And then there was New Year's Eve.
Neither David nor I had made any plans with other people so we decided to stay at home and celebrate by ourselves. To liven things up, a few days before, on my way back from work, I stopped at the store and bought us a bottle of Champaign. Since I wasn't much of a drinker, that night it only took a couple of glasses before I was feeling tipsy. I'm sure David was too. We should have rented a movie but instead we tuned in the TV to the traditional Dick Clark countdown from Times Square. Of course, that was just as boring as it always is so our attention drifted to other things.
After a little more of the bubbly stuff, we were sitting on the couch cuddling and petting. The only thing that interrupted us was when we'd stop to have more to drink. Unbelievably (to me anyway) after a couple of hours we finished the whole bottle. To call a spade a spade, by then we were both dead drunk.
I don't remember much of anything after that
except
that some how, some way I ended up giving David oral sex. And the only reason I remember even that much is one little detail that registered through my alcoholic fog: the temperature of his cum. Considering that I had done oral several times with other men, which means that I should have known about the particulars in advance, it seems a little odd that the only thing that stuck in my mind is that his cum felt like it had been heated in the microwave.
Naturally, on New Year's Day we talked about what we had done the night before. David seemed to remember a lot more about it than I did and he reminded me of some things that I wasn't particularly thrilled to hear.
"I think last night's going to be my all time favorite New Year's party, mom."
"Really. . . let me ask you something. . . I didn't misbehave by any chance, did I?"
"Oh, I don't know. . . depends on how you look at it."
"Uh oh. . . Did I really. . ." and he knew what I was asking without my even saying it.
"Yes you did."
"I was afraid of that. What else did I do?" I asked him.
"Nothing much really. . . let's see, you tried to swallow my thing."
"I WHAT??? What on earth are you talking about?" I asked.
"You know. . . you tried to take it all the way in your mouth. Deep throat I think it's called."
"Oh my God!"
"But you didn't make it. . . you gagged."
"I can't believe this. . ., " I stammered.
"Who cares," David said, "there's always next time."
"Are you kidding? There isn't going to be a next time. We're not going to do that again. It's too much like regular. . . you know. . . screwing. You know as well as I do, we got carried away. We both had too much to drink."
(As a side note, several years earlier I had managed "deep throat" with a boyfriend. Most likely that was because his penis is quite a bit smaller. He and David aren't even in the same league, size-wise. David's dad is sort of in-between but, even though he likes oral sex, remarkably, he never asked me to do it to him so I never did. I imagine I tried to do it for David simply because I wanted to please him.)
Speaking of oral sex, coincidentally, about a week later my computer crashed and I had to take it to the shop for repair. Not wanting to let my email stack up, I asked David if I could use his PC once in a while to see if I had any messages. One weekend afternoon when I went to his room to do that, I noticed that David had left his web browser running with his "Favorites" list superimposed on one side. I wasn't inclined to snoop but I couldn't help noticing that he had created several folders to categorize the various sites he had bookmarked. One of those folders was titled "Girls". My curiosity got the better of me, so I opened that folder and inside were a half dozen or so web site addresses, all of them, as I discovered when I opened them, porno stuff.
That part didn't surprise me. I knew that boys David's age (or boys of
any
age for that matter) were interested in that kind of thing. What
did
surprise me, however, was that they were all oriented to a very specific kind of sex. Some were collections of still photographs and some were videos. Regardless of the format, they were all what the copy on the web sites referred to as "cum shots". David wasn't home so I spent a bit of time going through them.
After looking for a while, I determined that David was fascinated by this part of oral sex. As long as what we were doing didn't involve him putting his penis in my mouth, I had no problem with that. I wanted to give him as much pleasure as I could so the images I was seeing became a kind of teaching tool for me.
The next time I came to his room, I wanted to treat him to some of what I had learned. Having had a lot of practice, when I was stroking him I could tell when he was close to cumming.
"Are you getting there, sweetheart?" I asked.
"Uh huh."
"Cum on my face, baby."
"Oh, wow."
I leaned over and held my head just inches away from the end of his cock. The first spurt landed on my cheek and the rest close by. I must have been quite a sight with his sperm splashed all over my face.
"Wow. . . that was great! Oh, geeze mom. . . some almost got in your eye," he said and he took his thumb and wiped it away.
"I didn't know you'd go for that," he continued, "I was afraid to ask."
Usually, we took a break of 10 or 15 minutes before David was ready for a repeat performance but this time he was so aroused that he wanted to begin the second round immediately. My hand and his cock were still wet from the first time, so we made a lot of squish, squish, squishing sounds. It was a calendar night for both of us.
