My Tryst with Forbidden Youth
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*******This story is a fantasy and not meant as a moral blueprint or a suggestion on how to live your life. It is a fantasy that involves inappropriate sex between consenting adults with a large age difference. If this theme sounds like it could bother you, I would encourage you not to read it. Otherwise, comments and constructive criticism are both welcome*******
I love the smell after long rain showers. Emerging from a place of cover feels akin to rebirth. The fresh, earthy smell mixed with the sense of calmness invigorates me in a way that is fleeting if I stop to think about it. It’s one of those thoughts that is lost at the moment of reflection. I would like to just capture a moment like that in time and hold it, close my eyes and get lost in the wonder of the sensation, without thinking about the chemical reaction that causes it. I just need to let me mind go quiet; but that is one thing that I’ve never had a grasp on. Thoughts constantly fill my mind and push my feelings out. I want to be present in the moment but once one thought is followed the damn is broken and soon my mind is flooded with thoughts, the world returns in the same state. I just want to be present in the moment of right now, and not what led me there or the consequences to come.
It had been raining for a very long time; longer than I could ever remember. Flooding had become a major problem and property damage was everywhere. I hadn’t been to work in a couple days due to building closures. In the part of Canada where I’m from we just aren’t used to this much water. Give us snow and we’ll shovel it, cold weather and we’ll tolerate it, but so much rain and we are lost for solutions. We don’t have levies and houses are regularly built on what anyone with any knowledge of ecology would recognize as a floodplain. Our house is built on a hill, so I didn’t deal with any damage first hand; I still felt a vicarious sense of loss for those who did lose their homes or possessions. The thoughts that had overtaken my mind were of the introspective and reflective variety.
My name is Michelle. I live in the suburbs with my family, my husband and two children. In many ways we are not at want for too much. The real storms always seem to just miss us. I recently turned 43, but unlike in the past, the calendar turning over wasn’t a reason to despair. I am finally getting comfortable in being middle aged, it took 8 years to get there, but it’s not something I resent anymore. Sure, there are times when I wish I had my body of 22 back, but other times when I realize that maybe having that back would not be worth the hassle. At 5’6″ and 155, I am a bit rounder in the hips than back then. I also came to notice that men seem to like that; especially younger men. I still have enough vanity to enjoy the sly looks and to encourage them when it suits me.
I do like what I see when I look in the mirror. My hair is usually brown, but in the interest of fun I let my 14 year old daughter dye it, well partially dye it. She had decided to break my heart by turning her envy invoking blonde hair pink. Instead of lamenting the occasion, I decided to join her and now the bottom of my hair is straightened and purple. A reasonably dark purple, but purple nevertheless. I sort of like it, the deep colour makes my eyes look brighter. The shine also reduces the show any wrinkles in photos.
My home life can project the outward appearance of being idyllic. I always find that the better you get to know any family the less normal they seem and we are no exception to this. At home, when not hassling my kids, I spend a lot of time reading or working on my various projects. I try not to be anti-social, but I have been accused of this trait. The need for the type of social interactions I sought when I was younger seem to be lost or at least lying dormant. Regardless of that, I always try to make time for my family. My son is nearly 20 and not easy to pin down, but much easier to talk to than when he was younger. We are actually able to talk without him making me feel like a police officer. My daughter and I sometimes resemble friends, and despite some fights about homework, get along very well.
As for my marriage, we are still best friends and do everything together and plan for the future, but in the bedroom things have been difficult. Sex stopped being fun for us and instead is generally a source of stress. We still have sex, I think that it’s important to have that intimate connection in a marriage, but often it can lead to disagreements. He will accuse me of faking this or that and in the heat of the moment, confronted with the truth, I will admit it. Things tend to go downhill from there. He will pout and I will get angry, before the customary apologies and concessions. Sometimes I wish we could just cuddle without getting into everything else.
