This is not really a story, more thoughts and remembrances.
Back in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, they would cut out a hole in the floor and put in a cast iron grate that let the heat rise to the upstairs rooms. The grate also left through sound and if you were the type, you could peek down from the upstairs room to the downstairs room and see much of what was going on. When I was about eighteen, the summer before college, we moved into a house with heating grates. My bedroom was just above my mother's room and at night, I could hear her soft snoring as she slept.
I could hear other things too. My mother was a single mom, and she had the same good genes she passed on to me, which means she had soft skin and looked younger than she really was. She was not the nicest person, but she was beautiful, a flirt, and something of what I recognize now as a slut. Back then I didn't think that way. I just thought she had a lot of boyfriends. Many, many nights there were men in her bedroom, and yes, I would peek, peering through the cast iron grates, watching what went on that had the men, and at times, my mother, make such an array of passionate sounds.
Sex scared me, I had led a sheltered life in high school. And even when I first went to college, I stayed mostly to myself. But, when I was home. I would watch from above as the men, their hairy naked bodies, all larger than my five foot one mother, climbed on her and thrust into her like animals. Watching their cocks, which seemed so large to me, to into her tiny body seemed frightening. She would whimper when they entered her and then as they began to pound, always fast and hard, she would cry out. I didn't realize then that her cries were likely cries of pleasure. It seemed to me that she was being raped and it was exciting and scary, both, watching them.
As time went by, I came to realize that it was pleasure, not pain, that caused her moans and cries, and while I wasn't sure what was going on, I knew there were a few rare times, when something happened with her that caused her to almost writhe and cry out even louder. Those were, I came to understand later, orgasms. At the time, I only knew what she was doing was considered very naughty, not to be talked about, and very exciting. Watching and listening caused a new wetness between my legs and I found, if my fingers stroked myself there, as I saw men doing to my mother, I would reach my own moment of passion. It was hard, because I had to be quiet so they would not hear me as the orgasm washed over my young body.
The thing that fascinated me most though, was watching my mother perform oral sex.
I call it performing on purpose because I never thought she loved any of the men who shared her bed. And I could tell she was showing off, that what she was doing was not just about creating pleasure by letting a man's cock slide in and out between her lips, but that part of what brought the men such pleasure was watching her do it, watching their swollen cocks as it penetrated her mouth, as she liked, sucked and kissed, for both total pleasure. I watched and mentally paid attention to what men liked, what she did that always brought men to pleasure. Watching her, and their reactions as she lavished such love on their cocks, I came to see oral sex as the ultimate act of pleasure you could give a man.
So at twenty, after a couple of years of this, I knew a few things most girls my age (and remember, this was a fair number of years ago, not now when girls are having sex so early), didn't know. I knew most men would rather have a great blow job than other kinds of sex. I knew all about going slow, looking up into a man's eyes when you sucked him. I learned men REALLY wanted to cum in a woman's mouth. I knew ways to prolong a man's pleasure, and ways to make him come fast.
