A little history.
If you've spent any time reading my collection of stories, which, so far, have been autobiographical, you may know that I started coming to Literotica many years ago to spend time reading the collection of erotica available here, penned by some very talented writers. It became a frequent escape, something I looked forward to each night. A small step on my journey of self re-discovery that began with the end of my relationship and divorce of my husband of 18 years. I felt a vicarious thrill each time I cracked open my laptop and became absorbed in so many wonderful plots and characters--even some categories I would have never guessed would arouse me.
Like the one I am contributing to now.
I had hoped to awaken something in me that had been dormant for the majority of my marriage--a sense of adventure, spontaneity, and daring. I was ready for whatever life threw at me, renewed and invigorated, reminding myself over and over that I was a sexual being, still able to give and receive immense pleasure. Or so I thought. I had mentally prepared for dating apps, the middle age singles scene, blind dates, irresponsible flings, you name it. But life decided to throw a little bit more at me that year, as well as the rest of us, with the arrival of the coronavirus and everything that came with it.
It was about then I discovered the chat feature on the site. Yes, I was curious. Effectively a shut in, perhaps there was some way here to make the type of connections I so terribly, desperately missed. It wasn't my only outlet (see my Daring Covid Piercing Fantasy story), but it was surely the safest and easiest way to meet men who had similar needs without the weight of a "real" relationship and the responsibilities that came with it attached.
I loved it. Behind the veil of anonymity, I could be "me," but the version of me I wished for in my "real" life. The me that could admit things I have never admitted out loud to anyone else for fear of judgement. I love knowing men masturbate for me, for instance. I love blurring or crossing lines. I love using naughty language when the opportunity arose--things I never did, even in my own marriage. It was liberating and freeing on a level I never expected. I aspired to become this "new" me in more and more ways in my own life away from Literotica. I liked how it made me feel. I craved it.
It was about that time that I met a man here named Jason. He was wonderful. Non-judgmental, adventurous, effusive and flattering each and every time we chatted. It's impossible to use the word "love" in such odd circumstances, but we had created some sort of otherworldly connection that felt incomprehensibly comfortable and mutually fulfilling.
I don't think he knows it (he visits the site much more infrequently now), but it was he who inspired me to write my first story here. Long before my "A Mom's Night to Remember" was an actual published story, it was a conversation I had had with him one late night not long after it happened. If you haven't read the story yet, it was a night I unexpectedly arrived home early and caught my daughter Katie performing a very erotic sexual act on her boyfriend in our backyard swimming pool.
Obviously, I had a ton of anxiety telling him what happened, not to mention how it made me feel. But with every word I typed, Jason grew more and more aroused. And I felt it. It was like a drug we were both taking together. I'd divulge a little. Then a little more. And then more. And I couldn't stop until he was consumed by my experience. We both climaxed together, and it was way, way more than just some "cybersex" experience. It felt profound. Knowing how thoroughly my sharing aroused Jason made me want more and more. And he was amazing to share with.
The one thing I have to admit at this point, is that there was obviously a very taboo component to the story. I'm not sure many mothers would ever admit to enjoying watching their daughter give a blowjob--not to mention touching herself as she watched. But that's what I did. I owned it with Jason for the very first time. And he celebrated me for it instead of condemning me. My ex-husband would have been repulsed and infuriated at what I had done. Maybe that was part of the thrill? Whatever it was, Jason brought it out of me in a way I never expected. I remember saying goodbye to him that night, closing my laptop, and whispering "Jesus Christ" out loud. I was moved.
As much as any man could be, considering the circumstances, Jason was a gentleman about it. Yes, we each pushed each other's buttons as we felt one another out that night, but he wasn't some leering, panting, predatory asshole as we shared our honest feelings and reactions. He was sexy, passionate, and actually a bit restrained in his respect for Katie, and for how intense the experience was for me.
The next night, we talked about that first chat. We had similar reactions. We both were consumed by the passion and fire it arose in both of us. He began to ask a few questions about Katie, and I understood where they were coming from. He's a man. I described in pretty good detail how I watched Katie impressively perform oral sex. I was turned on by it, so how could I be angry at him for being turned on by it--and perhaps her--also?
We joked and made small talk, diffusing the most towering implications of our previous conversation, but he did ask me to talk about our relationship a bit more. He just wanted to get to know me better, and I actually believed (and still believe) that was why he asked about Katie.
Katie is a beautiful, amazing girl. At that time a Junior in college. She's her own woman, and she makes me proud every day. She was also a bit trapped in the "don't care" college gal archetype, and among her slightly annoying habits was coming home from school with mountains of dirty laundry smooshed into Hefty contractor bags. You'd swear the girl never did laundry once in her life.
Jason and I joked about it and laughed together. Katie would head back to campus with half of what she came with, and I would be her "domestic help" finishing the rest of her laundry like the good little slavish mom I've always been. Remember, this was still at a time in my life where I was feeling all of the frustration and loneliness that came with being a newly divorced woman in the age of covid with precious few sexual outlets. I made an offhand comment to Jason about being annoyed that Katie had sexier outfits than me as I folded her laundry. Instantly, I could feel the heat of curiosity from Jason.
He asked me to describe what I meant. I'm sure he was hoping for some description of a Frederick's of Hollywood number with feathers and spinners on the the tits, or god knows what else. But it wasn't. It was just a simple tissue-cotton tank top that was more or less sheer. I had seen Katie in it many times, usually with a colorful bra underneath and a demure jacket or scarf on top. Nothing wicked. Just what college girls wear when they want attention from college boys. That was the part that made me jealous--that she actually had a boy to wear it for.
But then Jason asked me a question I didn't expect. He asked if I knew where the tank top was. I did--it was sitting folded on Katie's bed with the rest of the 500 other garments I laundered. He responded, "will you go get it?"
