Straight Male / 63
Black Mama Jean
One of the first times I became aware of my attraction to “natural” women was at a Parliament_Funkadelic show back in the ‘70s. I was about 19 at the time, and I’d gone to the show without tickets, hoping to score some on-site. But alas, the only tickets I could find were out of my price range. I wasn’t too upset about it; I’d gone there as much for the parking lot party scene as I had to see the band (whom I’d seen many times previously).
As my friends all started moving toward the entry gates, I moped my way back to the car. I decided to cheer myself up by lighting a fat joint that I’d procured earlier. I was holding in my first hit when someone spoke, startling me.
“You’re not gonna smoke that whole thing yourself, are you swee thang’?”
I turned my head. It was an “older” woman, which is funny from my perspective today… she was probably only in her late 30s or early 40s, but compared to me she seemed ancient. She was somewhat heavyset, but the first thing I noticed as she leaned against the door frame of my car was that under her loose tie-dyed top, she had bountiful armpit hair. She was also wearing the prerequisite long, flowing skirt that so many hippie ladies tend to enjoy. I told her that I’d be glad to share, and she circled the car and got into the passenger seat.
She asked why I wasn’t inside the show, and I told her about my lack of a ticket. She told me that she’d actually had a ticket, but had offered it to a friend, which I thought was nice. The parking lot had quieted considerably, and in a few minutes we heard the roar of the crowd as the band took the stage, followed by the tinny strains of music. Hearing the start of a recognizable George Clinton song, she began “seat dancing” in my car. I was already pretty high after passing the joint back and forth a few times, and found myself staring at her pendulous braless breasts swinging back and forth. She’d also pulled her skirt up to tuck a leg under her knee, and I noted that her legs were also hairy. I glanced up and saw that she’d noticed my checking out her body, but she smiled.
She had introduced herself as Jean (“but everyone calls me Mama Jean, swee thang’”), and she talked enough for the both of us. She was telling me how she barely ever missed a show, had come down from Berkeley to see this one, had another ticket for the following night, that she made her own tie-dye (“and I got a good one for you back in my camper, swee thang’, if you want”), and so on. She had very long hair, not very well kept, that swung around the seats as she made some emphatic point. It was medium brown with a few strands of gray. One other thing I noticed about Mama Jean: I could smell her. Not in a bad way; it had been a hot summer day and everyone was pretty sweaty. But there in the close confines of my car, I caught a number of scents coming off her… body odor, a slight essence of patchouli that was another
prerequisite for a hippie lady, and — no mistaking it — her pussy. I doubted that she wore deodorant of any kind, and decided that she may not be wearing panties either.
Between the weed and her constant touching me (as she talked, she always seemed to have her hand on my thigh, grabbing my shoulder, and so on), I found that I was getting super horny, and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Mama Jean apparently was unfamiliar with any concept of personal space. She would say something funny and then heave her whole body against mine as she laughed at herself.
“Hey now, what do we have here?” she asked in a teasing voice, and her hand trailed up my leg to the crotch of my jeans. Sure enough, my cock was about as hard as could be, and she cooed as she ran her finger up and down its length through my Levi 501s. She told me to lean my seat back (which I did immediately), and she unbuttoned my jeans and my cock sprung out like a jack-in-the-box. I was becoming very glad that I didn’t pursue a ticket to the show. Mama Jean gave head like an expert… much better than the teenage girls with whom I’d had limited sexual experiences thus far. It wasn’t long before my eyes rolled back and I shot a load of cum into her warm mouth.
Then Mama Jean did something that changed my life from that moment on. With my cum in her mouth, she leaned down and kissed me — something she hadn’t done earlier. At first I was disgusted, tasting my own cum draining into my mouth. But Jean was insistent, and held me there, running her tongue into my mouth and fully ensuring that the experience was slow and impactful. I stopped resisting and continued our long kiss.
“I knew you’d like that, swee thang’. I can tell!” she said with a wink. “You’re a cutie, but I’ll bet you like to be bossed around a little, huh?”
I saw no reason to lie, and admitted that it was true.
“Then come along with me, swee thang’. I got something to show you.”
