At nineteen, I hated everything besides music and sports, but when an older male cousin showed me masturbation with objects, I was obsessed.
One night, we were alone at my house, and our parents had gone out for the night. My cousin eventually started to roam the home and inspect the rooms. He stopped in the master bedroom and found my mom's panties in a drawer. Then, he began to sniff a red pair that looked like a thong. Although I was intrigued, I wanted something different. I looked around for something I could use while he did his work; it felt so good, better than anything I had felt before. And there they were, strewn about on the floor next to the dresser: A pair of my mother's dirty socks. She had a unique odor to her feet, sort of a musty, anis quality, like the back of an old attic. When I buried my nose in the most odorous sock, I inhaled a smell unlike anything I had experienced before; it was intoxicating and invigorating all the nerves down my back, giving me goosebumps. Pretty soon, a warm sensation enveloped the insides of my bowels and stomach. And then, as if it occurred not to me but to someone beside me, I ejaculated into the dirty sock.
My legs began to shake, and my cousin laughed. I had to kneel against the wall to keep from falling over.
"Isn't that great?" said my cousin. "Just watch out, though, because your mom might be missing some socks." He smirked as he rummaged through some more drawers.
But I didn't care. I could give two shits whether or not my mom knew I stole her socks; I'm fact, I wanted her to know. I started picking them off the floor in her bedroom at night, quick not to startle her awake, or would that be such a bad thing?
One afternoon, I got more ambitious, taking them away when she got home from work and put her feet up on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted a luscious, bright red.
I grabbed the meat of the soles in my hands and rubbed with my fingers inward. Her face started to melt into a strange, trance-like design, so I knew I was on the right track. After a while, I turned my attention toward the toes. I squeezed each one with my fingers, moving up and down while wiggling them slightly.
Then she started to moan. I was too busy concentrating on the little ridges of skin between the toe and the top of the sole, and I was in an ecstatic trance handling and massaging my mother's feet -- those previously untouchable relics of the holy sex of my youth. It took all the power within
me not to lean forward and start sucking her toes. Her moaning started to increase, and I felt my penis grow to its full size in seconds. My mother began to wiggle on the couch while I rubbed the ball of her left foot. My cock ceased to grow -- I could feel it pulsate underneath my pants to such a degree that a bulge formed down my leg. My mother opened her eyes for a second in her relaxation, still transfixed by the pressure on those thick soles, and when she looked at me, she frowned, her eyes downcast and her cheeks relaxed as if trying to remember something that happened a long time ago.
