Mrs. Rosselli’s Special Love Sauce

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Mrs. Rosselli could roll a meatball and grind out pasta like no one else. And her sauce was always on the stovetop simmering in one pot or another. She was a woman from the old country and she believed in three things: The Pope, her family and good Italian food.

She was 50 years old and a widow for three years before her children finally convinced her to have a man over for dinner. Now that night was here and she was worried. She wasn’t sure whether she remembered how to behave with a man. Was she supposed to kiss him when she greeted him at the door? The rules of courtship were so different in America! Finally she reached the decision to be her regular “Italian” self, which was outgoing and direct.

Her date for the evening was a reserved, Jewish man named Shelomo Glichstein who lived down the hall in her building. Over the years they had gotten to know each other in the course of doing their laundry together in the basement. Through their conversations he had learned about her children and widowhood and she about his business and controlling mother. So it was agreed that he would come to her apartment that evening to try “real” Italian food and see what he thought.

When Shelomo arrived he presented Mrs. Rosselli with flowers which she graciously accepted by giving him a kiss on the cheek. The kiss made Shelomo blush and this put her at ease. He was a thin, bookish man in his early fifties and he was wearing a badly fitting black suit. Mrs. Rosselli took his jacket and the flowers and put them in the dining room. Then she returned to find him still standing stiffly in the same spot by the door.

“Mr. Glichstein”, she said, motioning to the couch, “pleasea have a seat!”

They sat together politely chatting about her photo collection until the food was ready. Then he sat down and she brought out a steaming plate of baked ziti for him. The oregano and parmesan wafted up and filled his nostrils with joy. He savored the sight and smell of the dish so much, he didn’t even wait for Mrs. Rosselli to sit before sampling a forkful. She stayed and waited for his reaction. A broad smile broke across his face after he swallowed.

“It’s very good, Mrs. Rosselli! Very ataşehir escort bayan delicious!” he said, in an uncharacteristically emphatic way.

Mrs. Rosselli smiled.

“Please”, she insisted, “calla me Rosetta!”

They ate the ziti together happily, Mrs. Rosselli watching his every reaction. She had put special ingredients in this sauce that her grandmother had told her about as a young bride.

Her grandmother had referred to it as “love sauce” and it had worked for Mrs. Rosselli quite well through the years of her marriage.

After the ziti, salad, and garlic bread, they enjoyed her homemade orange sherbet as Mrs. Rosselli talked about her adventures as a new bride in Italy. She spoke plainly about her wedding night and her difficulties as a young virgin. She even laughed as she recounted the mistakes she made in bed. Then she stopped as she realized Mr. Glichstein had become noticeably uncomfortable.

“I’ma so sorry”, she said, “I talka too much!”

“No…it’s fine.” he replied nervously, “But I think I should go. Thank you so much for everything.”

Mrs. Rosselli was shocked and confused by his sudden exit. Had she offended him with her directness? She decided she must have.

“I saya something rude.” she interjected, “Forgive my bad manners.”

But her apology had no effect. Mr. Glichstein continued to rise out of his chair in a somewhat panicked way. But as he stood up, she noticed not only his flushed face, but also the rather conspicuous bulge in his pants. It seems the “love spices” had worked better than expected and now poor Mr. Glichstein was suffering through the shame and embarrassment of having a raging erection in a very public setting. And all the talk of her awkward newlywed sex must have only added to his aching torment.

She didn’t know what to say as he grabbed his jacket and started for the door. She felt she had ruined the evening with her love sauce and candid sex story. She had to somehow correct her offense and save the evening from complete disaster. But how? The only thing she could think to do was put her body between Mr. Glichstein and the front door.

“Pleasea don’t leave, escort kadıöy Mr. Glichstein!” she insisted, as she got up and blocked his way, “I understanda your situation!”

He was too flustered at this point to speak and tried to go around her, but she stood her ground, blocking him with her short, but stout body. Then, in desperation, she squatted down, grabbed him around the legs and lifted him up off his feet! She held him suspended there as he looked down at her in disbelief. He, a man, was being lifted with ease by this middle-aged Italian woman! His face flushed a deep red as he realized she was not going to accept his exit plan and deeper still when he realized his raging erection was now being squashed against her ample bosom.

She watched his suffering face with compassion

as she carried him back to the dining room. She felt responsible for the whole thing and she wanted to make amends some way. In the meantime, all Mr. Glichstein could feel was all his strength slowly draining away as she carried him away from the door. But interestingly, his erection remained as big and hard as a river pole.

His body was wracked with confusion and tension as a breathless excitement overtook him. Mrs. Rosselli’s tits were making his cock feel like it was about to burst out of his pants and spew all over her. He let out a groan as she continued to hold him aloft.

“It’sa okay, Mr. Glichstein”, she assured him, “I understanda how you feel!”

“I can’t take it anymore!” he blurted, “Please, put me down!”

“It’sa the spices in the sauce!” she explained, as she pushed her hands up between his legs into his butt crack which had the effect of increasing the pressure in his cock tenfold.

“Ahh, mashugana!, don’t do that!” he pleaded, as he looked down at her handsome, Mediterranean face.

His feet were just inches off the ground now but she was still holding him up somehow, waiting for some sort of resolution to occur. Finally she realized he needed some additional help. She let him down and then swiftly yanked his pants off, followed by his underwear which made his swollen to capacity cock slap up against his stomach in strict, due maltepe escort north position. Then she pushed him onto the floor and did the only thing she knew that worked in these situations; she mounted and rode him. She pulled off her girdle, squatted down over him and guided his impressively fat and long kosher prick into her already soaked Roman twat. He seemed stunned at first by the site of her fucking him with such speed and energy, but soon he was guiding her big ass down around his huge, aching prick with both hands. Her pumping became more and more fitful as she saw his expression beginning to change from agony to bliss and she had just enough time to slide him out and stroke him off onto his nice, clean shirt before the door bell rang.

“Oy vey!” he cried out, partly from the heaven of Mrs. Rosselli’s pumping hand and partly from alarm, “It’s probably my mother!”

But Rosetta Rosselli was unfazed as she continued to squeeze the last drops of cum out of his Hebrew kielbasa. She was deeply satisfied with what she had done to save the evening after being so rude to her male guest. And she believed all had been set right now.

As Mr. Glichstein recovered his wits and his pants, he thanked Rosetta for a very special evening, because as it turned out, she had just helped him lose his virginity! Now he was ready to be a real man and stand up to his mother… or so he said.

“Mr. Glichstein, does this mean we’lla have a second date?” she asked, as she held up her dripping hand.

“Rosetta”, he confessed, “Your sauce has changed my life! You bet I’ll be back for a second date!”

He kissed her on the cheek as she was trying to wipe the rest of the cum off his shirt.

“Hey”, he announced, with seeming newfound boldness, “from now on, you can call me Shelomo. Okay?”

“I likea that very much!” she replied, kissing him back.

Then she opened the door for him and sent him out to deal with his mother, who began carrying on in Yiddish at the sight of him. She grabbed him by the ear and lead him back towards their apartment as Rosetta shut the door. Mothers were all the same when it came to their children, she concluded, as she listened to Mrs. Glichstein’s voice fade away.

Feeling light and euphoric, she walked back into the dining room and picked up her girdle. Then she sampled her sauce again from the pot. Yes, she decided with a wry smile, she had put a bit too much vinegar and salt peter into the recipe.

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