A trip down mammary lane.
You ever see an ass in sweatpants that is so perfectly proportioned, ass cheeks filled out wide at the bottom, narrow waist above high hips. Not fat, not skinny, but that dramatic hourglass shape that only a woman in her thirties can have, and on top of that, an ass that only one out of a thousand women, would have. That highly seductive ass, that in today's world would put her on the same level as the girls of Miami Swim Week, strutting their big asses on the runway, with videos on the internet for the whole world to see. She's not trying to show off, she is my mother, her name is Anita.
My name is Liam, I was nineteen, I was a senior in high school. I was a year late graduating, because in my junior year, I was very sick and missed a lot of school. But, I recovered and had to repeat a grade, which I honestly did not mind. My mother and I lived alone, in a small mountain town in the northeast. My dad was around and I had a good relationship with him but they divorced when I was two. She had a fiancé for a while, they broke up three years before and she stayed single since. Maybe a few dates here and there, she tried to keep those dates secret from me, but I knew when she went on dates because we lived in a small town.
I was obsessed with her ass in those sweats. Specifically the white ones. She wore them around the house quite often. When she bent over at the fridge, I was staring at that beautiful ass. When she walked by me, her ass cheeks jiggling, I was staring. I masturbated to her ass so many times, I thought something was wrong with me.
She got stared at everywhere we went--especially at the grocery store. I'd seen guys stop in the middle of an aisle just to get a second look. One time, I watched a teenager walk straight into a shelf while she reached for almond milk, her ass grabbing his full attention.
THE DAY THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER:
The year was 1995. My mother was 36 years old and in the prime of her life. The events that changed my life forever, happened in late May of that year, the weather had turned nice, and it was enjoyable to be outside again. I remember the morning like it was yesterday.
It was Sunday morning, I was laying on the couch, being lazy. I had plans to hang out with my friends at the mall. My mother was lacing up her cute white Reeboks by the door, one foot propped up on the entry bench. I was pretending to watch tv, but really just watching her ass.
Those jeans should've been illegal. Faded to a light blue, worn thin at the seams, High-waisted, tight through the hips. Those jeans I referred to as the hoochie jeans; because they made her as look so sexy, she almost looked like a prostitute
She stood up, adjusted her purse strap, and stepped over to me. Leaned down and kissed me on the cheek--quick, soft, her lips warm and familiar.
"I'll be back later this afternoon," she said. "Please vacuum before I get back."
"Okay, Mom, I will." I said pretending to ignore her nagging.
Then she walked out the door. I sat there for maybe thirty seconds, blood rushing to my cock, already hard just from watching that ass sway out the door.
Then I moved quickly to her bedroom hamper. I knew the timing by now--she always peeled out of her comfy clothes before going out. I opened the lid and there they were: the white sweatpants. Twisted, damp-looking, still clinging to her warmth. I grabbed them like a fucking animal and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I opened them up and went straight for the crotch. The gusset was stained--still moist with her juices. I touched it and almost moaned. My fingers shook. I brought it to my face and inhaled deep.
It smelled like her pussy. Strong. Sweet. Musky. Faintly sour in that way that gets into your teeth. Raw sex. Not soap or body spray--just her. It was all over the fabric, soaked in, clinging like it wanted to be tasted. My knees nearly gave out.
I ripped my cock out and started jerking fast, squeezing the tip until it throbbed. With my other hand, I shoved the crotch of her sweats against my mouth--rubbed that stiff, crusted gusset over my lips, my tongue, tasting the mess from her pussy. I licked it like it was her clit, sucked on the seam like I was trying to pull the flavor out, filthy and desperate, mouthing her scent like it was the only thing that could keep me alive.
"Fuck, Mom..." I groaned.
I pictured her bent over, ass arched, those fat cheeks spreading as she pulled her jeans down slow--like she knew I was watching. No panties. Just smooth, bare skin. Thick, soft flesh that bounced with every step. Her crack deep and dark, her asshole moist and pink, glistening like it had been sweating just for me. And beneath that, her pussy--wet, swollen, lips peeking out like they wanted to be touched.
I buried my nose in the crotch, but in my head it wasn't fabric--it was her. My face wedged between her cheeks, mouth open, breathing her in. I dragged the stiff gusset over my upper lip, rubbed it across my nose, huffing the scent of her cunt and asshole like it was oxygen. Faintly sour, musky, sweet--it hit me so deep it made my stomach clench.
I imagined spreading her ass open with both hands, staring into that perfect little hole, my tongue out, ready to rim her until she moaned my name. Just bury my face there, sniff her hole, lick up her sweat, taste the salt of her skin. I groaned, jerking fast, hips twitching, cock slick with precum.
