By: Dr. Dill Fober Vangore
My Story Starts
My name is David, and I want to share with you a story that happened to me many years ago. I'm not a writer, just telling it as best I remember, so don't judge my writing skills too harshly.
I have changed the names to protect the identity of all participants who were 18 years of age or older at the time; I have tried not to vary from the actual events. My wife says I'm always leaving out too many of the details of my story, but it would then be a novel if I told all the details, and I have become aware that fiction is a lot closer to the truth from what a lot of you have written about your fantasies.
Thanks to 'Alwaystaboo,' for helping me find my mistakes and reviewing this story for me.
So here goes as best I can remember...
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Most of you have heard that song called Patches by Clarence Carter from the '70s. I use to hear it a lot when I was younger and always felt so much of it applied to me in my youth.
A lot of the words of the song rang true; except my mother helped me become a man one day as the song never mentions. Then later in my life, some of my past situations became a part of my life with my current wife.
Let me explain; like in the song, my father died when I was young. My Dad died from pancreatic cancer. He was much older than my mother when they married, she was a naΓ―ve young virgin, and he had just resigned from the Navy after 15 years.
She was a girl from a small town out west and married her when she was 18, just out of High School. She was a lot like the actress Sandra Dee, both in looks and in her tiny figure. I think that's why my dad married her; she was a beach beauty, with blonde hair, button nose, and green eyes. If you want to know what my mom looked like, look up a picture of Sandra Dee from the 1960s.
Growing up, we had a small farm in the Midwest, and on his death bed my father asked me to step up and become the man of the house and take care of my mom and my siblings; I was in High School but did as he asked out of love and respect for him.
With what little my father had in life insurance, it managed to pay off the farm, and my mom received a small income from the government each month. That left my mom having to go clerk at a law office to help support us, with all the farm chores falling upon my shoulders. I had a younger brother and sister, so they couldn't be expected to help much. I wanted to drop out of High School, but my mom said that was not an option, so I struggled between school and my farm chores.
I had to go out early in the morning and feed the livestock, milk the cow, muck the stalls, irrigate the garden and when I got home from school I was back out doing the same chores till dark. Then school work till bedtime. Early to bed, early to rise was my life all through high school.
I had no social life, and there were a lot of cute girls in my school, but I didn't have time for school dances or dating and I was a bit of an introvert when it came to girls. When I turned 18 my Senior year of High School, it was the time in my life when my hormones kicked in, and I was learning through other guys at school about sex, and which girls put out, and all the fun school stuff that I just didn't have time for as a teenager. It was also a time that I began noticing girls, and it seemed I was always aroused from just thinking about them. I wanted to go out on dates, but my responsibilities to my family came first, and girls just didn't fit into my life at that time, they actually scared me. The promise I had made to my father on his death bed to take care of my mom and my siblings squashed any ideas of a social life, or just having fun; I had made a promise and was I planning on keeping it.
Since I didn't have time to date or find out about girls my age, I began to notice the only other woman in my life; my mother. I'd gotten glimpses of her breasts in the shower, and noticed her slim, petite figure for a woman in her late-30's. But what guy doesn't notice their mother at that age? That's when you start peeking on them in the tub or when they're changing their clothes; I was no different than most guys at the time. I started sneaking my mom's panties out of the clothes hamper to smell them; mostly out of curiosity, till that womanly scent triggered my hormones even more. That caused me to fantasize about my mom, and I begin masturbating with them; believe me, I was no exception to guys my age. It helped take that edge off my sexual frustration as a young man, and it temporally fixed my need to date.
At 18 I was bigger than most guys my age, 6'3" tall, and 170 Lbs. of lean muscle, Blue eyes, Sandy Blonde hair. I look about the same today only 40+ lbs., with gray creeping in. I think my build was from working on the farm every day, and girls were always flirting with me, but I was too dumb to understand that. I usually thought they were just being nice. I noticed from my gym classes that I was also slightly bigger than guys my age below the belt, and I was proud of that.
With my senior year almost over, I still had no sex and I tossed any idea of college out because of my farm responsibilities. After graduation, I worked a job during the day at a hardware store, so mom could quit her job and spend more time with my younger brother and sister. I believe my mom noticed my lack of a social life, and I think it was bothering her; I know she had caught me masturbating a few times in the morning before my chores, but acted like she didn't see anything. I'm sure she realized some of her panties were missing, but she'd always find them in the bottom of my bed when she'd changed my sheets. Again acting unaware of what was going on with me and her panties.
I got to the point of not caring anymore if she knew I used her panties to masturbate with because I was sexually frustrated and stopped trying to hide my needs from her as an 18-year-old; like most guys my age with a beautiful mother, they usually wanted her to be their first sexual experience. That was the summer of 1978, and that's when my life was about to change.
My mother was a true redhead. I had never really noticed that at first since she lighted her hair by adding bleach and blonde streaks. She was 39 when she decided to help me become a man that summer. She knew I had no social life because my time consisted of taking care of the farm and working. She knew I had missed out on all the school dances, dating, even my graduation dance, or just hanging with some of my classmates after school because of taking care of the farm.
I think she thought long and hard over her next decision to help me become a man that summer; probably mostly for legal reasons, but I think for religious ones too. We belonged to a church that had a very high moral standard; we believed in being virgins till marriage; we didn't drink or smoke, and we attend church every Sunday. I think that is what held her back from helping me out at first, was her strong morality that our church teaches its members.
It was a warm summer night and I had just gotten back in from my evening chores and was taking a shower when mom knocked on the bathroom door, and with a serious voice said she wanted to talk to me when I was done. I remember her telling me earlier that my brother and sister were staying over at my aunts tonight and tomorrow, to give her a break from them.
I was in the meantime worried that maybe mom found some more of her underwear in the bottom of my bed again, or caught me masturbating in the shower and wanted to talk to me about my misbehavior. I knew it was going to mess up my evening of fantasying about mom while I masturbated using her wonderfully scented panties. But I just hurried and finished my shower and prepared for the worse.
I came back to my bedroom in my robe, mom was there waiting for me sitting on the edge of my bed in her nightshirt that I always enjoyed seeing her in. It hugged her curves and would lots of times show moms nipples when they poked out, I think unbeknownst to her they constantly did. (And they say nightshirts aren't sexy?) One look at my mother and what she was wearing would change any guys thinking, she was titillating as a woman, especially as a mother.
But that all changed when I saw the concerned look on her soft, face. I was nervous about what she was going to say and knew I was in some sort of trouble just by her reserved demeanor and the serious look that she was portraying as I entered the room.
My mother had me sit down next to her as she explained how bad she felt about holding me back from so much of my youth because of her working, and me taking care of the farm; followed by nightly homework. How I had missed out on any kind of social life as a guy because of all the demands at such a young age to be the man of our home.