So they stayed in the drawer. There weren’t many opportunities to use them, because she didn’t go and get hammered all the time. And because I wasn’t too interested in pursuing other girls. I did open the pack a couple of times, to practice. Got myself hard, pulled the foreskin back and rolled on the rubber sheath like I’d seen in instructional videos… It wasn’t too difficult. I even tried jerking off while wearing one – although that felt a bit weird.
I felt confident that I could master their use once the opportunity arose, though. Now it was just a matter of waiting and hoping. Being ready. If she came home like that again and the chance to delve into that forbidden world of sex with a drunken minx presented itself once more, I would make sure I had protection on hand.
But the weeks went by. Then they turned into months… and no such opportunity came. At first, I was hopeful. Then I started growing restless. Impatient. Antsy. Hoping something would happen soon. Then I grew dejected. Losing hope. Feeling like it wasn’t going to happen. Then I was disappointed, coming to the realization that after such a long time, it wouldn’t.
As a substitute, my fantasies started growing bolder. I would jerk off in the shower, fantasizing about mom being in there with me, naked and horny. My thoughts would get more and more depraved, involving more and more outrageous sex. Oral, anal, threesomes… in my mind, we’d do it all. Then, instead, I squirted out my teenage boy juices all over the shower walls.
I’d fantasize about shooting them out somewhere else. On mom’s face, on her tits, on her belly… or maybe in her mouth. I’d picture her mouth slurping away at my throbbing cock, not stopping even if I started cumming. Happily, she’d slurp away and swallow it all. Instead, there I was, jerking off in the shower, watching my cum being washed away into the drain as my orgasm subsided. And I’d return from my fantasy world, being forced to live with the disappointment that it wasn’t real.
Still weeks and months later, my grandma was having a birthday party. Since it was her 70th, it was one of those big ones – a party with caterers and the whole extended family present. Not really my kind of party, because it was just a bunch of older people all asking the same questions and having the same conversations over and over, but at least the food was great.
I dressed up in my nicest suit and made sure I was well groomed before going. I had also made sure to bring my own gift, being considered an adult at this point. The biggest change in that respect was that unlike the parties five to ten years ago, I was no longer seated at the kids’ table. Instead, I found myself at the end of the row, with my mom next to me on my right. Since there was nobody to the left of me, I’d be able to quickly leave the table any time I wanted to go for seconds at the buffet.
And like I said, the food was great. There was a long buffet table placed against the far wall. On it, there were trays of meats, fish, potatoes, rice and vegetables in all sorts of amazingly prepared variants. I went straight for the chicken wings. I also grabbed a few small pieces of bread, some potato salad, some lettuce and lots of cherry tomatoes to give the perfect blend of different tastes. When I returned to the table, my plate was adorned with a kaleidoscope of colors.