Growing Into A Voyeur Ch. 01

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I learn things about my mom, myself and my family.
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My twin sister Michelle and I always loved our parent's date night. For one, it meant that we got a babysitter. I know, a kid wanting a babysitter doesn't seem normal. Well you never met my babysitter. Her name was Julie, and she was, to say the least, every teenage boys dream. For that matter, I am sure she was included in the dreams of many a male that met her. My dad was no exception and would often receive a shot in the ribs from my mother for his drooling over this young goddess. She babysat my sister and me every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, after school. Then of course, every two weeks on date night. Date night was the best because my sister would usually go to sleep early, and it actually gave me a chance to hang out with Julie.

Julie and I, as well as Julie and my sister, became very close over the years. She was a good friend and the person who I went to with any problem I was having: parents, school, girls, whatever the crisis was that week. We remained close even after she left for college, through email and text mostly.

This story is not about Julie, she is simply a catalyst. Continuing with my parents date night, the second reason we loved it, was because the mood in the house always changed on that night. My parents didn't get to spend that much free time together, so when they did they would always make the most of it. Love was in the air on those nights and it was infectious.

My father is a very successful sports writer/editor. He was a lacrosse star at the college where he and my mother met. He studied journalism, and as lacrosse is not a "career" sport, he decided to go into sports writing. When my mom got pregnant, he decided to take a job at a small (at that time unpublished) magazine as an editor. It was a huge pay-cut, and by huge, I mean he was making less than minimum wage when you consider the hours he was working. My mother was skeptical, for obvious reasons, being pregnant and just settling into a life with her new husband. The catch was, he owned 25% of the magazine.

This of course was a huge gamble, one my mother stood behind, and ultimately paid off. When retelling this story to friends and family, they would often make the joke that if it weren't for the magazine taking off, they probably wouldn't still be together. This joke is multilayered. For one, my mother's expression (tone, body language, ect.) is that of humor. She would have never left my father, for any reason, I assume. My father on the other hand retells the story with a more regretful undertone. The smile is there, but you can see something else in his eyes.

He was a good dad and provided more than enough comforts for myself, my mom and my younger sister (younger by 5 minutes). Michelle was a handful from the beginning. She had the beauty of my mother and the stubbornness of my father. Even from a very young age, she was hard to control. When she had her mind set on something that was it. At the same time, all she had to do was look at you with those big green eyes, and it was impossible to stay mad at her. A dangerous combination.

Her body was tight, built like a gymnast, which she was until her height and bust (inherited from my mom) made it difficult to pursue the sport in any serious context. In many ways she was a miniature version of my mom. She stood 5' 5", had perky breasts that were nearly the size of my mother's (maybe a medium-large C cup). But they stood out. Almost like gravity didn't exist within the confines her gorgeous young body. Her ass was tight and small. Similar to my mother's but on a smaller frame that fit her perfectly. Her smooth, soft, and tan skin had a glow that gave men, of any age, butterflies. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her and her stomach was beautifully flat with just the slightest hint of tone.

This takes me back to my main focus, my mother, Joann (or jo, as my dad called her). She's the most difficult person to really get a grasp on. Like I mentioned before, she was never an overly sexual person. This doesn't mean that she wasn't sexy. When looking at pictures of her from high school and college, I understand why my father, who had his choice of women in college, picked my mom. She was a classic beauty-queen-looking hottie.

Her hair was blonde, really blonde, perfectly straight and came to the middle of her back (a hairstyle she kept well after college). Her body was usually modestly covered, although I would come across the occasional photo of her in a bathing suit. These were still conservative, as was my mother's M.O. Regardless, those small moments in time, gave a small window into the treasures that my mother secretly held.

She had insanely long legs. She stands 5' 8", and that's mostly leg. Her ass was tone and tight, not as bubbly as my goddess Julie, but sexy in an almost girlish way. This was in contrast to her incredible breasts, the feature that first sparked my interest in my wonderful mom. It didn't take much snooping around to realize that her size, at age 43, was a lovely 34 D. Her face was classic, proportional and suited her style very well. She looks like she could have walked out of a WASPY home & garden magazine.

