Nandita To Nandini
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The Difference Between Seventeen And Thirty-Seven free porn video
I got married at twenty and divorced at twenty-seven. It was a childless, loveless marriage. Why we got married I can’t even say, not now. I can only call it a mistake. I’d say a tragic mistake, but no one was permanently injured, so it was just a routine mistake.
The reason it lasted as long as it did was that at that time I was just starting out and barely making ends meet. I was the proverbial turnip, and she’d gotten nothing out of me. And she had no means of income, no education, no skills.
After several years she got off her lazy ass and began finding work she could do, like babysitting, cleaning other people’s houses, (Lord knows she hardly cleaned ours) and bathing dogs. At first, she spent everything she made on things like make-up and really cheap, glitzy jewelry.
She finally wised up and began saving money, and with that money, she went to a technical training school. After two more years, she got a certificate and got a job as a nurse’s aide. Thus the end of the marriage.
I was free, and content to stay that way, at least for a while. The years went by and I became more successful. There were also some strange, new thoughts sneaking into my brain. I decided it might be time to find a new wife.
I met Elsie at a church charity function. I didn’t attend services often and hadn’t been aware of her, but at the money-raising event, she had a table of baked good for sale. I chatted with her and liked what I heard and saw.
I started going to Sunday services and got to know her better. I guess you could say I fell in love, but it was more like she was a comfortable fit. We laughed at the same things, we liked going to the same restaurants, we wanted to see the same movies, we hated the same TV shows.
After almost nine months of wooing, I proposed and she accepted. She was a widow with a sixteen-year-old son, and even with her husband’s insurance, life had been touch and go for her. She’d been single for almost six years, and had buried him in her memory and moved on.
We got married and I moved out of my apartment and into the house they’d shared. Asher showed no resentment in his mother taking a new husband, but he didn’t accept me as his new dad. He wasn’t hostile but didn’t call me Dad. He continued to call me Mr. Mathews.
So here I was, thirty-seven and with a new wife and a teen-aged son.
He was a nice-looking, scrawny teenager and no trouble to his mom. Like all teens, he was attached to his cell phone, spent hours in his room playing video games and kept his friends away from us. But as far as we knew he wasn’t doing anything bad or getting into trouble.
In the months that followed I bit by bit began to notice one disconcerting thing about Asher. He seemed to be constantly touching his crotch. He’d adjust his cock, or sometimes appear to squeeze it. And he sat and walked around with one hand in his pocket. By watching him closely I was sure that many times he was stroking his hand up and down his cock.
Well, he was at that time of life when hormones go wild, so I supposed it was natural, but uncomfortable to watch. But then again, why was I watching it? But I continued to do so.
Elsie had taken her ability of baking to a new level. From displaying her skills at bake sales, she’d built a small business of providing cakes for church members’ birthday parties and anniversaries. People began asking her if her pies were for sale. Platters of cookies were snatched up.
The house was constantly filled with the smell of chocolate and vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I learned the difference between ganache and butter-cream. She spent many hours of every day in the kitchen, turning out marvelous, scrumptious treats.
One downside of this was she paid less attention to Asher and his activities. She was fortunate she had raised a good boy who kept to himself, but he was free to do as he wished.
It seemed that as soon as he turned seventeen physical changes took over his body. Muscles formed. Not the bulging kind yet, but the long sinuous muscles of young men. His pleasant looks grew into a hint of the handsomeness to come. There was a viral masculinity to him that he didn’t seem to be aware of yet, but I could sense it, and it was disturbing.
My eyes followed him when he came out of his room wearing only his jeans, or perhaps only his boxers. I noticed how his ass formed two distinct mounds that undulated when he walked away. I wondered at the obvious movement that caused the fly of his boxers to separate a fraction of an inch, but not quite enough to reveal the secret.
I marveled at the smooth hairlessness of his skin, and at the evolving wisps in his armpits. I smiled at the faint hint of a mustache, still years away from becoming a real one. All of these things captured my attention and my imagination. Those strange, new thoughts that had snuck into my brain a couple years ago stirred and awoke.
