Come Hither


I woke to a buxom blonde goddess looming over me. I was a typical 19-year-old male, it was the 80s, and there she was. Heather Thomas, above me in bed, both of us almost entirely undressed. Of course, the bed was the top bunk in my friend Pete's room and Heather was a poster he had so thoughtfully tacked to the ceiling above it. I lay there staring at that pink bikini, or more accurately, what I thought lay beneath those tiny, wet pieces of fabric. The enticing lines of her stomach, the curves of hip and breast, the come-hither smile. Come-hither, all right. Something was certainly stirring beneath the sheets. I listened for Pete's breathing but heard only silence. He was supposed to go with his dad on an errand this morning and was due back at lunchtime. I didn't have a watch on, so I wasn't even sure what time it was. I leaned over to look at the clock on the dresser below. 8:18. I also noted the bed below was disheveled and, more importantly, empty. I was alone at last with Heather. Well, alone with my hand, but it would have to do. As usual.

I slid my hand down over the material of my briefs and found that very familiar occurrence, a rock-hard penis. I involuntarily arched my back and moved my hips as my cock reacted to the warm touch of my hand. My fingers and palm curled around the shaft as well as they could through the thin cotton underwear as I stared up at Heather. Come hither. Don't worry, I thought, I probably will. I slipped my hand into my underwear and grabbed myself directly. Despite the intimate familiarity of the two appendages, hand and erection, the first touch of flesh on flesh was still a pleasurable shock. At 19, masturbation was certainly far from new for me, but in an unfamiliar bed it seemed especially exciting on this morning.

I slowly stroked myself and closed my eyes dreamily and tried to imagine what Heather, the real Heather, would look like without that bikini. The little beads of water on her tanned body, while fixed in place in the picture, were far from immobile in my mind. They slowly made their way down her body, they welled then dripped off the tendrils of her hair and fell onto her shoulders where they then followed each other in rivulets over her oh-so-sexy clavicles, along the curves of her perfect breasts, down her stomach... my hand was pumping steadily now. That bead of water, mixed with her sweat I imagined (it looked hot and steamy in that picture), had traveled over that line of muscle along her abdomen and was heading for uncharted territory.

Almost of its own accord, my left hand pulled my briefs down to my thighs while my right hand busily worked on my now raging erection. The sheets and comforter rose and fell with the rhythm. The sheets. Crap, I can't mess up the bed, I thought. Come hither, yes, but not all over the sheets, Heather. I stopped stroking and with my left hand pushed the sheet and comforter down around my hips, exposing my cock. That was a thrill in itself. I could see my cock and Heather Thomas at the same time if I didn't look quite directly at either and at that point in my life, unfortunately that was as close as I was getting to having a girl seeing me naked and aroused.

I resumed stroking, and with the added thrill of being exposed to the warm summer morning air blowing in lazily through the window, I was going to come hither. Heather. Oh god. I felt the familiar surge in my stomach, in my cock. My heart raced. My hand was slick and my cock was sliding in and out of my fingers. I concentrated on the shaft near the head. Oh god, that felt good. It always made me come. I opened my eyes and stared at the poster. I wanted to soak in every detail of her as I came. My eyes roamed all over her body. Oh god. Oh god, I was close to the point of no return. Imminently hither, and then suddenly flying up to the finish line, there was no stopping now. The warmth washed over me as the surge welled up in my cock, my legs shaking, I was suddenly awash in orgasm. I exploded over my stomach, up my chest. Cum. Heather... Oh god that feels good. Oh. God. Streams of cum spurted hotly onto my chest and stomach. Oh, god, I thought, and probably even whispered in that orgasmic delirium where you don't really care about anything except how good it feels.

Oh god.

I sensed movement near the bedroom door. I jerked my head to the side, and immediately noticed the door was cracked open, just a bit. It couldn't have been like that the whole time, could it? Then I locked eyes with Pete's mom. She was standing with a laundry basket full of linens balanced on her hip, looking at me bemusedly. What seemed like an eternity (although it was surely milliseconds) passed and her eyes then dropped to my body, my now quite messy body. She didn't look too shocked, in fact it seemed like she was about to smile and say something, but I quickly reached for the sheets and frantically tried to pull them over myself as I turned my hips and lewdly jutting erection away from her. This motion broke the moment and she pulled the door shut with an all too audible click.

