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Many thanks for the comments – to all of the grammar and typing experts sorry about the mistakes, hope I didn’t spoil your ‘enjoyment’.
Yes, it’s a ‘several part’ work, not sure how many yet, but have notched it up now, enjoy…
Mum had suffered a bit of fall and was admitted to hospital. Tim rang me and told me not to panic, she’d fallen while he’d been at home and she had complained of extreme pain. Sensibly he rang for an ambulance, and using gas and air, she was lifted to the back of an ambulance and taken to the local accident and emergency.
Given a new hip joint mum was in hospital for at least three weeks, so I said that I would visit most weekends. Auntie Ronnie went to visit for a weekend so I insisted that Tim came south to visit me and, at last, Uncle Dan who still had a small green bank book for him.
I took the Friday and Monday off and had a long weekend with my brother. I picked him up from their house, went to visit Mum and told her I was taking him for a rest.
“Which home?” she said with just a hint of a tone.
“Mine,” I said and added, “he’s had a tough time and needs some time off, I can do that better at my place than at yours. He’s just going to have a couple of days holiday with me spoiling him!” I beamed at her like a mad thing and she seemed to respond to this.
Packing him and a small bag of clothes into my car we headed south. With his long days and disturbed nights it didn’t take long for him to nod off. I didn’t mind, and turned my stereo down low enough to hear but not to wake him.
Three hours later he woke as I negotiated the four sets of ‘pain in the arse’ traffic lights in my sleepy little Surrey town.
He woke, stretched and looked around him at the fresh greens of summer Surrey, and seemed impressed.
“You drive very well,” he said as the engine stilled on my drive.
“Thanks,” I said, “it’s practice. You should learn,” I added, “you can take Mum for days out.”
“Oh I do,” he said, “we get tokens from the council and we go out for days, but travelling around in Manchester in a car is such a pain; it’s much easier on a bus or a taxi at a push.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you’ll find out there’s life outside Manchester.” I looked across the car at him, “when was the last time you travelled outside Lancashire?” He lifted his bag of clothes out of the boot of the car.
“I don’t know,” he said looking quizzical, “Probably our last holiday, we went to Mablethorpe, on a coach that time though.”
“Well in a car you could go when and where you, like and not have to worry about being back in time for the driver.”
“We’re OK,” he said with a smile, “we get by, besides we had everything we needed on the coach holiday.”
Into the kitchen I filled the electric kettle and sat on a chair at the table. Tim, stared in surprise at my light, bright, modern kitchen. The kitchen was everything you would have expected in a ’70’s northern soap or sitcom. The built in cooker and automatic washing machine was new to him, Mum insisting on using her old twin tub.
“So enough about you and Mum, what about you Tim?”
“Me?” he said surprised, “What about me?”
“How goes life with you — friends, girlfriends, hobbies that kind of thing.”
“What with caring for Mum I don’t get a lot of time for hobbies and stuff.” He said quietly, “I still paint of course, the model railway is always there of course.”
“What about when you were at the Poly,” I said, “you must have had girls after you like crazy.” Although I would never have admitted it to him he was rather attractive and, well, one look at that huge penis of his would have turned any girls head.
“Nah,” he said, “I was busy studying,” he looked out of the window then back at me, “How about you,” he said.
“Nah,” I replied with a sigh, “I went out with a few blokes, had a few long term relationships but, what with one thing and another,” I left my totally fucked up psyche out of it for the time being, “none of them ever worked out.”
I could see he was bursting to say something, and eventually he did.
“You were never…” he paused.
“I was never what?” I asked.
“Well, Veronica would ring Mum and say that you’d stayed over,” he looked down at his lap, “it wasn’t because of…”
“No, you perv!” I chuckled back with my usual teenage insult of him, which I had since realised actually was his real life letching at me.
Again, I didn’t actually want him to know that I’d had damp knickers for little Scots Debs for over five years by that stage and we shared beds and each other two or three times at year by that stage.
“I wasn’t perving,” he chuckled, starting to come out a little, “It’s just Mum once said that she thought you might have been,”
“I don’t know Lainey,” he said, “She said all sorts of things about you after I…” he stopped, “after you fell out that time.”
