My wife, Trudy, is a real saint. The warmth of her big heart is matched only by the warmth of her big beautiful breasts. She has dedicated her life to worthy causes, peace on earth, racial equality, and, her area of greatest devotion, rehabilitating African-American juvenile delinquents who have started down the wrong path. Trudy takes them in hand and coaxes them to go straight and encourages them to grow upright and strong. I am in awe of how she handles young hardened criminals, showing them a caring and tender motherly touch that helps them to reach climactic heights helping them to overcome their limp, disadvantaged backgrounds.
We live near a reform school, which is basically a euphemism for a prison for criminals who are younger than age 18. Trudy works as a volunteer at the school, where she does one-on-one tutoring and helps the teenage boys, mostly with remedial reading. To reward the young inmates for good behavior the boys are also allowed passes to leave the "campus" (another euphemism) on weekends or on holidays. No holiday is complete without a young man from the reform school staying with us for a few days and nights, and we often have one of Trudy's young charges stay with us for the weekend as well, where we sort of act as surrogate parents.
I should mention that while Trudy and I have a loving marriage, I have a low sperm count and we have never been able to bring our own children into this world, so I think Trudy's commitment to helping young men in trouble is an expression of the motherly love that she can shower on the children she never had of her own.
I should also describe Trudy. As I mentioned, she has big, warm breasts, which are matched by an hour-glass figure. She has what I would call a shapely figure; being in her mid-30s, she has a few extra pounds, but she wears them very well. I love looking at her both from the front and the back, if you get my meaning. She has a nice round derriere, and I'm particularly thrilled that she favors tight fitting skirts and stretch pants that accentuate her curves. I've never felt bold enough to mention it to her because its something I'm sure she's unaware of, but the lines of the thongs she wears under her stretch pants and tight skirts are often visible. I confess to being a "butt man." I love seeing her gorgeous bottom so scrumptuously framed. But that's just me. I'm sure others don't notice that at all, but rather see only her sparkling eyes and radiant smile.
Now that I've described Trudy, fair is fair, and I should probably describe myself as well. I'm physically average. Well, to be honest, I'm below average in looks. I'm short for a man and being 10 years older than Trudy I've developed a bit of paunch and have not kept as fit as she has. I have a weak, receding chin, and receding hair line as well. When we walk together in the mall or around town, I proudly notice that she still turns heads and gets many admiring glances (sometimes even stares) from the men, but the women never pay any attention to me whatsoever.
Aside from her natural beauty, Trudy does like to dress up and I think enjoys the appreciative attention she draws. In addition to the tight mini skirts and stretch pants, she also prefers wearing high spike heels (which make her look taller than me), blouses that reveal pretty good peaks at the black and red lace bras that hold her twin peeks in place. She also likes to wear large dangling earrings, and lots of bling rings and necklaces. She takes great joy in cosmetics, lipstick, eye shadow and lots of perfume.
Although I would never mention it to Trudy, because I wouldn't want to appear to be critical or to make her self-conscious, I worry a little that she may be dressing too provocatively when she goes to volunteer at the reform school. In an environment where adolescent boys are locked up and kept segregated from girls the boys' may let their imaginations run wild. But, I realize, of course, that boys that age are not interested in older women and that they must look upon Trudy as a mother figure and that it is only my own shameful and perverted projection of my own voyeuristic tendencies that would make me think that these boys might see Trudy as a sex object rather than the saintly and giving person that she is.
Trudy is so dedicated to giving the young men who come to our house a warm and pleasant respite from the harshness of their daily lives that she spends hours preparing herself before their arrival. You would think she was preparing herself for a fancy occasion and not just an evening at home with a young delinquent who probably never ate a meal with a table cloth. But I digress. Trudy kindly lets me watch as she sits at her vanity, applies her make up and brushes her lustrous hair. I watch as she applies perfume behind her ears, between her breasts, and between her legs. Trudy allows me to help in putting on her nail polish. I sit Indian style on the floor in front of her and carefully paint her toenails red, and blow them dry. She lets me paint her fingernails as well. Trudy then lets me to brush and blow dry her hair. I love the warm air and aroma of the blow dryer and find this a delightfully sensual experience, especially since Trudy is usually in a state of near undress when I do it. She likes to wear a negligee while she primps.
