You normally don't adopt 18 year olds. Everyone wants to adopt a baby, but some kids are just stuck in the system for years. The longer they stay, the more people avoid them. They figure there must be something wrong with the kid.
I didn't feel that way about Mikey. He had been up for adoption for 10 years in Dallas county. My husband and I wanted to adopt for years, but we never were approved.
So finally, when we both hit our 50s, we decided to adopt a teen. Mikey's caseworker said that Mikey was a sweet kid, an insomniac, and (I remember her blushing) was a chronic masturbator.
My husband, Jeb, laughed. "So what, Louise?" he said. "All boys do it."
The caseworker showed us Mikey's file. He had been seeing a therapist for years, but he would be moved from group home to group home because the other boys complained about his nocturnal activities.
We decided we were fine with that. Mikey would have his own room. And once he had a girlfriend, we figured all would be in order.
The day Mikey arrived, we were thrilled. We had prepared a bedroom for him with his own video game console. His room faced the street and had a lot of light.
Well, when my husband arrived home, I just beamed. We had met Mikey many times before during the adoption process, but there he was at our door - a handsome young man, blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples, standing almost 6 feet tall. He was a pleasure to look at.
Mikey hugged me - it was like hugging a statue - his lean long body was so hard - and he shook Jeb's hand.
"Thank you for adopting me. Can I call you Momma Louise and Pappa Jeb? I promise I'll be a good son."
I don't think there was a dry eye in the house!
But that first night... it must have been 3am when I heard the bathroom sink running. I thought nothing of it. Mikey must be in the bathroom. But the water kept running for a while, so I got up and pulled a robe over my nightgown to have a look. And down the hallway, I saw the bathroom door was open with light streaming out of it.
"Mikey?" I called out.
Nothing. The water sounded as if he had left the sink running, so I walked over to the door. To my shock, there was Mikey standing in the bathroom, leaning up against the counter, stark naked, absently pulling on his erection. He was staring at the bathroom mirror as if in a trance.
"Mikey?" He stood there pulling on his penis in slow rhythmic motion.
"Mikey?" Still nothing. I took in the sight - this beautiful young man, tanned and muscled from wrestling and swimming at school, just standing there with erection in hand.
"Mikey?" I stepped into the bathroom and edged up closer to him. His face was blank, just fixated on his own reflection.
I touched his arm, but he did not react. I then reached out again and held his forearm as he continued to stroke his increasingly red penis. His long strokes retracted his foreskin and I could only marvel at this boy's beauty.
Now my husband, Jeb, was 55, didn't look this good when he was 18. I couldn't help but admire the mechanics of Mikey's manhood. Was Jeb's ever this veiny? Was his dickhead ever this shiny and glistening, slick with his own moisture?
I put my hand again on Mikey's forearm and enjoyed feeling the stroking motion.
Guilt swept over me. I ran back to the master bedroom and closed the door. Back in bed, Jeb was still asleep and grunted when I reached into his pajama bottoms to compare Mikey's thick rod to my husband's soft old bud of a dick.
The next morning, I went to the bathroom and noticed that the mirror had been wiped down. So, the silly boy eventually came, did he? I smiled and wondered how long he was at it, sleep-jerking, until he ejaculated.
I had told Jeb about the evening incident. He laughed it off. And for the rest of the day, we said nothing as Mikey spent the day mowing the lawn and doing chores.
But that night, again around 3am, I heard the water running. This time, unsure of what to do, I shook Jeb awake.
"What on earth?" Jeb began.