“Yes,” I said, “I tried to forget her calling me a slut that time, was that because she thought I’d slept with other konyaaltı escort women?”
“No,” he said, “She thought you were trying to take me away from her and just wanted something nasty to say to you, that was probably all she could think of at the time.”
“Nice,” I said, “still, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m not a slut, but I’m not a virgin either.” He looked a bit strange. I paused; it was if he wanted to say something but couldn’t, “It doesn’t matter if you are still Tim,”
“Oh, well,” he flustered, “technically I’m not…” he said looking confused.
“Technically?” I said, standing to make two cups of coffee, something else their northern kitchen wasn’t big on, “I kind of think you are or you aren’t, there isn’t much technical about it.” He flushed bright red.
I handed him a cup, smiling at him. “Don’t worry, there is some beautiful woman out that will relieve you of your cherry completely and not just technically.”
“Yeah, right,” he said sipping at the lip of his cup, tilting his head at the pleasant change to the staple of tea. “I won’t hold my breath waiting for her if you don’t mind.”
“One day Tim,” I said, “one day,” I suggested he could take his cup to bed with him and showed him to his room, where the bathroom was and I said goodnight.
The spare room was bright, airy and very contemporary — with no mortgage payments I’d even bought a TV for it with a remote control – it was a house with three televisions in it, something that at that time which was almost unheard of, and I heard him investigating it and the bedside radio alarm clock.
Mum’s place had none of these. There was a TV in the living room, but that was it, there was a radio in the kitchen (tuned to the BBC) and in the front room there was a record player – as kids we weren’t even allowed into that room let alone put on one of the precious records. Far be it from Tim to request anything different.
For some reason I slept naked that night, gently stroking my body and thinking of Tim’s huge penis, Debs and the shiny white plastic vibrator in my knicker drawer.
It was a hot night, and at some stage I must have pushed my duvet off of me. As it was that April ‘not quite spring – not quite summer’ temperature and I’d often go to bed snuggled up in my duvet only to wake on a hot spring morning with it on the floor. This was one of those mornings.
I must have been tired — it had a been a long day; even though I had gently stroked myself before bed I hadn’t gone all the way to orgasm. My body clock had me stirring at my usual ‘work o’clock’ time, but the idea that I could lay in bed and listen to the ‘Today’ programme in its entirety then wander down and make breakfast for me and Tim in my own time in my own kitchen had me sinking back into my excellent mattress.
I put my hand to my short brown crop of pubic hair and gently raked my nails through it; I heard a strangled gasp. I opened my eyes wide in shock
Tim was stood at the end of my bed in just his striped pyjama trousers with a mug of tea staring down at me, the tent at his groin obvious. I made to sit up, reaching round for the duvet which was out of reach and my night dress and shorts where I’d left them on my ottoman.
“Tim,” I said, putting an arm across my breasts just to cover my nipples, “sorry Lovey, I’m used to sleeping in the raw sometimes, I forgot sorry.” I drew my knees up and let my other arm fall between my legs.
“N…no,” he stuttered, “I should have knocked, I’m sorry,” he looked desperately distressed, and made to step back.
“TIM!” I called at the closing door, he pushed it open slightly without looking at me, “Tim, come back, it’s OK,” he raised his eyes a bit at a time until he was looking at me, “come this way and bring your tea as well,” I rolled across the bed and grabbed my duvet, slowly I might add, and made a great display of my arse.
I slid to one side of the bed and pulled the duvet up and across my boobs, and took my tea from him with a big smile and patted the bed next to me.
He smiled at sat down, and I threw the rest of my king size duvet over his legs. I sipped my tea and sat further up, conscious of the cleavage I’d created,
“I don’t know why you worry Tim, we have shared a bath together before,”
“Yes, well,” he breathed sipping his own tea, “It’s not like I’ve seen you like that in quite a few years,” he had a hint of nerves in his voice.
“Yes you have…” I said, taking a welcome sip from my cup.
“W…what,” he stuttered again, “What do you mean?”
“It means that you’ve walked in on me semi-naked before at Mum’s. It also means that I know all about your spy-hole into the shower,” I didn’t look at his face but knew by his chin dropping that he was worried. I turned, “But don’t worry Tim, I walked in on you one morning while you were asleep, and I’VE watched YOU through the spy hole, well I’ve watched that huge prick of yours while you wanked it and called my name,” he turned to look back at me now, “and I wanked kültür escort watching you — there, that’s only fair isn’t it?”