We had a good sized home gym in our basement, where she spent her free time while we were at school. As a result her figure was that of someone 10-20 years younger. She had the face of a mother with a model's body.

Her normal attire would best be classified functional (e.g. polo shirt, sweater, and khakis). This doesn't mean she wasn't attractive, just a MILF, at least not in the way the word is usually used. Every once and awhile you would get a hint of what she was hiding. When wearing jeans and doing housework, you could get a glimpse of her bending over and the fabric would stretch across her tight ass. Or when she would wear a modest knee-length skirt, and reaching up for something in the cabinet, you could see her legs stretched and the tone was still there. Or my favorite, in the morning, she would sometimes wear one of my dad's old lacrosse jerseys and a pair of pajama pants. The pants I could have done without, but when she would serve us breakfast, leaning over, you could get a glimpse of her beautiful cleavage.

These were fleeting glimpses, and not enough to satisfy the hunger and curiosity of a young man. But this leads me to my final reason for loving date night. Seeing Julie was always a pleasure. Seeing my parents loving and kissing each other was wonderful. But by far, the most captivating aspect of date night was my mother. It gave me a chance to see her out of context. She wasn't a housewife or a mother on those nights. She was a woman. A sexy and enticing woman. She was still conservative, but it was a sexy conservative.

The date night outfits, the secret peaks from across the room, and my personal fantasies are really just a precursor to this story. I never got the inclination that my mom shared the same desire for me as I did for her. For that reason and other obvious reasons, I never took things any further than what was previously mentioned. Occasionally I would sneak a peek at her underwear drawer or try and get a glimpse of her changing, but that was it.

My priorites and outlook on life started to change as I get older and started developing into a "man." Just like Michelle was the spitting image of my mom, I was a younger version of my dad. Also, just as my sister's personality resembled my father's, I was a product of my mom. This created an odd dynamic as we often paired together for certain activities. Michelle and my dad were more inclined to go camping in the wilderness, while my mother and I would prefer more cultural activities: trying new restaurants, museums, or just reading a book.

That doesn't mean my father was at all absent in my life by any means. In fact, he is the main reason that I started to play lacrosse. I could really care less about sports, but it was important to him, so I played. And of course, a young boy always wants to impress his father. Ironically, his pushing me to play the sport is really where my story starts to take formation. I was 18 and in my senior year of High School.

Trying out for lacrosse, I found I was overwhelmed by how good all the other players were. I had watched the sport often with my dad. I could "talk the talk" but I had a hard time "walking the walk." However, the coach was a friend of my dad's from high school, and he agreed to take me on the team under a few conditions: I had to get bigger, stronger, and learn to throw the ball. Because my height was several inches over 6 feet, I was a natural defenseman. My problem was that I had almost no muscle to speak of.

I was the "lanky kid" and it sucked for more reasons than just lacrosse try-outs. Most girls could not see past my lanky exterior and somewhat nerdy-conservative personality. The ones that did were either too unfortunate to date, or my lack of self confidence prevented any meaningful interaction. My experience was limited to a singular event, which involved a wedding, a lot of booze, and one of my mom's married friends (who I'm pretty sure wasn't even conscious of who she was making out with).

Bottom line, something needed to change. I wanted to be the son my father would be proud of, and more importantly, someone that girls wanted to fuck. I decided that the best way for me to go about this was to change my image. I didn't want to be the nerdy lanky guy anymore. I wanted to be like my dad, the way he was at my age, big and strong and someone that women lusted over.

I was way too nervous to go to the gym at school. People would probably just laugh at me, and even if they didn't, I wouldn't know what to do. Where the hell do I start? That is when I decided to ask Julie for help. She spent more time in the gym than anyone I know (with the possible exception of my mom).

When I got home I went to the kitchen, grabbed a water from the fridge and the phone, then sat down in a stool at the island in the middle, my back facing the door, and started to call Julie. I began to explain my problem , hoping for any help at all.