And then I lost it.
"Fuck--Mom--fuck--" I gasped, eyes rolling back, pressing the crotch of her pants right to my nose, sniffing her hole through the cotton like a fucking addict. My balls pulled tight, and I exploded--hot cum shooting into the sink, rope after rope as I moaned like an animal. I didn't stop stroking until I was drained, the last drops dribbling out while her smell still filled my head.
I stood there, sweating, panting, shaking--her scent still on my face. I rinsed the sink. Smoothed out her pants. Put them back exactly the way I found them.
And then I vacuumed the fucking carpet like a good boy.
LATER THAT MORNING:
I showered and threw on jeans, tshirt and sneaks and decided to go visit my next-door neighbor, Rodney. He had a big garage with the big doors always open. He was always in there, welding on something or fixing something. At seventy-one years old, he had a lot of energy and was the funniest guy I knew.
Growing up, I had spent a lot of time with him, helping him tinker with things, fix lawn mowers, tractors and even industrial equipment. He was pretty smart and had the reputation for being sort of a genius with mechanical things.
I heard the sound of his welder as I approached the garage. When it stopped, I yelled out, "Rod-Neee!" I always greeted him that way, breaking his name into two syllables.
I could not see him, but I heard him laugh.
"Peckerhead!" I heard him yell back affectionately, that was his nickname for me, and I didn't mind since he was very much like a grandfather to me.
I walked into the garage. He was working on some fancy car trailer, welding something onto it.
He looked up and lifted his welding helmet. He was missing a few teeth, but it only made him look sweet and harmless. He always wore navy blue Dickies with suspenders over an old T-shirt.
He laughed and got up off his little stool he was sitting on and we walked over to a kitchen table that he had in his garage, next to it was a sink, fridge, and coffee pot; everything you need to stay in the garage all day.
"let's chat!" he said and we sat at the table.
"So you got any girlfriends yet?" He asked, sipping his coffee.
"Naw... this town is too small, not enough women." I said sheepishly. Plus it didn't help that I had to repeat my final year of high school and the other kids thought I was a loser because of it, even though I was very sick and had no control over it.
He grinned, "I keep telling ya, you're a handsome guy, over six foot tall, girls love that. When I was your age, I was fucking them left and right. They used to call me Ram-Rod!" His face contorted and he laughed at his own joke. I laughed too.
It was true, they did call him Ram-Rod when he was younger, he used to be very handsome, had all of his teeth and had a reputation of being a lady's man. It was also rumored he was hung, and women would seek him out, yearning to get stretched out by his big cock.
"You know what your problem is?" he said, his face serious now. "You're too nice. You treat girls too nice. You need to treat them like whores--because they are. All of them."
I rolled my eyes, not buying it.
"It's true! I'm telling you."
"What about your wife, or your daughter?" I asked, thinking I had him cornered.
He smiled. "Fuck yeah! They're whores too. I love 'em to death, but in one way or another, they're all whores. Some more whorey than others."
"Is that a word? Whorey?" I asked, grinning and giggling.
He laughed. "It is now."
"So even if I believe that, it doesn't help me! What am I supposed to do--just go around saying, 'Hi, whore, wanna go on a date?'" I said, half-frustrated, half-laughing.
"Kiddo, you believe they're whores and then act accordingly. Act accordingly!" he emphasized.
"What do you mean?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
"If you knew a girl was a whore and wanted to fuck you, would you beat around the bush or ask her to go parking?" he asked.
"I don't think anybody asks that anymore!" I said. "If I asked a girl something like that, she'd think I was a creeper. It's different today."
"Nope! Whores will be whores!" he said. "Put them in a situation where they can be a whore--and they will be a whore. I remember when I was in the Army, I had a lot of buddies who were married, and as soon as they went overseas, their wives were fucking someone else. Whores, I tell ya! All of 'em. Even the nicest, sweetest woman you'd think was an angel--those were the worst whores, fucking guys two or three at a time."
I grabbed a Coke out of his fridge, and he continued on.
"I know first-hand too--because I fucked a lot of them. Especially officers' wives. Back then, if you were enlisted and managed to fuck an officer's wife, you were a stud. That's why they called me Ram-Rod. I probably fucked over a hundred wives. And once word got out about what I was packing, they were beating down my door."
"What the heck! Are there any honest women?" I asked.
"Nope. There isn't," he said matter-of-factly.
"Oh... yeah. I guess I gotta try. I'm just nervous they'll say no."
"If they say no, then you know it's you, Peckerhead--'cause they're still whores!" he said, holding his mug.
