A Short Erotica Story
My friend was in trouble. We were just boys really – we had just started college – and Jon was already well on his way to becoming a hardened criminal. I worried about him. I wanted to help him somehow; what could I do? Perhaps I could involve someone… a teacher? Nah, that would be too risky. Our friends: what could they do? Jon would never listen. He’d mock us, any of us, it wouldn’t matter.
I concluded that there was only one person I could turn to: his mother.
He lived just a couple of blocks away. I could always drop by, casually, on a moment when I’d be sure he’d be out, pretending I was looking for him. It took several attempts, somehow he was always there while he shouldn’t have. It forced me to feign I was visiting him. He had this primal – perhaps criminal – instinct. He’d look at me pensively as I was sitting on the sofa in his room.
What’s up with you? He’d say. It was hardly a question.
And then there was that night at the beginning of December. I walked over to Jon’s place through the cold rain. I rang the bell and his mom opened. No, Jon wasn’t there.
I looked disappointed, shivered and ostentatiously wiped the rain off my coat.
Poor boy! Jon’s mother cried, please do come in!
I was informed that Jon’s sister would also not be coming home that night.
Poor boy, you look like a drowned cat! Jon’s mother cried. Please, do take a seat in front of the fireplace! I will heat you up in no time.
I raised an eyebrow. I wondered if I was too young to judge, let alone fully comprehend cryptic innuendo.
I sat down. The fireplace was indeed a welcome convenience.
You could use a glass of wine! the woman said. I confessed that I was certainly not opposed to this suggestion. She marched to the kitchen in her high heels.
I wondered why she was wearing high heels, all alone, in her own home. As she returned with two glasses and a bottle I realized I was magnetically drawn to her appearance.
We have to talk about Jon, I said when she had settled.
What about him?
She stared at me with her big light grey eyes.
I tried to explain my concerns without actually telling her what Jon was really up to. I wanted to convince her that she should play a more active role in his life, that she should guide him, perhaps even restrict him.
But it was hard work and it seemed hopeless. I did not know whether it was my inability to find the right words, or it was her stubborn refusal to accept any type of criticism concerning her family; it was probably both.
So we had our pointless discussion and drank wine. After my third glass, I started to lose focus, I no longer felt motivated to pursue our topic. I had warmed up and felt some sort of spell. I was gripped by this woman in front of me, with her large knowing yet naive eyes; her white and green blouse of what seemed like a very fine fabric; her black skirt, that stopped just before her knees; the black yet silverish stockings; her high heels.
The adornments of her body, which, although she was in her late thirties, seemed to be a most wonderful thing. A thing I wanted to, to… just wanted really. Really bad.
She had coquettish half long dark blonde hair, a humorous face, with a slightly pointy nose. Her full lips were accentuated by soft pink lipstick. Nervously I espied the swell of her bosom. Her perky nipples stared quite prominently back at me.
My palms became sweaty and my breathing irregular. I had no idea how to conduct myself. I wanted this woman so much! But I had never touched any woman in that way, not even girls of my own age. I had no experience at all.
So I drank more wine and tried to prolong the conversation, trying to find the right thing to say, or do. Perhaps I could steer the topic towards sex, somehow. Suddenly a reckless force that terrified me rose within me. Alarm gongs, bells, and alarms started clamoring as I heard myself say:
please excuse me for what I’m about to ask, but I would like you to teach me one or two things about…
Her eyes were now great big fog lamps. Was it surprise, disgust, anger, lust? I couldn’t tell.
…about what? She whispered.
My throat was so dry that I could hardly pronounce what I was going to say. I wasn’t going to, was I? There was still a way back. But I said it anyway:
Sex.
She blushed, then laughed, then gulped.
You’ve got some nerve on you, she finally said.
I’m sorry, I whispered.
We both stood up and I was about to leave when she suddenly smiled.
Nerves are a good thing, she said, a man needs them in his life.
She sat back down.
Come here, she spoke.
More than just my head was about to explode as I crossed the room towards her.
She looked up at me with a smirk. Her eyes gleamed.
Is this what you want to see? She said as she pulled her blouse down so that her bra and its precious contents became visible. She took my hand and placed it on the left one. I stroked it slightly, clumsily. She then taught me how to remove her bra. I was now confronted with her naked breasts and felt flustered.
She made me lick them and play with them. I admired their texture, which was firm yet soft to the touch. I looked in her eyes – now I truly dared to – and saw grey mists, nordic seas with no horizon; layers of silver stretching into ancient times.
She had become superhuman to me, but also the essence of femininity. She guided me through her clothes, removing bits here and there, laying bare her body. All waves and curves that made me drunk. So drunk. Then she touched my pants and said: poor boy, that must hurt, let me soothe you.
She took off my jeans – I was surprised how easily her strong hands dealt with the belt, buttons, and zipper – and sat me down in her chair. She placed her head in my lap so that her face nearly touched my penis. I shivered and felt cold sweat as she took it in her right hand. She caressed it and kissed it slowly.
Then she looked at me and solemnly declared:
what you have here will cause you a lot of fun during the rest of your life.
I laughed and answered that it already did.
She languidly licked its entire length, up and down, but she did not put it in her mouth. It was driving me utterly insane. Suddenly she got up. She towered above me, still wearing her high heels, her stockings, and her – unbuttoned – blouse. She looked at me haughtily and ordered me to follow her. I obeyed.
We walked to the kitchen. There she placed herself in front of the sink, facing it. She put her hands on the dresser and placed her legs on the floor so that they formed an inverted V. She pressed her ass outwards and said:
lick it.
Hesitantly I complied. The whole region between her legs was wet, but she ordered me to make it more so. I was overwhelmed with womanness. Then she said: now fuck me.
Are you not going to turn around?
No, I need you to fuck me in my ass.
I duly complied.
WRITTEN BY
Basilio Valentino
Guest Blogger
