Grandpa s Journals Peeping at My Grand Daughter s Window Part 1
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The Grand Strategy Ch. 07 free porn video
That's the way it went for the next several months. I was so stressed with studying that my extracurricular activities went to almost nil. I visited Mary a couple of times, and each time was breathtaking, but that was about it. I had a pattern of trying to make it to Mom's every couple of weekends, at least, for a delicious meal and even more delicious kisses. For over a month we hardly progressed beyond the furtive kisses when I arrived and when I left.
About mid-semester I texted Mom on Saturday morning to elicit an invitation to supper, and she quickly responded. "About time," she texted. "Get over here, Bucko!" She then texted immediately after, "And don't block the garage door. Dad went to the hardware store and library, so he'll be getting home by supper."
I knew what she was telling me. After our first deep kiss, I had texted her the next day with something like, "That kiss. That was the best kiss I'll ever have in my life."
There was a pause, and then she responded, "Becky is a beautiful girl. Of course it was a good kiss. You two are a cute couple."
She had made her point. What is said face to face is between two people. What is texted is between two people, and potentially the world. There would be no sexting with Mom.
I responded in kind, "Damn right we're a cute couple," and it was never mentioned again. Mom and I had a secret between us, and that secret had to be maintained absolutely.
So I knew what she was telling me. Dad was not there, and wouldn't return for hours. I needed no more encouragement than that, and set a land speed record to get there. With my classes during the week and Dad's being home on the weekends, our chances to be alone had dwindled to nothing. Our kisses had progressed to more and more passion, but we were always so rushed that I couldn't move past that. Not that I was dissatisfied, you understand, for kissing Mom like that was beyond my wildest dreams.
But I wanted more.
I hoped she wanted more.
When I got home I jumped out of the car, slammed the car door, and ran to the back door to find it already open and Mom waiting there. I stepped in, closed the door behind me, locked it, and took her in my arms for a deep, deep kiss.
I kind of laughed inside, thinking of the old country song about what goes on behind closed doors. If any neighbors saw me arrive, they would simply have seen a guy running into his house. They might wonder why, but would probably conclude that I had to pee really bad, or something innocent like that. They might have seen Mom standing there, with a big smile on her beautiful face. A Mother welcoming her Son home. They would have seen me step in, and close the door behind me. Because of the curtains on the door window, they would have seen nothing more.
They certainly would not have seen a Mother and Son fall into each other's arms, engaging in a passionate kiss that was much more appropriate for lovers than for Moms and Sons.
We never know, do we? We never know what happens once the door is closed, or the window shades drawn. What secrets lie in households all across America? All across the world? If a conservative figure of one in 33 women have engaged in sexual contact of some sort with a son, then how much of it is going on at any time? Could it be happening right now in America? Could there be, somewhere in America, a son slipping his dick deep into his Mother? Right now? Do you know someone who's doing it? Chances are, yes. We think we're each so unique, but we're not. The lust I felt for my Mother was, I thought, unique to me in that moment. But it's not. Every man wants his Mother. Research tells us that every woman has fantasized about her son, at some time in her life. Put the two together, and you realize that none of us is unique in that. We just need the opportunity, the situation has to be right, the mood has to be right, and then the sparks can fly.
Mom and I took advantage of our opportunity. After our first kiss she took me by the hand and led me into the den, where we sat together on the couch.
"Listen for the garage door," she cautioned me. "He shouldn't be home until about five, but it could be earlier." She texted him to ask if he was at the hardware and, when he replied he was, she put the phone down and looked at me.
I loved that. There was no wondering anymore if she knew what was going on in my head. She knew we were doing something forbidden and we were co-conspirators in hiding it from Dad. Her words were music to my ears.
I was again sitting on her left side and I put my right arm around her shoulders, pulling her into me and kissing her deeply. Before, I had fantasies about those passionate spit-swapping kisses with her that lovers share. Now there was no longer a need to imagine them. We were there. Mom was trying to suck my tongue from my mouth.
Moving my left hand from her back, I put in on the right side of her ass. This was, believe it or not, the first time I had touched her butt, other than the clumsy gropes every teen-aged boy tries with his Mother. I caressed her ass, moving my hand over the top of her thigh, close to the Holy of Holies. She pulled back and said in a teasing voice, "Bad Boy. You shouldn't be touching your Mother's butt like that."
