Monica's Memories

Monica's Memories

Cast of characters:

Monica, the mother

Harvey, Monica's ex-husband

Junior, the son, age 19

Alison, Monica's close friend

Jonathan, Alison's ex-husband

Chapter 1

When you're a divorced woman with a teenage son, you have your hands full. Picking up after him, especially his dirty underwear, was not fun and games. Moreover, Junior had no respect for his mother, and it seemed his whole purpose in life was to fuck every woman he found. Most women are turned on by a guy's ability to make them laugh. In Junior's case he had no sense of humor, and he came across as dim witted. But he had a cock so large he needed a wheelbarrow to get around.

Junior is 19 when this story happened. He was deciding whether he should finish school, any school, because he was a bit slow. Or as they say -- mentally challenged. He spent an inordinate amount of time jerking off but it wasn't something he could put on his resume. Well, he had no resume, because he'd never had a job. He could blame his persistent hard-on on his mother, Monica. She was a picture book mom -- fastidious, wholesome, and tried not to masturbate too much. Mornings were her favorite time.

Knowing your mother is down the hall fondling her intimate flesh didn't help his concentration. Why didn't she go shopping like other mothers? She was trying to be quiet, but the squishy sounds were just too much. Obviously studying at home was a waste of time. His mother made him think of sex, and because he was only 19, he had no clue about a woman's privates. Or why she made so much noise.

Monica did not have a good marriage. Her husband, Harvey, liked to fool around. To him, a wedding ring meant nothing and he felt most woman preferred a married man. A guy with a wedding ring wasn't hiding anything, sort of his being up front.

Harv was a district manager for a cosmetics distributor. Specifically fragrances. He met a lot of women, mostly well-to-do women. Women who cared about their appearance and wanted their pussies to smell nice. He held classes on makeovers, teaching his sales personnel that if a woman looked good, she'd want to smell good.

Since he appeared to be an authority on beauty --and what makes a women

happy -- he was deluged with offers. Offers to go to dinner, offers to go dancing, and offers for a free massage.

Too bad Harv never learned to dance. He tried to learn the two-step -- whatever that was -- when he was in college. He did learn to hold a woman close, and he'd whisper dirty words into her ears because he knew women liked dirty words. Not foul language, but dirty words. There is a difference.

His hands were not in a proper position for dancing , because he was clasping his partner's posterior. Moreover, coupled with his massive erection, and his groping, he attained a deserved reputation -- that of being a pervert. However, when he drove a woman home, and went parking by the lake, he did manage to get women to slip off their nylons, and panties, and allow themselves to be fingered. A woman didn't call him a pervert when he had his fingers in her quim.

Harvey wasn't a sleazy type. He was suave. He mumbled to himself in Italian. Instead of salivating at a woman, making it obvious he had the hots for her, he'd say 'che bella!' and walk away. This never failed to make her pussy throb, and maybe she'd spend a small fortune to mask her natural odors. You have to understand, Harvey could have any woman he wanted. He knew they had needs, and they wanted to fuck. He understood about a woman's desires, not out front, but subtle, and always there. He could smell a woman's cunt 20 feet away, for he always claimed he had a sensitive nose. And he made a lot of money.

* * *

Monica had the kind of long, wavy, golden blonde hair that nearly all women envied, and a body that had once made her a sought-after figure model. Her body was incredible with long, tapering legs and tits that were big. Not huge, but big and out there.

Alison and Monica were very close. Alison often thought it was a shame that Monica had to be so conservative. She doubted that Monica had given her pussy to a single man since her divorce, even though every male at church would have done anything to get into Monica's panties.

Monica had a son, Junior, who was 19, and had grown up to be quite a handsome young stud. Alison smiled to herself, wondering how often Junior jacked off, because Alison did not have a son, and spent many hours in delicious reverie dreaming about cocks. They had argued at the PTA meeting because Monica had been so vehemently opposed to any form of sex-education in public schools.

Alison was more liberal, and she was Monica's closest friend. They often disagreed on stuff like too much sex and how much sex was too much and whether sex with two guys at the same time was over the top. Even though they respected each others opinion, that didn't stop Alison from calling Monica a prude.

