tagMatureMy Tryst with Forbidden Youth Ch. 02

My Tryst with Forbidden Youth Ch. 02

bymichie©

I awoke from what felt like a very long and deep sleep, the faint recollection of what might have been a dream faded into the morning air upon reflection. Far from being alone, I was entangled with my lover. We passed the night, in what is best described, as one body. We were intertwined and overlapped, twisted together by our limbs under my sheets. The embrace felt good and I was in no pressing need to free myself from the consuming hold. The world had settled again, after the terrible rain storm from the night before, I could hear the birds chirping outside and the early morning rays from the sun lent to the feeling of rebirth.

I felt sensitive to every part of my familiar surroundings. I was in my own bedroom, the same bedroom I had slept in for the past 15 years with my husband. Almost everything was the same: the dresser was in the same place, the armoire that housed my excess clothes was still in the corner, the closet that seemed to always be partially open still was, my nightstand was piled with books and bookmarks, the hardwood floor was clean but still in need a refinishing. There was something different about the mirror that stood on top of the dresser facing the bed, it was still the same mirror, in the same position but it's in the reflection that made all the difference.

I held him tightly in my arms with his head pressed into my breast; his hair was messy and slightly covered his sleeping eyes. We had slept naked, falling asleep at some point between softly placed kisses we each tried to prolong with just one more. The passion and the energy that fuelled the night had settled into a sublime feeling of calmness. I just wanted to watch him sleep, all the while, hoping the morning light would last forever.

I used my free hand to move his hair back, to look at his beautiful and somehow unusual face. His face was one that changed a lot depending on the angle, the light and his expression. At times he looked like he had the most baby face, while at others he looked very manly and even rugged. He could have fit into a boy band as the dangerous and dark one, or in a truck commercial as the wild off roader throwing caution to the wind. I just couldn't make up my mind as to which one without switching to something else the next time I looked at him. At that moment, with his sleeping head was between my breasts, he looked the most baby faced I had seen him; completely peaceful and secure and I wanted that to last.

I cradled him like this, for what seemed like blissful hours, as I tried hard not to gather my thoughts. I resisted the urge reflect because I felt the moment I did he would have to leave. We were in my bed, this was certainly my room, but this was certainly not my husband. At only 20 years of age, Andrew Ashton was probably too young to be anyone's husband. He was in shape, but had the body of a young man, lanky in certain ways, this was especially noticeable when he was completely naked. The sunshine had barely begun and he was already impressively tanned in a what that didn't look store bought. I had just met him the night before, within hours we had engaged in illicit activity in my very own basement, before I hid him away in my bedroom. The danger, excitement and unrestrained passion had released chemicals into my head that were not allowing me to acknowledge reality at this point.

A short background into what led to this most illicit embrace is a short foray into the realm of primal urges that go unsuppressed. Decent people take pride in suppressing these urges; indeed, family, society and balance in our lives require that we suppress these urges. The first crack in my resolve came when my son introduced me to his friend and his friend flashed a confident and reserved smile at me. I was taken with his looks, but I wasn't sure he was taken with mine. I'm 23 years his senior, and I have many of the telltale signs of experience. I carry a little more weight in my hips than I did 23 years ago, I have some lines on my face that I have given up the fantasy that moisturizer will cure, my body is a bit more pear than hourglass and I am comfortable with that. I stand 5'7", with brown hair that curls and bit and can look stringy at the bottom, deep grey eyes.

He stood out, to me, in the small crowd of boys my son had invited over to drink before a party that was happening close by. We live in Canada, this was the May long weekend, a weekend most use as an excuse to drink to excess. The boys were using my house as a place to start and a place to crash, my plan had really been to avoid them. Since I already described the events elsewhere, in rather graphic detail, I won't get into them here. What started as harmless flirting ended with an illicit sexual encounter on my washing machine.