I was speechless. I have noted that there is a time when a woman uses a teasing voice like that. Her voice takes on a low, sultry tone, or she may use a teen-aged girl speech pattern. It may be a whisper. Every woman seems to have a phrase that she likes to use. It may be, "Pickin' on me," or "Teasing me," or "What are you doing?," but the words don't matter. What she's saying is that she is liking what you're doing and wants more. I guess the words are meant as encouragement, or an ice breaker (as if ice could exist in a heated moment like that), or an acknowledgement of where you're bound. I interpreted those words from any woman, and interpreted them from Mom in that moment, as saying, "I like what you're doing, Mister." Maybe I was wrong, but dammit, it's my assessment of the moment, so there. She said, "Bad Boy. You shouldn't be touching your Mother's butt like that." What she was really saying was that I was doing something deliciously forbidden and that she was a willing participant.
Maybe I shouldn't have been touching my Mother's ass like that, but as long as she didn't say, "NO!," I was going to keep on doing it. And I did.
Clearly, in those sequential decision points through which she was progressing, my hands on her ass had been accepted. This, in my mind, was a major step forward. Yes, deep and passionate kisses are hot, but touching intimate parts of her body was much hotter. This wasn't my grabbing her butt and getting my hand slapped away with an admonishment. This was caressing the ass of the woman who had birthed me, and having her approval to continue doing it.
We parted, and looked in each other's eyes. Mom whispered, "This is going pretty fast, Bill. You know we can't do what you want, don't you?"
I caressed her face, tracing its features with my fingers. "Mom, I don't care what we can, or can't do. I love you. Loving you like this, if it's all I can have, is the best thing that's ever happened in my life."
"Oh, God, Bill. You're going to be a good lawyer. You always know the right thing to say." She wasn't saying it in a negative way, as if she thought I was just trying to tell her what I thought she wanted to hear. She was saying it as an acknowledgment that it was the truth, and that I loved her that much.
We rejoined our kissing, and I gently pushed her back until she was reclining with her head on the padded arm of the couch, with me laying on top of her. Her legs were still off the edge of the couch, and I was fully stretched out. My dick, the hardest it had ever been, was firmly pressing against her left thigh. If I wondered before if she could feel it, there could be no doubt now. It was a little uncomfortable, though, being caught in my underwear, so I raised up a bit and reached down to adjust it with my left hand, leaving my right hand to continue stroking her hair.
"Does that thing ever go down?," she giggled.
Oh. My. God. "This is moving pretty fast," I thought to myself. My Mother just referred to my dick, the dick that was permanently hard for her.
"It doesn't go down when it's around you. I don't think it ever will."
She smiled, a serene and satisfied smile, and I kissed her again, and this time I couldn't help it. I made small hunching moves with my dick against her thigh. She responded with a burst of passion in her kiss, putting her hands on the back of my head and pulling me into her as she raised her body to meet mine.
Now there's something I've observed about women. The "no-touch zones" are not equally prohibited. Maybe it's just me, but it seems that the ass is the least restricted sexual touch. It's kind of the first thing you can touch. I'm not explaining it well, but you might be able to touch a woman's ass and get away with it, while at the same moment if you touched her pussy you might find yourself under sexual assault charges. Anyway, and this is based on my limited experience, a woman's breasts are more protected and much more a restricted zone than her butt.
All that is just to explain what was swirling in my head, and that was whether I could make a move on Mom's tits and not destroy the moment. "What the hell?," I thought to myself. "She just told me that, in this moment, '...we can't do what you want.' " That was tantamount to saying, "But you can continue to do what you're doing." If that's the case, I decided, then let's push the envelope a bit. At the worst, she'd push my hand away but we'd still have the kissing. She liked that too much to stop it.
It might have taken you a minute to read that and consider it, but the thought went through my brain at light speed. My hands were again caressing her face as we kissed, and I moved my left hand down to gently cup her right breast. She stiffened, and I thought, "Oh, no," but then she relaxed immediately and continued to kiss me.
Brother, I worked that tit. She was wearing a soft tee shirt and what seemed to be a thin bra, and I could feel the nipple pushing against my palm. Her nipples were not as big as Mary's, but they were substantial, and hard as rocks.
