My mom is a plain jane. If you were to pass her in the super market you'd probably not give her more than a quick glance and move on. She is a petite woman who stands about five feet four with a lean athletic body she maintains with a daily jog. Her eyes are a pale blue and seemed to have a perpetual sadness in them eeven when she was happy. Her breasts are still quite firm and jiggle enticingly under her t-shirt whenever she neglected to wear a bra.
To see the two of us walking down the street you might be inclined to think that we were a romantic couple. We held hands and walked with in a slow lover's stride as others hurried by. We enjoyed being together whether it be going to the movies, a museum, or a day trip up into Manhatten. It was always just the two of us.
My father hated the way my mom treated me and believed that it would turn me into "a fag" in his words. When she came into my room in say goodnight, she'd sit on the edge of the bed and we'd talk for a long while. The pajama top she had on was usually unbuttoned far enough that a generous portion of her cleavage was exposed. If I was lucky and she leaned over in just the right way the top fell away from from her freckled chest and could get an eyefull of her white breasts and the pale brown nipples that capped each. My young head swam.
Once I discovered masturbation at the age of twelve my mom was the primary star of all my fantasies even though I was very uncertain how sex functioned other than the very basics. Sexual information was not as easily obtained as it is today. All I'd ever seen of a nude woman up to that point were in Playboy magazines my friend had "borrowed" from his older b*****r. I dreamed how my mom would look nude. Did she have a lot of hair between her legs?
While my mom was married I never saw her happy except when we were alone together. I never thought much how she loved to cuddle and stroke my hair. It just seemed like a mother's affection for her son. This way in more sexually innocent times. As I grew older I became more conscious of these sometimes excessive displays of affection. As much as I welcomed them I was also aware of how other mothers never behaved with their sons. I carefully observed this when visiting friends and watched them interact with their mother. It was nothing like my mom and me. I was torn between the two conflicting emotions that raged in my young head and crotch. The head wanted to attempt reason and rationalize what was ging on and my crotch just wanted the physical gratification. I had no one that I dare confide these thoughts to. The word i****t had entered my lexicon and the dictionary definition stated quite clealy that it was a bad thing to pursue such feelings.
A benign flirtation continued for a few years. The marriage was getting worse and they argued a lot. Mom often fled their bedroom and found refuge in my room. I held her in my arms as she cried and wanted nothing more than to be alone with me. Was this some sort of declaration of love, I thought as I held her close and felt her breasts flatten against my chest. The scent of her body made me dizzy; I inhaled deeply. I wanted to take away all of her saness and make her smile.
We lay in bed together. I starting stroking her face, tracing lines with the tip of my finger. I grew bolder and let my finger stray down to the long slender throar. Mom lay here passively, her sad pale blue eyes gazing up at me. Her pajama top was open, breasts partially exposed and gently rising and falling with each breath. This was a silent confirmation of what I had suspected all along. Her feelings transended "normal" motherly feelings, they were deeper and darker. I could not absolve myself of having similar feelings. We seemed to belong together.
I traced patterns connecting the small constellation of freckles on her chest. She giggled softly. Her fingers opened several more buyyons of her top and pulled it aside so that one breast was now completely exposed to my amazed eyes. I leaned down and kissed the breast, timidly taking the nipple into my mouth and suckled on it until it was stiff. She ran her fingers through my hair and caressed the back of my neck. I peeled away the rest of the top and bestowed similar affection upon the other breast.
Everything eccelerated from that moment. We hurriedly pulled off what remain of one another's clothing. I gazed wonderously at the cloud of hair that grew between her legs. It was quite thick and a little darker shade of blond than on her head. I explained that I was a virgin and my knowldge of sex was scant at best. She smiled and explained it all to me. The sexual tuitorial was brief and to the point, all the details would be explained later.
The scent of her cunt was new and interesting. A timidly put my face between her legs and kissed her there as she instructed me. As I see myself at that moment I was absurdly clumsy and fumbling. My up stroke down stroke motion of oral sex was as romantic as a man painting a barn. I wanted mom to feel good and hated my lack of knowledge. She didn't seem to mind. She understood those first few times were going to be awkward. She was a patient teacher and I tried to excell in my studies.
She pulled me on top of her, taking hold of my cock and guided it into her warm welcoming cunt. Again I showed my inexperience and thrust my cock into her with the sensativity of a battering ram. The first time lasted only a few minutes and I ejaculated onto her belly. She wrung every last drop of come out of my cock until I was empty.
In the subsequent months we had to be very careful not to show any overt affection around my father even though it was hard keeping our hands off of one another. I could not wait to get home from school every day and have those few precious hours alone with mom before dad came home from work. With each encounter I grew less timid and more confident. I was developing my own sexual indentity and not afraid to express it. Mom loved and encouraged this and liked being dominated. The best thing about sex, she said once, is being spontaneous. Whenever dad deigned to stick his cock into her it was routine, mechanical, and devoid of passion. It was just another biological function that needed to be vented. I was determined never to fall into such a rut. I promised her.
When my parents finally seperated mom and I found a small apartment. We were alone and happy to start a life hopefully filled with joy and great sex.
96% (75/3)
Categories: Taboo
Posted by slappywag64
4 years ago    Views: 3,966
Comments (13)
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3 years ago
I reaaly enjoyed your story
3 years ago
That was so lovely a true love story with al the action talking abpout action i did get woof twice and when i finish writting this i'm going to jack off one more time thanks
3 years ago
Great story, If it is a story or is it real !!!!!. It sounds so much like my own experience as a teenager at home.
4 years ago
another great one my friend
4 years ago
Great story!
4 years ago
good one
4 years ago
Guys how do u fell abit fucking ur sister
4 years ago
Very good, I hope there are many more experiences to come.
4 years ago
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