Alison's husband, Jonathan, left her because he claimed she was insatiable; he could not keep up with her constant whining about not getting enough action. She wanted someone with a massive dick because she needed supercharged stimulation.

When women get together they invariably reveal the most intimate details of what they did the night before, and whose husband had the stiffest prick. They usually agree that it's not the size of the dick, but how it's used. Alison remembered her husband going down on her, licking her for at least 30 minutes and then he'd slip his pecker into her. As it were, Jonathan had a small penis but a strong tongue.

Alison went into great detail about Jonathan's tongue and how he licked her pucker as well as her pussy. And she made note of these activities, that the rose hole came last, while her pussy, although a wee bit salty, came first. And to embellish the fame of Jonathan 's tongue she had him eat the Canasta girls, all four of them, of course including herself.

As it were, Jonathan spent years studying the membranes and workings of a woman's vulva. He knew about the G-spot, the difference between a clitoral orgasm and your everyday normal orgasm, he knew about squirting and when pissing was a good idea. He knew there were at least 11 different ways for a woman to orgasm.

Jonathan knew about blue balls -- for a woman. It's called Blue Vulva. It was uncomfortable, annoying, even painful. He knew Blue Vulva can feel irritating. And the cure is to have an orgasm. Which seems to be the cure for hysteria, distemper, irritability, all common among wives whose husbands are slouches in bed.

Sex with a woman over 40 can be either life threatening, or fun. They typically take longer to orgasm so Jonathan learned to pace himself. His tongue and his fingers were the key to happiness and the women he knew never asked him to fuck them

* * *

People called Monica a late bloomer. She didn't go to bars, and hang out with the reefer crowd. Neither did she go to prayer meetings and let the guys feel her bubbies. Being stacked the way she was with her breasts bigger than the other girls, that carried a responsibility. She was sure not to cheapen herself. It was more fun exploring her body herself because as she got older, her estrogen level was going up. Men asked her out, but she turned them down because she was embarrassed about her body -- her vulva leaked, and she lactated because her breasts were swollen, almost like udders. Moreover, she doubted those guys knew how to satisfy her.

Her ex-husband, Harv, was a cool guy. He was very comfortable around women. He was polished. He knew how to romance a woman. She might let him touch her legs, but not too high. Maybe nibble on her ear. Hold her soft hand, touching her fingertips. Erogenous zones were his stock in trade. Harv understood about these things.

Monica thought about Harv a lot. She promised him she'd name her first child, if it were a boy, after him. Thus, when Harvey Jr. was born, they called him Junior. She hoped Junior would became famous -- an athlete, a rock star, but not a porn star. Porn was for degenerates in her mind. She loved her body, and didn't need to think of a stranger's dick hammering away at her pussy.

She reminisced about her first time ... Sitting on her bed, Monica shook apricot oil onto her palm and rubbed her legs. She worked the oil into her skin, pretending to be occupied with this simple chore. But the slick feel of the oil on her fingers had other things going through her head. She saw that her labia was more swollen that normal. Her clit already pooched out a little. And it looked a bit dry. Monica dumped more oil onto her fingertips and took a deep breath.

Twice she withdrew her touch before the contact was made. A droplet of oil fell against her clit and just the sight of it spreading made Monica shiver. She was afraid that the first touch might be the beginning of the end. She was ready to feel some awful, heavy guilt descend upon her, until at last she could resist the temptation no longer. Her hips were already squirming as she pressed three oily fingers up against her the lips of cunt and rubbed them up and down.

"Uuuhhhh," she groaned, the sudden thrill taking away her breath. She hadn't expected anything quite so intense. Her hips rocked from side to side as she massaged the oil into her pink flesh. Her labia bloomed outward as she rubbed. She was getting very spongy now and very hot. The oil made slick, squishy sounds as she worked it into the deeper crevices of her pussy.

"Pussy," she sighed, letting the strange word linger on her lips. She'd heard the term but never in her life said it out loud. Alison had told her that men liked to call a girl's quim a pussy. Monica let her middle finger dive down along the length of her pussy. There were lots of little folds and bumps and hot places. She caressed herself again like this, letting her fingertip glide along the oil slickened flesh, feeling her body respond to this gentle stimulation. It was heavenly! Was this what her mother had warned her against?