I reached down, pulled the bottom of her shirt from her jeans, and reached my hand to her stomach. It was soft and warm, and I gently rubbed it. Moving my hand slowly upward, I finally reached her breast. Now I was caressing her breast with only the bra keeping me from having it fully in my hand. I slid my fingers under the bottom of the bra cup and slid the bra up, releasing her breast.
I can't describe it. I know I've spoken in superlatives about my experiences thus far with Mom. The first kiss on the lips. The first real passionate kiss, the best kiss I will ever receive in my life. The first time I touched her ass in a loving way. The first time she acknowledged my hard dick.
And the first time I touched her bare breast. Until you have held your Mom's bare breast in a passionate moment, with her allowing and encouraging it, you have never really touched a breast. Mom's breasts were on the small side, and I knew she was self-conscious about them. For me? There have never been a more perfect set of breasts on a woman than hers. I lightly pinched her nipple with my thumb and forefinger and twiddled it back and forth, eliciting a moan into my mouth. It was a drawn out, "Mmmmm," that spoke volumes.
I broke our kiss and scooted back on the couch, raising her tee shirt away from her body so I could see that tit. It was, as I had always imagined, beautiful. Her skin was pale and creamy, the areola was between a brown and a pink color, and the nipple was standing perfectly erect. That was going to be a great tit to suck, I knew. She laid her head back on the arm of the couch, and when I broke my eyes from her breast and met her eyes, they were slightly closed in perfect satisfaction.
"The most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life," I whispered, and started lowering my head to take it into my mouth.
Whirrrrrrr.
The damned garage door was opening. Goddammit! He couldn't have given me five more minutes? He couldn't have stopped for gas? The lights couldn't have been red the whole way?
Dad was home, and his son was laying on the couch with his Mother's naked tit in his hand.
Mom jumped up, pulled her bra down, tucked her shirt back into her pants, and ran for the kitchen. I adjusted my dick, pulled my shirttail out to hide it, and grabbed the remote to turn the TV on.
Dad came in, saw me, and said, "Hi, Champ. Whatcha doing?"
"Oh, I just got here. Looking for the game."
He took the remote from me, clicked right to the game channel, and then sat in his chair. "Honey? I'm home."
Mom responded from the kitchen, "Hi, Love. You were gone a long time. Get everything? Want me to bring you a beer?"
She delivered his beer, in a glass as he required, and gave me a sideways glance as she walked back to the kitchen. She was smiling. Thank God. She was smiling.
I called out, "Mom, you want me to help you?"
"Sure, if you want. You can cut some veggies for snacks before supper." Dad was getting a little overweight, and she had him on a raw vegetable regimen instead of his preferred taco chips and salsa.
When I entered the kitchen, she was standing at the sink, her back to me, and with her hands resting on the edge, just as she had been when she read me the riot act about our kissing in the foyer. I walked up to her, hugged her from behind with my hands on her belly, and whispered in her ear, "He couldn't have stopped for gas, for Christ's sake?"
Mom laughed spontaneously, and then I started laughing. She turned to face me, and we both stood there, just laughing.
"Good God, that was close," she whispered.
"Naw," I said. "It wasn't even close. We had at least 20 seconds to spare."
She laughed again, pushed me in the chest, and said in a louder voice, "Get some celery and carrots from the fridge."
Everything was okay.
When she walked me to the door that night, our kiss was different. It was still passionate, but the kiss was no longer the centerpiece. There was more now. There was the kiss, along with my hands on her ass and tits. She whispered in my ear, "Can you come next weekend, Bill? I hope you have an easier week. A week is a long time to wait."
Oh, the thoughts in my head that night. I had my Mom's ass in my hands. I had my hands on her beautiful tits. I came this close, this close, to having my mouth on her tit, and she was all for it. She had said, "We can't do what you want." She had not said, "We can never do what you want." I was learning in law school that words matter, and the different parsing of those words mattered to me.
Even in my heat, I knew not to rush this. I'd take it a step at a time, allowing her to make her decision at each juncture. I hoped that I had a new baseline in the liberties I could take with her, but it would be okay if she didn't allow it the next time I saw her. Even if she didn't, I knew I would get back there in time.