We got out of my car, and walked a few aisles over. Sure enough, there was her aforementioned camper van. The few parts of it that weren’t covered in bumper stickers seemed to be coated in rust. She slid open the door and got in, with me following close behind. The interior was actually pretty roomy, despite a mess of empty bottles, magazines, and other debris. There was a couch that folded back, and she indicated that I should lie down there.
“You’re gonna take good care of Mama Jean, swee thang’, just like I did you,” she said. Hiking up her skirt around her waist, I barely had time to see what she had down there (except noting that I was right about her lack of panties). But as she swung one heavy thigh over my face, I did note two things distinctly… first, that her pussy was very, very hairy, and that the scent of her
now-wet pussy was extremely strong. Pushing her pussy against my face, I found that my nose was wedged into her ass, which also was hairy.
I began to lick her, and she started giving me instructions on what to do and precisely how to do it. My teenage cock had already recovered and sprung back to life, and she slid down my jeans part way so she could access it while I licked her.
“Mmm, you’re doing a good job swee thang’,” she panted. I noticed that a couple of people seemed to be looking into the van’s windows, but Mama Jean either didn’t see them or didn’t care. Probably the latter. She shifted position slightly.
“Now little swee thang’, you’re gonna give my asshole a good licking,” she said. I’d never done anything like that before and began to protest, but I really had little choice. Her legs were holding my arms in place above my head, and she had a tight hold on my exposed cock. I decided that it wasn’t in my best interest to deny her command, and so as I first tentatively and then more vigorously began to lick ass for the first time, she moaned as her fingers played with her clit. I found that the humiliating submissive experience was incredibly erotic for me, and after she’d cum several times (covering my face with her juices), she was nice enough to reach down and stroke my cock until I came once again, the second time in maybe a half hour.
Once I’d calmed from that, we pulled our clothing together (hers were actually already on, of course) and got out. A couple of older guys were there that Jean obviously knew. They had names like Mistwalker and Beach Dude, and they complimented my oral service skills much to my embarrassment. They offered to burn another joint with us, but by then I was ready to part ways. Mama Jean gave me a hug and another kiss, exclaiming, “Oooh, I taste my pussy!” to the guys’ laughter, and I went back to the car.
Despite going to a number of other shows, I never saw Mama Jean again. But I do know that when I find myself deeply attracted to natural women, or hippie chicks, or whatever you want to call ladies who don’t bow to society’s standards of beauty and grooming and the like, I know that it was Mama Jean who got me started down a path I still enjoy today some 25 years later.
As my friends all started moving toward the entry gates, I moped my way back to the car. I decided to cheer myself up by lighting a fat joint that I’d procured earlier. I was holding in my first hit when someone spoke, startling me.
“You’re not gonna smoke that whole thing yourself, are you swee thang’?”
I turned my head. It was an “older” woman, which is funny from my perspective today… she was probably only in her late 30s or early 40s, but compared to me she seemed ancient. She was somewhat heavyset, but the first thing I noticed as she leaned against the door frame of my car was that under her loose tie-dyed top, she had bountiful armpit hair. She was also wearing the prerequisite long, flowing skirt that so many hippie ladies tend to enjoy. I told her that I’d be glad to share, and she circled the car and got into the passenger seat.
She asked why I wasn’t inside the show, and I told her about my lack of a ticket. She told me that she’d actually had a ticket, but had offered it to a friend, which I thought was nice. The parking lot had quieted considerably, and in a few minutes we heard the roar of the crowd as the band took the stage, followed by the tinny strains of music. Hearing the start of a recognizable George Clinton song, she began “seat dancing” in my car. I was already pretty high after passing the joint back and forth a few times, and found myself staring at her pendulous braless breasts swinging back and forth. She’d also pulled her skirt up to tuck a leg under her knee, and I noted that her legs were also hairy. I glanced up and saw that she’d noticed my checking out her body, but she smiled.
She had introduced herself as Jean (“but everyone calls me Mama Jean, swee thang’”), and she talked enough for the both of us. She was telling me how she barely ever missed a show, had come down from Berkeley to see this one, had another ticket for the following night, that she made her own tie-dye (“and I got a good one for you back in my camper, swee thang’, if you want”), and so on. She had very long hair, not very well kept, that swung around the seats as she made some emphatic point. It was medium brown with a few strands of gray. One other thing I noticed about Mama Jean: I could smell her. Not in a bad way; it had been a hot summer day and everyone was pretty sweaty. But there in the close confines of my car, I caught a number of scents coming off her… body odor, a slight essence of patchouli that was another
prerequisite for a hippie lady, and — no mistaking it — her pussy. I doubted that she wore deodorant of any kind, and decided that she may not be wearing panties either.