Maybe she didn't see? Idiot, of course she saw. Shit! Pete's mom just caught me jerking off. No, she didn't just briefly catch me masturbating, she caught me in the middle of an extremely obvious and explosive orgasm. No, she couldn't have... Oh god, I thought, and not the good "Oh god" anymore. The cum was starting to drip down my chest in a slick trail of hotembarrassment. Its wetness on my hands and body was now like evidence of a crime, I had to get rid of it.

Should have thought of that before, dumbass. I leaned over looking for a box of tissues, anything. None in sight, which was a surprise since Pete had posters of scantily clad 80's pinups all over his room. Heather Thomas and Paulina Porizkova both seemed amused by my predicament. I thought about using my underwear, but I didn't have a change of clothes and in my panicked state didn't even think of going commando. The blood was roaring in my ears as I jumped as delicately as I could off the bed, trying to keep most of the cum on my body. Stooped in that goofy contorted pose familiar to most guys trying not to drip cum all over the place, I walked over to listen by the door to see if I could make it to the bathroom without being seen and heard Pete's mom making noise in the kitchen downstairs (a lot of noise, actually). I figured I could make it. I opened the door a crack more to make sure, and that's when I noticed the box of tissues at my feet.

My embarrassment reached surprising new heights as I realized that she had thoughtfully left the tissues for me to clean myself up.

Which I did, nervously. What the hell was I supposed to do now? She was downstairs in the kitchen, Pete wasn't due back for hours, and she was my ride if I wanted to go home now. My ride. Jeez. I had never really thought of her sexually beyond the usual 19-year-old male leering at anything vaguely sexual. In other words, I was a guy who liked girls, she was female. Older, but attractive. I didn't really have a MILF thing going, in fact since it was the 80s that term didn't even exist. But now I was having some interesting feelings as the embarrassment died down a bit. She had seen me entirely naked, hard, jerking off. She even acknowledged it by leaving me tissues to clean myself up. It was a little exciting, until I realized of course that I needed to actually see and talk to her again, very shortly. I thought about staying in the room until Pete got home with his dad from whatever they taking so damn long to do. Plus it was turning out to be a nice summer morning and spending it cooped up seemed like a waste, although keeling over and dying seemed like a good option. But now the 80s pinups plastered around the room that got me into this trouble in the first place were making me feel a little guilty again. I got dressed, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

I could smell breakfast coming from downstairs as I slunk slowly down the steps like a condemned criminal. It smelled delicious and I was starving, but all I could really think about was that I had no idea what to say to her. I stopped before entering the kitchen and almost turned around and bolted out the front door, but I steeled myself as best I could and turned the corner. Pete's mom had her back to me at the stove, but turned her head to me and gave me a little smile. She turned back without saying anything and for the first time I realized that maybe she was as unsure of what to do as I was. My mouth was dry, though it should have been watering with the smell of whatever she was cooking wafting through the room. Omelette? Sausage? Oh yeah, definitely sausage, probably telling me my sausage was fried at this point.

I started, "Mrs.---" but she cut me off immediately.

"Cynthia," she said. "You can call me Cynthia."

I had never called her by her first name before, so this was new. I didn't know what to say.

"Look, I'm just going to say it," she said. "I know you're probably really embarassed about what happened, but don't be. At all. I'm really sorry, I should have knocked but I thought you'd be asleep and I was going to make breakfast so I just opened the door... and, well, saw you. I'm really sorry." She slid over the plate of eggs she had been putting together and smiled, like it was a peace offering.

"Thanks," I said. "You don't have to be sorry."

Cynthia looked at me with more intensity than I was used to and I looked down at my food. "No, I invaded your privacy and shouldn't have watched like I did."

Watched, I thought? Just how long was she standing there?

"It's perfectly natural, especially for someone your age. Believe me, I have two sons in college. It's not my first rodeo if you catch my drift," she laughed.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I pushed the eggs around on my plate. My mind was racing and it was hard to concentrate on any particular thought. Here I was discussing, well listening to a woman discussing, masturbatory habits. My habits, her sons'... it was a lot to process. On top of it, I was starting to find her candid talk more than a little exciting. It's one thing to talk about sex with friends who are just as clueless as you, it's quite another to be talking about it with a woman who obviously knew what she was talking about. Beneath the turmoil of embarrassment and confusion, a fantasy was starting to form itself. This attractive woman watching, enjoying, getting turned on by--

"Not that I ever walked in on either of them, but I just knew. I'd come across the magazines, wash the sheets."

