now my lad, would you please sit on the carpet next to the bed, over there?”

I obeyed, quite puzzled.

“I think there is something that you should have a look at.”

Mrs Ganty sat on the edge of the bed in front of me. Then, she laid back, lifted her legs and flexed them. She was showing me her genitals (and her anus as well)! I was mesmerized. This time, it was a total novelty for me.

“Daniel”, she said, pointing with her finger, “this is my clitoris. Do you know what it is good for?

— No ma’am.

— It’s very sensitive, like your glans but more. This is what we women rub when we want to get off.”

Women masturbating! I had never heard about this. I thought one had to fuck them.

“I will teach you how to pay proper attention to it. These are my labia. The skin parts are the outer labia, here are the inner labia. Under the clitoris is the meatus… I mean, for urine, just like at the tip of your penis. And here is the entrance of my vagina. Now my lad you can touch…”

I did things in the same order. I touched her clitoris lightly—she had said it was sensitive!—and as there had been no protest, I gently moved around.

“So this is your clitoris… does it feel good when I do this?

— Yes. But be careful, you’re now rubbing my foreskin, it’s really like the glans on your penis… I mean how it was originally, of course… but if you pull too much you may rub directly on the clitoris itself and that can easily be painful.”

I then felt her labia, then her vaginal opening. Friends had talked about fingering their girls inside…

“Ma’am, can I push inside?

— Daniel, there is one precaution. You see, older, menopausal ladies such as myself do not become as wet as girls your age, so I want you to provide proper lubrication first. Why don’t you give a good kiss to my clitoris and to my vagina entrance?”

Kiss? There? I expected something disgusting; male friends had sometimes joked about “fish smells” down there. In fact, it was quite good. I realized later that probably Mrs Ganty had washed herself down there prior to meeting me in my room.

“Use the flat of your tongue on my clitoris, my dear.”

And so I did. I licked her clitoris. I also licked her entrance.

“Now you can slip a finger in. Beware of your nails.”

I slipped a finger in gently. The sensation was quite unbelievable. Warmth surrounded my finger.

“Press a bit towards my navel…”

She directed me a bit.

“Yes, that’s the spot. You see? It’s very pleasurable for me when you press here. You may now withdraw.”

I was puzzled. If it was enjoyable, why did she have me withdraw?

“Taste your finger.”

I obeyed. This was interesting. I expected something like a taste of pee, and instead it was something very specific… a bit acidic, and very exciting. She raised to her feet and patted the bed. “On your back, dear.”

I obeyed. My penis, still rock hard, pointed at the ceiling.

Mrs Ganty came, sucked again a bit on my glans, then straddled me. She climbed to my midsection, her body straight up, then bent down while holding my penis. She directed it to her opening, and lowered herself. Then, she lowered her chest until it was over mine, and began moving.

I had had so far very limited views of sexual intercourse. I thought the woman went on her back, parted her legs, and the man penetrated her and led the action. Little did I expect that it was possible to do exactly the opposite: I was on my back, the woman was on me, and she was leading. In fact, I had little choice as to what happened with our sexual organs; she was straddling me and locking her legs to mine. I could move my pubis a bit, but clearly she was fucking me more than I was fucking her.

I kissed her neck, rubbed her back, petted her buttocks. I even dared rub a finger on her anus. The sensations were incredible. I ejaculated.

The trouble with ejaculation is that it is shortly followed by softness. Mrs Ganty soon understood the matter.

“Oh. Well well well. You need to learn a bit of self-control, my lad.”

I was catching my breath.

“I’m sorry ma’am.

— No problem. You just have to learn. Did you like it?

— Oh yes ma’am.”

She unmounted me, and laid besides me, legs parted.

“Well, my lad, you’ll have to do it with your fingers and mouth.”

I was no stranger to the taste my semen, if only because I had sometimes made it disappear by swallowing it after masturbation sessions, to avoid dealing with mess. This was different, however. I licked her clitoris, and inserted one, then two fingers into her vagina, now well lubricated and open. I pressed on the spot that she had thought me, fucking her.

I may have been a beginner, but it did not take so much time before Mrs Ganty began shaking. She then quickly pushed my head away from her clitoris, and I felt her vagina contract around my fingers.

“Thank you, Daniel. You may remove your fingers. Come cuddle over my shoulder.”

I was ecstatic. I had made a woman “come”, as my friends used to say! I laid, as instructed, over her shoulder.

“Daniel, this was very good.

— Even though I…

— Well, I would have perhaps preferred having an orgasm through coitus, but you did it very well.”

She turned on her side and held me in her arms, kissing me. We had a long cuddle.