A nosy son learns about his family back in the 1970's...
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I had what some might call a perverted hobby during my younger days. Most 18 year old guys were busy chasing girls but I was never good at catching them back then so I chose the next best thing. I was a voyeur, although I didn't know the word back then. I liked to look at a woman as she dressed, undressed, shaved and had sex with her husband. Just one woman though.
My Mom. I didn't go prowling around the neighborhood, but just stayed home and looked into her bedroom from a hidden vantage point whenever I thought something good would be happening that involved Mom without clothes. I don't think many people would call her good looking. Pleasant enough might be a better word and if someone said she looked stiff and humorless I couldn't have argued.
She was very tall - around 6' which made her taller than Dad and myself - and reed thin, and usually had her dark brown hair cut like the Beatles had worn a decade earlier when they first got popular, sort of a bowl haircut that she must have loved even though it wasn't all that flattering. Mom had what looked liked an ordinary figure except when she took her bra off.
Good grief! Her breasts must have been really packed into the harness or it was designed to minimize because when I saw that bra come off for the first time her breasts practically exploded out of it. They lurched down - massive bell-shaped jugs that looked wildly out of proportion on an otherwise slender and shapeless figure. They hung - no way they could do otherwise being real flesh instead of saline - and when Mom would stand there with her hands on her lips and leaned back (probably because they made her back hurt) it was a sight that launched hundreds of orgasms of mine.
The title of this story is "Watching My Hairy Mom", although not too many people would have known about this any more than they would know about her huge breasts. She was a schoolteacher and if you saw her on the street you would never have a clue about what was under the clothes. I know I was stunned when I saw her naked that first time, and I had little to compare her with when she appeared in the bedroom and took off that white bathrobe.
The triangle of dark brown fur was more like a giant untrimmed heart-shaped jungle that even her baggy old lady panties couldn't reign in, and I had no idea how the old man even found his way in there, but he did every weekend like clockwork. I loved her pubic hair even if there was a lot more of it there than on the two others I had seen in real life, even spreading to the insides of her thighs.
Mom shaved her legs, at least up to just above her knees, and I knew that because she would do it every morning and usually under my watch. She would put one leg up on the chair and have that Lady Remington humming after getting out of the shower and drying off, and I had a side view of her massive tits swaying down while she shaved her legs just about every day.
I think she shaved that often because the hair grew back so fast. I know the hair under the arms did because when she would shave them in the morning - only during the warm months - and if she was wearing a sleeveless top, by early afternoon you could see stubble already.
She had five o'clock shadow a couple of hours early, and she wasn't like some of the mothers of my friends who had these little patches of peach fuzz in the center of their pits either. Mom's armpits - and her pits were deep and spacious because she was slender - were covered with the dense shadow, so much so that sometimes her underarms looked like they had been painted brown.
Come around Columbus Day though, Mom stopped shaving under her arms and before long her armpits would become bushy jungles, and to this day I've yet to see a woman on any of these websites who had more hair under their arms than she did.
I guess Dad liked it judging by the way they went at it on Saturday nights after games of Bridge at a neighbor's, and so it must be in the genes because while I was put off by the armpit hair in the beginning, it grew on me. A lot, and it used to turn me on to think of her walking around like a prim and proper immaculately groomed mature woman while having those amazing armpits out of sight, not too mention those incredible breasts.
Anyway, the main attraction of my peeping was Mom, although I confess to watching them screw at times as well. The problem was that they did it in the dark or near dark so I usually only saw shadows and glimpses.
They did it a couple of times with the light on though and I got to witness Mom sucking Dad's dick once too. That was a bit strange because I learned that I really didn't have what I feared was the tiniest dick in town. My old man did. I guess that ran in the genes too. Later I discovered that I wasn't small but just average, and had only been intimidated because the two guys that I had compared erections with in the woods one time turned out to be really well endowed, but who knew back then?
My viewing horizons widened though one winter morning, and along with that came a whole lot of education about my family. It was just before the holidays with Mom enjoying recess and me waiting for my second semester of my freshman year of college, and I was supposed to go hunting with a friend and his father. I didn't really like hunting and rarely shot, but I liked being outside and it was better than sitting home watching TV.
The old man was pissed because he had to work all day while I was going to be out and about and Mom was going to be home, and I enjoyed it when he would fume. At dinner the night before Mom seemed very interested in what time I would be leaving - really early - and especially when I would be home - pretty late in the day - but I didn't think much of it.
I walked over to my friend's house early the next morning, and we were are packed and ready to go but his father's car wouldn't start. After an extended period of failed efforts and cursing by his old man, it was clear this trip wasn't going to happen that day. My friend and I sat around for awhile before I headed for home, catching the sight of my father's car disappearing around the corner, and when I got in the house I heard the shower on.
With nothing else to do I decided not to waste an opportunity for some Mom watching so I got into position in the spare room, where the vent provided a prime view of much of the bedroom, except for around the headboard.
I had barely got settled when Mom came into the bedroom in quite a hurry. She was usually one of these people who are always punctual and never flustered, so seeing her rushing around was a bit different. She had the day off so I wasn't sure what the hurry was but she was really moving.
The razor did a quick swipe around the insides of her calves, long enough to give me a glimpse of the hairy crack of her butt, and then she buffed the towel under her arms briskly before going over to her make-up table.
She grabbed this fancy glass bottle and spritzed a little under each arm. This was different for her, since she usually sprayed her pits with Sure aerosol deodorant, but then she was on the move again. Mom ran that towel between her legs wildly, making the jungle of hair look even more outrageous but as she did the doorbell rang.
Mom threw on her bathrobe and ran out of the bedroom as graceful as a nearly 6' woman can, while I stayed where I was and waited for Mom to get back in the bedroom, and which time I could sneak outside and make an appearance like I just got home. I didn't know I wouldn't be doing that for quite a while.
A minute late Mom came back into the bedroom, chattering as she came in and then shrugged the robe of her shoulders while still talking. That was really weird, I recall thinking, because there was somebody in the house and Mom was very modest. Maybe a neighbor woman, and my mind spun at the thought of my mother having a lesbian lover, even though the idea was absurd.
Weird doesn't describe what happened next though, because the person she was talking to was coming into the room and it was no woman. He was talking while Mom bent down threw the covers off the freshly made bed, and for once my eyes weren't on Mom's jugs as they swung freely but were on the man in the room.
