Alright, so I'm a horny bastard, what else could I do? I've never considered myself very bright, neither would I say I'm blessed with an abundance of forethought...
So, as I get this off my chest, let me go on the record and say, yeah, I know this was a bad idea going in. A spectacularly bad idea. A spectacularly dirty, risky idea. But I'll risk anything to get what I want, and what I wanted, what I couldn't stop myself from wanting, was my dad's new wife. I wanted to fuck my step-mom.
* * *
Maybe this would have all worked out differently if my mother had died or if my dad were a tragic, lonely figure. But they divorced when I was fifteen, fairly amicably, though there were the usual shouting matches in the year leading up to and then the year during the split. I guess my parents were around forty years old at the time. When mom left she moved up to Pasadena first to live with her sister, my aunt, and then later on she moved to Santa Monica. It was open custody, so I saw her fairly often, though I ended up living with my dad, because of his job.
To be totally honest, yeah, the divorce sucked, but at age 16 I was way too busy dealing with my hormones and learning about the best places to park a car so nobody would come looking when the windows fogged up. I was dating two girls at the time, Tina and Kelly, and one of them would always have a reason for me to cut class, if you follow me. To my sex-drenched brain (which I was convinced had migrated permanently to my cock during this time), I was more curious about how I might persuade both of them to try a threesome than about how my family was going to survive. Terrible, but true. I won't say I felt abandoned by my parents but I did have my first inkling in those days that the adults in my life were just as bad at figuring out what to do with themselves as I was.
Anyway, I'm not a total pig. I never actually asked the girls about the threesome (besides, Tina moved to San Bernadino in my junior year).
In my senior year, when I turned 18, my dad started dating this woman who was very different from the women he'd brought home before. Her name, coincidentally, was Kelly, and she was amazing. She was a knockout, first of all, a beautiful blonde of about medium height, a bright smile that stood out, not only against her California tan but in any room she walked into. She was easy-going, not the pressure cooker my dad was (or the busy Type A my mom was), and loved to laugh. She was the first of my dad's girlfriends I actually liked to listen to, and I didn't come up with reasons to bail when they asked me to stay home for dinner.
Kelly was a hygienist and part-time yoga instructor, which could have predicted the downfall. As soon as she and my dad started getting more serious (about partway through the school year), she would stay the night, and I would be treated, on those mornings, to Kelly in the living room doing her exercises in nothing but her skin tight yoga shorts and sports bra. Now, Kelly was 28, and her abdominals looked like they'd been cut with soft glass, but her ass on those mornings, with the sun glinting off the thin fabric of her shorts, was a round, plump confection. It was sweet, is what I mean to say. No, morning wood did not make these yoga routines any easier to sit through. I'd spill my cornflakes, I'd trip over my robe (note, I never started wearing a robe until Kelly started staying the night), I'd do my damnedest not to stare. Of course she was also polite enough to ask if I wanted to watch the TV, and if I wanted her to move. Except...not too polite.
How do I put this? The whole time she and my father were dating, she never really fell over herself trying to impress me. I guess that's the best way to say it. Most women who my father had dated (in the beginning, closer to my mom's age) had gone out of their way to show an interest in my schoolwork or water polo, or try to initiate conversation. Kelly didn't do that. Again, she was polite, she was nice, but she didn't concern herself with things she didn't really want to know, or small talk she didn't really want to have. Maybe it was because we were closer in age.
So, when I say "not too polite," when I'd come downstairs at the crack of dawn to wolf down breakfast before water polo practice, and Kelly would be there, a half head shorter than me with her soft tits bound in the tight black sports bra, her chest jutting out into space and one long, lithe leg sticking straight out towards the sun and the barest of light sneaking between the crack of her ass and the tiny beads of perspiration highlighting her contours, upper lip, forehead and calves, I mean that when she said, "Do you want to watch TV?" there was always the lingering hint of sarcasm in those words. She usually didn't say much more than that, but the question was never straightforward, ever. It was a subtle, barely there accusation, a hint, a ghost of a tease, as if she were asking, "Can you think of something better to watch than me right now?"
