My friend had a hot mom by arealgasm

My friend had a hot mom by arealgasm

As a teen Mrs. Cohen helped my confidence , I was always a sexual boy growing up in a lower middle-class neighborhood in Boston. I grew up in a long line of two and three story homes. In cities, these are common, with each floor a separate apartment of six or seven rooms. My father had died when I was 3, and my mother was a hard working woman in the shoe factories. We and my three older siblings lived in the large apartment above my grandmother in her house. It was a large house with attic and cellar. There was no front yard to speak of, and the road ran up a hill towards my house and by the front door. Plots were close, and houses separated by a driveway only. Back yards were a little bigger, with hedges or fences separating neighbors’ lawns and gardens.

This story begins when I was about 13 or 14. I was a thick boy with some baby fat on my six foot two inch wide-shouldered frame. Dark brown hair and glasses framed my clear complexion. I only knew my lips were full and nice because an older girl at school turned to me on the stairs one day. She spoke to her girl friend beside her and said, “Now those are kissable lips!” as she looked at me. I blushed and looked down; the moment and the girls were gone in a flash before I could think what to say. But I remembered. Another time in my painfully shy adolescence, a voluptuous classmate nearly gave me a heart attack when she ran onto the basketball court during intramurals and patted my ass in front of everyone! I never followed up with that flirt either, due to lack of confidence and my assumption that my fat body, plain-brown eyes, nerdy glasses and brown hair were just too unsexy.

I was still clueless about what girls were about, outside my fantasies based on what I gleaned from movies, TV commercials where women wore bras over sweaters, and National Geographic photos. I was lucky enough to find two old Playboy magazines, but they were of a vintage that showed impossible breasts and legs demurely crossed so no vaginal lips existed. I had discovered masturbation the year before when I found my older brother’s Playboy magazines in the basement, and furiously pumped my cock five or six times a day to keep the tension at bay. Everything seemed to find my cock straining to get released from my pants, sometimes causing great Catholic guilt and embarrassment.

This leads me to write about, in an ungainly fashion, Eric’s mother Mrs. Cohen (not her real name). Eric was my next door neighbor, handsome, Jewish, athletic and a genius. We chummed for years in the neighborhood after school. We went to different schools due to religion, but we didn’t care about that at all. Other kids made fun of him because of his looks (I later found out as a man he was gay), his brilliance, or his being a Jew. His family was the only Jewish family in a sea of Catholic homes. The houses sat all of 40 or 50 feet from each other. Eric’s parents lived with Eric and his autistic brother in one upstairs apartment opposite ours, with his grandparents in the downstairs apartment opposite my grandmother. His brother went to a special school, even on weekends many times. His father was a mean drunk who spent his time working or hanging out at the bars. It was an unhappy family, but somehow Eric and his mother always had a smile for me, and we got along famously.

One summer day a couple months before my story commences, Eric and I had been comparing each other’s penises behind some trees. No sex, just curious comparison. Later we were in his kitchen getting some milk when Eric mortified me by telling Mrs. Cohen, –his mother and my neighbor, “Mike’s penis is a lot bigger than mine.” I almost spit up, but she was cool about it and mumbled something about it being nobody’s business. But at that moment I noticed her as a woman and not just as “Eric’s mother.” Over the coming weeks I glanced at her during the usual comings and goings, and started seeing her in a sexual way. She asked that I call her by her given name, Martha, as Mrs. Cohen made her feel old, and she said I was getting big enough to call her by her first name. Martha was in her late 30’s, certainly no more than 40. She had dark wavy hair to her shoulders, a bit of a tummy after two children, but not fat. Her breasts were soft in appearance, full and jiggled a bit when she laughed. Her hips were wide but slid in a comely fashion into shapely legs and her ass was nice to imagine about under her skirts and pants. Martha, as I started to think of her, was coming into my fantasies more often.

Each summer Eric went to a Summer Camp for a couple weeks. It was during this time I was bored and given chores to do. As was her habit, Martha sunbathed in the small back yard abutting ours. I was cutting my grandmother’s small patches of lawn among her raised rock gardens. Only a hedge separated me from surreptitiously ogling Martha. She was alone in the back yard, with family all gone. She was lying a few feet from me on a folding chaise lounge. My sweaty body was pushing the hand mower and separated from my fantasy by only some low hedges. She wore a rather scandalous (for those days and that neighborhood) black bikini. She lay on her back with the top straps rolled down and the cups pulled as far off her breasts as possible for maximum exposure – though her nipples were covered.

Looking back, I’m sure she knew I was watching her. During a pause in my work she opened her eyes and said hi. After pleasantries she asked me to come and chat.

“Have a seat, Michael.” She said as she scooted to make room for me on the chair.

I was grateful to sit because I had a raging hard-on in my shorts. “How are you Mrs., er Martha.” (Witty wasn’t I?). We chatted about things I no longer remember, likely how Eric was and where was everybody (both houses were empty). As we talked Martha did not attempt to re-cover her breasts, but held a cup to one globe to hold it in place. As we spoke I saw her pussy outlined in her bottoms, with some dark hairs escaping from the sides. My dick was aching and throbbing in my summer shorts.

“Michael, I want you to know I let Eric know that telling me about your penis size was not cool.” I turned red as she added, “It’s OK not to talk about it, it is natural for boys to explore and be curious. But Eric shouldn’t have embarrassed you.” There was a pregnant pause and she asked if she should not have raised the subject. I mumbled no, looking down.

“Michael, you are a sweet boy, it is OK to wonder about sex.” “If you want to ask me anything, it’s OK.” I of course said nothing, but she asked if comparing my penis to Eric’s had satisfied my curiosity.

Feeling brave, I asked, “Why does Eric have no skin at the end and I do?” I thought, Oh! God, what did I just say? But Martha just took it in stride.

“Jews have a ceremony called a Bris, when a boy is young. All Jewish boys are circumcised. Gentiles don’t always have that done. But God made us all in his image, so it doesn’t really matter in the end I think.” After a pause, Martha asked, “Are you curious about anything else?”

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