The bedroom issues are magnified by the fact that I haven’t lost my desire for sex. I go through long stretches of feeling horny constantly. Little things can set me off. kurtköy escort The feeling that starts in the pit of my stomach and radiates to the edges of my body, gets caught in my throat and makes the blood flow to erogenous zones. It can happen at work, the yoga studio, the supermarket, while playing soccer, sitting in traffic, basically anywhere. It seems like a cruel joke: being hornier than ever and that having an inverse relationship with the amount of sex I’m having.
Even when the frustration boils over I tell myself that having an affair is not an option. I’m not proud of it, but I have been down that road and while the scenery is pleasant the overall trip is not much fun. The guilt becomes overwhelming and really when you get right down to it, an affair is a lot of work. Balancing a secret relationship becomes very time consuming and like a chore. After the initial excitement dies down, I realized that I started a fire in the basement to put one out in the bedroom; and soon the entire house is on fire. In the end the guilt completely consumed me and I ended the affair and admitted to my infidelities. Part of my penance was to promise not to in the future let that happen again and I take that promise seriously.
Instead fantasies became my main escape. A trigger would become a starting point and my mind would work out the details. I would even find myself thinking my fantasies while masturbating. Generally when I do that I will focus on the sensation. Now, I would have fantasies, sometimes depraved ones, overtaking my mind while I increased or relaxed the physical stimulation. I would also find myself chatting online, often pushing the boundaries of my fantastical limits. It’s addicting to get caught in that sort of world, I like to hear about the thoughts people have that they would never dream of saying in a room where another person is breathing. I’d sometimes end these sorties into the darker side of sex thinking about what might be wrong with me, all the while maintaining a naughty sense of self satisfaction and the need to change my panties.
To avoid the long drawn out arguments that often were a result of sex I started giving more hand-jobs. My husband seemed satisfied by them and I do enjoy doing it. I feel like no matter what is going on in my mind I should make the effort to be present as a wife. I think, while he would never say it, he liked having the pressure relieved in that way too. It’s like we have an understanding and we do have a caring relationship. I don’t hold my husband at fault for our bedroom issues, being married for nearly 20 years is a difficult balancing act for both partners. What I crave in bed, is intimacy and a relaxed expression of that. When our sex revolves around mutual masturbation or oral, that expression became more visceral to the action. I love when he sucks my nipples or rubs them while whispering in my ear while I rub. It can lead to a low key, but long and thoroughly pleasing orgasm. In those times our bed relieves frustrations rather than adding to them.
In Canada, for whatever reason, we celebrate the birthday of Queen Victoria every 24th of May. Although the significance of Queen Victoria is basically lost on every Canadian, this does not diminish the festivities. In fact, many people just call it the May long weekend or the May two-four, implying that beer will be bought by the 24. To me, my partying days were no longer even visible in my rear view mirror, but I welcomed the long weekend as some time to relax. My husband had a long anticipated golf vacation planned with his brother and cronies, one that I started to anticipate too, simply so I could stop hearing about it. I’m not the type of wife to make too many inquiries or worry about whatever they get up to down there as long as it stays there. My mind would be clear of worry for my days of peace. Or at least so I thought.
My son, who just turned 20, and in university had developed the taste for partying that I had lost, this meant some late nights out. In theory, and legal status, he was living at home but in practice he spent a lot of time elsewhere. I don’t get into helicoptering adults so I knew as much about his life and he wanted me to know. For this long weekend, the party would be happening rather close to where we lived. My son, Justin, asked if he could have some guys over, because the party was far from campus and they didn’t want anyone driving. While this didn’t preclude the use of a taxi, I was trying to be understanding to the necessary cheapness of students.
“Just how many friends or well-wishers were you planning to have here?” I said while invoking my skeptical mother tone.
“Not too many mom, but we won’t even be in the house, we’re gonna stay in tents in the backyard.”
His tone betrayed the fact that he didn’t really have a good grasp on the particulars of the request, his planning brain having not quite developed yet.
“What about the bathroom?”