Those mornings I tried to eat my breakfast, get my shorts on and get the hell out of there before I did something stupid.
* * *
I will say that it was extremely satisfying to have a girlfriend named Kelly at the time. We'd graduated from dating semi-exclusively to full on relationship status by then, but we both knew we probably wouldn't see much of each other after that. So we had fun when we could. It was a little more difficult to manage when we were face to face, but when she went down on me I fantasized about my dad's girlfriend bending down in one of those downward facing dog stretches and swallowing my cock. I stroked her hair and called her "Kelly," all the time thinking of someone else. "Kelly, don't stop," I'd say. "I'm gonna cum." And Kelly, like a champ, would let me cum in her mouth. She always spat it out, but at least she let me slide my shaft back in until I'd finished.
Near the end of senior year, we did break up finally. Kelly (my Kelly) had heard that I'd been sleeping around, which wasn't totally true. Before we were official I had been seeing other girls, but that was bad enough. So we were done for a month or so when my dad told me he and Kelly were getting married.
This actually threw me at the time. I knew my dad liked Kelly, and I liked Kelly, too. She was fun to be around, when she wasn't driving me crazy with her half naked exercises, but I never thought she was the marriage type. I had, much to my displeasure, heard them from time to time in the bedroom, and the woman did sound like she enjoyed a good time. I thought that was all my dad was with her for. But no, the old man was in love, or so he said.
Truth be told, I'll say that my father, while a good man, a good provider, and a decent father, is not the most passionate guy. When he says he's in love, I take that to mean that he's decided who he's reserving that aspect of his life for. When I couldn't block out the sounds of them through the bedroom wall, it was always Kelly doing the talking, for instance. Conversely, when my mom and dad would fight, it was always him doing the talking.
So yeah, I was surprised. Not shocked, Kelly was, after all, a great woman, but that was definitely when the divorce really hit home. They got married in a small service, nothing too ostentatious (Kelly had been married once before and didn't want to make any bigger deal about it than my dad), and they were husband and wife by the time I graduated high school.
Like a man in a dream, I helped her move all her stuff from her apartment in Venice to our house. She rented the U-Haul and I drove it and loaded it up. I knew by this point in the year that I'd made it to the local state school, and that was good enough for me because it meant I could live at home and save myself rent. Meanwhile, I could pay my tuition with what I saved from the swim club I worked at. But it did feel weird knowing as I packed all of Kelly's stuff that I'd be living under the same roof as her, at least for another year. And every time I saw that ring on her finger it tripped me out.
Kelly even seemed a little nervous about it. She spoke a lot more openly than she usually did around me, and we got to talking about life post-college, and in college, and all that. It wasn't a bad day, really. And the hot summer sun made both of us pretty sweaty, so we roshamboed for who got to use the shower first.
It was around 4 in the afternoon when we finally got all of her stuff into the house, and I offered to drive the car back. She gave me a tip when I got back, which was sweet, but she still hadn't changed out of her sweaty clothes. She was in a white tank top that was covered with the dirt and dust that comes with any move, but she was wearing a jet black bra underneath. A good thing too, because the tank top was soaked. Between the time that I'd stepped out to return the U-Haul and the time I got back, she'd switched from her low rider jeans to a pair of yoga shorts, but both gave me an unobstructed view of her flat midriff and tiny pucker of bellybutton. She had sweat a trail down into the rim of her bellybutton that now shined under the bright slats of the front windows. When I opened the door she was already padding to me with a beer, and I noticed that she'd kicked off her shoes and socks and was walking barefoot through the house, like she'd lived here for years.
I took the beer gladly. "You know I don't have ID," I said.
She shrugged and sipped at her tea. "Well, I was going to make you some of this but I figured you wouldn't want something hot. Plus, a move-in isn't official until somebody cracks a beer. I figure I can get away with being the cool step-mom if I let you have one." I laughed, and she flashed her wicked smile. "Plus," she said, "it's not like you're not drinking already. I remember graduation."
"Yeah, I don't," I said.
"If you want to make me feel better you could let me teach you some yoga. It'd be good for you, especially if you're still doing water polo. You need to stretch and get rid of toxins."
I shook the beer bottle. "Toxins?"
