My story really begins when I was twelve and my family lived in Savannah, Georgia. My father was a pilot for an air charter company, and my mother was what would now be called a stay-at-home mom. The summer after I finished sixth grade, we went on a vacation that would change my life forever.
My mother and father had always been very open raising my sister, Erin, and me. They didn’t flaunt themselves in front of us, but they didn’t hide their bodies when we’d come into their room, or any other time we might see them without their clothes.
My sister and I knew our parents slept in the nude, and they’d sometimes sunbathe nude in our fenced-in back yard. On family vacations, or at my grandparents’ lake, we’d all skinny-dip occasionally. But while nudity wasn’t a taboo in our family, there weren’t any times when we spent a long time in the nude.
In the summer of 1975, that was about to change.
That summer, our parents asked Erin and me what we thought about the family going to a nudist camp for our summer vacation.
I hated the idea immediately.
Mom and Dad told us that the camp (called simply The Pines Resort) was in South Carolina, and was run by a woman named Susan. If we decided to go, we were supposed to tell our friends from school that we were going to spend the summer at “Aunt Susan’s.” She wasn’t our real aunt, of course, but it was a useful fiction.
Our parents were fairly open with both of us, and we talked about the trip before we made a final decision. My mom and dad certainly seemed enthusiastic, and Erin was all in favor of the trip, especially when they started telling her about the camp.
They told us about the big spring-fed lake, the playground, the games, the sports, and all the other fun things to do there. When they told us that the camp was a “family camp,” and that there would be other kids our age, that seemed to cinch it for Erin.
She was two and a half years younger than me, and hadn’t entered puberty yet. Of course she would love to go; she didn’t have an awkward and slightly pudgy body just beginning to sprout all the usual hair.
At twelve, my body had just started changing, and the last thing that I wanted to do was take my clothes off for a month at a nudist camp! I was embarrassed enough at the changes my body was undergoing; I didn’t want the added embarrassment of everyone else knowing, too.
I sulked, in the self-centered way only a twelve-year-old can, and my parents wisely let me stew about things for a few days. Erin, on the other hand, constantly wheedled me. She obviously couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to go to such a fun place.
A few days later, my mom brought the subject up again, when we were alone in the kitchen. I guess she knew she’d have a better chance if Erin weren’t around to pester me.
When Mom asked why I wasn’t enthusiastic about going to the nudist camp, I shrugged and mumbled, “I dunno.”
I was worried about people—especially any girls my age—seeing my awkward body, and making me feel embarrassed. But I couldn’t tell her that. Nonetheless, I think she sensed that that was the problem. So she pointed out to me that there would be other boys my age there.
“Well, you can meet other kids your age and make new friends.”
“I don’t want any new friends my age,” I said sullenly.
“You can meet older boys then… or girls.”
Then, I Got It! I was so worried about girls my age seeing me that I completely overlooked the fact that if girls my age would be at the camp, then I could see them too.
I may have been a petulant twelve-year-old, embarrassed by my changing body and being a little on the chubby side, but I wasn’t stupid. A nudist camp meant naked teenaged girls! And at age twelve, I had discovered that girls weren’t as bad as I’d thought only a year before. My younger sister got on my nerves often enough, but older girls… Now, older girls had boobs, and pubic hair, and other things that I knew I liked.
But even at twelve, I knew I couldn’t cave in as quickly as I wanted; at least, not without looking like an idiot. So I gloomily agreed.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said in my best faux-sullen voice.
Mom smiled at my change of heart. “You’ll have fun, honey. You’ll see.”
I’d like to say that my life changed dramatically during the summer of 1975, but the truth is much more mundane. The experience opened my eyes quite a bit, and set me on the road to a monumental series of events, but in the summer of 1975 those events were still in my future.
Despite my original reluctance, I really liked the camp. It was everything that my parents had promised; there were all sorts of things to do there, and enough kids my age that I always had someone to do things with. Once I got over my initial self-consciousness, I guess I forgot to be embarrassed. And after I got over my first day’s sunburn (having to wear a t-shirt in the lake so I didn’t get burned even worse is not my idea of a fun time), I enjoyed our time at the camp.