"EWWW, I hate big muscled guys, its so disgusting" she said, "I think your great the way you are, and in the long run it will pay off, trust me. As soon as you grow up, and those little bitches get some sense, they will realize what they are missing. Don't lose what you have."

"Julie, I'm not talking terminator muscles, I just want a goddamn date," I responded.

"I know where your coming from, and trust me, I didn't always have the foresight I have now, I just don't want you to lose who you are and become some asshole jock," she replied.

"That doesn't help. I'm sure when I grow up I will have no problem with dating. But for now, I need SOMETHING. I think my damn hand will fall off if I have to mastu..." I caught myself before finishing what I was about to say.

"Excuse me?" Julie said in a joking tone, "what was that about your hand falling off.... From what?"

"Nothing, just... you know... I'm not talking to you about this." I said, trying to regain some sort of dignity.

"Masturbate? No shit you masturbate. I used to babysit you remember? You think I'm stupid? Those hour long showers you would take... you're not that clean," she said with a giggle, "and you weren't exactly discreet with those 'slop, slop, slop' sound I would hear from outside your bathroom."

"JULIE! I can't believe you. I'm so embarrassed. You must think I'm a disgusting pervert." At this point, I was ready to just crawl into a hole and die. At the same time, the thought of my babysitter listening to me jerk off, gave my stomach a familiar twinge.

"Jesus, chill out. Everyone does it. And I didn't sit outside your door and listen because it was gross." She said, as her tone changed slightly from playful to sexy.

"Why the hell did you listen then? So you could embarrass me at some later point in my life, when I was already feeling like a huge looser?" I said, trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

"First of all you are NOT a loser. I think you're very good looking and a very cool guy. That is why I would listen outside your door." As she said this my cock gave an involuntary twitch and I could feel the blood flowing down to my abdomen. "Second, it's very normal to masturbate, we ALL do it."

"Ha, are you saying that YOU, Julie, the babysitter who probably caused a thousand erections has to resort to masturbation?" As I said this I immediately regretted the part about erections, a little out of character for me, but my stiffing cock was starting to have an effect on my brain I guess.

"Whoa there, who's the inappropriate one now? But now that we are being honest, yes, I do masturbate. What do you think you I did when you and your sister would go to bed? Read a book?"

"Seriously?" was all I could manage to get out at that point. I could feel my cock stretched out along my leg and the head was just poking out of my lacrosse shorts. I managed to finally spit out "why were you so horny?"

"Good question. For one, I am just a very horny person, naturally, I can't help it. Two, it would always turn me on to hear you in the shower. To be honest, I always had a bit of a crush on you, but could never do anything about it. I had plans, and jail was not one of them, haha." My cock started to ache, and almost involuntarily, I pulled my shorts down enough to release some of the pressure.

At this point, I could not take the pressure from my hard-as-steel cock anymore. I quickly glanced around the room to find some oil or lotion; anything that would help my tame the beast in front of me. I grabbed a bottle of sun tan lotion that was on the counter and leaned back slightly in the stool to lower my shorts around my ankles, ignoring the voice in the back of head telling me that my mother and younger sister might be home any minute. Surprisingly, this only added to my current predicament.

I took it in my hand and attempted to continue this very odd and incredibly stimulating conversation, while at the same time rubbing some lotion on my hand and cock.

"I don't know what to say..." I said, hoping that she would drive the conversation. I let out and involuntary moan as the lotion first dripped onto my cock. It was cold on my hard cock and felt like a cool breath as I slid it up and down over my swollen tip.

"Seems like you want to say a lot... What was that? Are you...," she inquired playfully.

"What are you talking about" I said, unable to stop, but trying to be conscious not to make any more groans.

"It sounded like you were moaning or something, kind of like what I used to hear coming from your shower..." she said, playfully but with a curious tinge.

"Well...ummm... you said everybody does it, and considering our current conversation, you should understand." At this point I realized two things: 1. I was getting much bolder and confident with the conversation and 2. She could hear what I was saying in the shower. I wondered how close she had really been, but more importantly, what she had actually heard.