When she's ready to get dressed, Trudy graciously allows me to pick out her stockings and panties. She is such a lady that she likes to wear garters and stockings around the house, even though I'm sure she would be more comfortable in a pair of sweat pants. Trudy favors slippers that are actually high heels. The only thing that qualifies them as slippers rather than shoes is that most of them have faux pink or black feathers on the upper strap. When I pick out her panties for daily wear, I usually favor thongs, but for lounging around the house, my choice for Trudy is usually a string bikini with ties on the sides that Trudy lets me tie at each hip. She also allows me to kneel before her and roll her stockings up her legs and to clip them to her garter belt. Her house-wear ensemble for weekends and holidays is usually a silky nightie often with a matching silk robe tied loosely at the waist with a matching sash.
Even though technically speaking these are "boys" because they are under the age of 18, most of them look well developed and in just about every one I can remember, those who Trudy invited to stay with us looked taller and more muscular than me. Trudy almost always chose African Americans from the reform school to reward with a holiday or weekend stay with us. Trudy has taught me that it is politically incorrect for me to call them "boys," even though I have pointed out to her that this is a legally correct term. In fact, when the boys, oops, I should say, young men, come to our house on weekend or holiday passes she requires that I address them as "Sir," as a show of respect and to show that I am not racist, and she has them call me "Willie Boy."
I told her that I thought this would be confusing because I am so much older than 18 and also because they might look upon me as a father figure, so calling me "Willie Boy" would not make any sense. Trudy found that funny, patted me on the head and told me that none of them would ever look upon me as a father figure. So, "Willie Boy" it is. Most of the white men these young African-American teenagers have had contact with have been authority figures like policemen, judges, and parole officers, so it is good that I am not presented as an authority figure, but rather as someone they can feel superior to, hence calling me Willie Boy helps to build their esteem. I am probably the only white man that has ever addressed them as "Sir," and I can understand that it builds their self esteem to be able to feel superior to me and address me, if they bother to address me at all, as Willie boy.
Trudy has taught me a great deal about racial relations and has made me a better host for the young men who stay at our house. She taught me the history of slavery and discrimination in America and how white racists have persecuted African-American men for generation after generation. She taught me that white men have been the cause of racial disharmony, that most African-Americans actually have lighter skin than pure Africans because white masters regularly raped their black slaves but for most of the years of American history if a black man so much as looked at a white woman he could be lynched. White men put white women on a pedestal out of fear that black men if given the opportunity to impregnate them, even though white men were forcibly impregnating black women all the time. She convinced me that African-Americans deserve reparations for their suffering and that if our government is not willing to pay reparations that then it is the duty of private white American men, in particular, to make amends for the legacy of racism. It is the least I can do for centuries of discrimination to address the young black guests in our home respectfully as "Sir," and to show them deference.
Chapter II- Hakeem Joins us for the Weekend
Let me tell you about a recent weekend guest that we had. Hakeem is a 17-year-old African American who has had repeated arrests, for shoplifting, disorderly conduct, assault, and he is a school drop out. Trudy has been tutoring him and trying to teach him to read in order for him to take the high school equivalency exam. Trudy is really the first and only white person he has ever spoken to one on one for more than a single sentence.
I picked up the Hakeem at the end of the school day on Fridany. He was wearing untied shoes, baggy pants that looked like they were about to fall off, visible boxer shorts, a tight undershirt that showed rippling chest and abdominal muscles, an unzipped "hoody" sweat shirt with the hood over his head, and a gym bag slung over his shoulder. Although at 17 he was technically a child, he had facial hair, a masculine build that made it look like he must spend some of his time weightlifting, and he was about a full head taller than me.