The upside was that I began giving Asher more of my time. I talked to him whenever he gave me the chance. More importantly, I asked questions and listened to his answers. It went slowly, but little by little he opened up. I showed interest in the things he was interested in. I shared things I found on my computer I thought he’d be interested in. I tried to think of things we could do together, places he might like to go.
I don’t think the kid was lonely, but just having someone nearby to talk to, appeared to fill some void. Maybe it was having an adult he could trust who really listened. In a couple of months, things had changed between us. He was more relaxed and comfortable around me. He still called me Mr. Mathews instead of dad, but it somehow was less formal. It just became the name he used for me.
One Saturday morning I’d gotten up and hadn’t bothered to shave or bathe. I went downstairs in my pajamas and had coffee and toast. After looking through the local paper and watching a portion of Morning Joe on MSNBC I went back upstairs to do the morning routine.
Elsie had already begun working on some rather big order, which meant she would be unavailable for even casual conversation. Asher, I assumed, was in his room, doing whatever it was he did in there.
I had taken my shower and dried off, wiped the steam off the mirror and just finished shaving when the door opened and Asher came in. He had the cell phone in his hand and had already closed the door before he saw me standing there, my back to him, naked.
From my point of view, the important thing was that the cell phone was the only thing he had. He was as naked as I was.
“Oh, sorry Mr. Mathews, I didn’t know you were in here. Sorry.”
He was looking down, trying not to look at me, and covering his cock with the hand holding the cell phone. Good luck with that. His cock was a good six or seven inches long, soft. He had balls, too, and with all that smooth skin there was a nice, little patch of hair making a nest for those eggs and that stalk.
He was fumbling with the door handle, trying to get it to turn.
“Hey, okay guy. No problem. We’re men here. You gonna shower? Go ahead, I’m almost done.”
He let go of the handle, but stood where he was, not able to move, it seemed. I turned and looked him up and down.
“You know, you’ve got a great body. It’s only going to get better as you get older. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
He was still having trouble looking at me, but by keeping his eyes down, my cock was in his line of sight.
“That phone isn’t doing a bit of good there, and you’re only going to punch in a phone number if you continue holding it there.”
I laughed and he nervously laughed with me, but he moved his hand away from his cock.
“You know, Asher, you’ve got a really nice-sized cock. I’m sure you’ve seen other guy’s cocks in the gym at school. Maybe you didn’t look or think about them, but if you do you’ll know most of them can’t measure up.”
My talking like this was probably shocking him, but I hoped the casual way I was going about it might intrigue him.
He had looked down at his cock, as if not knowing it was there, even though a minute earlier he’d been trying to hide it. I saw his eyes shift and knew he was comparing his cock to mine. The truth was, although mine was a little fatter, it wasn’t as long.
He hadn’t said anything, but I decided to push ahead, hoping I didn’t go too far, too fast.
“I bet when you get an erection it grows another couple of inches. You should be proud of that, boy.”
With his head still down he cut his eyes up at me, and I saw a small smile flutter across his lips.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
I turned back to the mirror and splashed aftershave onto my face.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror I said, “Let me ask you something, are you still a virgin?”
He frowned and simply said, “Huh?”
I didn’t turn around. “Have you had sex with a girl yet, or anyone?”
He looked back down and shook his head slightly. “No.”
I turned back around and leaned my naked butt against the sink edge.
“Come on, don’t be embarrassed. You’re only seventeen. It could be another three or four years before it happens. I bet some of the guys you know talk about it like they have. Don’t believe it just because they say it. Most of the time they’re bullshitting.”
“Yeah, I know they are. You can tell, but I never say anything to them.”
“So, you don’t have anything to worry about. Just keep on masturbating like you been doing.”
This time the shock on his face was clear
“Asher, every boy and man does it.” I’d decided not to bring girls and women into our conversation. “Once you hit puberty until you die. It’s the way we’re made. It’s nature.”
“But Mr. Mathews…”
“Hold it!” I interrupted. “No Mr. Mathews in here. If you can’t call me dad, then say Arthur. This place and this talk aren’t for Mr. anything.”
What I didn’t point out to him was his cock had come awake and was beginning to stir.
“So, what were you going to say?”
“I don’t know. Just that I want to do it all the time.”
“So? Do it.”