"I don't care, I would just like to know if I am making you hard. Are you playing with it? I can hear the lotion... is it hard? Mmm... I've always wondered what it was like," as soon as those words hit my brain, I could feel my balls start to tighten and the cum build up.

"Oh shit... AHHHH... yes. Fuck." I shot one of the biggest loads I have ever experienced. It landed on my hand, legs, and even shot as high as the kitchen counter. As soon as my erection died, so did my confidence. All of a sudden I started to second guess the context of the conversation. I started to feel like a pervert and freak.

"What's wrong? What just happened? Did you do something naughty? Where are you right now?" as she said this, and as I was searching for an excuse to get off the phone, I heard the front door close.

"I gotta go, I think my mom and Michelle are home", I said, hanging up, without waiting for a response.

The kitchen was close to the front door, and I had maybe 15-20 seconds to "clean up." I grabbed a paper towel and wiped off my hands and shorts and pulled them up quickly. In my rush to get to my room, I had forgotten about the sizeable glob of cum I had left on the kitchen island. Before I had time to even consider what to do about it, I heard my mother's voice.

"Honey? We're home. What are you doing? Will you help me carry in the rest of these groceries?" I quickly checked myself in the mirror, attempted to straighten myself out and headed for the kitchen to meet my mom. All the time, praying that she didn't see my little mess on the kitchen counter. Hopefully, if she did, she would, she wouldn't recognize it as my cum.

"Sorry mom, I was just... ahhh... cleaning my room up." I said, attempting to regain some of my consciousness.

"Oh. Good boy. I could have sworn I saw you sitting in the kitchen when I was walking up the driveway. Why are your all flushed honey?" She asked.

I felt like an idiot. I had a million questions running through my mind. Why wouldn't I close the curtains? Or better yet, NOT jerk off in the kitchen? How much did my mom see? What did my SISTER see?

"Uhh... I dunno mom. It must be from all the cleaning, I guess."

This was obviously a lie, but she didn't press the issue. I felt like she knew I was lying, and either didn't really care, or worse, she saw what I was doing and just didn't want to bring it up.

"Well go get the rest of the groceries for me and start putting these ones away. I bought you one of those éclairs that you like. You can have it after dinner or as a snack before you do your homework." She said, as she started to put the groceries away.

It wasn't until I was halfway down the driveway that I realized I forgot to clean up my damn cum from the kitchen island. It was too late to turn back now, if she hadn't seen it yet, she would have definitely been curious about what I had to run back into the house to clean up. I decided it was best to just get the groceries as quickly as I could and try to keep my head about myself this time. When I walked through the door, I saw my sister typing on her phone. When she looked up at me she had her devious wide-brimmed shit-starter smile on. She walked right past me, never breaking eye contact, and then stepped into the kitchen in front of me.

I couldn't help but take in the beauty that was crossing in front of me. It was a warm day and almost like a uniform, Michelle was wearing the tiniest of shorts and a very tight fitting polo shirt that gave off just the slightest hint of belly button. On this day, the shorts where white cotton, and seemed to be extra short. They weren't obscenely tight, but tight enough that you could see her little ass cheeks bounce one at a time as she walked from the hallway to the kitchen. She turned around and looked at me, stretching her arms out and showing off her tight little smooth belly, that she knew men desired.

"God", I thought to myself, "If I could have just an ounce of her confidence... she must know what she's doing right now."

"Whatcha doin bro? Lookin a little red aren't we? You must have been working out... HA, yeah right." She said this with a hint of sarcasm and humor. I wondered to myself if she actually knew something or if she was just trying to get me worked up.

"Haaaa. How about helping with the groceries instead of texting your friends all day? We know that's what you do at school all day anyway." I shot back, not too hard through, because if she DID know something, I didn't want her blurting it out to get me back.

"Nahhh, I think I'll sit down and relax. I'm so very tired from shopping," she said this in her best cute little girl voice, which she has mastered over the years. I have to admit, it was pretty cute. "Plus, Julie is helping me with my homework."