“Aunt Susan,” as it turned out, was about my parents’ age, and had two sons who were a few years older than me. In addition, there were many other families with kids. Some would stay for a week or two and then leave, some families stayed longer, and still others seemed to spend the entire summer there.
I certainly got my fill of looking at tanned and naked teenage girls. When you’re around nudity all the time, however, the naughty aspect of it all kinda wears off. I certainly had to hide my share of painful and unwieldy erections, but I got used to it. And it did provide me with some wonderful fantasy material for masturbating, whenever I could find the time alone; which was as often as I could, those first couple of weeks.
The four weeks that my family spent at the camp seemed to race by, and it was all too soon that we had to return to “the real world” in Savannah.
Every summer after that, we spent several weeks at “Aunt Susan’s.”
There was only one hiccup in our family routine over the next few years. In early 1977, my father was hired by a major airline in Atlanta, and my family moved. We were further away from the camp, but we stayed a full six weeks during the summer of ’77. My father had to return to Atlanta a few times, to fly for several days at a time, but Erin and I largely enjoyed ourselves. I could tell that Mom missed Dad when he had to fly, but at fourteen, noticing things outside your own little world isn’t really a common occurrence.
The next year, 1978, Mom and Dad asked us if we’d like to spend the entire summer at Aunt Susan’s. We could get one of the small cabins for the summer, and whenever Dad needed to fly a trip, he could drive into Columbia, and then catch a flight to Atlanta.
Dad told us that he’d bid lines which had all their trips jammed into ten or twelve days at a time, and that he should be able to spend more time with us. When he was gone, he’d be gone for about two weeks at a time, but he’d only have to leave three or four times over the entire summer.
We thought it was a great idea, and decided to leave the day after school ended, which coincided with my fifteenth birthday. Happy Birthday to me! I looked forward to the camp like only a perpetually horny fifteen-year-old could.
By that summer, I’d survived the “awkward phase” of puberty. I’d had a growth spurt the year before, and I was currently a half-inch over 5’7”. At fifteen, that extra half-inch is important! But I was still a little pudgy. Mom and Dad both said it was just “baby fat” (a phrase I patently despised) and that I’d grow out of it. I’m sure that all sounds very comforting when you’re not the one who’s pudgy. But while I was no longer incredibly self-conscious about my body, I certainly wasn’t all that sure of myself yet. I don’t think a self-possessed fifteen-year-old exists.
By then, however, Erin had begun to develop. She had smallish breasts and a downy tuft of pubic hair, but she was still boyishly slim. She didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious, however (much to my consternation). After all, she had already spent several summers at Aunt Susan’s, and she and her friends seemed to take undue enjoyment in comparing their developing bodies.
I guess that’s just one of the many major differences between men and women.
But I digress…
Even though she was not quite thirteen, I could already see that Erin would look a lot like Mom. At thirty-six, I had always thought of my mom as old, but I was slowly realizing that she was a very attractive woman. She was attractive in a Mom-ish sort of way, that is. (And of course, as I write this, older than that age myself, I realize how very young thirty-six actually is.)
Mom, whose name was Beth, had dark blond hair and a well-proportioned, compact body. With the past year’s growth spurt, I’d finally surpassed her 5’4” height. While I didn’t know what size bra she wore, I did admire her nice, well-rounded breasts, which were topped by small brown areolas with pronounced nipples. I’d seen a lot of bare breasts over the past few years and realized that Mom’s were very nice.
In addition, she had an hourglass figure with a neat patch of darker pubic hair covering her sex. In retrospect, I realize that Mom must have trimmed her bush, but at the tender (and somewhat naïve) age of fifteen, I simply thought her pussy was neater and more attractive than those of other women. Mom also tanned easily, and was always a rich bronze color. Erin was the same way, and her lithe young body was always darker than mine.
Where Mom was ash blond with a dark tan, my father was dark-haired and fair. My dad, David, was big. At six feet tall, he towered over me. He was also powerfully built, and far stronger than I ever thought I’d ever be. And while my fifteen-year-old penis wasn’t as small as some of my friends from camp, I hoped that I would grow to be more like my Dad in that regard as well.
