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Unless you live in Beverly Hills, or only kept company with rich friends when in school, there was always one friend who’s house you’d visit that was on a lower socio-economic level from the rest. Sometimes this establishment would be grouped together with other homes like it; not necessarily in the “bad part of town” or on the “other side of the tracks” as the cliché goes, but rather a certain street where the housing wasn’t up to par with the rest of town.

In my town, these houses were often older buildings, and were grouped together. Yet, they were still in a nice part of town. Let me say that the whole town was nice–just not every home.

Mark lived in one of them. A medium sized ranch, the color of mud, but highlighted with white shutters. Mark had four other siblings, and I often wondered why some parents would opt for so many kids, when they clearly could not afford that kind of lifestyle. Mark had two younger sisters, and two older brothers. He was right smack dab in the middle of the family circus.

And boy what a circus it was.

Sleeping over Mark’s house as a teenager was always a learning experience. Baby screaming dog barking, brothers arguing, and every room was often a disaster; the floor littered with toys, backpacks, and sometimes just plain trash.

But the worst was when the father would arrive late at night in a drunken state. I almost never saw him when I was there, as he was a trucker and was away from home so frequently. But the few times he did come home, I’ll never forget.

He was violent. The kind of guy you could tell was dangerous just by looking at him. Dark, hallowed circles under his eyes, scruffy cleft chin, unkempt hair, and he smelled of booze and cigarettes.

He would get in heated arguments with Mark’s mother, and I once saw him strike one of the kids. To him, I didn’t exist. He could of cared less about what other people thought of him. I was just a piece of furniture; a fly on the wall.

And as suddenly as Mark’s father would arrive, he’d be gone. His home, his family, merely a truck stop on his drunken ride through life.

I pitied Mark and his siblings, but pitied his mother most of all. And it wasn’t just because of the father. Mark’s mother was a kind woman, who was doing the best she could to raise her children in such a difficult situation. To her, I was a guest in her home, as un-glamorous as it may have been.

Her name was Carol, and she wasn’t the most beautiful of women, for she had the same beak as the rest of her family; the kind of nose you’d see on the statues of Roman emperors, but in a way, this made her look distinguished. Her eyes were large and cat-like, but looked tired, her hair, brown and straight, never seeing the inside of a salon. But she had prettiest mouth I had ever seen; full, pouting lips that needed no lipstick to accentuate.

And her body.

Her body was in a word: voluptuous. Clearly, Carol needed hips to give birth to five children, and breasts that could feed them. And she did. She had breathtaking curves, and years later, as the “ideal woman” became a stick figure, I would think back to the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Mark’s mother. They had the bodies of Greek goddesses.

To say I lusted after Carol was an understatement, but this feeling had to develop over the years as I grew through adolescence. I think it is safe to say that the first women boys tend to fantasize are older women: teachers, maids, the mom’s of best friends. Years later, when I was almost out of college, a very close friend of mine admitted to me that he had had a crush on my own mother! This, he would not of told me if it were not for the alcohol stupor he was in, and I forgave him. But I had never had those Ankara travesti thoughts for my own mother. It was always Mark’s mom that filled my thoughts.

As I slept on Mark’s couch, and could hear Carol drawing her bath, as she was accustomed to doing, I would allow myself to paint these thoughts. Carol must have taken long hot baths to relieve her stress, after everyone had gone to bed, and it was this image that obsessed me; the image that was right down the hall and through the bathroom door.

So close, yet so far.

I would fantasize about bathing with her. Seducing Mark’s mother, or being seduced by her. I did not much care which way, only that it would happen. Just to be with her in that bathtub sent my heart racing, and my cock hard. To see those large naked breasts, glistening in the hot water…

Staying over Mark’s house was torture. But I was sadomasochistic in my torture. To add to this pain, one of Mark’s older brother was a collector of nudie magazines, but not the innocent pages of Playboy with an article here, a breast there. Mark’s brother Dan had stacks of Penthouse and Hustler, and these were my first introductions to porn. In the days before the internet, these magazines stuffed the pants of millions of boys who were either too young or too embarrassed to pay for them.