"Maybe I should stop." But when she tried to withdraw her fingers, Monica found she had lost the willpower to quit exciting herself. And she was getting very, very excited.

"Ohhhhh, god ..." she panted, flopping back on the bed, her heels hooked on the edge of the mattress, knees bent. She realized she was in almost exactly the same position as the girl in the beauty magazine. How to find your G-spot. She tried to mimic what she remembered, her forefinger pointed delicately, her other fingers curled back. Her toes pointed. Her knees spread.

"Uhhhhh," she moaned, her head swaying. Blonde hair fell across her eyes. Her chest heaved. Oh, why did it feel so good? It was really too good to stop now. Her fingers had a life of their own, sliding, searching over the oily, swollen surfaces between the lips of her cunt. "Mmmmmmm ..."

Gradually Monica was aware of a different smell in the air. It was musky, her own sex perfume that the excitement was causing. She moved her hips forward and back, her narrow back arching up from the bed, then humping down into the mattress as she forced her cunt upward. By now she was almost clawing at the overheated flesh. Her pussy throbbed, flaming with a growing pleasure she'd never before experienced. It was an exhilarating, mind blowing pleasure. And it never for a moment stayed the same. It just kept getting better!

"Ohhhhh, I can't stand it much longer! Ohhhh, I never knew it would be like this ..."

The bed squeaked as her ass danced up and down. She concentrated on her clit now. It seemed the most sensitive place of all. Her fingers circled and probed. She squeezed her clit between thumb and fingertip. She fanned it with all the fingers of her hand as if she were strumming a guitar. The juicy, squishy sounds made her buck. She was having a hard time breathing now. Her eyes went out of focus.

"Ohhhhhh, god ..."

An exquisite pain went through her cunt. No, it wasn't pain. It was just something so good that it hurt a little bit. She rolled her hips violently, her fingers hurrying to catch the tickle that was driving her mad. She caught it. Suddenly, her body whipped around as if she were being electrocuted. She kicked and squalled, her ass lurching, pumping, plunging. She couldn't scratch the tickle hard enough. Monica thought for a moment that she'd gone too far. She was going to die of some forbidden sexual act. She was going to die in the throes of some erotic fit that was too powerful for a woman to endure.

"Ohhh, ouch, wow ..."

Her body twisted with the contortions of ecstasy. She smeared apricot oil up and down her cunt as her luscious ass beat the bed. She was drooling now, her pulse beating loudly in her ears. She breathed like it might be her last moment of life. Her belly sucked in under her ribs as tremors of pleasure went through her groin.

At last she lay exhausted, her long, slim arms thrown out, her legs open wide so that one foot dangled off the bed. She stayed like that for a long while, breathing deeply and steadily while her mind tried to explain the unexplainable. How could anything ever feel that good? And this time she hadn't dreamed anything. She'd made it happen herself ...

Chapter 2

One thing Monica insisted on was cleanliness. She loved to take showers, and she'd take a shower in the morning and another before bedtime. Her body glowed from the scrubbing she gave it, and the TLC she gave her pussy.

Even though Monica could pop men's eyeballs out of sockets with a bikini, she chose to wear a one-piece suit, and don't be smart and ask which piece she wore. She loved the hair on her privates and delighted in lying back on her bed and looking at herself with her legs spread open. Her knees were bent, and the bottom of her ass cheeks were easily visible. Her pussy hair extended from her navel, along her perineum to the crack in her ass.

It was after her morning shower, when she felt refreshed, and her pouting quim looked tasty. She was wondering if she should go shopping with Alison, or maybe go back to bed and watch the lady in the mirror masturbate. Everyone does it different, of course, and she knew Alison used a giant dildo. They had compared each others privates and sure, Alison's vulva was more fleshy and her clitty was huge. Monica felt there was more to good sex than a giant clit, and she bragged that she was multi-orgasmic and could come over and over until it was time for lunch.

The addition of a finger in her asshole, she had discovered a few years ago, added an incredible stimulus to her sex play and greatly added to the violence of her climaxes. She had found a book, one of those cheap paperback novels with a half-naked big-boobed housewife on the front cover, It was in a cabin vacated by a guest and she decided to keep it. The book, a novel with an improbable setting and even more ludicrous plot, had concerned a young secretary who had been violated by a group of lawyers. Although the book had been trash, and highly unlikely, the sex scenes had been written with a certain dash and liveliness not found in the rest of the pages.

