All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older. Thanks for reading!
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I suppose this all started because I let my son, Christopher, move from his room upstairs down to our spare bedroom in the basement. He was eighteen, and a responsible young man, so it seemed like a good idea at time. Who knew that it would turn our family upside down?
There was a rule in our house that Christopher wasn't supposed to have his girlfriend over unless I, or his father, was told about it. And if Gwen was over, he was supposed to always leave his bedroom door open. My son was not a rule breaker by nature, but I guess his hormones got the better of him. One day, I went down to the mechanical room in the basement to change the furnace filter and I was shocked to hear the sounds of love coming through the wall. I pressed my ear against the unfinished back of the drywall, and listened to Gwen shriek out the highs of ecstasy. I looked at my watch, they must have sneaked in right after school.
My first thought was that I would storm in there and confront them. But I couldn't move. It had been so long since my husband had made me make the sounds coming out of Christopher's room. Actually, as Gwen geared up to what was clearly an orgasm, I thought that maybe I had never made such noises. Certainly, I couldn't remember if I had.
The bed squeaked, and I could hear the headboard banging against the wall. I thought of the day my husband had helped him assemble his bed. Never did we think he'd put it to such use. As I listened, I could hear Christopher's low grunts harmonizing with Gwen's caterwauls. I wasn't going to confront them. I was going to listen like an eavesdropping pervert. A strange, fuzzy sensation spread through my belly. It dawned on me that I was wet between the legs. I had lived a sexless life for so long, I'd almost forgotten my body was capable of such things.
Through the wall, I heard Gwen trying to stifle her screams, clearly having her climax. Then, Christopher let out a long, low growl. Although my husband never made such a sound, I knew instinctively that this was the noise of a man's release. I prayed they were using condoms and crept quietly upstairs.
Much as I tried to stop myself, I sneaked down to the maintenance room the next day at the same time. Sure enough, the muffled sounds of love came through the wall. That fuzzy feeling returned to my belly, and I rubbed my thighs together. Day after day, I sneaked into the basement to hear the teenagers go at it. I told myself that I was just listening to Gwen so that I could imagine being young again. But soon, I admitted to myself that I was just as fixated on Christopher's grunting and the squeaking bed, which told me they made savage love.
After a couple weeks of this, it was time to find some satisfaction. I was growing quite frustrated with my sexless life. I cornered my husband one night before he could go to sleep and practically raped the poor man. He let me ride him, but the exercise turned out to make matters only worse. He orgasmed before I could, and he quickly fell asleep. That night, I went to the bathroom and touched myself for the first time. After that, I touched myself every night.
Well, it won't come as a surprise to you, that I started touching myself while listening to my son and his girlfriend in the basement. I did orgasm, and it was good, but my frustrations mounted. It was clear from Gwen's cries of passion that my hand could only give me a pale shade of what she experienced with Christopher.
Without knowing exactly what I was doing, I waited for my husband to go sleep one night. Then, I went down to Christopher's room and found him working on homework at his desk.
"It's nice to see you working so hard." I took a deep breath. The room still smelled of sex from his afternoon session with Gwen.
"Oh, hi, Mom." He looked up at me with bleary eyes. He did work very hard at school. I was so proud of him.
"We need to talk." I walked over to his bed, sat down on the edge, and turned his swivel chair to face me. I kept my hand on his pajama-clad thigh, near his knee, as I looked into his eyes. "I found the condoms you wrap up and throw away in the basement bathroom." My hand moved on its own, rubbing his thigh gently. What was I doing? "Your father and I were very clear about Gwen in our house. Have you been sneaking behind our backs?"
"I... um... I... well..." Christopher's brows knitted in confusion as he looked from my eyes, down to the hand on his thigh, and then back up to my face. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you for apologizing. I don't see any reason to get your father involved in this." I continued to gently rub his thigh. I glanced down and my eyes widened. He was hard. His underwear and pajamas could barely contain it. Was this because... of me?
"Um... okay... thanks, Mom." Confusion gave way to relief on Christopher's face. It was clear he thought he had been in hot water, but was going to get away with it.
"I'm glad we had this talk. Goodnight, sweetie." I stood and left the room, walking very quickly. He said goodnight to my back, but I was already rushing upstairs. I needed to get to my bathroom so I could take care of my poor, tingling vagina. The image of the bulge in his pajamas had burned itself into my brain. He was much bigger than his father. I was starting to see why Gwen squealed the way she did.
The next day, I sneaked down to the basement, nervous that I had spooked Christopher with our talk, and he wouldn't have Gwen over. But the second I entered the maintenance room, I heard them. A wide smile spread across my face. I put my ear to the wall, my hand went to my vagina under my dress, and I got off as they did.
That night, I entered Christopher's room again while he was studying. I sat down next to him, turned his chair, and rubbed his thigh with my hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. "We have to talk about Gwen," I said. "Are you always using protection?" I didn't know what I was driving at, but I wanted to talk about him and his cute, little girlfriend. I wanted him to tell me about what they were doing.
"Jeez, Mom." Christopher rolled his eyes, but answered my questions. He told me he was always safe. That she was on the pill
and
they used condoms every single time.
I wanted more. I wanted him to describe to me what they did in detail. Did she take him into her mouth? Did he do that for her? Did they do it only in missionary? Did she ride him? But how can a mother ask such things? I could feel frustration welling inside of me. Why did this eighteen-year-old girl get to experience such joys, but I was denied? After some awkward conversation that amounted to nothing, I bid him goodnight and went back upstairs.
It became a daily routine, that I would listen to Christopher and Gwen make love in the afternoon, and then visit him to question him at night. I always placed my hand on his firm thigh. And my questions got more probing over time. Eventually, I got Christopher to tell me how he felt about sex, "It's like the most dope roller coaster of all time," how he felt about Gwen, "I think I love her," and how he felt about me, "coolest mom ever," for looking the other way when Gwen came over. Little did he know, I wasn't looking the other way at all. I was listening to every minute of it.