“But one of the guys said…”
I interrupted again. “I know, you’re gonna go blind or grow hair in the palm of your hand. That’s gone on since the first caveman beat off. It’s all more bullshit. You can do it as often as you wish as many times as you want. Nothing’s going to happen.”
He really looked relieved.
I smiled and motioned toward his cock. “See, I told you it got two inches longer when it was hard.”
He blushed.
“And don’t even try to hide it. You’d need that bath towel.”
I went to the limit. I reached my hand out and wrapped my hand around his cock, feeling its heat.
Instead of pulling away, he just looked down at his cock in my hand.
In a very quiet voice, I asked, “Would you like to fuck? To see what it feels like?”
He looked up and into my eyes.
“You can do it. We can do it. You can fuck me.”
I let go of his cock and turned back to the mirror. I opened one panel and took out a jar of Vaseline, flipped open the lid and with my middle finger scooped out a glob. I reached back and smeared it between my ass cheeks, greasing up my asshole. I wiped my fingers on my face towel.
“Move around here behind me. Yeah, stand there.”
I stepped back from the sink and bent forward, steadying myself with one hand on the edge of the vanity. With the other hand, I pulled one of my ass cheeks to the side, opening up my crack a little.
“Go ahead, stick your hard cock in there and find my hole. Just move it up and down till you find it. You’ll know it when you do, then just push it in.”
Now, you’d never know it from that sentence, but I’d never been fucked before in my life. This was all those strange, new thoughts I mentioned earlier.
Without saying a word he did just as I instructed him. His cockhead found my hole and he pushed in. He didn’t do it roughly, but he didn’t use caution. When it went in he pushed until he was all the way in.
“You don’t need instructions on how to fuck. Just do what comes naturally. Just do it. Fuck me.”
He didn’t start slow as I thought he would. I imagined he’d want to go in and out experiencing the thrill, but he didn’t. He started right in, fucking in and out with abandon, but after what I’d said, I didn’t want to tell him differently.
Here I was, a thirty-seven-year-old man being fucked for the first time by a beautiful seventeen-year-old boy. A seventeen-year-old with a really big cock. A boy with a big cock who was my step-son. And although that hadn’t been a part of my earlier thoughts, now it somehow made it even better, more exciting.
I caught my breath. “Does it feel good?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like it?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Good. It feels good to me too. I like it too. I really like it.”
And, oh boy, did I. None of those old thoughts could compare to this. The feel of his cock going and out of my gut was sending me toward the edge. His balls slapping against my ass alone made me want to cum. My cock hadn’t gotten hard until he had shoved his up my ass, but it had sprung up in an instant. I was jacking it as hard and fast as he was fucking me.
He started panting like a dog on a hot day and I knew he was about to shoot his cum in my ass. That did it. I shot off, aiming my cock at the sink. I shot rope after rope. I don’t think I’d ever shot that much cum before.
Asher fell onto my back, his chin digging into my neck, and his pelvis hit my buttocks several times as he came.
It took almost a minute for his cock to start to soften and his head to clear. He slowly stood up straight and his long cock slowly slid out. I felt a little of his cum ooze out with it.
I didn’t turn around but again looked at him in the mirror. “Well, how was that? Good? Fantastic? Interesting?”
He looked back at me in the mirror and grinned. “It was good, and interesting. Both. I liked it.”
I turned around. “Good. That’s good. Now, you’d better take that shower you came in here for. We’ve almost missed lunch time.”
I took my damp washcloth with me as I went to the bedroom, not wanting to be gross cleaning my ass there in front of him.
That was Saturday. On Fridays, I work only half a day. I keep gym clothes in the trunk of my car. I changed and went to the park to spend a couple hours working out and jogging. I was soaking wet when I finished. I drove home, got my suit and such out of the car and went into the house and directly upstairs.
The house was full of the smell baking apple pie. It made my stomach growl. I wanted a hot shower, a half hour lying down and dinner. I went into the bedroom, stripped and tucked my sweaty clothes in the gym bag to take down to the laundry room later and went to the bathroom.
The hot water beating down on my body felt great. The pulsating water drove the tiredness away. I stood there much too long. At last, I turned off the water and grabbed the towel I’d thrown over the shower curtain bar and dried off,To continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
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