Speaking of squishing sounds, at this same time I hit on the idea of occasionally using a lubricant. I didn't have anything appropriate in my toiletries so instead I filled a little glass vial with olive oil. I would pour a stream over his cock as it lay on his abdomen and, just to be sure there was plenty, I would pour some in the palm of my hand. Seeing the oil coating his big, shinny pillar of flesh and watching it ooze between my fingers and run over the back of my hand, gave me a definite thrill.
Starting out each time with this new olive oil thing, over the next several days I treated David to a variety of "cum shots", all of which I borrowed from his bookmarked web sites. Sometimes I would stick out my tongue just before the climactic moment and he would try to deposit his cum there. We usually did this with David standing up. Other times I would position my face maybe half a foot or a foot away. This was a mixed success because a smaller percentage made it to my mouth, which is where he wanted it to go. And then there were times when I positioned myself even farther away and his cum would land who knows where. I know these things were
very
close to being actual oral sex but since I was making him cum with my hand and not with my mouth, that difference made it acceptable to me.
Right around this same time, David started focusing on how I was dressed when we were having our little sexcapades. I discovered from our conversations that he was stimulated by having me wear certain kinds of under garments, especially the old-fashioned kind. Instead of my bathrobe, he liked me to come to him wearing regular clothes. Often I would dress the same as I would before going to work. It was all very kinky but we both loved the erotic charge it gave us.
After we had talked for a while, I would invite him to undress me but I only allowed him to go part way. I always kept my lower half covered. When he took off my skirt or dress or pant suit, I usually had on very skimpy and alluring under things. I never wore a thong for him but I did wear lace trimmed, high-cut panties from time to time. He also liked thigh high stockings. For a change of pace, one time I modeled old style nylons for him, held up with a garter belt. He liked those even better. To finish things off, for shoes he loved to have me wear high-heeled pumps. I kept those, my panties and my stockings on even after he had removed the rest of my clothes.
One time when I was dressed this way, I turned around to pick up a book that I had accidentally knocked off his desk. As I was doing that, David shamelessly confessed to me what he was looking at. My legs were straight and I was bent over at the waist with my butt pointed towards him.
"Geeeze mom. . . dad should have taken a picture of you from this angle. You look so. . . sexy. I love the way your panties stretch across. . . between your legs back there." Even though he expressed it imprecisely, obviously he was referring to the fabric covering his favorite opening in my body.
"You'd like to see under there, wouldn't you." I teased him as I looked over my shoulder in his direction.
Our undressing procedure became a kind of sex all by itself, right from the time he unbuttoned the top button on my blouse until he unzipped my skirt and dropped it to the floor. Every once in a while he would get carried away and place his hand on my pussy, holding it through the silk of my panties and pressing one of his middle fingers inward. While he was doing this, he would embrace me with his other arm, holding his body against mine and nuzzling my hair with his nose. As marvelous as this felt to me, it always ended the same way.
"No darling. . . you know that's not a good idea," I would whisper to him.
Even though it was contrary to what I was saying, I would press my hips against his hand in a couple of little thrusts, giving him the impression that what he was doing was irresistible to me, which in fact it was. Regardless, he knew this was something he was not supposed to be doing so he would stop. Occasionally he was naughty this way but by and large he always respected my wishes.
It was now maybe 4 or 5 months since the first time I had come to David's room and with a few exceptions, things continued pretty much the same way for the next several months. One night was decidedly out of the ordinary because of something David had been pestering me about repeatedly. Our discussion about it usually went something like this:
"How come you get to see me naked all the time but I never get to see you, except for those?" he would ask, indicating my breasts.
"There's all kinds of reasons, David. For one thing women are more modest. For another, I don't want this to get out of hand. Mothers just don't show themselves to their sons that way, now do they."
After a while, though, I got tired of him needling me about it so I caved in and agreed to give him what he wanted. I made it clear that this was going to happen only once.
As it happened, I had a CD with some old instrumental music on it. One cut featured the kind of saxophone music you would expect to hear while buxom girls with tassels glued to their nipples paraded across the stage. I thought this would create an appropriate atmosphere while I treated David to my strip-tease so I brought it with me and had him put his player on "Repeat" while I performed. I explained the idea behind what I was doing and he seemed to like it.
Before I got started, I made him promise to stay on his bed while he watched me from across the room. I made sure that I was wearing all of his favorite undergarments and as I undressed, I exaggerated my movements the same way a stripper in a sleazy night club would. The whole time I was doing this, David was getting into the humor of the situation, mock yelling out inappropriate comments to me as if he was a drunk in the audience.