While I may have more of my Mom’s height, I’d certainly gotten my father’s dark brown hair and fair skin. Ever since our first year at camp, I’d had to make sure I didn’t burn my skin badly in the blazing South Carolina sun. All in all, I guess I looked more like Dad. In time, I would develop a build more like my father’s powerful frame, but in 1978, I was still short and had more than my fair share of “baby fat.”
So my family, in early June of 1978, was looking forward to the end of school and our imminent departure for Aunt Susan’s.
At Aunt Susan’s, we usually stayed in one of the motel-type rooms just up from the clubhouse. The “motel-type rooms” were actually a couple of rows of cinder-block buildings with rooms along both sides. Most of them had a queen-sized bed and either a twin bed or a set of bunk beds, with a dresser or small chest of drawers for storing personal items. Since it was a nudist camp, there wasn’t much need for clothes storage. Some rooms were bigger, some were smaller, but the contents were generally the same.
In 1978, since my family was staying the entire summer, we got one of the stand-alone cabins further back, up the hill from the clubhouse. When we got to the camp, things started out mostly the same. Little changed from year to year at Aunt Susan’s, and the camp was just as I’d remembered it.
The entire center of the camp was on top of a very large hill (more like a ridge). The crest of the hill was several hundred yards behind, and about eighty feet above the clubhouse, with a sandy road leading down the gentle slope into the camp proper. The sandy track led all the way—several miles—back out to the padlocked chain gate that protected the property. But once you crested the little rise behind the camp, South Carolina pines and sandy soil gave way to one-room cabins and small mobile-home trailers permanently parked on blocks and wired for electricity.
Down the hill, the cinder-block motel-type buildings were off to the left, and the clubhouse was on the right. The road continued for several hundred yards around to the left, down a bit from the clubhouse, toward a few of the permanent, regular-style houses occupied by the camp’s full-time residents, like Aunt Susan.
Where the road bent gently to the left to follow the brow of the hill toward the houses, the ground sloped off to the right more steeply until it leveled out before the large freshwater lake. While the lake was spring-fed, it was actually man-made. There was a natural—and much larger—feeder lake to the left. An earthen dam with a concrete spillway let water overflow from the feeder lake into the man-made swimming lake. The swimming lake even had a brick coping around the entire circumference, complete with wide concrete steps down into the deepest, tree-shaded end. The lake also sported a canvas-covered raft of Styrofoam and wood; being spring-fed, the lake was cold even in the heat of summer.
Down the hill from the clubhouse, on the side opposite the road, were shuffleboard courts and a sand volleyball court. Behind all that was a playground for the younger kids. The entire camp and surrounding woods were bigger than I’ve ever been able to explore, given over mostly to the pine tree forests and sandy soil that are dominant in that part of the country.
The clubhouse itself was often the center of life for the camp. There were several screen doors into the clubhouse, but I almost always used the side door next to the sandy road. Inside the cool confines of the large building, there were a few ping-pong tables, an old pool-hall-style pool table with the coin slots removed, and an air-hockey table (that always seemed to need repairing).
Toward the back of the building and to the right of the game tables, there was a big bathroom area with a wall of sinks and an open shower area. I know it sounds strange, but this was a nudist camp, so there really was no need for privacy in the showers. There was, however, a door off the shower area that led to a room containing several stalls and toilets.
Past the game tables and the wall holding the sinks and containing the bathing area, the bulk of the clubhouse unfolded. Off to the left, in the front part of the building, there was a large fireplace with almost a dozen couches to the sides and in front of it. None of the couches matched each other, and must’ve all been donated to the camp. Behind the couches and past the game tables—on the other side of the wall next to the bathing area—were all sorts of tables and chairs.
On the far side of the back wall was the kitchen. The kitchen area was fronted by a long counter, with curtained-off storage space underneath it. Behind the counter, on the back wall, there was a row of stoves, followed by several sinks, each separated by about a foot of counter. On the back of the bathroom sink wall, there were refrigerators. All told, there were probably a dozen stoves and half as many large sinks, as well as at least eight refrigerators.