And time was what I had. This was my Mother, not some girlfriend who might be here today and gone from my life in a couple of months. Mom would be in my life forever and if it took me a lifetime to get where I wanted to be, that was okay. Her happiness was my goal. I guess I matured a little that night as I thought about it. Before, all I wanted was to fuck her. Now, all I wanted was to love her and make her feel loved.
Our little Billy was growing up.
About mid-semester I texted Mom on Saturday morning to elicit an invitation to supper, and she quickly responded. "About time," she texted. "Get over here, Bucko!" She then texted immediately after, "And don't block the garage door. Dad went to the hardware store and library, so he'll be getting home by supper."
I knew what she was telling me. After our first deep kiss, I had texted her the next day with something like, "That kiss. That was the best kiss I'll ever have in my life."
There was a pause, and then she responded, "Becky is a beautiful girl. Of course it was a good kiss. You two are a cute couple."
She had made her point. What is said face to face is between two people. What is texted is between two people, and potentially the world. There would be no sexting with Mom.
I responded in kind, "Damn right we're a cute couple," and it was never mentioned again. Mom and I had a secret between us, and that secret had to be maintained absolutely.
So I knew what she was telling me. Dad was not there, and wouldn't return for hours. I needed no more encouragement than that, and set a land speed record to get there. With my classes during the week and Dad's being home on the weekends, our chances to be alone had dwindled to nothing. Our kisses had progressed to more and more passion, but we were always so rushed that I couldn't move past that. Not that I was dissatisfied, you understand, for kissing Mom like that was beyond my wildest dreams.
But I wanted more.
I hoped she wanted more.
When I got home I jumped out of the car, slammed the car door, and ran to the back door to find it already open and Mom waiting there. I stepped in, closed the door behind me, locked it, and took her in my arms for a deep, deep kiss.
I kind of laughed inside, thinking of the old country song about what goes on behind closed doors. If any neighbors saw me arrive, they would simply have seen a guy running into his house. They might wonder why, but would probably conclude that I had to pee really bad, or something innocent like that. They might have seen Mom standing there, with a big smile on her beautiful face. A Mother welcoming her Son home. They would have seen me step in, and close the door behind me. Because of the curtains on the door window, they would have seen nothing more.
They certainly would not have seen a Mother and Son fall into each other's arms, engaging in a passionate kiss that was much more appropriate for lovers than for Moms and Sons.
We never know, do we? We never know what happens once the door is closed, or the window shades drawn. What secrets lie in households all across America? All across the world? If a conservative figure of one in 33 women have engaged in sexual contact of some sort with a son, then how much of it is going on at any time? Could it be happening right now in America? Could there be, somewhere in America, a son slipping his dick deep into his Mother? Right now? Do you know someone who's doing it? Chances are, yes. We think we're each so unique, but we're not. The lust I felt for my Mother was, I thought, unique to me in that moment. But it's not. Every man wants his Mother. Research tells us that every woman has fantasized about her son, at some time in her life. Put the two together, and you realize that none of us is unique in that. We just need the opportunity, the situation has to be right, the mood has to be right, and then the sparks can fly.
Mom and I took advantage of our opportunity. After our first kiss she took me by the hand and led me into the den, where we sat together on the couch.
"Listen for the garage door," she cautioned me. "He shouldn't be home until about five, but it could be earlier." She texted him to ask if he was at the hardware and, when he replied he was, she put the phone down and looked at me.
I loved that. There was no wondering anymore if she knew what was going on in my head. She knew we were doing something forbidden and we were co-conspirators in hiding it from Dad. Her words were music to my ears.
I was again sitting on her left side and I put my right arm around her shoulders, pulling her into me and kissing her deeply. Before, I had fantasies about those passionate spit-swapping kisses with her that lovers share. Now there was no longer a need to imagine them. We were there. Mom was trying to suck my tongue from my mouth.
Moving my left hand from her back, I put in on the right side of her ass. This was, believe it or not, the first time I had touched her butt, other than the clumsy gropes every teen-aged boy tries with his Mother. I caressed her ass, moving my hand over the top of her thigh, close to the Holy of Holies. She pulled back and said in a teasing voice, "Bad Boy. You shouldn't be touching your Mother's butt like that."