Speaking of, I thought.

"Speaking of," she said. "Why don't you strip the bed for me? I'll put a load in and this will all be our secret. I mean it. I won't tell anyone, so this is between you and me. Finish up your breakfast first."

It felt good to hear it and even exciting to have a sexual secret shared with her. I nodded and finished the breakfast that at some point unbeknownst to me I had actually started eating.

"After that, how about a swim? I'm planning on going for one before it gets too hot and humid out there like it's supposed to this afternoon. Right now it's beautiful. Pete'll be back in an hour or two, I think."

I told her it sounded good. It did sound good. Although as I was walking up the steps, I realized I barely brought anything over yesterday, including a suit. It was still early summer and neither Pete nor I had even thought about swimming. Oh well. Maybe I'd still get to see Mrs.--Cynthia in a swimsuit. That'd be nice. I gathered the sheets from the bed, not too bad, really. I was happy about that. Even though we had just talked about it, I still felt guilty. I imagined her taking a look at some supremely soiled sheets and thinking I was a pervert, and it dawned on me that I did care what she thought of me. She wasn't simply just the mom in the house, the authority. She was someone I now shared intimacy with, even if I couldn't put that into words then.

I hadn't closed the door, but I heard her rap her knuckles on the wall outside the room. She peeked around the open door jamb, a wide grin on her face. "Just checking, never know!"

I managed to laugh a little. It was kind of funny. "Trade," she said as she tossed a rolled-up towel to me. I trapped it with my upper arms as I walked over to hand her the big ball of sheets in my hands. "There's one of Sam's suits in there, I know you didn't bring anything yesterday. It should fit, you're about the same size." Sam was Pete's older brother by a couple years. "He took his favorites with him to college, so I don't think he'll mind you wearing them," she said as she left the room. She turned, one hand on the doorknob (I tried not to look at the balled up sheets in the other) and added, "I have some sunscreen up here in my bathroom, get changed and I'll give it to you." With that she left, pulling the door shut. It clicked, of course. Had she deliberately made a show of making sure it was latched? Yeah, I think she did.

I threw the towel on the stripped bed and it unrolled itself. Oh man, you've got to be kidding. It suddenly dawned on me that, yes, Sam had been on one swim team or another pretty much right from the start. I imagine he shot out the birth canal and straight into a lane in an Olympic-sized pool like a baby torpedo. Of course his swimsuits were going to be Speedos. My current favorites were Jams, pretty much the exact opposite in terms of drag in the water and, more importantly, coverage. I looked at this little maroon piece of cloth, then at the Heather Thomas poster. What once looked like "come-hither" now looked like a smirk. I sat heavily down beside the towel and suit on the bed and looked out the window. It was indeed beautiful out, getting hot, and a swim would feel nice not to mention cleansing. I wasn't sure if I could do it, though. I never wore Speedos, especially not around anyone's mom. I don't know what I was afraid of. Chalk another one up to youthful insecurity. I heard Pete's mom coming back up the steps, and decided I was just going to skip the swim. And then I thought about it a little more. After what she had witnessed this morning, what's the big deal about a Speedo? Just put it on, go for a swim. Who cares? I put them on, trying not to look at all the 80s pinups surrounding me like a jury.

"Are you almost ready?" she called. It sounded like she was in her bedroom. OK, best not to think about her in her bedroom right now.

"Yeah, almost!" I said. I took a breath and opened the door. I looked towards her room and could see a shadow of movement beyond the open door. I assumed she was in her bathroom.

"I have the lotion. You can come get it if you want." I hesitated at the threshold of her room as a lightheaded sensation briefly washed over me. With all that had happened this morning, it felt like unknown territory being invited into the privacy of her room... and wearing basically nothing! Christ, what was I doing? Before I could turn right around and bolt, she peeked her head out of her bathroom.

She waved a bottle of sunscreen at me. "There you are. Could you give me a hand, first?" A hand? I was clueless.