Each family brought a couple of baskets (we used laundry baskets) full of food and drinks. Everyone picked out their own area under the counter and in the refrigerators, and it was mostly on the honor system. There were no names on stuff in the refrigerators, but most everyone had their family name on the food baskets stored under the counters. You just knew where your stuff was, and anything that wasn’t your stuff, you left alone.
Out the far side door of the clubhouse, the one opposite the side door near the road, was a large patio with steps leading down to the shuffleboard and volleyball areas. Out the “front” door of the clubhouse, in the wall opposite the kitchen area, there was a grassy lawn that stretched all the way down the hill to the lake.
That was the world of Aunt Susan’s camp, and my family was there for the entire summer. We pulled up to our new home away from home and all of us got out to stretch, stiff from the long drive from Atlanta. We also wanted to look at the cabin’s accommodations.
The cabin that we’d gotten was quite a bit larger than the motel-style room we usually stayed in, but it was still small. It still had the bunk beds, and one queen-sized bed, but it also had a cloth-covered couch and a pair of easy chairs. And best of all, it had a small but private bathroom, complete with a bathtub and hot water (courtesy of a small water heater in a closet on the back wall). The front of the cabin was a covered porch, with a pair of rocking chairs flanking the entrance. Inside, it was really one big room; the bunk beds were immediately on the left, the larger bed in the left rear corner, the bathroom in the right rear corner, and the sitting area off to the right of the door.
Once we’d scouted out the inside of the cabin—a tour that took all of thirty seconds—we began to unload Mom’s station wagon. We unloaded our folding lawn chairs and loungers first, and stacked them up on the front porch of the cabin. Next came the two large bags with bedding and pillows, bath towels, and the family’s beach towels. And finally, we unloaded our travel bags stuffed with flip-flops, bathroom stuff and other vacation items every nudist family needs (Frisbees, swim fins, masks and snorkels, and various other goodies).
Dad then drove us all down to the clubhouse to unload the food and drinks. When we got there, it was late in the afternoon, and there were few people around; mostly older couples who were year-round residents. Mom and Dad said hello to most of them as Erin and I began lugging in the baskets of food and drinks.
Her greetings finished, Mom came over to the kitchen area to supervise our unloading, and to claim an area under the counter and in one of the refrigerators. Mom would periodically have to drive back into town to shop for more groceries, but for the time being, we were set.
Once all the unloading was completed at the clubhouse, we all piled back into the car and drove back up the hill to the cabin. Dad parked the car around behind the cabin while Mom, Erin, and I all went inside to unpack.
Erin and I opened our suitcases and simply dumped the contents on our bunk beds. By long tradition, I took the top bunk, and I simply slung my suitcase up there after extracting my towel and flip-flops. Erin was doing much the same thing.
The unpacking completed finally, we all shed our clothes. After we’d gotten our clothes off, Erin and I made a beeline for the screen door. Mom called out from across the room, where she was unpacking on the larger bed.
Erin and I pulled up short of the door and looked back at Mom.
“Paul, come here,” she said, extracting the sunblock from one of her bags. “You go on, Erin.”
I sighed and started walking toward her. It was a familiar routine, and while I hated getting a sunburn, I also really wanted to get down to play in the lake. When I got to her, I turned around to present my back and shoulders. Erin gave me a triumphant, nasty-little-sister smirk and bolted through the screen door.
She always tanned better than I did, and never got sunburned. Sometimes, there ain’t no justice!
Mom squirted the cool cream on my back and shoulders and began to rub it in. She rubbed down the tops of my arms as I obediently stood before her. When she was done, she closed the top of the brown bottle and swatted me on the behind.
“Go on, have fun!”
I raced out the screen door with a quick “thanks Mom,” thrown over my shoulder as I went.
The first week of summer went by quickly as Erin and I swam in the lake, played volleyball with the grown-ups, and generally had fun. While there were a fair number of people at the camp, not many of our friends’ families had shown up yet. We decided that things would pick up in a week or so, and the year-round residents confirmed our suspicions.
About that time, my father had to take the car and drive into Columbia so he could catch a flight back to Atlanta and fly two weeks’ worth of trips. Mom put on her clothes and drove to town to pick up enough groceries to tide us over for a week. She’d have to go to the grocery store again before Dad returned with the station wagon, but she could make the trip with one of the other women from the camp.