I was playing the moments back in freeze frames and slow motion all the while I held my lover ever closer to my body. It was impossible to escape: the sex had an impact that I was not going to be able to shrug off. It had revived nerves that had layed dormant for so long that they were all but forgotten. These nerves, which had been starving for energy, were now buzzing in gratitude for their revival. I knew I couldn't be in love, I barely knew the young man, and our places in life precluded the possibility of a shared experience. I couldn't be in love, regardless of this rational fact, my body was trying to convince me otherwise. It was as if there was another mind at work, one that was terrified that I would let my awakener go.

I mean what were my options? Lay with Ash forever, hope that the door never opens? Announce to my family that I was moving in with my 20 year old boyfriend? I could just move in with him, and his roommates, and live happily ever after. After all, what was I to him anyway? The likely answer was simply a conquest, and that didn't bother me, I've been a conquest before and really the role does have its own special perks. Perks aside, none of them make the foundations for a successful relationship of any kind.

Removing the nonsense from the equation, there were two very real options left. The most parsimonious, prudent and moral would be to end the entire thing at that moment. Wake Ash from his slumber, tell him that it had all been a mistake. Call him a car to meet him a block away, slowly sneak him out of the house before anyone in the basement awoke. Leave him no doubt that he was out of my life, and leave him no doubt that I regretted my actions. Bottle all my emotions and passions from the night before, close them off to him and everyone in the world. Find a way to turn his emotions against him, make sure that he hates me, so that he never tries to open it again.

That would be the sane thing to do. That would provide some measure of damage control. Any hint of innuendo could be plausibly denied, there really wasn't any proof anything happened. The other option was beckoning like a roller coaster to ruin; a ride where all the danger signs are visible to all and you take it anyway. This option, was of course, to continue an illicit affair with the young man who was not quite half my age. Knowing that any and every minute that I spent with him was adding more risk to being caught, risking more than just my marriage, but risking utter humiliation and ostracization. A scarlet tattoo on my forehead would be too light a mark for an indiscretion of such proportions.

These thoughts were formulating in my head as my lover woke from his peaceful sleep and engaged me in a kiss that was melting away all the rational points made in the sane route. Our kissing became more frantic and impassioned and as his hardness entered me slowly in the morning light I knew that the illicit affair was the only way open to me.

"ugghh, honey slowllllly," I managed to whisper in a groan while wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, "weee cann't make anyyy no..ise..." I continued in laboured syllables.

Ash didn't really need the direction, his pace had been slow to start. He smiled in response and then kissed me pushing in deeper at the same time. Every movement was slow but impassioned and deliberate. The heat was building between us, boiling and looking for a place to overflow. Ash placed kisses all over my neck, face and head, seeming to look for a moment my legs would relax their grip so he could push back into me and my legs could lock again and pull him even tighter. Laboured breaths were still escaping my lips and I looked for ways to muffle them. For his part Ash would grunt under his breath at the chance to trust into me. Adding to our less than silent love making was my old wooden bed frame creaking filling the air in otherwise silent moments.

There wasn't much away around making some noise; we were fucking. The further we got into it the more caution was abandoned. He was pushing me to the edge, and I knew that if I reached it I would need to let something out. He freed himself momentarily and gave me four or five hard and unrestrained thrusts. I buried my head into his muscular shoulder and bit down in an attempt to control my scream.

He stopped with his hard cock buried inside of me, when my head fell back on the mattress our eyes locked. I could feel the excitement coursing through his body and see it in his eyes. I could tell, in that moment, that he never knew sex like this, this sort of passion was foreign to him. He had, for the first time, tasted a bit of pain during sex; he liked it.

I'm not sure on what terms he understood this while it was happening, but it was clear he wanted it to continue. On some level he accepted the overflowing passion from my body and took it into his, the fits he was giving my body were being absorbed back into his skin. He broke our gaze and lowered his shoulder back to where it could meet my mouth and shoved himself in and out of my very hard. The bed must have been creaking quite loudly but there was too much noise in my head for me to stop that. All of my energy was focused on one place and I was almost spent. I knew that my orgasm was coming and that it wasn't going to be any sort of normal orgasm. We had been making love for over an hour, mostly in a slow and uneven pace, the build up and tension was now being taken out and he was fucking me hard.