I was speechless. I have noted that there is a time when a woman uses a teasing voice like that. Her voice takes on a low, sultry tone, or she may use a teen-aged girl speech pattern. It may be a whisper. Every woman seems to have a phrase that she likes to use. It may be, "Pickin' on me," or "Teasing me," or "What are you doing?," but the words don't matter. What she's saying is that she is liking what you're doing and wants more. I guess the words are meant as encouragement, or an ice breaker (as if ice could exist in a heated moment like that), or an acknowledgement of where you're bound. I interpreted those words from any woman, and interpreted them from Mom in that moment, as saying, "I like what you're doing, Mister." Maybe I was wrong, but dammit, it's my assessment of the moment, so there. She said, "Bad Boy. You shouldn't be touching your Mother's butt like that." What she was really saying was that I was doing something deliciously forbidden and that she was a willing participant.
Maybe I shouldn't have been touching my Mother's ass like that, but as long as she didn't say, "NO!," I was going to keep on doing it. And I did.
Clearly, in those sequential decision points through which she was progressing, my hands on her ass had been accepted. This, in my mind, was a major step forward. Yes, deep and passionate kisses are hot, but touching intimate parts of her body was much hotter. This wasn't my grabbing her butt and getting my hand slapped away with an admonishment. This was caressing the ass of the woman who had birthed me, and having her approval to continue doing it.
We parted, and looked in each other's eyes. Mom whispered, "This is going pretty fast, Bill. You know we can't do what you want, don't you?"
I caressed her face, tracing its features with my fingers. "Mom, I don't care what we can, or can't do. I love you. Loving you like this, if it's all I can have, is the best thing that's ever happened in my life."
"Oh, God, Bill. You're going to be a good lawyer. You always know the right thing to say." She wasn't saying it in a negative way, as if she thought I was just trying to tell her what I thought she wanted to hear. She was saying it as an acknowledgment that it was the truth, and that I loved her that much.
We rejoined our kissing, and I gently pushed her back until she was reclining with her head on the padded arm of the couch, with me laying on top of her. Her legs were still off the edge of the couch, and I was fully stretched out. My dick, the hardest it had ever been, was firmly pressing against her left thigh. If I wondered before if she could feel it, there could be no doubt now. It was a little uncomfortable, though, being caught in my underwear, so I raised up a bit and reached down to adjust it with my left hand, leaving my right hand to continue stroking her hair.
"Does that thing ever go down?," she giggled.
Oh. My. God. "This is moving pretty fast," I thought to myself. My Mother just referred to my dick, the dick that was permanently hard for her.
"It doesn't go down when it's around you. I don't think it ever will."
She smiled, a serene and satisfied smile, and I kissed her again, and this time I couldn't help it. I made small hunching moves with my dick against her thigh. She responded with a burst of passion in her kiss, putting her hands on the back of my head and pulling me into her as she raised her body to meet mine.
Now there's something I've observed about women. The "no-touch zones" are not equally prohibited. Maybe it's just me, but it seems that the ass is the least restricted sexual touch. It's kind of the first thing you can touch. I'm not explaining it well, but you might be able to touch a woman's ass and get away with it, while at the same moment if you touched her pussy you might find yourself under sexual assault charges. Anyway, and this is based on my limited experience, a woman's breasts are more protected and much more a restricted zone than her butt.
All that is just to explain what was swirling in my head, and that was whether I could make a move on Mom's tits and not destroy the moment. "What the hell?," I thought to myself. "She just told me that, in this moment, '...we can't do what you want.' " That was tantamount to saying, "But you can continue to do what you're doing." If that's the case, I decided, then let's push the envelope a bit. At the worst, she'd push my hand away but we'd still have the kissing. She liked that too much to stop it.
It might have taken you a minute to read that and consider it, but the thought went through my brain at light speed. My hands were again caressing her face as we kissed, and I moved my left hand down to gently cup her right breast. She stiffened, and I thought, "Oh, no," but then she relaxed immediately and continued to kiss me.
Brother, I worked that tit. She was wearing a soft tee shirt and what seemed to be a thin bra, and I could feel the nipple pushing against my palm. Her nipples were not as big as Mary's, but they were substantial, and hard as rocks.
I reached down, pulled the bottom of her shirt from her jeans, and reached my hand to her stomach. It was soft and warm, and I gently rubbed it. Moving my hand slowly upward, I finally reached her breast. Now I was caressing her breast with only the bra keeping me from having it fully in my hand. I slid my fingers under the bottom of the bra cup and slid the bra up, releasing her breast.