Monica had found herself thinking almost constantly of the heroine's troubles for a few days after reading the book. Finally, when she lay alone in her bed with one hand busily plunging into her cunt, she had given in and tried the experiment. It had taken her a few minutes to discover a satisfactory way of getting a finger into her own asshole but once she had accomplished the feat she had felt a strong surge of sexuality sweeping through her entire midsection and had shortly fucked herself into a state of near-delirium. Now she seldom failed to fuck herself in both openings between her thighs.

Chapter 3

Her private time in the morning was her best time. She was fresh, alert, and her juices were flowing.

"Oh!" Monica Walsh squealed in surprise as her bedroom door suddenly flew open. Instinctively, she raised the sheet to cover her naked body, still damp from her shower.

"Junior! For heaven's sake!"

"Sorry, Mom," Junior mumbled.

But Monica's son didn't seem very sorry or embarrassed about barging in on his almost naked mother at all. The tall, dark haired youth took a good long look at her as he closed the door, his eyes lingering on his mother's long, tapering legs that, like every inch of Monica's lovely body, were a natural, golden tan. He seemed to shrug before he closed the door, as if he were sorry that she'd been able to raise the sheet so fast. He knew his mother liked to stay in bed longer, and he could hear her moaning all morning long until it was time for lunch. He imagined her fingers between her love lips, her toes curling, as she enjoyed her long, long orgasmic ritual.

"Damn, him!" Monica said angrily. She wrapped the sheet around herself, thinking about what had just happened and grew madder and madder. This was not the first time her son had either caught her naked, or done his best to do so. Since her divorce, it had happened with greater frequency every month, and there was no longer much doubt that he was doing it on purpose.

What kind of son would want to ogle his own mother? Naked? Monica sometimes thought of her voluptuous body as a negative. She was in her late 30's now, but her age was irrelevant. There are people who are 30 and look 50. She was a perfect size 5, had a flawless complexion, with a long tongue that often flickered over her sensuous lips. She had low slung tits, the kind that look heavy, with prominent nipples.

Sure, guys whistled, mostly blue collar guys -- redneck types. But men with a good education could sport a massive boner because they wore dark suits. Don't think that a bank manager didn't have a big libido.

Harv was in his 20's when he met Monica. She'd just graduated from high school, and wanted to go on to college. She had an analytical mind and thought about going to medical school. Not for the money, but she was idealistic and cared about people. She thought about helping the poor, maybe open a clinic in the Congo. But Harv romanced her, and talked her out of that foolishness. He took it slow, and didn't scare her because Monica was a virgin. His fingers were persuasive and between nibbling on her ear, licking her neck, and sucking on her fingers, she was becoming confused and disoriented. She told herself she could go to the Congo in her next life. Monica thought like a Buddhist, although she went to a Baptist church and had 'seen the light'.

It's a fact, that Monica was pissed because Junior busted in on her. It looked like Junior had inherited those repulsive genes from his father. Anything disgusting, she attributed to Harvey. Monica felt so angry that she could hardly think straight. '

"Junior!" she shouted, with righteous indignation. "Get back in here this instant!" She'd had enough of his overt attempts to catch her naked.

Monica sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him, the loosely wrapped sheet reaching only to above her nipples. Junior entered sheepishly, wearing only his pajama bottoms. His face was red. He seemed to know instinctively what his mother was going to say.

"Get in here, Junior," Monica said harshly. "I want to have a little chat with you."

Junior obediently stood in front of his irate mother. Even in the face of her obvious discomfit he couldn't help himself, his eyes already taking in the several deep inches of her exposed cleavage. Monica flushed as she found herself staring at his cock, which was at eye level, causing a big tent in the flannel which was impossible to ignore.

"Junior, I have lost count of all the times you have walked in on me in the bathroom or in my bedroom any time you thought you could catch me naked," Monica told him furiously. "Now don't try to deny it. I know what you're doing, and I think it's utterly inappropriate. I don't ever want it to happen again, got it?"