I had to sign Hakeem out of the facility and agree to take responsibility for him for the weekend and to bring him back at the appointed time, Monday morning. I would have been happy to chat with him during the car ride to set him at ease and get to know him a bit, but he was wearing headphones and we did not actually exchange a single word. When we arrived at our house, Trudy gave Hakeem a long warm hug to make them feel at home. Given how sullen he seemed to be in the car, I was gratified to see that he responded to Trudy's hug, although he made the mistake of hugging her by the bum rather than higher up on her back, I think because his arms are so long and his hands and fingers are so big, it just was the natural place for his hand to hug.
Trudy showed remarkable sensitivity and understanding not to flinch or pull away, but accepted his hug as the a warm, filial greeting I'm sure it was meant to be. Trudy took Hakeem by the hand and ushered him into our living room where she sat him on the easy chair, the throne of the castle, so to speak, the place where I sit on weekday evenings when one of our young guests isn't visiting. As she has instructed me to do for all our young guests, I knelt down in front of him and untied and removed his shoes and guided his feet into a pair of slippers for him to wear while in the house. I took his gym bag and offered to wash any dirty laundry he might have. I also took away his shoes and told him I would shine them for him, though it was really more of a cleaning since they are basketball shoes.
While I was preparing to take his dirty clothes to the washing machine in the basement, Trudy began to give Hakeem a tour of the house. I stopped to notice her leading Hakeem upstairs. I stood at the bottom of the stairs because I love to admire the way her hips sway as she walks up the stairs. However, I couldn't get a good look because Hakeem was walking a few steps behind Trudy and his head was just about level with her bottom, so my view was blocked. After getting a load of his laundry started, I busied myself putting away Hakeem's other things and preparing dinner, while Trudy gave Hakeem his welcome bath.
Oh, let me explain. Before Hakeem's arrival, as I do for all the youthful visitors, I prepared a lavish bath in our king-sized jacuzzi tub. I filled the tub with hot water, and poured in mentholated eucalyptus oils, turning the master bath into a steam room. I dimmed the lights and lit scented candles and incense. I warmed and fluffed towels and laid out a silk kimono robe for him. Trudy tells me that this is the best way to create a warm and welcoming environment for deprived youngsters who have been living under the constant glare of fluorescent lights and communal showers. She tosses their dirty clothes out the door of the master bathroom into the hallway so I can scoop them up and do another load of laundry. She has to open and close the bathroom door very quickly so none of the steam is let out.
I have tried ever so many times to gently explain to Trudy that Hakeem and the other boys are old enough to bathe themselves, but she insists on helping undress them and getting them into the tub and scrubbing their backs, shampooing their hair, and getting them all lathered up with soap. She says it is the best way to get them to relax and decompress from the harshness of the reform school to the warmth of our home. Her sensitivity to their needs and her motherly tender loving care never ceases to amaze me.
Of course, in the course of bathing the boys, Trudy herself gets soaking wet. We have learned this from experience, so before going into the bathroom, Trudy makes a slight detour and changes out of her evening wear and into a bathing suit. Because it is the suit she wears in the privacy of our home, the suit is more than a little revealing. It is manufactured by a company called Wicked Weasel. Although it is a one piece suit, it is called a "sheer vision." When the bathing suit gets wet--and it always does--it becomes completely see through so that Trudy's nipples and areola are clearly visible. Not only that, but these bathing suits when wet also leave nothing to the imagination down south either. Trudy keeps herself very nicely groomed down there, so she has nothing to be embarrassed about, but I worry that it might make it difficult for the young men in the bathtub to keep their eyes from drifting downward.