When she returned, Dad was almost ready to leave. He’d brought along his travel suitcase, his Jepps case—the case with all his airport maps, flight patterns, and radio frequency information—and his uniform. Erin and I got there right as Mom pulled up, just as Dad was getting dressed and ready to go.
Erin hugged him goodbye, and when she released him, Dad held out his hand to me. I reached out and took it, his larger hand enfolding my own. Dad tightened his grip as he shook my hand, but then he pulled me close and wrapped his other arm around me in a hug. He released me and gently pushed me back with a hand on my shoulder.
Dad looked down at me with a serious expression. “Take care of your mom and your sister.”
“I will, Dad.” I blushed and smiled, lowering my head in embarrassment.
“I know you will, Paul,” he said as he squeezed my shoulder. “You and Erin run along now. Your mom’s going to help me finish packing.”
I heard Erin escape out the screen door behind me, surely headed for the lake, and I turned to leave myself. I ran down the sandy track toward the clubhouse, having already lost sight of Erin. I decided to detour through the clubhouse to get a cold Coke first.
While I was walking back toward “our” refrigerator, I noticed a cap and sunglasses on one of the tables. They looked a lot like the ball cap and glasses my Dad wore, and as I got closer to them, I realized that they were indeed his. I knew he’d need his sunglasses for when he was flying, so I scooped them up and raced back up the hill to catch him before he left.
On the way up the hill, I slowed down and approached the back corner of the cabin. The station wagon was parked behind the cabin, and I pulled up just short of the corner. There were a fair number of bushes growing around the back of the cabin, so I couldn’t see the car yet, but I could hear my mom and dad talking. I paused for a second to listen, before going around the corner. I don’t know what made me stop, but I’m glad I did.
“Do you have a few minutes?” Mom asked.
I knew Dad must have been looking at his watch, since I heard him pause before answering.
“It’ll take me three hours to get to Columbia, and I’ve got a 4:18 show-time for the flight to Atlanta, so I’m pretty tight as things stand,” Dad replied.
“You can spare a few minutes.”
I decided to peek around the corner at this point. Normally, I didn’t spy on my parents, but I heard something in my mom’s voice. At fifteen, I couldn’t tell what it was, but it tickled the back of my brain and my curiosity rode roughshod over my manners.
While the bushes and the shadow of the cabin screened me from view, I had a decent view of the two of them through the branches. The front door of the station wagon was open, and Dad was standing next to it. Mom had her arms around him, and was looking up at him as she talked.
They were an interesting sight; my tall father in his dark blue uniform trousers and white uniform shirt, and my much-shorter mother, with her already bronze-tanned and nude body pressed against him, her breasts flattened against his stomach.
“Beth, I can’t miss the flight to Atlanta. I’ve got to go,” my father insisted.
“You can make the time up on the road,” Mom said as I watched her slowly sink to her knees.
I’d never before witnessed a blowjob, but as I watched Mom unzip Dad’s trousers, I felt my penis stiffen instantly at the realization of what she was going to do.
“Beth, I need to go, honey,” my father protested. Despite his verbal protests, however, he didn’t make a move to stop her.
Mom’s face was level with his crotch; she had gotten his zipper down and was reaching her right hand into his pants. In a second, she withdrew my father’s flaccid penis, and released it to hang limply from the fly of his pants. She looked up into his eyes and I could see her smile. Then she ducked her head slightly to come up from underneath, opened her mouth, and engulfed the head of his soft dick.
She sucked gently on the head for a few seconds, and I saw her cheeks cave in as she applied suction to him. Dad’s penis stiffened rapidly and Mom put her hands on his hips as she released his manhood. My own penis throbbed in reminder as I watched the scene in front of me. I shifted the ball cap and sunglasses to my left hand, knelt on my right knee, and grasped my own erection.
I turned my attention back to my kneeling mother as she tilted her head to the side and ran her tongue along the underside of Dad’s hard dick. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth as she nipped at the underside of the crown of his cock and then quickly wrapped her lips around the tip.
Mom then opened her mouth further and impaled herself on Dad’s erection. Her lips closed halfway down his length, and she made eye contact with him again. I could swear she was smiling, wickedly, as she slowly drew her lips back along the length of his shaft.
