He used to be at the local swing park, where we would play. he sat on the only wooden bench, and his newspaper would bounce on his lap, as we went round and round, fearful of being pulled off by the centripetal f***es, so we sat down and f***ed our backs against the central spoke, our bums on the wooden planks, our legs apart and our skirts riding high on our thighs, the faster we spun, the more exposed we became, and the more violent his paper bounced.
We knew, even at that age what he was doing, and we giggled and accommodated, by proudly displaying what we thought he wanted to see.
Back then it meant nothing to us, so we were blasé, whenever he turned-up, and gave him a show in an unspoken understanding, and in return he became our friend, our confidant, and as we grew older and our bodies developed, we gradually explored those secrets behind the bouncing newspaper, bit by bit, counting each new hair on my cunt, as he held me open and tasted my sweet secretions.
It was moments like these that brought me back, with a knowing smile on my lips when he opened his front door, 'I need you to run around Mariel', he would say, 'But first, let me count your hairs', he would continue, and as I undressed I would watch him swell-up, and in return would yearn for him to take it out and let me see him grow.
Of course his requests were always coded, as 'Running Around', really meant getting naked and then running around, likewise, 'Counting my hairs' meant performing cunnilingus on me, something we both wanted on equal measures, but were too afraid to say out loud, but what made it so delicious, was trying to find them as I was bald, so he would spend a great deal of time, exploring and kissing, licking and probing, as he did his thing without his newspaper, between my open legs, like two Victorian lovers having sex in the dark, still fully dressed, and fearful of seeing the mans Penis.
Rachel, was one of the other girls on the roundabout, she was more grown-up than us, in fact she was the one who told us what he was doing as we spun round and round, and it was she who suggested we take our knickers off, and show him how we all looked the same, but different, when he looked closer, and it was a shock to me, when I eventually found out, they were related, but that was many years later, when we were all brave enough to lie naked in bed together and do what naked people do.
Of course this behaviour was not just about 'Dirty old men', it happened with women too, and their sons were exposed to their darkest secrets and perversions.
Peter was one of my closest boyfriends, shy and quiet with a mysterious air about him. I found him attractive, so for me he had a sexual attraction and I hung-out with him for that purpose, hoping as each week passed, we would edge closer to that final day of consummation, and regular loving.
I met Peters' mother, and witnessed one of the strangest encounters, between a Mother and Son, shattering all the taboos and helping to explain Peters reluctance to explore our relationship, in the physical needs I craved.
His mother was really beautiful, a model in her younger days, she had kept her figure and looks, that belied her mid-thirties age.
The day I went around to their house she had been drinking, just enough to be playful and as she fussed over Peter, I could sense an unnatural bonding between them, and as she pulled him onto her lap, I noticed her hand was feeling him and her tongue was teasing him, as she playfully licked his ear.
Suddenly she jumped up and faced me, 'Mariel, you need to excuse us for a short while', switching on the TV, she added, 'You watch this while Peter and I discuss our problem upstairs', and turning to Peter, who was flushed and red-faced, said, 'Come Peter', and both made for the stairway.
The whole thing had been sudden, completely out of context, and a big air of mysticism surrounded their hurried departure, so I decided to explore, and made my way upstairs.
The room door was ajar, at the far end of the long carpeted hallway, she was talking to Peter, asking him if he knew what daddy had done to her that morning.
Peter did not, and said as much, but she undeterred, pulled her dress up waist high and showed Peter, her bruising and marking, across her white buttocks, angry red welts emanating from beneath her panty line, and as she traced each swollen welt with her index finger, she asked him if he would like to continue, with the bottom spanking and strapping.
Without giving Peter ant time to reply, she pulled off her underwear and covering long dress, and stood in stockings and brassiere only, 'Come to mummy darling', she said raising her arm to him, which he clasped, and they made for the large bed.
She lay face down and guided Peter's hand over her naked buttocks, 'Hit them she demanded', and Peter brought his hand down hard on her quivering flesh, the 'Crack' it made, reverberating of the four walls.
'Good boy, again, but harder', she ordered, but Peter complained his hand hurt, so she told Peter to use his leather belt, and I stood on the other side of the door and watched my boyfriend lay into his mothers naked torso, buttocks, the backs of her thighs and back, welts rose and bled, then I could see her writhe on the bed, face down, and she masturbated on her fingers, with her son bringing his leather belt crashing down onto her raised buttocks, as she sought her release, of pent-up sexual energy.
Peter stood rock still as she quivered to subsidence. She had orgasmed and turned to her exhausted son, 'Come here', she half turned to face him, and pulled him onto the bed with her.
She reached up and pulled his head down to meet her and passionately kissed him as if he were another man.
Minutes later she welled-up again and tore his clothes from him and mounted.
She fucked him like a b**st possessed and I watched as his penis moved in and out of her, reluctantly acknowledging she had produced this cock on which she now pleasured herself.
I turned and walked downstairs, picked-up my jacket and left, having now educated myself in the weirdness of life and the goings-on behind closed doors.
Peter and his Mother panicked when they returned downstairs to find me gone, they tried on numerous occasions to have me round to their place, but to no avail, I had seen enough, besides I had my own demons to exercise within my own f****y bonds, difference being I found it perfectly natural.
Posted by MarieL 4 years ago Views: