I suppose it all began when I was at college and I was seduced by a fellow pupil ... a male fellow pupil. Although I lived in a fairly well-to-do part of southern England, I have to admit I was pretty naive and innocent ... but then this was the 1950's and most people were pretty naive and innocent in those days. It's not like that anymore (sad to say). Anyway, we used to have a science class once a week in the science 'lab', and the seating for the pupils was a bit like a lecture hall, with the benches rising up in rows to the back. My friend, Simon, and I used to like to sit in the very back row and mess about during the lectures. Neither of us was very good at science.
One day, halfway through a chemistry lecture, I felt a hand on the front of my trousers, feeling for my penis. I was shocked, stunned, but I just sat there as if nothing was happening. I looked at Simon, but he was staring ahead. For a moment or two I toyed with the idea of getting up and leaving the Hall, but I didn't. To be honest I wasn't sure if I was appalled ... or if I quite liked it. Slowly and gently he began to massage my hardening cock, until I started to relax and enjoy the feelings he aroused. This went on for some five or ten minutes. Then the lecture ended and he withdrew his hand.
Afterwards nothing was said between us.
The following week I again sat next to him at the back, and he again began to feel my cock. This time however, after a couple of minutes, he lent over and whispered very softly in my ear.
"Feel mine," was all he said.
With some trepidation and uncertainty I obeyed his command, and reached gingerly down between his legs and felt for his penis. It was hard and I rubbed it gently through his trousers. And so we sat there, one hand secretly caressing the other's tool, the other on top of the desk and under our chins, supporting faces that appeared to be staring ahead and listening attentively to the lecture. Looking back it all seems quite bizarre.
I can't remember exactly how long we carried on with this behaviour throughout the term, many weeks I would guess. I do remember we became more daring, actually taking each other's cocks out of our trousers and massaging them whilst we sat there amongst the other students in the lecture hall. We never seemed to worry about getting caught.
Inevitably this relationship developed further over time. I say 'relationship', but the fact is I was just following Simon's wishes, and obeying without question whatever he wanted me to do. I never started it, but I never refused his desires.
The following term he suggested we go across the road to the park for lunch and a 'fag' (in the cigarette sense of the term), and as always I agreed. In fact we went through the park to the woods beyond, and he led me to a quiet spot, put his hand down inside my trousers and started playing with me. In response to his request I unzipped his fly, took out his cock and rubbed it back, as if it were my own.
Soon we started to do this every lunch time, and it was during one of these trips we first ejaculated. He would rub me till I came, and then I would rub and fondle him till him until he shot his load over the grass and leaves. Curiously we never discussed what we did, it just happened ... and over the following year he took every opportunity to be alone with me in order for us to engage in these acts.
I confess I enjoyed being seduced. I didn't have to do anything, make any decisions or choices; I just followed his commands and took pleasure from his exploring hands. I guess we were both young and naive in those days, and we never went very far beyond simple mutual masturbation. I wasn't gay and neither was he ... we were just boys in a boys-only school.
However these games came to a head and final conclusion late that winter. On the surface Simon was just my best mate, and one day my mother invited him to stay over at our place for the weekend. He agreed enthusiastically, and that night we slept in single beds side by side in my bedroom (the other bed was my older bother's, but he was away).
About an hour after we had gone to bed, just as I was dropping off the sleep, I felt the cover pulled back, and Simon slip in beside me. He pulled down my pyjamas and began to fondle me as usual. I did the same and began to play with his penis. The fact we were lying down and naked below our waists seemed to turn us both on more than usual, and I felt Simon's hand caressing my buttocks. As was my part in all this, I began to do the same to him. Then, quite suddenly he became emboldened, and began to push his cock between my legs, under my balls. I lay there as he mounted me and started to fuck the area between my closed legs. I remember how having him on top of me ... fucking me ... was both strange and exciting. Then without warning he slid himself down under the covers and took my cock in his mouth.
For a moment I was stunned and surprised, and then the sheer lustful excitement of what he was doing took over, and for the first and only time in our relationship, I moaned with pleasure. I suspect it was this sound that was responsible for all that followed. At the time, however, I was simply lost in the joy of what I was feeling. My legs opened wide, and my hand reached down to his head and pressed it down on to my cock, forcing him to take me deeper.
Abruptly I realised I was going to cum and I tried to push him away, not wanting to cum in his mouth. But he resisted and kept going, and suddenly I blasted jets of white sticky cream into his sucking jaws. He pulled back, but not far and let me cum the rest on his face whilst he continued to masturbate me furiously.
I suppose both of us were incredibly aroused by what had happened, and almost immediately he pushed my face down towards his cock. I resisted slightly, feeling uncertain about whether I wished to return the favour or not, but the excitement was too much for him and he suddenly came, plastering my face and nose with his semen even before my lips had touched his waiting cock. Despite this he forced me down onto his penis to suck up and swallow all the remaining spurts of cum. I didn't like the taste, but as with all that had gone before I obeyed wordlessly, and sucked his cock clean.
As we lay there afterwards, both of us exhausted and satisfied, I heard a sound in the doorway, and I tuned my head in time to see a figure leave the shadows and disappear from the end of the room. Instinctively I knew it was my mother...
II
That night was the last time that Simon and I had any form of sex together. Not long after he found himself a girlfriend and lost interest in me. I too started dating the odd girl, but I missed those walks in the woods, not because of Simon but because of the sex. You see I wasn't very good with girls ... I wasn't forward enough or strong enough, and looking back, I guess my first sexual experiences with Simon had cast me as the 'passive' partner and I could never quite escape that role, even after I started to go out with girls. Back in those days young girls were not nearly as dominant as they are now, and with the kind of girls I went out with, if you didn't start anything, well not very much happened!
So I think I came to be perceived by many people, my mother included, as either effeminate or even possibly gay. I suppose in some sense maybe I was, after all I'd had a more intense sexual relationship with a male than I'd ever had with any female, so maybe I could be called gay? But I didn't think so, simply because there were no feelings between Simon and me, it was just physical. Whereas I'd already loved (and lost) a young lady called Linda.
She was one of the group I went around with, and at first she seemed to really like me. After a couple of weeks, however, she took a shine to another boy in the group called 'Eric' (God, how I hated that name!), and that hurt me more deeply than anything I'd ever known. I guess you could say she was my first love. So anyway, unlike Simon, this relationship was more emotional than sexual, and in the two weeks we'd been together the most I'd done to her was kiss her a few times and briefly fondle her left breast.
I never spoke to my Mother about Linda ... frankly it hurt too much ... and I think she was convinced I was 'queer'. I didn't know for sure (she never mentioned it) but I suspected she'd witnessed Simon and I engaging in oral sex. She must have been appalled, not only because such things were not done in those days, but because it indicated to her that I preferred boys to girls. I guess she must have been really worried for me, and somewhere along the line I think she convinced herself that someone had to do something about it, and as she was the only person who knew or really cared, then it would have to be her.
I have to say I'm surmising all this with the benefit of hindsight, but there's no doubt that it's about this time she began to behave differently to me. I think (again with hindsight) she was trying draw out my 'male instincts', for whenever my Father was not around she started to act and dress, well 'seductively' is the only word. She started wearing shorter skirts, and allowing her dress to rise up at regular intervals so I could come to appreciate her (rather wonderful) legs, and even glimpse the tops of her stockings. Her tops were lower too, and she would tend to lean forward in front of me, giving me a splendid view of her ample bosom. I think she hoped I would come to genuinely appreciate her breasts and her stocking-clad legs.
And I did ... my God I did!
At first I had no idea what she was doing or why, I simply began to notice her more than usual. Or rather I began to notice her body more than usual. Instinctively I knew that noticing how physically attractive you mother is, is not an appropriate thing for a son to do, so I attempted to avoid situations where I saw 'too much'. Sometimes in the evening, for example, she would come downstairs wearing only a slip. This tended to be quite short, revealing both her cleavage and an unusual amount of thigh. If she was wearing her fully-fashioned seamed stockings, as was increasingly the case, she would often reveal the beginnings of the darker bands of brown that were her stocking-tops. I tried hard not to look, but as she lent forward to pick up something from the coffee table, she'd occasionally expose a hint of white flesh above the stocking, and this area, where the normal nylon gradually took on a more intense colouring and density, started to fascinate and intrigue me. I didn't know why but I began to want to see more (I was only human after all!). Her stocking tops seemed to promise something intensely exciting, and slowly I began to develop what eventually became a 'fetish'. At the same time, however, I felt terribly embarrassed that I was seeing so much. As a result I took every opportunity to look, but at the same time went to incredible lengths not to let her realise I was looking.
As a result I think she mistook my embarrassment at my own lust, for an indication I was simply not interested. I tried so hard not to let her see me ogling her underwear, she thought that I wasn't interested in her ... presumably (or so she thought) because she was a woman, and I wasn't interested in women. Little did she know I was beginning to masturbate to graphic visions of her in her underclothes.
Slowly everything about her began to turn me on. Her generous breasts, lifted and straightened to sharply pointed tips by her 50's bra, and thrust out like inverted cones or horizontal mountain peaks, fascinated me, and when the chance arose I couldn't take my eyes off them. They were so big, so blatant ... and yet so untouchable. The mere idea of reaching out to them with my hands and fondling them, made my cock so hard it hurt ... and the idea of actually exploring the peaks of those thunderous mountains (and the intimate valleys between), of pulling away the material to reveal the pillow-like softness of the dark-tipped flesh within, well that would bring me to instant orgasm.
And yet to me her legs were even more erotic.
She would sit on the sofa across the room from me in her white satin slip with her legs crossed, casually revealing the tops of her stockings. And I would be sitting there reading a textbook ... except I wasn't. The book was held up to cover my eyes and face, and I would be looking underneath and studying her legs. Examining in microscopic detail how those stockings caressed, comforted, and clung to her legs. Their smoothness and sheen was so alluring; the soft whisper-music they made as they rubbed against each other or against the satin material of her slip was more electric than any guitar music. And the way the bands of colour darkened upwards in ever-increasing rings of nylon, fired my imagination. They seemed to slowly draw the eye up to some warm but forbidden darkness that must lie hidden beyond. I remember how I studied the white suspender clips, standing out as they did against the ultimate brown of the stocking top. They seemed to hang there like miniature guide-rails, waiting for some innocent hand to grasp them for support and be led up, unsuspectingly, to the waiting wonders beyond. I wanted to put my hands there ... to touch the material, to be led on up, and to kiss and caress what lay beyond. I had this major fantasy of laying my head on Mother's thighs, just to feel the satin softness of her stocking tops against my cheek, and to gaze down in sleepy wonder at the architecture of her underwear.
III It was strange but I really believe she had no idea how much she turned me on, believing instead I was repulsed by her body, and this eventually led her to be even more suggestive and seductive in her actions. Clearly, she thought, I was lost to heterosexuality, and only something major would now save me from a life of misery as a 'queer'. (This was the late 50's and in those days homosexuality had not been accepted by anyone and prejudice was rife). I believe my mother really thought she was being noble in her actions ... well at first she did anyway... later I wasn't so sure!
It was when my Father went abroad for three months that things really began to develop. By then I had begun to very dimly suspect what was happening, and a conversation I had with mother the night before Dad left for France made me stop and think very deeply about the whole situation.