"Sure," I said, edging closer. My hands clasped themselves in front of my suit, which somehow seemed to be getting smaller by the second.

"It fits," she said, barely giving me a glance. "Good. Now could you put some of this on my back?" All the Penthouse Forum stories I had drooled over didn't even cross my mind, even though the whole scene could have been ripped from the pages. I was so fixated on wearing the Speedos around her at all that I couldn't even manage to think "what if I get a boner in front of her?" I failed to notice her swimsuit until she handed me the sunscreen and turned around. She was wearing a bikini and boy, she looked good in it. Then I did manage to think "what if I get a boner in front of her." I tried to jam that idea back down where it came from. I couldn't just stand there thinking about it, so I opened the cap and poured some of the lotion in my hand. I reached out, slowly turning my hand to meet her skin with the cold glob of sunscreen in my palm. I touched her skin and she flinched. I jerked my hand away and stood there motionless.

She turned her head back to me and I must have been pale, because she immediately added, "it's just cold, go ahead."

I touched her again, this time leaving my hand flat on the expanse between her shoulderblades. She was in her early 40s and, I noted, in pretty good shape for it. Really good. 40 seemed old to me before, but the woman I was touching seemed anything but. Oh yeah, the butt. I glanced down as I spread the lotion on her back and took note of her ass. It wasn't the ass of a Heather Thomas. It wasn't airbrushed. Or printed on paper. No, this was a real, nice butt and it was real close. Right now it seemed like the sexiest ass I had ever seen. I couldn't believe I was here with her, in her bathroom, both of us scantily clad, caressing her body... Christ, I was rubbing lotion on the same spot on her back over and over. I put more lotion on my hands and worked on her shoulders, then down to her lower back. Which of course led me back to her ass. I couldn't look away. I tried not to get too close to her bikini bottoms with my hands, but I couldn't help but feel the rise from lower back to her ass as my fingers traveled down the lines of her back. Her body felt warm and wonderful. Then I didn't have to think about what would happen if I got a boner in front of her anymore. I realized it was happening because it was growing uncomfortably, pushed outward by the tight Speedo. I broke my gaze away from her ass and saw with horror that there was no disguising what was going on in my swimsuit. It looked like I had crammed a banana in there sideways and the thin material was doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

"All good?" she asked. She started to turn.

"No!" It came out like a squeak.

"What?" As she turned to face me, I quickly put my hands and the jar of lotion in front of my suit. Smooth, I couldn't have been more obvious. She glanced at my hands immediately, and whether she saw what was going on or not, she figured it out pretty quickly. She gave me an exaggeratedly stern look.

"Young man, do we have a problem?" A moment of silence passed and then she laughed, "I'm kidding. It's OK. I think I know what's happening. You do know I could see you staring at my butt in mirror, right?"

All I could do was stand there dumbly, hands still in front of my crotch. I know what I wanted to happen but I had no clue what was happening.

"Honey," she said. "Don't be embarrassed. It's natural. You don't have to worry with me, especially now. Just relax." Then she said the words I will always remember.

"Show me."

I was fully erect and pretty uncomfortable with the position it had grown into in the Speedos. I started to turn around so I could adjust it, but she put a hand on my arm to stop me. Gently she guided the arm out of the way and I was left with one arm still covering myself, hand clutching the jar of sunscreen like a shield. She looked at me and smiled.

"Hand it over, please," she pointed at the bottle. I slowly handed it to her, finally revealing the full extent of my predicament to her. Her eyes fell to my swimsuit.

Almost immediately, the faux authoritarian act disappeared and she looked like she felt sorry for me. "Oh honey, that looks uncomfortable. Go ahead and fix it." Then she leaned her butt up against the vanity and gave me a comical "I'm waiting" kind of look, arms crossed. She just needed to tap her toe to complete the look. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate.

"That's OK, turn around and do what you need to do, I can put some of this on your back in the meantime."

I gratefully turned around and quickly reached down and pulled the tight waistband away from my abdomen which allowed my erection to point where it wanted to, straight up. It's not quite where I wanted it to, but I couldn't do much about it. I heard her squirt the lotion in her hands and felt the shock of cold on my back. I flinched.

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byMorganDale© 15 comments/ 94826 views/ 69 favorites

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