Once her lips came to the crown of his dick, she opened them wide again and thrust her head forward, taking him deeper this time. Dad lolled his head back and groaned as she sucked back along his length again.
When she pulled back again, she let his entire saliva-coated dick spring free of her grasping lips. She kissed the tip of his penis and then began planting kisses down the length of the underside. Once she reached his trousers and the limit of his exposed manhood, she kissed her way back to the tip.
I watched as she tightened her grip on his hips and opened her mouth to receive his cock again. She spread her lips and pulled his hips forward, thrusting my dad’s stiff prick into her hungry mouth.
I was stroking my erection gently, trying to keep quiet so as not to give myself away. I knelt, transfixed by the sight of her sucking his dick, and quietly rubbed my own dick in time to Mom’s motions.
I watched as she began to bob her head back and forth in earnest, concentrating on making him come. As she sucked him furiously, I sped up the pace of my stroking as well. Mom moved her hands back to grasp my father’s trouser-covered ass cheeks as she repeatedly impaled her mouth on his glistening shaft. She had her eyes closed as she concentrated fully on making him come.
My hand was a blur of motion, stroking my young penis furiously. I watched, hypnotized by the sight of Mom’s cheeks and lips as she bobbed her head back and forth. She would suck back until just the head of his cock was in her mouth, then open her lips slightly and thrust her head forward until he was more than halfway in her mouth. When she stopped moving forward she would clamp her lips about his shaft and repeat the motion.
As she rocked back and forth, sucking his cock, her breasts swayed from side to side with the rhythmic motion, and I was fascinated by the entire scene. She stroked his hard cock like that with her lips and tongue for what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a few minutes.
Suddenly, Dad leaned forward and put both hands on the back of Mom’s head. He held her still as he thrust his hips forward, hard, and forced still more of his erection into her mouth. Then he stiffened and held very still, groaning deep in his chest. I could tell he was pumping his seed down her throat; she was taking it, her lips locked around the shaft of his manhood so that only a few inches remained outside her mouth. She held on to his ass tightly, holding him deep in her throat as he spurted.
As I felt my come rising, I nearly panicked for a moment, wondering where to shoot. With a barely stifled groan of my own, I simply aimed my cock away from the cabin as I felt my balls finally boil over. My young cock spurted so hard that I thought the glistening, pearly drops must have hit the back of the station wagon from where I knelt in the bushes.
Wonderful, intense pleasure surged up my shaft and through my groin, into my belly, as I ejaculated powerfully. I watched, rapt, as Mom slowly withdrew his penis from her mouth, swallowing as his length slipped from the back of her throat.
My father’s spurts had subsided, as had my own, and Mom let his slowly deflating cock slip from her lips entirely. She swallowed again and breathed a deep sigh, breathing heavily from the intensity of having his prick buried so deeply.
My own gushing penis had spewed my semen all over the leaves of the bush I knelt behind, and I realized with a start that I had better vacate my hidey-hole or risk discovery. I cleaned off the head of my still-erect penis as best I could and slowly, quietly, I backed away from the corner where I had witnessed (and experienced) such pleasure.
As I approached the front corner of the cabin, I realized that I still had my father’s ball cap and aviator’s sunglasses clutched in my left hand. I quickly decided to run down the hill a little ways, and then come back up, as if I had just returned.
As I was coming back up the hill toward the cabin, I called out to them, to give them some warning that I was coming. When I rounded the corner of the cabin, my mom had just gotten to her feet. I saw fleeting guilty-but-don’t-let-it-show looks cross both my parents’ faces. Thankfully, Dad’s trousers were zipped up, but I noticed Mom’s lips and face were still red with exertion, and both her knees were sandy from where she’d knelt before my dad only a minute before. I saw my Mom’s eyes drop questioningly to my own recently abused (but now thankfully flaccid) penis. She quickly drew her eyes back up, but I’d caught the curious look on her face before she suppressed it.
I ran up to my Dad, and handed him his glasses and cap.
“You forgot these, Dad. Gotta go! Have a good trip!”
Then I bolted.
