Mama had me when she was only sixteen. Way, way too young. I think she feared that I would end up like her, which is probably why I ended up at St. Mary's School for Girls. She spent my entire life trying to make sure I didn't learn the hard lessons she had to when she was still a kid. So I stayed pure and innocent as a babe through my entire childhood.
Poor mama. I think she knew someday I would have to learn about the opposite sex. She probably dreamed that she would unveil Life's Great Mysteries to me the night before my wedding.
But it didn't work out that way. Instead, on a rainy day the week after my 18th birthday, I became well too aware of everything I had been missing. Sometimes life's just like that.
I was soaking wet by the time I got home from school. Mama's car wasn't in the garage, I noticed, but Joe's was. Strange. He usually didn't get home till after I did. I left my soggy shoes on the step, hoping they'd dry out by tomorrow.
As I dripped my way through the house, I stopped in the bathroom to grab a towel, and mopped at my hair and clothes as best I could. My standard white blouse clung damply to my contours, and the plaid skirt of my uniform hung limp. Still rubbing my hair dry, I was heading to my bedroom for a change of clothes when suddenly I heard a moan.
Joe must have been in the bedroom. The door was closed.
My real father cut out on my mom before I was born. Not too surprising, I guess. They were both just kids then, after all. So Joe was my step dad. He and mama had gotten together when I was about ten. He was younger than mama by about six years. Mama was still beautiful though, even at 34, and she looked like she might be under 30. But mama was always afraid that Joe would one day think she was too old, and would leave her for a younger woman.
That's why I crept to the door and opened it just a crack, that day.
Joe was alone. I could see that right away. But I was so stunned by the other stuff I saw at the same time that for a moment, I couldn't move. Joe was alone, sprawled on the bed in his boxers, rubbing a large hard lump in his crotch.
That's when I noticed the television. Joe and my mom like watching the news at night while they're in bed. But the news wasn't on the tv today. Instead, there was a naked blonde woman with a black man's face planted in her crotch. She was moaning, and that was the sound I had heard.
I watched, trying to figure out what was going on. The woman on the television writhed and squirmed and moaned, while the man's head moved. She held her breasts in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over the nipples. Suddenly the camera angle shifted and I could see what the man was doing between her legs. He was licking this woman's vagina. For some reason, I got a curious little shiver down my back when I realized this woman was enjoying it.
"Mmm. There's a pussy I'd love to tongue-fuck," Joe murmured.
Tongue-fucking. Was that what it was? I pressed my legs tighter together, realizing that I was tingling down there. Almost against my will, I pushed the door open a little wider so that I could see more of what was going on. Joe's hand was inside his boxers now. Now I could see both him on the bed and the whole television.
The man continued licking, faster now. The woman was sitting on a couch, doing a split, holding her ankles apart in her hands. Her breasts began to jiggle. Then the camera slowly zoomed in. The man was sliding his tongue in and out of her pussy and I could see it in full detail. The woman moaned as the man's incredibly long tongue slid several inches of inside of her, wriggling all the way. My nipples suddenly contracted and inside my underwear I felt a spurt of wetness. I nearly moaned myself.
Joe's abrupt movement caught my attention. He had whipped his boxers down, revealing something I had never seen before in my entire life. Underneath the boxers, where the lump had been, sprouted a long, hard object. He wrapped his hand around it and began to pump it in his fist.
On the television, the man had risen to his knees between the woman's spread legs. Sweat was glistening on his buttocks as he began to press himself closer to her, jogging his rump back and forth. Joe began to groan, sliding his hand up and down that odd, fleshy shaft even faster.
"Yeah baby, I want that pussy on my cock," the man on tv grunted.
The camera angle shifted to a side view. Just like Joe, the black man had a long, hard object that he was pushing into the woman's body. Cock, was it? Impartially, I noticed that Joe's cock wasn't anywhere near as large as the other man's. But it didn't matter. I was enthralled, watching this man slide that monstrous thing into the woman's body, and it sliding out shiny and wet. He took up a rhythm, in and out, in and out, the woman begging him to do it harder, to do it faster. I hardly noticed that down below, between my own legs I was throbbing in time with his movements.
I lived for the close-ups of that hard black cock pistoning itself into flesh. My heart was pounding and I nearly forgot to breathe. More than anything else in the world, I wanted this to be done to me. I needed it.
Gradually, the black man began to pick up speed. He thrust himself harder and harder into her pussy, sheathing himself all the way up to the hilt. The harder he thrust, the more I could hear the wet sounds they made as they came together and pulled apart.
And then Joe's hand froze on his own cock. He grunted and a stream of thick white fluid gushed from its tip onto his belly. After spasming a few more times, he went limp.
Somehow, that broke the spell on me. My knees felt wobbly and I realized I was cold and wet and hadn't changed my clothes. I was about to leave, frustrated, unsure of what to do about the way I was feeling. But then Joe sat up on the bed, reaching for the box of kleenex on the night stand, and locked eyes with me.
(To be continued.)