But Dan had such a collection, I assumed he had subscriptions. Some of the publications were smaller than Penthouse and Hustler; magazines that could fit right in your back pocket, and covers so explicit, that a store would never shelve them. These were my first images of women with long eyelashes, sucking on huge cocks; guzzling down their cum with giddy satisfaction. To be honest, the images both repulsed me and excited me at the same time.

As I grew older, I became more confident with myself. This didn’t mean I was ready to get in the way of Carol and her husband. I would only have done that if I wanted a quick death. What it meant was this: Now that I was eighteen, I was determined to take a bath with Mark’s mother. But wait. Wouldn’t that also be a quick death at the hands of Mark’s father if he found out? It was a chance I was willing to take.

This would clearly have to be a night when I knew for certain her husband would be gone for weeks. I also chose a night when I knew that where would be less people in the house all together. When the night I chose to act upon my fantasies came, only Mark and his little sister were home. His other sister and both brothers were at other friend’s homes.

Mark often fell asleep early and was such a heavy sleeper, you needed an alarm to wake him. This was also in my favor.

As Mark began to snore around quarter past ten, I began to hear the bath water. I waited patiently at the end of the hall, wearing only my boxers, my heart sprinting in my chest, and my body trembling with excitement and anxiety.

When I heard Carol leave the bathroom and enter her bedroom again, I walked quickly down the hall, my feet creaking the old floorboards. Hopefully the sound of the bathwater would drown out my movements. As quietly as I could, I opened the bathroom door, stripped off my boxers and lowered myself into the tub. It was one of those old porcelain tubs that you see in classic movies; the kind of tub that looked like some kind of white creature on tiny white feet.

But the creature was me. I was one horny little monster for doing this, but I fought off any hesitation to turn back.

I waited in the tub as the hot water submerged my trembling legs, and then suddenly the bathroom door opened. Mark’s mother looked startled when she saw me, bringing her right hand up to her chest to close the silk robe she wore. It Konya travesti draped over her body like cream, showing off every curve.

“J-Jon!” she said. “What are you doing in here? I was about to take a bath!”

I didn’t think at all and just started to speak, like an actor who had rehearsed his lines so many times, he can relate them without pause.

“I’m sorry Ca—Mrs.P. I didn’t see anyone in here, so I thought I’d take a bath first.”

“Well, okay,” she replied, and I noticed her looking down into the tub. I was semi-hard. “I’ll take mine after then.”

But before she turned to leave, I spoke: “You don’t have to go,” I said calmly. “In fact, I’d rather you stay.” “Jon, don’t be silly, I…”


Carol looked at me with her tired green eyes. She looked sad and confused.

“I…I did have to use the bathroom,” she said, like a small child.

“Go ahead.” I said smiling. “I won’t look.”

She said nothing, and after a pause, moved to the toilet and squatted. As a gentlemen, I looked away, but could hear the sound of her tinkling. It made my cock tingle, and I could feel myself getting harder.

When I heard the toilet flush, I turned back around, just catching a glimpse of her crotch. She was unshaved, like I knew she would be. She was a woman. I patted the water with one hand.

“Why don’t you come in?” I said. “There’s plenty of room for the two of us.” But she shook her head in a silent “no” and left the room.

Dammit. I cursed to myself. I had made her uncomfortable. When the water level had reached my belly, I shut off the faucet and sank back into my own guilt. I closed my eyes, and almost fell asleep, but woke when I felt fingers combing my bangs. When I looked up, it was my turn to be startled. Carol had returned, and was sitting on the edge of the tub, running her soft fingers through my hair. Her robe was open slightly, and I could see part of her breasts.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

“Doing what?” I asked innocently.

“You know I’m having problems with my husband. You know I’m often alone. You know…”

“I know.” I interrupted her. “But I had to. I wanted you so bad!”

“But Jon, we can’t!” she said. “You’re my son’s friend! He…”

“He’s asleep,” I responded. “Besides, it’s just a bath.”

She paused and thought about this for a moment. “You’re right,” she finally said. “It’s just a bath.” And with that, she stood and let her robe fall to the floor, and with it, my jaw. She was even more gorgeous than I had fantasized. The best way I can describe her breasts was when I had caught a soft-core porn film on television late one night. It was a European film; Dutch I think, with English sub-titles, and there was a girl with blond braids, with huge teardrop breasts. They didn’t sag, they were just large and real, with big puffy nipples, and they bounced as she flopped on the bed.