Bathtime usually lasts for awhile, so I have to wait patiently. But I do keep myself busy, however, by preparing a nice candlelight dinner. I would love to join in the dinner myself and get to know the young men as well, but I am kept very busy waiting on Trudy and her young guests. I sit in the kitchen while they dine. Trudy has a little bell that she rings if she wants me to serve more food, clear plates, or refill wine glasses. Trudy likes for me to dress in a sort of maid/waitress outfit for dinner as she wants to establish in the mind of the young African-American guests that they do not have to regard me as an authority figure, so they will not be intimidated, but be able to learn how to take command and tell a white man what to do. I think Trudy also has little confidence in my ability not to spill things and insists that I wear an apron as well. The apron she requires me to wear is pink and frilly and has big bow that ties in the back. Underneath, she has me wear a blouse and a short skirt with a bit of a petty coat underneath that. I figure that Scotsmen wear kilts and I am not wearing this outside, so if Trudy thinks this is the best thing to help our guests' self esteem, who am I to question it? Because skirts and hairy legs do not look good together, Trudy also has me shave my legs, which actually I enjoy doing now whenever I shower.
Getting back to the story, Trudy puts on her evening gown for dinner, a skin tight silky dress with a plunging neckline that shows her deep cleavage and a slit from the hem that comes up to her hip. The gown is beautiful but too revealing to be worn in public, so I understand that she welcomes the opportunity to wear it in the privacy of our home, and, of course, I love to see her in it. She usually accentuates the evening gown with long, sparkling earrings and a fresh application of red lipstick and blue eye shadow.
I think it unfortunate that Hakeem and the other young men had no comparable formal wear for the evening, so the two look like quite a mismatched pair. But Hakeem does wear the silk kimono robe that I laid out for him after his bath. That is it. He wears nothing else. In fact, while in the house the the remainder of the weekend, he only wore the silk kimono robe, and most of the time he didn't even bother to tie it in the front, so everything--and I mean EVERYTHING--would flap around all weekend. I couldn't help but notice that Hakeem has quite a bit to flap. In fact, when he walks, his dick, which is much blacker in color than his dark skin, swings back and forth like a wild pendulum. I have to confess that it makes me envious. Here I am a grown man, and my little knobby dickie doesn't swing at all because there's really nothing to swing.
Sorry, I keep digressing. Back to what the reader is really interested in, dinner. I was proud of my cooking and how much Hakeem could eat. Trudy also ooohed and aaahed over his big appetite and admired how he could eat so much and yet have such a sleek, muscular build, whereas she pointed out that I eat like a bird but have a paunch.
After dinner, Trudy let me eat any of the leftovers from her and Hakeem's plates while I am washing the dishes and tidying up. She always leaves something really nice for me. I love her so much. After dinner, Trudy and Hakeem retired into our TV room where they finished off a second bottle of wine, made themselves comfortable on the sofa, and watched one of our selection of movies on our large screen TV. Trudy is so warm and cuddly and snuggles up against Hakeem. His long arms and big hands just naturally end up cupping her bottom or stroking her thigh, and she generously allows him to fondle her as they watch the movie. I come in from time to time to refresh their glasses and refill their snack bowl.
When I finished the dishes, and while they were still watching movies, I went into the bathroom to clean up from their bath. I took off my clothes and sat in the cold dirty water with my scrub brush and cleanser. Its best to scrub the tub while it is still wet so dirty rings don't get a chance to set. Hakeem and Trudy splashed around quite a bit and I needed to mop up the floor, as well as picking up their wet clothes, including Trudy's wet bathing suit, and towels that were strewn everywhere. By the time I was finished, not only had I gotten in a little bath myself, but the bathroom was really spic and span, so my chest really swelled with pride.