"Giveee mee your...hand..." I said with such a sense of urgency that my lover didn't dare question.

I took his left hand in my mouth and bit down very hard. I looked up at his face, it was a beautiful sight to behold. His baby features, so prominent between my face, had vanished. In their place was a fierce look of a passionate man. My last bite had invoked a look with a hint of anger and aggression in his lovely blue eyes. They met my helpless, pale grey eyes in a moment of sensuous understanding. With my teeth clamped hard on the knuckle of his pinky finger he started to fuck me with unbridled intensity. Each trust had a purpose, as if to give back the pain I was inflecting on him, the harder I bit the harder he slammed into me.

I kicked my legs in the air and writhed around under his weight. It felt like my entire body was cumming. Abruptly, it all came to a stop. His body jerked a few more times, I released his hand and he collapsed, exhausted, on top of me. We savoured a few more moments of being connected before Ash rolled off me to the side.

"Michelle," he whispered in stunned amazement, "you broke my skin."

He held his hand out for me to see. I had, in fact, drawn blood with my top pointy tooth on his knuckle. It wasn't a major cut, but enough for some blood to be running down his wrist. The young man was still breathing hard and did not look at all upset, it was more a look of awe as to how much he enjoyed it. I could tell, in that moment, that he had never been fucked in such a way. It was a wake up to his senses, a realization just how salacious unexpected physical contact could be. He was just sorting out his sexual identity, there were many things hidden that he didn't know. I thought back to when I was 20, I had no idea about the things I would come to enjoy. He kept looking at me, and then back to his hand.

"I've never cum that hard in my life..." Ash told me as if to finish a thought.

I gave him a knowing smile. His body was alive with passion and wonder at the unknown pleasures sex could still have in store for him. We had only made love twice, yet we already had an understanding with each other. We felt a certain connection to each other's bodies where permission was understood. The first night he had taken some liberties and in the morning I had done the same.

We finished each other's thoughts the way the morning started, with a long and passionate kiss. I knew I was going to have to burn the sheets anyway, so the blood wasn't a big problem. The bigger problem was the time, I had to get him out of there before the boys woke up, no matter how much I would lament his leaving.

I managed to free myself from his grasp and get off the mattress. I went to the bathroom to find some disinfectant for his hand. Being a pretty domesticated house, it wasn't hard to find some iodine and a bandage. We sat on the edge of the bed, both naked, I lovingly dressed the small wound that I inflicted. Caring for him in that way felt erotic to me. I took special care, playacting that it was more serious than it was.

The absurdity that arises in these situations is hard to overstate. The irrational reasoning of a lust filled brain is something that I'm not sure anyone will quite understand. After being fucked, in what turned out to be anything but silent manner, my attention turned to stealth. Any rational person would have realized that, if anyone was awake, they would have heard the bed nearly collapse before they were going to hear any whispering from two levels up. Regardless, my no talking rule went into effect.

"Be quiet!" I said in my loudest whisper to his attempt to speak.

Ash looked as confused as he should have been. "But...but...but.."

"But, what if someone is upstairs!" I whispered again. "He could have slept upstairs!" I emphasized my point.

Ash was laughing, at either the ridiculousness of my protests at that point or the prospects that we were actually heard. If he was awake upstairs there wouldn't have been any doubt that his mom got fucked by this point.

I did see the sick humor but I was unmoved to take part in the joke I found my phone and started typing a text message, "Enter your number." Then I handed my phone to him.

He caught on quick, for a young guy, and sent the text to his phone. We planned out the rest of the morning through texting messages to each other in the place of words. As much as I would have liked to jump back in bed with him, I knew that the time and the place wasn't now. Luckily it was still rather early, not quite 10:00am, and that there was a good chance nobody would have stirred for the entire romp.

