Watching the folks do it.
How I got to make it with mom.
You can cum too!
Home is where the hard-on is
We moved into a new house when I turned eighteen. The lay out facilitated being able to sneak out of my room without our parents knowing, no creaking floorboards or squeaky doors. Ever since then I have been listening to my folks make love.
Each evening when they retired, I would be outside their door waiting for the action to start. Now our new home was a split level, with my bedroom on the third level and theirs the forth. So I could plant myself on the short section of stairs and be ready to scuttle back to my bedroom if they might come out. This arrangement had my head at the foot of their door and sounds were clear and distinct. In other words, I could hear everything but the footsteps on the rug.
Thus occasionally I was sometimes caught by surprise, and sent back to my bed incurring their displeasure. Mainly it was because I was up too late as it was a school night, but sometime it must have been because they were annoyed that I was invading their privacy. However, that occasional nabbing did not deter me from returning on other nights to check if they were going to be doing it. Many times they were tired and just went to sleep. But perhaps a couple of times a week I was rewarded by the sounds of them screwing. Naturally, I was masturbating right along with them, quietly of course so as to neither get caught, nor interrupt our mutual good time.
It was no secret that I did so, though there was an unspoken understanding. My parents, as I learned in conversation with my dad years later, simply decided that I wasn't going to spoil their fun and didn't bother to try to police my curious nature. The door was closed and I couldn't see anything and their language was rather tame though very tender. They got very vocal only when in the heat of passion, as the ecstasy mounted and then as they climaxed. Indeed, the cries of my mother as she peaked in orgasm were the trigger for my own cumming. Then I would spill my sperm on the carpeted stairs, wiping up the goo so as not to leave a stain.
This went on for years through my late adolescence. I oft have speculated that the reemergence of my Oedipal complex was due directly to the fact that my mother was my vicarious sex partner; in my imagination she was my lover. Oh, I had girlfriends and fantasized about many other sexy gals, but mom was the only one that I was actually fucking when we both came. So I had the hots for my mother for years, but never tried to act on it, nor dreamed that it might actual happen one day. But then the road trip came up.
Between kindergarten and first grade a serious illness had set my education schedule back a year, so that in the spring of my junior year in High School I had my eighteenth birthday. Dad was an executive with a very big corporation, and my grades were not great but above average, so I was headed off to college after graduation. I had been interested in a number universities and schools in the Midwest. Dad and mom planned a road trip during that summer, to tour the educational institutions I had wanted to look at, in order to see each campus and talk to a few admissions personnel.
Dad had an important business conference in Chicago in mid-July, so it was the strategy for mom and I to drive out to Indianapolis and he would fly down and meet us. Then we would go in a large round robin of school shopping, stopping every evening at motels, and then head home after a week. Dad's secretary had set the reservations up; she was a wiz at that sort of logistics. Everything was in place for our journey. The one concession to frugality was that we all would share one room. We were family, no big deal; there are always two big beds anyway.
Now I bet your thinking AH HAH!! . . .that first night when mother and son are alone in the motel room on the way to Indy and dad is not on the scene. Perfect setting for a sexual encounter between me and mom, right? Too bad I didn't think of that. Or not. If I had tried anything, instead of how things developed actually, perhaps I might have been traveling with two angry parents on my back all that trip. But I never thought of it. I respected my mother and never considered that she might cheat on dad with her son. Nor was I looking to cuckold my father. In fact it worked out much better, as you will discover.
A flash in the night ignites more passion
So all went according to plan, and we all arrive in the Hoosier capital. Mom had directions to the airport, where we picked up dad, and then he drove us to the motel. We went out to dinner, and returned to our room. In the morning we would buzz around Butler University before traveling on to our next destination. Now mom changed into a lightweight nightgown in the bathroom. My folks had the bed next to the window and I was opposite the TV. We wanted to get to sleep early to be fresh for the next day's explorations.
Best laid plans - and all of that. Remember that mom and dad had not seen each other for nearly a week since he was off on his business junket. I had foregone my usual masturbation routine for forty-eight hours since the night before the long drive out. Thus, there were three horny people in that place. I lay quietly, trying to fall into slumberland. My folks must have thought I was asleep, as I was silent and still. I heard their bed creak, and some rustling of sheets. Then there were low hushed tones, a conversation I could make out only snatches of.
Dad said something to mom I couldn't catch. She replied' "Do you think he's asleep?"