At bedtime, I make nice cups of cocoa for both Hakeem and Trudy, which I put by the nightstand on Hakeem's bed. I would have been happy to hand whip real cream for the cocoa, but Trudy prefers that I put a can of Reddi Wip out so they can put the whipped cream on themselves. Oh, I meant, on the cocoa. But, it is amazing to me that Trudy and her young guests always seem to use up a whole can at once. I suspect the boys must like to spray the whipped cream directly in their mouths, but when I go to clean the sheets I often find that they somehow miss their mouths. There are smears of what might be whipped cream, as well as all kinds of other creamy stains all over the sheets and sometimes even on the upholstry, carpeting and the walls. These boys, oops, I mean young men, are not very careful with Reddi Wip, body lotions, and whatever else they seem to get their hands on. I must say that for all her virtues, Trudy is also somewhat messy. I often find her panties, also stained and looking smeared with a mixture of creams, on the floor of the guest bedroom. It is quite a job to pick up after her; she is so careless about her things, but, then, that gives me an important job to clean up after her, so we each have our roles to play.
Trudy's saintliness is most evident in putting our young guests to bed. For example, you can tell that a young man like Hakeem must have had a very troubling background and must find it hard to sleep. Trudy closes the bedroom door to help her create a cozy, sleep inducing atmosphere when she goes to tuck him in and I'm sure to sing a lullaby or say a little prayer. But I can tell it is a struggle for Hakeem because I hear loud groaning and an incredible amount of tossing and turning as he tries to get comfortable in the bed, and I hear Trudy saying, "Oh, baby," quite a bit. I really do need to get new springs in that bed or oil it because it can get quite noisy.
But after awhile, things do quiet down in the guest bedroom and I wait patiently in our bed for Trudy. By the time Trudy came into our bedroom on Hakeem's first Friday night--well, it was actually Saturday morning, an hour or two after midnight. By that time I had fallen asleep despite my best efforts to stay up and wait for her to come to bed. But Trudy was nice enough to wake me when she got to bed.
I probably shouldn't talk about what goes on in the deepest privacy of a husband and wife's bedroom, but it is also part of the reason I consider Trudy to be a saint. After a long hard day, and as late as it is was when she got to bed, she still found time for me. She shook me awake and talked to me in her bedroom baby talk that is special just for me because--here's our little secret--in the privacy of our bedroom I am not exactly a big sex stud, but more like Twoody's widdle biddle baby.
"Come to Mama, my widdle baby Willie boy." Trudy pulled me to her soft, warm breasts, and I began to suckle. "Umm. suck Momma. Ummm, baby." I was filled with warmth as her fingers stroke my hair. Trudy's maternal love made me feel all safe and warm like a cuddled little baby in mommy's arms.
After a while Trudy increased the pressure of her fingers on my head and pushed me down. I could see that my sucking of her breasts has caused quite a reaction because her pubic area was drenching wet and had a rich and fecund smell. She pulled my mouth to her slick, slimy, dripping slit. With a husky voice, she said, "Lick me, widdle baby, clean Mommy's sore, duuurty pussy." I lapped between her legs like a little puppy dog. and sucked the salty, scummy slime until she reached a climax. I could tell I brought her to a climax because she started squeezing my head between her thighs so hard that I felt like my skull would be crushed, she dug her fingernails into my scalp, and then she completely relaxed, pushed me away, and rolled over.
But even though she was spent, she is kind-hearted enough to know that I have my needs as well. She turned on her stomach and wiggled her bottom invitingly. Yes, she allowed me to cuddle with my tongue between the round cheeks of her derriere. I licked and cleaned the wet and redolent cleavage of her ass and while I did so I took her feet in my hands and cupped the soles of her feet on either side of my penis and masterbated myself using her feet, ejaculating on the sheet at the foot of our bed.
The orgasm put me right to sleep, which was important because I needed to get up bright and early to prepare breakfast in bed for Hakeem, which Trudy likes to take in to her weekend guests on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It is a wonderful way to make them feel comfortable and welcome as they start the day with us.
So that is how our weekend with Hakeem started. Needless to say, Trudy really goes out of her way to make Hakeem and the other juvenile delinquents who stay with us feel accepted and to build their self esteem. I am so proud of her, of her dedication to racial equality and so impressed with her heart of gold. I feel like the luckiest man in the world to have her as my wife.