Her openness was so different from my strict mother or the nuns at my school, I think I just felt comfortable that warm day. “Sometimes I touch myself and it feels good, but I’m afraid I do it too much or it will be bad for me.” She smiled, “Michael, most people touch themselves.” The ‘people’ nuance did not escape me. But I wondered how girls did it without a penis – I was so naive. She added, “Sex is special and hopefully loving when a man and woman can give great joy to each other, but when we are alone or have nobody in our life, playing with our private parts is a good way to feel better.” “How often do you masturbate?”
Oh God, I think I was turning into flames, I was blushing so hard, “Most days 3 or 4 times, I fibbed, but one time it was ten times.” She sucked in a little air and her breasts stood out with the breath.
“Well it seems everything works then!” She said, smiling, “Don’t worry about it Michael.” “What do you think about when you play with yourself?”
Now we were getting in uncharted territory. I wanted to tell her I hadn’t seen a pussy since little Annie showed me hers at 6 when I showed her mine at 5, nor did I tell her I dreamed of “my” Martha’s love box encased in dark hairy mystery. Instead, I said “Well I found a couple Playboy Magazines my brother left in the house before he moved out, so I look at them. Sometimes I think about girls I know.”
“Anybody I know?” she asked
“Once I thought about you.” Who the hell said that!? It wasn’t me, it couldn’t be! I wanted to die.
Martha looked at me, I think – my eyes were checking out the leaves of grass between my feet. I could feel her dark eyes on me. “Would you like a cool drink?” she asked as she tied her top.
I was saved! “Sure.” Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe she won’t tell my mother I’m a pervert. I could barely stand the conflict of guilt and extreme sexual tension.
We got up and Martha led the way to her back stairs. I followed her, looking at her ass wrapped so tightly in the bikini material flexing as she walked up the spiraling stairs. My cock was leaking and I looked down. A wet spot. Jeez, just what I need now. I tried to think of Carl Yastrzemski statistics; the Red Sox were the least sexy thing I could think of. No good, her ass kept waving at me saying ‘hi’.
In the kitchen, she bent into the cold refrigerator and asked if I wanted some lemonade. She popped up and poured two glasses. As she turned around I saw her nipples straining the black fabric. Her large C breasts were slightly sagged but full and the curves of her cleavage were directing my gaze to the two prominent nipples pointing at my chest.
After a sip she said, “Michael, you look uncomfortable. You can’t stand still and you have a pretty large erection – Don’t be embarrassed, please! I take it as quite a compliment.”
I was shy and speechless. She said, “Maybe I can help just a little.” And then she did the most amazing thing. She reached behind her, said, “Don’t tell anybody I did this.” and undid her bikini top. She lowered it and took the bra off. She stood there smiling as I soaked in every detail, every nuance. I took in the freckles in her cleavage, the quarter-sized areola. Her nipples were the size of my pinkie end joint and the whole thing was crinkled. Her breasts sagged only a little. There was one blue vein that made them so much more real than the faked ones in the magazines. I stood there numb and speechless.
“Can I touch them?”
“I don’t think we should do that Michael, but when you masturbate, it will be OK to think of me. I don’t mind. Do you think this will help until you get a girlfriend?” I nodded dumbly in response.
I don’t remember anything else about that day or how I got back home. I just remember staring at the most beautiful breasts I had ever (literally) seen. But the next day, I looked out my bedroom window, and Martha was across the way in her kitchen washing dishes in the sink. The kitchen windows were directly across from my bedroom windows. My shades were partly down and I could only see her from the waist up as I lay on my bed. She was wearing a plain white blouse with a couple buttons undone. I imagined I saw the swell of her cleavage. I felt so sexually aroused looking at the woman who said it was OK to play with myself. Looking at the woman who said it was OK to think of her.
Emboldened, I took off my shorts. My seven inch thick cock with sparse hair around it sprang above my small tight ball sack. I rubbed my legs and cupped my balls. Just then Martha looked across the space between the houses and saw me. She MUST have, because she stiffened and stopped drying the dish in her hands. I slowly stroked my cock, daring her to watch me. She stood there, silently. I stroked slowly, enjoying the feeling of my hand, thinking about Martha’s full breasts in front of me: imagining Martha washing dishes in the nude. I felt the pre-cum on my tip and spread it with my thumb. I felt my balls with one hand and stroked my cock, feeling the veins bulge. Martha put the dish down. If we had talked loudly, we could have spoken to each other, but we said nothing. She licked her lips. I saw her right hand go below the sink and her clothes rustled. I couldn’t be sure, but I think she was playing with her pussy, watching me beat my meat.
I groaned and then picked up the pace. It was my first cum of the day and I wouldn’t last too long. My cock throbbed in my fist and squirted thick ropes of cum up above my head, hitting the headboard. More cum spurted and hit me in the face and chest, finally dribbling onto my belly. I held my breath and electric tingles ran down my arms and legs; time stood still as I locked onto Martha’s eyes and tits. My legs had stiffened and toes curled. It was the best cum I had ever had.
Martha was watching me. I could see her frig herself by the movement of her arm, the rusting of her clothes and the jiggling of those magnificent tits. I lay there drenched in cooling cum all over my face and chest as I saw Martha support herself with one hand on the sink edge, and then her mouth opened in an O and she shuddered. A pause and she looked away, and then closed the shades of her window.
Nothing was ever said between us. Once more a few days later we had our mutual masturbation play on our private stage. But after that second time, although I tried to show myself on the bed, she closed the blinds in her kitchen window. Nothing ever again was ever said or done that was sexual between us. I have my suspicions she felt some regrets, but I don’t know. I felt lust, pleasure and thanks for this supportive woman helping me.