“We will maltepe escort only use the one at the back of the house and go right back out.” This promised a lot of opening and closing of the back door, but it was acceptable.
“Will there be drinking here?”
“I guess a bit mom……but not a lot……….it’s cheaper to have some here” I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that.
“Is everyone over 19?”
“Of course mom, I don’t know anyone under.” His little boy voice came out which grated on my nerves at his age.
I considered going into full interrogation mode and treating him like a child but stopped short of that. After all, he is an adult and there was a hint of needed to be responsible by not driving. I decided to let it happen without full knowledge of what it was that I was agreeing to.
“Honey, just don’t invite too many, remember the party is close to here, the party is not happening here.”
“Yeah, thanks mom!” He said while giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“We understand each other.” His eyes caught my stern look and no response was necessary to confirm the understanding.
As the weekend approached I encouraged our daughter to find a friend’s house to sleep at that night. I figured it was better not to expose her to the rowdy nature or young men. There would likely be a lot of foul language and perhaps some creative ways of declaring their intentions for the night. It would also be much older than her and she would likely feel left out. I didn’t have any friends where I could have slumber party, the good news was that they wouldn’t be there all night and I did have my reading room/study to close myself up in. My husband has his home office on the main floor and I have, what would have been a 4th bedroom, as a quiet room.
In the spirit of the occasion and perhaps to score a few “cool mom” points with the boys, I bought a two-four for the fridge. It’s funny how a few years changes so much, I went from chasing and confiscating to providing. I saw some humour in the coin flip of behaviour. The boys had not arrived yet and the house was strangely quiet, it wasn’t often that I had the house to myself; this must have been the calm before the storm. I used the time to take a peaceful nap. I woke to the noise of the storm starting……literally.
The rain, which had been so persistent, had returned. It started with a few heavy drops, they seemed to gain a rhythm, before any sense of one was washed away in a cascade of streams falling from the sky. This in no way would bode well for camping in the yard. The rain continued for the next hour and wasn’t showing any signing of letting up. It looked like my house would be the site of a pre-drinking party. I made sure the stuff was inside before it got too wet and brought it to the basement. As long as he didn’t bring a mob this would do.
Once I lugged everything in I went to make myself presentable. I wasn’t about to doll myself up but I didn’t want to look like a hag either. Before doing my make-up and threw a number of outfits on the bed, I held each top up to the mirror and reminded myself how much I hated all my clothes. This way of getting dressed had been a long standing ritual of mine and usually once I settle on something I feel satisfied and confident. This time was proving to be more frustrating for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on; they were just boys that I was going to see for a couple seconds to be introduced. I settled on a loose purple top with no shoulders, it was respectfully comfortable for the spring. My shoulders were exposed but it was hugging my body to show off my tits or anything. I threw on a pair of high waisted jeans that could subtly show off my hips. My make-up was just enough so that it didn’t look like I out any on, a lipstick to perform the same function and I was feeling right. I looked in the mirror and saw enough “mom” to be respectable and enough style to be presentable.
When the boys did show up there were seven of them including Justin. I didn’t know any of them, it was a completely different group than his high school friends and they weren’t really boys. I was used to the shy, awkward and uncomfortably polite kids that used to be around. Maybe these guys were like that too a few years ago. As his mother, in many ways Justin still seems like a baby to me, but other people always comment how much older he looks. These guys were not the shy type, on the contrary, they were outgoing but still in their own way polite. It was out of politeness that Justin introduced me. I gave them the customary have fun but be safe speech and then retired to my reading room.
In my room, I felt pings of remorse for not being part of those sorts of good times anymore. Justin and his friends were in the kitchen getting louder and louder by the drink. My mind was wandering coming in and out of focus, I started to think about how attractive a few of his friends were. One in particular, introduced pendik escort to me as Ash, although I found out later these were just the first three letters of his last name, Ashton, but it was what he generally called himself. He was over 6 feet tall and his body well proportioned and filled out, it seemed like there was no way he was ever lanky. His looks were boyish, but framed with the more chiselled edges of a man, placing him squarely in between manhood and teen. His skin was smooth-looking with a hint of bronze that any woman would kill for coming home from the beach. When he smiled his deep blue eyes seemed to sparkle. With all that he still somehow looked different enough from a cookie cutter hunk to look interesting. I was attracted to him immediately and no matter where my mind wandered he wasn’t far behind as if he was capturing my every thought.