Between the weed and her constant touching me (as she talked, she always seemed to have her hand on my thigh, grabbing my shoulder, and so on), I found that I was getting super horny, and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Mama Jean apparently was unfamiliar with any concept of personal space. She would say something funny and then heave her whole body against mine as she laughed at herself.
“Hey now, what do we have here?” she asked in a teasing voice, and her hand trailed up my leg to the crotch of my jeans. Sure enough, my cock was about as hard as could be, and she cooed as she ran her finger up and down its length through my Levi 501s. She told me to lean my seat back (which I did immediately), and she unbuttoned my jeans and my cock sprung out like a jack-in-the-box. I was becoming very glad that I didn’t pursue a ticket to the show. Mama Jean gave head like an expert… much better than the teenage girls with whom I’d had limited sexual experiences thus far. It wasn’t long before my eyes rolled back and I shot a load of cum into her warm mouth.
Then Mama Jean did something that changed my life from that moment on. With my cum in her mouth, she leaned down and kissed me — something she hadn’t done earlier. At first I was disgusted, tasting my own cum draining into my mouth. But Jean was insistent, and held me there, running her tongue into my mouth and fully ensuring that the experience was slow and impactful. I stopped resisting and continued our long kiss.
“I knew you’d like that, swee thang’. I can tell!” she said with a wink. “You’re a cutie, but I’ll bet you like to be bossed around a little, huh?”
I saw no reason to lie, and admitted that it was true.
“Then come along with me, swee thang’. I got something to show you.”
We got out of my car, and walked a few aisles over. Sure enough, there was her aforementioned camper van. The few parts of it that weren’t covered in bumper stickers seemed to be coated in rust. She slid open the door and got in, with me following close behind. The interior was actually pretty roomy, despite a mess of empty bottles, magazines, and other debris. There was a couch that folded back, and she indicated that I should lie down there.
“You’re gonna take good care of Mama Jean, swee thang’, just like I did you,” she said. Hiking up her skirt around her waist, I barely had time to see what she had down there (except noting that I was right about her lack of panties). But as she swung one heavy thigh over my face, I did note two things distinctly… first, that her pussy was very, very hairy, and that the scent of her
now-wet pussy was extremely strong. Pushing her pussy against my face, I found that my nose was wedged into her ass, which also was hairy.
I began to lick her, and she started giving me instructions on what to do and precisely how to do it. My teenage cock had already recovered and sprung back to life, and she slid down my jeans part way so she could access it while I licked her.
“Mmm, you’re doing a good job swee thang’,” she panted. I noticed that a couple of people seemed to be looking into the van’s windows, but Mama Jean either didn’t see them or didn’t care. Probably the latter. She shifted position slightly.
“Now little swee thang’, you’re gonna give my asshole a good licking,” she said. I’d never done anything like that before and began to protest, but I really had little choice. Her legs were holding my arms in place above my head, and she had a tight hold on my exposed cock. I decided that it wasn’t in my best interest to deny her command, and so as I first tentatively and then more vigorously began to lick ass for the first time, she moaned as her fingers played with her clit. I found that the humiliating submissive experience was incredibly erotic for me, and after she’d cum several times (covering my face with her juices), she was nice enough to reach down and stroke my cock until I came once again, the second time in maybe a half hour.
Once I’d calmed from that, we pulled our clothing together (hers were actually already on, of course) and got out. A couple of older guys were there that Jean obviously knew. They had names like Mistwalker and Beach Dude, and they complimented my oral service skills much to my embarrassment. They offered to burn another joint with us, but by then I was ready to part ways. Mama Jean gave me a hug and another kiss, exclaiming, “Oooh, I taste my pussy!” to the guys’ laughter, and I went back to the car.
Despite going to a number of other shows, I never saw Mama Jean again. But I do know that when I find myself deeply attracted to natural women, or hippie chicks, or whatever you want to call ladies who don’t bow to society’s standards of beauty and grooming and the like, I know that it was Mama Jean who got me started down a path I still enjoy today some 25 years later.
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