She hummed into her tea. "Mm-hm. If I can get you doing it I think your dad might finally do it too."
I remembered some conversation about this months ago. "Didn't he go to one of your classes last year?"
She rolled her eyes. "Under great protest. And he hasn't been back since. I want him to live a long, happy life, and a good diet and proper exercise really make the difference. You know that."
I nodded. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world but feeling like shit before and after a match was usually the result of someone running late and having to pick up fast food just for the calories. "I have to admit, it's been a helluva lot more pleasant with you cooking your weird organic meals than before when dad and I were eating frozen lasagna."
Kelly said nothing but arched her eyebrows and nodded into her mug.
"But you gotta be cool with opening dad up to new horizons. It's like trying to find him religion or something."
"Well, that's why you're going to help me," she said. "If I can convince you, I can convince him."
"Getting to the father through the son, eh?" I said. "Well...I'm game, I guess."
"Good," she said. She said it with authority. She took the bottle from my hand and placed it on the table. Then she set her own mug aside and pulled me into the living room. There began one of the most thrilling and excruciating hours of my life.
Kelly knew that I worked out regularly and stretched, so she didn't bother with treating me gently. She knew when I was being reluctant and she was a task master. On the one hand, it was great to have her strong but slender fingers curling over my shoulders and pressing into my back to push me further into the stretches, but, on the other, more painful hand, she didn't treat me like a beginner. I will admit that some of the positions were alright (and when I could I convinced her to show me what she wanted me to do first, which granted me a few choice views of her extraordinarily supple, and sweaty, body) but it was an ordeal.
When it was over we parted to use the showers, me in the one in the hall and she in the one in my dad's bedroom. Or, I guess it was now their mutual bedroom.
This began a new era of closeness between us that lasted all throughout the next year. In the morning, when I woke up at the crack of dawn for work (I scheduled my classes in the later afternoon), Kelly would be there with her yoga mat, kneeling on the floor with her bubble bottom pointed at me. But instead of admiring it from afar I had to kneel down right next to her and do the whole thing in tandem (though I never got all the positions down perfectly; that woman could move in ways I'd never dreamed of).
The funny thing was, we fell into a rhythm, and we seldom spoke those mornings. She would wait for me (on one or three occasions when I didn't wake up in time she'd come into my room and pull me out of bed) and then we'd get into it, and then I'd eat breakfast and she'd take a shower, then I'd head off to the pool and often didn't come home until late. I'm sure the newlyweds appreciated that, as I was more or less gone whenever they'd be awake. I did hear the unmistakable rocking every now and again, but I'd finally found a pair of ear plugs that worked.
* * *
I dated like a mad man that first year of college. I brought a few girls home from time to time, but usually we went to her place, if she lived in the dorms or had an apartment. But I had a problem that only seemed to get worse over time.
Kelly was gorgeous, purposeful, and there, every morning. Every morning we bent and stretched together. I stood next to her and listened to the soft fabric of her clothes slide over her body, in the relative silence of the early morning. I had to bend and stare at her bottom, ignore the way her chest heaved underneath the tight sports bra. It drove me nuts. I still couldn't think of her as my step-mom. It wasn't easier to think of her as my dad's wife, but even then it was still hard to understand that she wasn't for sale, so to speak.
Really, the problem was that I was deeply attracted to Kelly, and our morning routines didn't make that go away. If anything, the fact that we carried on in silence made it worse. I never learned any more about her except for the way she moved. We never had deep conversations about family, or what she thought about my father, or why she had such big, delicious breasts - okay, well, we probably never would have gotten around to that last conversation.
It was never too hard for me to get a date but I was hung up on Kelly. I had dreams where I would see her at the edge of my bed in a towel and I would strip it off and she'd jump on me. I had an even more vivid one where I came to her in the morning and she was doing yoga completely nude. After forcing her to the floor and having my way with her, while she smiled that enigmatic smile, I woke up and had to force myself to remember if it had really happened or not. Unfortunately, it had not.
So I started to scheme.
As I said before, I don't tend to think too far ahead. The opportunity that eventually came along did not come about through any proper forethought or planning, it really just dropped into my lap. And I, being horny enough to risk suicide, snapped it up.