I can't describe it. I know I've spoken in superlatives about my experiences thus far with Mom. The first kiss on the lips. The first real passionate kiss, the best kiss I will ever receive in my life. The first time I touched her ass in a loving way. The first time she acknowledged my hard dick.
And the first time I touched her bare breast. Until you have held your Mom's bare breast in a passionate moment, with her allowing and encouraging it, you have never really touched a breast. Mom's breasts were on the small side, and I knew she was self-conscious about them. For me? There have never been a more perfect set of breasts on a woman than hers. I lightly pinched her nipple with my thumb and forefinger and twiddled it back and forth, eliciting a moan into my mouth. It was a drawn out, "Mmmmm," that spoke volumes.
I broke our kiss and scooted back on the couch, raising her tee shirt away from her body so I could see that tit. It was, as I had always imagined, beautiful. Her skin was pale and creamy, the areola was between a brown and a pink color, and the nipple was standing perfectly erect. That was going to be a great tit to suck, I knew. She laid her head back on the arm of the couch, and when I broke my eyes from her breast and met her eyes, they were slightly closed in perfect satisfaction.
"The most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life," I whispered, and started lowering my head to take it into my mouth.
Whirrrrrrr.
The damned garage door was opening. Goddammit! He couldn't have given me five more minutes? He couldn't have stopped for gas? The lights couldn't have been red the whole way?
Dad was home, and his son was laying on the couch with his Mother's naked tit in his hand.
Mom jumped up, pulled her bra down, tucked her shirt back into her pants, and ran for the kitchen. I adjusted my dick, pulled my shirttail out to hide it, and grabbed the remote to turn the TV on.
Dad came in, saw me, and said, "Hi, Champ. Whatcha doing?"
"Oh, I just got here. Looking for the game."
He took the remote from me, clicked right to the game channel, and then sat in his chair. "Honey? I'm home."
Mom responded from the kitchen, "Hi, Love. You were gone a long time. Get everything? Want me to bring you a beer?"
She delivered his beer, in a glass as he required, and gave me a sideways glance as she walked back to the kitchen. She was smiling. Thank God. She was smiling.
I called out, "Mom, you want me to help you?"
"Sure, if you want. You can cut some veggies for snacks before supper." Dad was getting a little overweight, and she had him on a raw vegetable regimen instead of his preferred taco chips and salsa.
When I entered the kitchen, she was standing at the sink, her back to me, and with her hands resting on the edge, just as she had been when she read me the riot act about our kissing in the foyer. I walked up to her, hugged her from behind with my hands on her belly, and whispered in her ear, "He couldn't have stopped for gas, for Christ's sake?"
Mom laughed spontaneously, and then I started laughing. She turned to face me, and we both stood there, just laughing.
"Good God, that was close," she whispered.
"Naw," I said. "It wasn't even close. We had at least 20 seconds to spare."
She laughed again, pushed me in the chest, and said in a louder voice, "Get some celery and carrots from the fridge."
Everything was okay.
When she walked me to the door that night, our kiss was different. It was still passionate, but the kiss was no longer the centerpiece. There was more now. There was the kiss, along with my hands on her ass and tits. She whispered in my ear, "Can you come next weekend, Bill? I hope you have an easier week. A week is a long time to wait."
Oh, the thoughts in my head that night. I had my Mom's ass in my hands. I had my hands on her beautiful tits. I came this close, this close, to having my mouth on her tit, and she was all for it. She had said, "We can't do what you want." She had not said, "We can never do what you want." I was learning in law school that words matter, and the different parsing of those words mattered to me.
Even in my heat, I knew not to rush this. I'd take it a step at a time, allowing her to make her decision at each juncture. I hoped that I had a new baseline in the liberties I could take with her, but it would be okay if she didn't allow it the next time I saw her. Even if she didn't, I knew I would get back there in time.
And time was what I had. This was my Mother, not some girlfriend who might be here today and gone from my life in a couple of months. Mom would be in my life forever and if it took me a lifetime to get where I wanted to be, that was okay. Her happiness was my goal. I guess I matured a little that night as I thought about it. Before, all I wanted was to fuck her. Now, all I wanted was to love her and make her feel loved.
Our little Billy was growing up.
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