As I turned the corner and started to jog down the hill, I heard my mother say, “What’s gotten into him?”
I didn’t hear my father’s reply as I broke into a run, headed for the clubhouse.
I wanted the Coke that I’d gone in there to get in the first place.
That night, I lay on the top bunk with a million thoughts running through my mind. In my mind’s eye, I kept replaying scenes of Mom sucking Dad’s dick. As I lay on my back and thought of my beautiful mom on her knees, my prick quickly became erect and made a tent under the sheet.
I had always thought my mother was pretty, but until today I’d never really thought of her in a sexual way. I was embarrassed and excited at the same time. I replayed the whole series of events in my mind; the sight of Mom’s lips locked around his shaft, her cheeks bulging as she swallowed his length, the sway of her breasts as she bobbed back and forth, the lust-filled expression on her face as she made eye contact with him. All these sights and more filled my adolescent mind, and I slowly slid my hand under the covers to grasp my swollen manhood.
As I wrapped my fingers around my cock and began to stroke slowly and quietly, I imagined what Mom would look like kneeling in front of me, looking up at me, her mouth open to accept my penis. My arousal had overcome my shame at my incestuous thoughts, and my hand built speed and increased the pressure on my young dick.
Thankfully, the bunk beds were sturdy and well built, and didn’t creak or sway with my furious motion. In the dark of our little cabin, with my sister asleep on the lower bunk and my mother in the bed in the corner, I masturbated furiously, all the while thinking of my mother’s lips wrapped around my erection.
I knew I was about to come, and frantically searched for somewhere to shoot. At home, I had a box of tissues next to my bed, but there was nothing within reach here, except the sheets. I didn’t want to come on my sheets (and have to sleep the rest of the night in my own semen), so I stripped the top sheet off my body as I finally ran out of time.
With a rush of pleasure and a stifled groan, I came. I felt my hot seed geyser into the air and land on my bare chest and stomach. Spurt after spurt coursed through my penis as droplets landed on my stomach. With one final thrust of my hips, the spurting dwindled to a trickling and I relaxed my tensed leg and back muscles. I lay there quietly, clutching my erection in the dark, my own semen slowly cooling on my chest and stomach.
I listened for any sign of movement in the cabin. My blood was pounding in my ears, and my chest was heaving as I tried to gulp air as quietly as I could; I strained to pick out any sign that I’d been caught. When I heard none, I quietly rolled toward the ladder, being careful not to get any of my sperm on the sheets. I climbed down and quietly padded on bare feet toward the bathroom.
Thank goodness for having a cabin with a private bathroom! I shut the door as quietly as I could—holding the knob turned so the latch wouldn’t click—and flicked on the overhead light. Looking at myself in the mirror over the basin, I saw the white semen where it had begun to run down my hairless chest and stomach. There were pearly drops of my seed in my dark pubic hair as well, and I pulled a washcloth from the towel bar and began the task of cleaning myself.
After I was done, I rinsed the washcloth in the sink and hung it back on the bar to dry. I turned out the light, and opened the door as quietly as I could. As I crept back to the ladder to the top bunk, my mother’s sleepy voice startled me.
“Are you okay, honey?”
I was so keyed up that I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of her voice. My eyes hadn’t adjusted from the brightness of the light in the bathroom, but I could imagine her leaning up on one elbow, the sheet having slipped from her shoulders, with her tanned breasts gleaming in the pale moonlight streaming through the window. Despite the fact that I’d just come once, I felt my penis quickly fill with blood and stand out at right angles to my body.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just wanted a drink of water,” I lied.
I heard her catch her breath, and I knew she must’ve seen my erection. “Okay, honey, sleep tight,” she said quietly, not saying anything about my sudden hard-on.
“Thanks Mom,” I said as I turned half away from her to find the ladder and climb up to my bunk.
I lay awake for a little while longer, while my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering in from the outside. My erection had subsided a little, but not much, and I tried to think about anything but sex. But every time I’d try not to think about it, I’d picture my mom kneeling before my dad with his dick in her mouth. And I imagined the expression of lust on her face as she sucked him. I knew Mom wasn’t fully asleep yet, so I dared not masturbate again.
