When she told me masturbating was wrong, I remember feeling that I’d let her down, that I’d somehow been bad. In my own way, even as a teenager and into my adulthood, I guess I never stopped wanting my mom’s approval.
On the other end of the spectrum, mom didn’t have any sort of nudity prohibitions. Many times, while she was bathing, she’d call for me to bring her something. Because of this, mom was the first woman I ever saw nude. She made no effort to cover herself up, and I was able to see her full brunette bush and firm C-cup breasts, tipped with light brown nipples that were usually erect, and appreciate her slender body, relaxed in the tub. While I stood there, she would talk as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As I developed sexually, I would try not to let my new-found interest in her body show. Is there anything as compelling as the first experiences of nudity with the opposite sex? I began to initiate attempts to see mom nude; even if she didn’t ask for anything, I’d poke my head in, asking if she might like a cup of tea while she bathed, all the while gaining the mental images of my lovely mother, naked and dripping wet in the tub.
As you can imagine, there were many times that I pictured mom as I masturbated. Did I feel guilty over this ‘wrong’ behavior, and fantasizing about my mom? In a way, yes. I always wanted to be her ‘gode pojke’, her good boy. But I also didn’t want to change what I was doing. I could keep a secret.
*****
After returning from the Army, I got a job working for a fairly large local employer. Dozens of young adults in our 20s worked there. As such, it was very common for co-workers to become romantically or sexually involved. That was the case with Wendy. One Friday night, as was a typical custom, a group of us would meet for drinks after work.
This night was no different than others; some folks would stay for a while, drifting off to whatever else they did on the weekends. Eventually, only three of us were left: Wendy, another woman, and me. Wendy asked me to dance at one point in the evening, which actually surprised me. Since we’d met, she’d been standoffish toward me. I thought perhaps I’d done something to give her a bad opinion of me, but didn’t quite know how to breach the divide I sensed.
Happily, I’d misread things with Wendy, as she showed by grinding on me on the dance floor. Not flirtatiously, not in a ‘I’m young and sexy and like to tease’ way — Wendy dirty danced with intention, pressing one leg between mine as we danced, sliding up and down against my cock, which hardened immediately. She left no doubt in my mind how this night would end.
Wendy was a cute blonde, a little chubby, with perky tits and, as I could see as we danced, nipples so big they were visible through her bra when they were erect. We spent several songs pressed together on the floor, crotch to crotch, then me directly behind Wendy, my jean-clad erection rubbing up and down over her full, plump ass as she ground back against me.
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