Carol’s tits were like those, and as she stepped into the water and lowered herself down, I was staring at them. By this point, my cock was rock hard, poking out of the water, and Carol was starting at me just as intently.

Without saying a word, I moved to her, and although I was now eighteen, I became a loving child, cuddled her chest, and began to suck on one of her nipples.

“Jon!” she exclaimed. “I thought we were just taking a bath!”

But I could only muffle sorry. My lips were pinched tight around her nipple, as I sucked and slurped on her boob. Soon, she had wrapped her arms around me, one hand on my back and one on my head. So motherly.

“That’s okay,” she said calmly. “You can suck. It feels so good.”

I reached up and cupped her huge breast, squeezing it in İzmir travesti my hand as I suckled her. I nibbled gently and Carol let out a soft “ooooo” before I left and moved to her other breast.

She threw her head back and continued to moan. “After five children, you’d think I’d have gotten used to the feeling,” she said. “But the truth is, I’ve always loved it Jon. I loved being sucked on.”

Then I detached myself from her nipple as a thought escaped my lips. “I like to be sucked on too.” I said.

“Oh do you?” she purred.


She gently pushed me back to the other side of the tub, and reaching beneath the water took my cock in her hands and began to stroke me up and down. My body shivered at her touch, and I felt as if I would cum right there and then, sending a torrent of white fluid into the air like a surfacing whale.

“Have you ever had a girl do this to you Jon?”

I was embarrassed but told her the truth that I had not.

“You’re so big,” she added. “Are my son’s as big as you?”

I gave her a puzzled look. “How would I know that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what boys do when they’re alone.”

“Not that!” I said laughing.

“Well, I’d be surprised if they were this big,” and gazing into my eyes, her lips inches from the tip of my cock she added: “My husband isn’t this big.” And then suddenly, my cock was deep in her wet mouth, her pouty soft lips wrapped around the shaft, her head bobbing up and down, and it felt amazing. Never had I expected my plan would have gotten this far, and I played with her hair as she sucked me. Her tongue slide around and up, back and down, and I lifted my knees up to give her a better position. My eyes flittered but before I could cum, she slid me out of her mouth with a wet “pop.”

“Ohhh, please don’t stop!” I begged, but she was pushing herself back on her side of the tub, leaning all the way back so that her nipples were pointing to the bathroom ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, “but I want you inside me. I need your cock inside me Jon!”

I blinked and then attacked her, water splashing out of the tub as I blindly poked her belly and thighs with my cock. It was my first time.

She reached down and taking my cock in one hand, guided me to the opening of her pussy, and even though we were in warm water, I could tell she was extra wet. I penetrated her with ease, sliding up deep inside her to my balls. We both let out moans of ecstasy then, and she began to beg.

“Ohh yes Jon! Please fuck me! You want to fuck your friend’s mommy, don’t you?”

“Ohh god yes!” I moaned.

“Fuck me baby! Fuck your friend’s mommy! I need your cock so bad!”

She was getting so loud that I wanted to place a finger over her lips, but I resisted. I need to hear every word she was saying, for it sounded as good as it felt to fuck her. I gripped her bouncing tits, which bobbed on the water like buoys. More and more water splashed out onto the bathroom floor as she reached under and tugged at my balls, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

“Fuck me! Please fuck me Jon!” She sang, and I pumped my hips, feeling my cock slide in and out of her, the orgasm building closer and closer inside me.

“Cum with me!” she yelled. “Oh, please cu—cum with me!”

I could resist her mouth no longer and closed my lips over hers, kissing her hard and passionately. She returned it, diving her tongue into my mouth as I dove my cock into her pussy, and we came then.

She broke my kiss and arched her back. “YES! Ohhh…mmm…I’m….I’m cumming!” I grunted, feeling my cock erupt inside her, filling her with my sperm. Then I collapsed on her body, my head on her breasts. She stroked my hair with motherly affection, and after we had both dressed, we kissed.

“Can we do this again soon?” she asked sweetly.

“Every time I come over,” I said, kissing her again, and I made my way back to the living room couch where her son Mark, my friend, still snored.

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