I relayed the escape instructions to him by text. This was nothing complicated, but I felt the need to express the need for him to be quiet at the end of each further instruction. He was to get dressed and make sure that he took everything he brought into my room out of my room. He was to make his way quickly down the stairs and out the front door that I would be holding open for him. His cue to make his dash would be a text message letting him know the coast was clear. I used an app on my phone to have a car meet him down the street, he was to go there and wait. I gave him some money for the car. That was the plan, simple, with very few moving parts.

When I left my room to perform the initial check to ensure the coast would indeed be clear, it felt as if I was entering a different world. That I was entering a colder world and an all together less safe one. The beams of sun, so lovely in the bedroom, do not reach the hallway. The warmth we had built with our love making in the bedroom dissipated quickly when I stepped outside that bubble.

The safe thoughts were replaced by fear, not the fear of an innocent woman, but the fear of someone who knows that she has done awful things. As callous and methodical my actions were that morning, I never lost sight of the fact that I was in the wrong. Being in the wrong with my son's friend added a strange dimension likely unfamiliar to most unfaithful spouses. I was more terrified of being caught by my son than my husband. I couldn't even face those cons

I noticed that my son's door was closed, this didn't mean that he was in there, I hoped to the stars that he wasn't, but it meant that I didn't want to risk waking him if he was by opening the door to check. Caught looking guilty while covering up evidence wasn't high on my list either, if I were already caught then I was caught and the confrontation could wait until Ash was gone.

The open areas of the house were simpler. I stepped lightly, and made very little noise surveying the house. In the living room there was a boy I didn't recognize sleeping on the sofa; dead to the world. In the basement, there were young men passed out in various positions. I didn't see Justin, my son, anywhere. I figured that I had to know where he was before sending Ash for the door, I re-evaluated my position of mere minutes ago and decided to find out.

I tiptoed back upstairs and decided to quietly open the door to his room. I opened it just enough to peek in. There were two people sleeping on his bed, but neither was him. One was a pretty blonde girl, and the other a friend of his, the girl as naked and the boy had his shorts on. I closed the door and almost sighed at my luck. If anyone heard sex that morning, I, probably, would not have been the prime suspect.

Emboldened by my good fortune, I went to quietly open the front door and hold it open. Satisfied with the state of sleepiness in the house I sent the text. Ash made his way for the door. Once on the porch, I joined him for one last kiss, cognizant of nosey neighbours, I made it a quick peck.

"Text me later." I said in his ear, feeling the entire ping of a needy teenage crush.

I really didn't want to be apart from him at that moment. He nodded and returned my kiss before making his way down the street. I felt that uneasy jealously at no particular object before he was even out of view.

"Mom!" I froze in my tracks coming back in the house. Only one person could have been on the other end of that. I went stiff, learned what your heart skipping a beat meant and failed to answer.

"Mom! What are you doing outside in your robe?"

It took me a split second, but, I realized that he didn't know. He was awake, but somehow he didn't know. I tried to gain my composure as quickly as I could.

"Oh, it's a nice morning out, just wanted to take in some air...seems to be less fresh air in the house than usual." I added to last part just to make sure he knew I was my sarcastic self and not acting weird.

"Honey, you look awful." This needed no exaggeration, he really did look awful.

"Yeah, it was a late night, I was puking in the bathroom." Justin told me rather matter of factly.

At least it explained where he was while I scouted the house. There was also a pretty good bet that he hadn't been awake before he went to purge his system. With dumb luck and perfect timing it seemed like I had performed a tap dance in a mine field and would live to tell about it.

"Want me to make you some tea, I'm making some for myself?"

"I don't know mom, maybe I should just go back to bed."

"Ahem, I think your bed is being used at the moment." I said, while giving him a knowing look.

"Oh yeah, that." Justin was smirking at the prospect that I knew, "Chris met a girl last night, I said it was ok."

"Do all the girls shave down there?" I inquired rather lightly.

"Ma-um!!" Now he was chuckling quite openly and holding his side indicating it was hurting his hang-over, "how do you know?"

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