You Never Forget Your First Time by chris99999
Whatever the occasion, you never forget it when it’s the first time. It might have been decades ago, but the memory stays vivid. That first proper kiss, the one that’s more than lips just touching. The first time when your hand is on a breast, and the girl doesn’t remove it. It might only have been there for the briefest of time, and that small mound had been covered by a bra and top, but it made your heart beat so fast that you thought that you were going to faint. And when it’s anything to do with what’s between their legs, then the memory stays vivid and real forever.
I’m Chris, and I’m forty years old, and I have those memories. And what makes mine extra special, is that all of those, ‘first times’, were with my Mother!
I was eighteen when it started. Officially I was a man, but really I was still just a child. All teenagers are shy to some degree, but I’d taken it to a record level. If a girl was to smile at me, then my face would redden, and much worse, if she was to actually talk to me, then I’d be unable to speak, or then I’d find myself saying something that was either silly or stupid. I hated that time of my life. But in those dark days, there was some sunshine. It was when I spent time alone with my Mother.
Now, even after all those years, I’m still able to remember, in graphic detail, what happened, and how I felt. And if I close my eyes while I’m thinking about those special occasions, it’s as if I’ve been transported back in time so that I can relive them.
“How was your exam?”
It had been a tough one, and on my way home I’d been worried about it. But I was going to play it cool, and hope that I’d done enough to pass.
Casually, I said, “It was OK.”
Something must have betrayed me, perhaps a nervous tick, or an unusual mannerism, because my Mother continued to look at me. And when my face went red, it told her that what I’d said was a lie. I would now get a telling-off for not studying hard enough. And I’d take it on the chin because I deserved it.
But surprisingly, there were no harsh words. Instead I got a big hug, and then, while she was still embracing me, some encouragement for tomorrow.
“I’m sure that you’ll do better in your Physics exam.”
“I will.”
And I would, because that was my favourite subject, and I was good at it. Then, to reward her for being so understanding, I moved my head so that I could kiss her on the cheek. And that’s where the kiss would have landed if she hadn’t moved her head as well at the same time as me.
It surprised both of us, and for a second or two, we stayed as we were. In a tight embrace, with our mouths together. Then we kissed, and there was passion in it, and not just from me. It was wonderful. All my senses seemed to be heightened. My Mother was a slim woman, with medium sized tits, but they were now pressing so hard against my chest, that I was struggling to breathe. And I could feel her nipples. That had aroused me, and my cock was now pressing hard against her thigh. She couldn’t fail to notice it. To an experienced lover, this would be nice, but nothing special. But to me, a shy eighteen year old who had never kissed a woman before, it was almost too much. As I enjoyed her sweet lips, and the subtle smell of her perfume, I was becoming lightheaded. And when her tongue pushed my lips apart, and entered my mouth, I almost came in my jeans.
Then it was over, as quickly as it had started. Without any warning, she had suddenly ended it. We were now apart, looking at each other. Both of us not knowing what to say. But it wasn’t long before her expression changed, from confusion to calmness. She was now back in control of her emotions. And without anything being said, I knew that this was something that we wouldn’t talk about. Both of us would pretend that it had never happened.
Then, in her usual commanding tone, she said, “Go to your bedroom and study. I’ll call you when the meal is ready.”
As soon as I was in my room, and the door was locked, I was furiously stroking my cock. And while I was doing it, I wasn’t thinking about some gorgeous pin-up that I’d seen in a magazine, or that sex goddess from the porn movie that I’d recently watched. I was thinking about my Mother, and how exciting kissing her had been.
You can understand why I’d acted that way when our lips had accidentally touched. I was a young man with raging hormones, and no way to satisfy the urges that they created, other than to jerk off, so I’d lost control. But it was different for my Mother. She was forty two, and a married woman. She had somebody to satisfy her sexual needs. My Father. So why had she kissed me so passionately? I didn’t know, but I was hoping that it would happen again.
For the next few days, then weeks, I thought about it a lot. I was imagining that one day, when I returned home from school, she would suddenly, for no reason, hug me, and then we would kiss again. And this time it would last for a long time, and end with us doing more than just kissing. But that didn’t happen. And she wasn’t giving me any indication, from what she said or how she acted, to make me believe that it ever would.
However, two months on from that incident in the kitchen, there was another ‘first’ for me. And like the kissing, it happened unexpectedly.
We were watching television together. My Father was in the armchair, and I was on the sofa next to my Mother. She had her feet up, and she was leaning against me. A blanket was covering her legs. There was nothing unusual about that, but then she did something that I couldn’t remember her ever doing before. She moved the blanket so that it now wasn’t just over her legs, it was over both of us. Almost up to our chins. But I wasn’t going to complain. It felt good snuggling up to my Mother.
If we’d stayed like that, it would have continued to be enjoyable, but it wouldn’t have created a memory that was still vivid after more than twenty years.
It took me a while to realize what she was doing, slowly, and almost imperceptibly, her right arm, that was underneath mine, was moving upwards, and it was taking my hand with it. My hand, or more specifically, my fingers, were now close to her breast. That’s when I thought she would stop. But she didn’t. She only stopped when my palm was fully on it. I was excited, because of where my hand was, but I was also nervous, because my Father was in the room with us. But when I glanced over at him, his attention was on the television. And if he was to turn his head and look at us, he wouldn’t be able to see where my hand was, because we were covered by the blanket.
I was inexperienced and naive, but I wasn’t stupid. My hand was now where it was, because that’s where she wanted it to be. There was nothing accidental about it. And she hadn’t done that so that it could rest lazily against her breast, it was there so that it could fondle it.
My first touch was tentative. This was new to me, and so I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Then I got bolder, pressing down more firmly, feeling the shape of it. I’d spent hours imagining what it would be like to do this. Not with my Mother, but with some of the girls in my class at school. My favourite was Emma, because she had the biggest tits. They’re mountains, and it’s a miracle that her bra and blouse are able to contain them. Mother’s are much smaller, but they were now exciting me as much as Emma’s ever could.