The look on his face was priceless; “Err… I suppose so,” he said.
“And I know what you did with my panties,” I said matter of factly, for once I used the sexier parlance for them rather than ‘knickers’ as I would have done, “In fact I left you a few extra pairs of nice ones so it was less bother for Mum to wash them.”
His face had a kind of slightly nervous drag to it and not the ‘dream come true’ aspect I’d been hoping for, “I’m assuming she knew? I kind of get the feeling she knew about lots of things and might have encouraged you.”
“You can’t blame Mum,” he said with a real scared look on his face, “She didn’t mean anything, it was just because she was worried about me,” he gabbled, “I never…” he gasped, “I never…”
“Hey Tim,” I turned to face him letting the duvet fall from my boobs to put a hand to his face to ease his panic, “don’t worry lovey, it’s OK, they were only knickers, it’s just wanking, everyone does it mate!”
“Yes,” he gasped, “yes, only knickers, just wanking.”
His breathing eased but he still kept his hunted look.
“Tim,” I said, forgetting my nakedness and his closeness, “What’s the matter?”
“Mum…” he said, “she, that is we…” his eyes brimmed with tears.
“OK,” I said calmly as if dealing with a hysterical child, “deep breaths,” his breathing calmed, “close your eyes, start at the beginning…”
Tim’s late entry into puberty meant that I was already a blossoming eighteen year old as his testosterone started work on his immature brain. His late development had resulted in some fearsome bullying, then as he grew, and grew, and GREW, the teasing became of a different nature. He had told Mum about the first teasing and she had just told him to basically ‘man up’ to his bullies — an easy thing to say when it isn’t you being bullied.
The second round was of a different nature and his first try talking to Mum had convinced him not to do it again. In search of solace he resorted to masturbation. Not having the nerve to try to find any porn, or try to conceal anything at home, he had one day chanced upon seeing me through a crack in the bathroom door.
I was just dressing and must have been checking for spots in the mirror and leaned forward into view, I had only put on my knickers and he saw my young and firm arse wrapped in thin cotton, and pert boobs reflected in the mirror. He almost came in his pants.
The image had stuck in his head and by closing his eyes he got all the porn he needed. Two days later when he took his clothes to the utility room, he saw the panties I’d been wearing and picked them up, inspecting every ripple, ridge and mark, especially the marks. He stuffed them in his pocket, ran to his room and locked the door and stripped, flopping on his bed and rubbing the gusset of my panties over his sensitive knob. He finally rubbed the white mark left by my puss across his moist penile opening and the sensitive patch beneath until he came in gouts, catching the come in my pants.
This became a regular almost daily event in his life, and he’d stroll down to the utility room and search for my worn knickers, wrap the worn gusset around his bell end and masturbate. He admitted that on one particular night, he’d waited for me to take my clothes downstairs and he’d jumped straight into the laundry room and pulled out my just worn pants still warm and with the damp patch actually DAMP. He’d withdrawn his penis in that room and wiped my wetness over his knob, groaning. He then ran to his bedroom and did his usual thing, coming in them.
This was about the time I left for college, and he was temporarily left without his supply of worn knickers. So had to resort to raiding my empty bedroom and taking out clean knickers, wanking in them but trying not to come in them, instead ejaculating into toilet tissue so not as to have my underwear turning up in the laundry when I was hundreds of miles away in London.
Eventually Mum found a pair under his pillow, and confronted him. It seemed that her biggest fear was that he was wearing them.
He broke down and admitted that this was the way he had got through his bullying at school. She had demanded to know what bullying. He could not lie to Mum and said it was because his penis was so big.
“Big?” she had said, and demanded to know what was so big about it. Immature as he was, he simply reached into his pants and had unfolded his long tube of skin. Her jaw dropped, and for once in her life she was lost for words.
She reached out and touched it, as if she needed to prove to herself that it was real. She squeezed it and it bulged in her fingers, next she raised it and pointed it at her. As if realising the amount of attention she was paying to her son’s penis, she dropped it and stuttered that far from being embarrassed he should be proud of such a weapon and it was going to make him a really popular boy.