I rolled over on my side and looked down at the bed that my mother occupied alone. In the moonlight, now that my eyes had adjusted, I could clearly see her; the covers had indeed slipped from her chest, and I looked down at her breasts where they had flattened and bulged to her sides as she lay on her back. I knew that if I could see that well, Mom certainly could’ve seen my erection as I passed only a few feet in front of her on the way back from the bathroom.
In time, I heard her turn over in bed. I looked down and saw that she had pulled her sheets up over her bare shoulders. My thoughts finally turned from sex as I got drowsy, and my erection subsided enough that I fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke up before Mom and Erin, and rolled to the side of the top bunk. During the warm South Carolina night, Mom had kicked her covers free, and from my vantage point, I had an excellent view of her nude body. I blinked my sleep-crusted eyes a few times to clear them and took in the sight below me.
Of course, I had seen my mother nude before. But I’d never really looked at her. Now, I looked at her body with a new appreciation, and once again I was both excited and ashamed. Her body was the same body that I’d seen nude almost every day for the past three summers. But now I saw her in a new way. A sexual way.
Consciously, I knew my parents had sex, but I’d never thought much about it. Now, I did. I wondered how else they did it. A million fantasy images flashed through my overactive teenage imagination. My experience with sex, until the day before, had been a few Playboy magazines I’d seen with a friend from my neighborhood, crouched in the woods behind our house.
Of course, I knew about what a blowjob was. But knowing what it was and seeing it done, especially with the enthusiasm my mom displayed, were two entirely different matters. Those thoughts faded, however, as I felt my penis stiffen and I turned my attention back to my mom’s nude body.
The light from the rising sun filtered through the pine trees, and even though the inside of the cabin was still dim, I could see her body quite clearly. Knowing she couldn’t bust me for staring, I did just that. My glance lingered on her breasts—her nipples crinkly and erect in the morning air—and then slowly slid lower toward her dark tuft of pubic hair.
Her legs were spread slightly, and I got a good look at her exposed pussy. Her pubic hair was very sparse around her labia and I could tell that her lips were a dark pink color. I marveled at the slit of her pussy from where it peeked out at me.
I had just moved my hand down to grasp my erection when the silence of the cabin was broken by my mother yawning. She raised one of her arms and laid it on her forehead as her other hand groped for the sheet tangled under her. I watched in dismay as she freed the sheet and pulled it over her. Then, yawning again, her eyes blinked open. I quietly rolled over, onto my stomach, my erection pressed up against my abdomen, and looked over the side of the bed.
I watched as my mom brought her other hand up and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. I could see her staring at the ceiling of the cabin as she took another deep breath and sat up. The sheet slipped from her breasts as her eyes met mine.
“Morning, sweet pea,” she said quietly, and smiled.
I just nodded, returning the smile.
“Did you get back to sleep okay last night?”
I nodded again.
“You okay?” she asked, concern at my lack of speech tingeing her voice.
I nodded again and smiled.
“Just don’t feel like talking this morning?” she asked with a touch of amused sympathy.
I shook my head.
“You know what you want for breakfast?” She lowered the sheet and levered her legs over the edge of the bed, still looking at me.
I shook my head again, enjoying not talking, and enjoying the laughter in my mom’s eyes as she played my little game with me.
“How about pancakes?”
I nodded enthusiastically, smiling at her reaction.
Talking about breakfast, I realized how hungry I was. Additionally, the thought of breakfast banished all thoughts of sex from my head, and my erection shrank. I rolled over, kicked my feet to the ladder, and began to climb down. While my penis was no longer fully erect, it was still semi-hard. As I climbed down the ladder front-ways, it swayed from side to side with each rung. When I got to the cabin floor, I looked up at mom. She was still sitting on the side of her bed, and she was staring at my penis! When I reached the bottom of the ladder, however, she quickly looked away and stood.
“Let Erin sleep, and I’ll be down to the clubhouse to fix breakfast in a few minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she headed across the small cabin toward the bathroom.
I opened the cabin door and pushed open the screen door. My dick was still tumescent as I scooped up my towel from where it was hanging on the porch rail, let the screen door slam shut (so much for sleeping late, my pesky little sister), and trotted down the hill toward the clubhouse.