Then I remembered the beer I got for them and went downstairs as if to announce my coolness. The boys let out a big cheer that made me blush and smile at the same time. They chanted my name, “Justin’s mom” a few times while banging my kitchen table. The testosterone levels were threatening to blow the roof off. Once receiving my adulations and turned around to return to my room.
“Oh come on! Don’t leave us……..have a drink!”
I turned around and it was Ash, he was smiling and had an almost mischievous sparkle in his eye. The other boys echoed his sentiments. At that point I didn’t want to refuse. I told them that I didn’t drink beer but I didn’t mind opening a bottle of wine if they agreed to call me Michelle as opposed to Justin’s mom. This was met with more enthusiasm, the type of enthusiasm that can only come from young men, which in the right circumstance can feel contagious. I looked at my son to make sure I wasn’t intruding or embarrassing him but he seemed ok, so I got a bottle of red wine and accepted a chair at the table that one of the boys so chivalrously gave up for me.
They were contagious all packed into out little kitchen. Soon they had me laughing along with their boasts and jokes. I felt years younger with a strange sense of floating. I felt included, this was a lot of fun for me. Being the only woman in the room, I was also naturally the centre of attention, something that suited me just fine too. Perhaps it was just for lack of competition, but I felt very pretty and desirable in that moment.
The other development was that Ash was now, tactfully and subtly, but at the same time openly flirting with me. He sat across the table from me so nobody else could tell where our gazes were landing. More than a few times my eyes caught his eyes and the contact didn’t break for at least a breath at a time. I upped the stakes in the game and gave him a sultry look while biting my upper lip, he calmly returned the gesture with what can only be termed, “I want to fuck you” eyes. I was completely triggered. If the room were silent the labour in my breath would have been audible. My heart was beating hard and I could actually feel the moisture between my legs spread to my thighs.
“oh….yes honey?” I managed to say while pulling my tongue back from the roof of my mouth.
“We are going to go now.” My son informed me.
Some of the conversations around me had faded into the background while my body was distracted. Reality began to return, the party really wasn’t here and I wasn’t the girl he was after tonight. Ash was just a young man, confident in his charms and having fun with me. I didn’t resent him for it. While the air deflated from my balloon, I rationalized just how silly it would have been anyway. Before long, as quickly and as loudly as they came, the boys were gone into the night. They did seem like a good group of guys and they were nice enough to allow me a seat at their table, even if only for a little while.
The rain outside was the only noise left. I still had half a bottle of open wine and decided to make that my partner for the evening. I still felt horny but in a weird way, I didn’t have the urge to masturbate, it more manifested itself in an overall restless feeling. I was hoping the wine would take the edge off, but it seemed to make my mind jump and an even faster pace.
I retreated to my room to practice my French. I decided to learn the language for work but always feel too embarrassed to speak out loud when anyone is home, and that was pretty much all the time. My instructor kept telling me to practice out loud at home and then my speaking could meet my reading and writing; both of which are somewhat adequate. I got my recorder out and started to read from my French reader. Even with nobody around this was a painful exercise. I felt embarrassed for myself every time I played to recording back. When I put my mind to something I like to do it right, but this made me feel helpless, like someone sent me back to grade one…….and I was struggling.
It was all I could do to keep my mind off my frustration, but it clearly wasn’t working. Instead I was cobbling together nasty ways to say, “fuck me” in French. After coming up with, “Je te veux baiser ma chatte sale.” I figured I was ready to be a hooker on the streets of Paris. I was clearly having too much fun with all this and noticed my bottle was empty.
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