The first week in our house ended very well. Let me tell you how.
I'm just a regular, plain looking person in my early twenties. You would never notice me in a crowd; I usually just blend in. You won't see me wearing risqué clothing or the latest fashions. And you won't see me in bikini bathing suits or even hanging out at pool parties. But I do have a sexual side.
A few years ago we moved into a house on a pretty major street here in town. The house almost sits on the street itself. It's actually about ten feet from the first lane. We access our house from the back; that's where we park.
The house was built around 1910. The construction is lath and plaster. Closets are very small. Doors are those really thin wood ones.
There are three levels: the basement is where we enter from the back; up one set of stairs you get to the kitchen and living areas; then up another flight are the bedrooms.
You pass my parents' room first on the right, then you come to the bathroom on the left and next to it is the door to my room.
My room is small but it's very comfortable. My closet is small, too, and can't hold many clothes. I wonder what they were thinking of when they made these houses back then. Where in the world did they put their clothes? They certainly weren't nudists.
While unpacking that first week I found something that eventually led to an extraordinary experience. I was putting some things on the shelf in the closet and I noticed that the wall above the shelf had not been covered completely to the ceiling; I could see into the wall itself. I didn't think much of it at first but I did want to make a point of mentioning it to my father so he could close it off.
That night as I lay in bed I was gazing at that area through the open closet doorway. I was thinking about how these old houses were made. How different they were than the ones made today.
I noticed a light was on somewhere and was shining through that open part of the wall and into my closet. It wasn't very bright at all, but quite dim. After a while I realized that the light was not steady either - it was moving... flickering like a candle does. Sometimes I'm very slow at seeing what may be right in front of me, but after watching the light do its little dance for a while it dawned on me that it must be coming from my parents' room.
I got out of bed, got a chair and, standing on my toes, I could see into their room. The other side of that wall was their closet, and their closet door was open and I could see them on their bed.
They were "at it" sort of, but it wasn't all that hot; they were just embracing with my mother on top of my dad. I stood there watching for I have no idea how long. I don't know if it was one minute or thirty. I had never seen them like that before but I have certainly seen them a lot since then.
After a while my mother slipped to the side, blew out the candles, and they drifted off to sleep. I could still barely see them laying there because of the little light left from the street. They looked nice.
I got back in bed and thought about a lot of things. I remember very distinctly taking on a love for candles. And I remember deciding to spy on them as much as I could. I hadn't seen very much that time, but what I did see made me want more.
That was a Friday night.
The next afternoon I came home with a candle as a gift for my mother.
"Jennifer, thank you. What's the occasion?".
"I was just thinking of you."
And that night I was back on my chair looking through the wall. But I saw nothing because, although I think they were at it, their closet door was closed.
Sunday night was different, though. Sunday night their closet door was open again, candles were lit and I had my first sex lesson. Let me say that I was pretty naïve up until then.
When I began looking this time they evidently had just started messing around. They still had their night clothes on. My father wears a night shirt that comes to his knees and my mother usually wears some skimpy kind of shirt and a pair of panties. I came to find out that she usually wears lace panties to bed because they turn my dad on. So she wears one pair by day and after bathing puts on another pair for the night. But that pair usually doesn't last long; give it a half hour and they're usually on the floor. My parents are very horny people.
What I saw that night turned out to be fairly standard "action" if you will. I guess they have gotten to the point of liking their sex a certain way and they have favorite things they like to do, so most nights were like this one.
Let me just tell you quickly what they "usually" do because that's not really the major thrust of this story anyway. As it turns out, my dad loves to watch my mother masturbate. And then he masturbates while she watches him. They both love it. And I love to watch it.
Before that night I had never masturbated. I know it sounds strange, but I was never much into sex. The most I had done was enjoy playing with my nipples while in the shower. That night was different, though. As I watched my mother masturbate I became fascinated. I wanted to do that so bad that I almost couldn't wait for them to stop. I wanted to go try it myself but I didn't want to miss anything.
They finally finished. I got down, got into bed, and started masturbating like I had just seen my mother do. It felt good... VERY good. But it didn't feel like I thought it felt for my mother. It seemed that she had enjoyed it far more than I was. Maybe the way she was doing it was different than what I thought I saw.
But I kept at it. I wet my fingers and that helped. I closed my eyes trying to see her in my head and then do it just the way she was doing it.
But then both the sound of the door swinging open and my mother's voice came to my ear and I was one girl, definately interrupted.
"Jennifer?"