Then, she said that markantalya escort with a penis that big he probably needed to ‘air it’ more than he did, and if he wanted to, he could walk around the house without trousers and pants if he wanted to, but not with me around as that wasn’t right. He demurred, but after a few days or her nagging, he finally agreed that he would walk around the house with his flaccid penis out in the air, for his own good of course.
The inevitable happened. One Saturday evening, he’d been dozing on the sofa and his penis erected of its own accord, in that way that young men’s penises often do.
He awoke and probably didn’t realise what had happened. Matter of factly Mum had asked him if it was painful, and he said it was OK and tried to make it go down.
“That looks nasty,” she said playing the concerned mother and went and sat on the sofa next to him wrapping her hand round the centre of his penis and began to masturbate him. His discomfort soon dissipated as his pleasure increased.
“Come on then Tim, do what you’ve got to do, the faster you get this done, the better you’ll feel.” Her straightforward approach and the suggestion this was for his own good, did for any discomfort he might have felt at his mother wanking him and he came, spraying a white stream of his semen out and across the room to splash on the carpet in front of him, the second spurt shooting out but not so far landing on the leatherette sofa while the final dribbles splashed down onto his groin and her hand. She had disappeared and returned with kitchen towels and did her best to remove the evidence — and of course being Mum it was more about the carpet and sofa than Tim or her hand. She said that he wasn’t to worry, and that amount of come was just an indication of how virile he was. She said that next time he had a problem like that she’d still help him out but would find some other way of stopping his sperm spraying everywhere.
A few days later he called Mum to his room and said his cock was aching and could she help him with it.
With a great show of maternal ‘oh alright then,’ she bade him sit lay back on his bed, then proceeded to masturbate him, varying her speed and pitch to help him to his orgasm. Finding her ideal hand position and stroke she soon had him crying out and pumping his sperm out high into the air to splatter down on his chest, her arm, some even going high enough to land on the top of her head as she lent in to examine her handiwork. It rolled down the side of her face. She went to the bathroom and wiped her face and returned with a flannel and cleaned the come off of Tim’s belly, chest, penis and the drips that had rolled onto the bed.
Again, the next night he complained that his penis ached again, and he was worried because he had a major college exam the next week. She told him to go to her bedroom and lay on the bed and she’d come in in a moment.
She returned in her nightdress, and sat by him, an elastic bandage round her wrist.
“OK,” she said, “how are we going to do this without getting your sperm everywhere?” She’d said.
“Well,” he’d said, “perhaps I should come into something,” he’d said.
He described the pause — it was obvious that she was thinking about her body rather than the cloth or toilet roll he was thinking about.
“Well,” she said, “my arm aches from all of this extra exercise, I suppose you could do it yourself.”
He didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. “Oh alright,” she had complained, you can put it in me but you CAN’T COME IN ME, understand?”
“Because I could get pregnant and that’s against the law. You putting your cock in me would be but because it’s medicinal it’s OK.”
“OK Mum,” he’d said.
“When you are ready to come you pull out and come, on me but DEFINITELY NOT IN ME!” she admonished.
“OK Mum,” he said.
He described how she’d wrapped her nightdress tight to her and laid the towel across her lower back and the base of her spine just exposing her bottom, thighs and the crack of her vagina to him. She explained what he needed to do, and reached down between her legs to grab hold of his penis and almost drag it towards her pussy.
She was so wet and he was so hard that the first thrust went home straight away. He pushed all the way in and he described how Mum had gasped and he’d withdrawn straight away. I could only guess how it must have felt — as he spoke I could see his penis pushing hard against the thin cotton of his PJ’s and it must have reached deep into her and hit all those places that penises don’t normally reach.
She told him it was OK and he could push back in. He pushed in and stopped, unsure of what he had to do next. She told him breathlessly to push in and out until he felt he was ready to come, then he should pull out and, well, do what he had to outside.
He did so, gently at first, the sensations in his penis too much to stand for very long. He stopped and pulled out, telling her that he’d almost come.
She told him to be careful and only to put it back in if he was sure he wouldn’t come in her. He calmed, slipped back into her sopping pussy, thrust a few times then pulled it out and shot his come onto towel along her back some of it hitting her bare arse.
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