What impelled the decision that I eventually came to was in no small part the result of Kelly's enigmatic impassiveness. She was so straightforward that I always figured that she would immediately lay down the law if she was against something. She could be as hot-tempered as my father - I'd seen it before.
I should probably explain. Near the end of my freshman year of college, I noticed that the weekends were a little off. Usually Kelly allowed Saturday to be a slow day. She was usually at her studio or busying herself with some project or other, but Saturdays she tended to sleep in. My father sometimes slept in as well. But on Saturday morning he took a nice, long shower. First thing in the morning.
And Kelly, from beyond my bedroom wall, always tried to get him to come back to bed...
* * *
I waited at the threshold of the door, my heart thudding in my chest. From around the hallway I could see the first blue streaks of light signal the morning's arrival. I listened closely to the sounds inside the bedroom. I heard shifting and a murmur, then another grumbling sound. It sounded vaguely like an argument, as I'd expected, but a low one, simply a matter of fact one.
I heard the higher, softer sounds of Kelly, then my father, a small tussle, then someone flinging the covers aside and getting up.
I froze. If either one of them caught me naked in the hall there would be a lot of weird explaining to do, and I didn't have the chops to pull it off. But I lucked out. Whoever walked made a circle around the bed, and padded into the bathroom. I heard the light switch. I heard the knob twist. And I heard the shower start. My morning wood was the first thing that slipped through the crack in the door.
The light from the bathroom made a small square of light underneath the doorway. Already a fog of steam was issuing from up top. There, lying face up in the bed, was Kelly. She was staring at the ceiling and shaking her head, not angrily, not sadly, just...disappointed, maybe? It was dark enough that she couldn't see me if she didn't know I was there, but the light shone from the bathroom over the tips of her bare breasts. I held my breath to keep from making noise. I'd never seen Kelly's tits before, and there they were, round and flattened over her chest, jiggling slightly from the movement of her head. They had a fluidity to them that her sports bra had pushed nicely into shape, but unbound they flowed over her chest like pale hershey kisses. The nipples were a bright pink even in the half light.
I crouched at the doorway, expecting her to see me and scream at any second. But she closed her eyes, her forehead still creased by her frown. I made my move.
I prowled towards the bed like a jungle cat, and that, I decided was exactly how I would handle this situation. I slunk towards the foot of the bed, and gently, ever so gently, pulled the sheets out from where they'd been tucked under the mattress. Then, pausing just long enough to make sure I hadn't disturbed her, I slipped the sheet out from the bed and crawled under it, onto the mattress, between the bare legs of my father's wife.
The steady hiss of the shower was a constant in my ears. I listened to it with the deathly fear of one who knows his life is moments away from ending. My erection had all but disappeared from that fear, but I could feel it swell from what I laid my eyes on. Kelly had already drifted back to sleep. That was obvious from the way she did not stir as my weight shifted the bed. Underneath the sheet I set my knees down gently, one between her ankles, the other down by her knee. Kelly wasn't wearing anything at all, and her bare body was under the covers with me.
I marveled at the cut contours of her calves, at the smallness of her feet and the perfect smoothness of each petite toe. I gazed upward, crossing her knees, moving up towards her muscular thighs, crawling forward as I did so. My penis grazed the inside of her calf and she stirred gently. I froze. But then, I decided, I'd come this far. I moved up further, trying to stay low underneath the sheet, my penis making a small wet trail up her leg. Then I stopped as I came to the neat apex of her mound.
Kelly had shaved her pubic hair into a clean strip. It made sense. She wore such form-fitting bikinis that she couldn't have any hairs out of place, but that dark rectangular thatch immediately made this whole crazy venture worth it. The shower was still going, but I would have gone for it even if it hadn't. After so long, I realized this might be my first, last and only chance to taste what I'd been craving for almost two years. I lowered my mouth towards Kelly's vagina and cupped my lips over her thick vulva. It tasted of sweat, but it was unmistakably her sweat, and I opened my mouth and let my tongue run up the length of her slit. She was definitely asleep for that first lick. I'm not sure about the second.