- My Boyfriend’s mom was better – part 1
- My Boyfriend’s mom was better – part 2
This is a story about tuning my boyfriend’s mom. comes in 2 parts and make sure you read both to cum. Let’s begin.
Dating James had been going pretty well.
He was sweet, good looking, funny, and respected that although I had turned eighteen a couple weeks ago, I still wasn’t ready for sex.
My parents had lost their virginities together on their wedding night, and so had all four of my grandparents. I hadn’t been there, of course, but I had it on good authority… often accompanied by finger wagging to emphasize just how important those facts were.
Now I wasn’t unduly swayed by the finger wagging and wasn’t purposely waiting for marriage… nor was I under any delusions that I may be the only eighteen year old virgin in the state… but I did want to make sure my first time was special and with someone I loved… and James seemed to be that person… and dear God, I didn’t want to turn out like my parents who had split up when I was two and still presented each other for the mistake they had made 18 years ago.
Although we were taking it slow, I had given him a hand job at the drive-in, and had sucked on his penis a bit the last two times we’d gone out. The first time it was for maybe two minutes before I gagged on it… but the second time I lasted longer… although I could only take a little more than half of his six inch penis in my mouth (but I was determined to get better and since then had practiced with a carrot for several days and was considering upgrading to a cucumber).
He had felt me up many times, he really loved playing with my big breasts, although I had not let him actually see them yet.
Maybe I was a prude, but I just wasn’t comfortable with being naked in front of him or anyone else.
Truth be told, this reticence was more about insecurity than anything else. I had been teased very cruelly by the other girls for developing early (grade six). I was apparently the first weirdo in the entire universe to develop breasts, and even now they were abnormally large for my slender frame.
I moved to Wakefield in my junior year, and since I no longer had to endure the torture that was called physical education (no actual education happened, just a social hierarchy based on strength and coordination… of which I had neither) in this new school I was able to wear baggy sweaters to hide the embarrassing breasts that nobody here was quite aware of.
James was awesome. We liked the same music, both of us loving 80s retro, we were both advanced students and both were in a band. He was thoughtful, funny and caring… I was pretty sure I was beginning to fall in love with him… and was already considering giving up my virginity to him… soon… but not yet.
And although I wasn’t ready for sex with James just yet, I was extremely sexually curious and masturbated a lot to online porn and erotic literature. And according to what I’d read (video porn doesn’t count, since all those guys have horse dicks), James was above average in the penis department… I guessed about six inches. So when the time came (unintended pun), I was expecting to really come. I had used my fingers, hairbrush and an empty collectable coke bottle from the 80s (that one broke my hymen) and I already wanted something bigger and fleshier.
Anyway, I had met James’s mom and was in awe of her. She was beautiful, sweet, and almost excessively friendly. She complimented me profusely about how pretty I was and even suggested we go to a spa together.
My own mother blamed me for her horrible life. Although she almost never said as much, she constantly implied it by her words (or lack of words) and her uncaring behavior. So I was very drawn to this new motherly figure who actually seemed to care about me. So I eagerly agreed to a spa day, although I had only the vaguest notion of what that might be.
The massage was first, and we were lying side by side waiting for our masseuses, which I found strange, but was too shy to mention.
The towel I was wearing was insufficient to disguise the size of my breasts, and it didn’t take long for Mrs. Morrison to notice.
“Oh my, where have you been hiding those?” she asked, boldly reaching out and actually feeling me up!
My eyes went very wide, and I was paralyzed with shock as I thought to myself, ‘Is Mrs. Morrison, my English teacher and my boyfriend’s mother, really feeling me up?’
She continued speaking casually, as if her hands and my breasts weren’t separated only by a thin towel, “These beauties are nice and firm. Very impressive for their size.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, not sure what else to say. This wasn’t quite sexual, although she was paying them rapt attention, assessing them physically, and cupping and squeezing them… oddly with the same fascination that her son often did.
Removing her hands a moment later, she pulled her own towel away and tossed it in a corner. I was suddenly facing my boyfriend’s mother naked! “Do mine seem to sag at all?”
“No, Mrs. Morrison,” I answered. Her breasts were slightly smaller than mine, but still impressively firm for a woman in her forties. My mom had big tits like mine, and they sagged disgustingly now… a fate I hoped to avoid by staying in great shape. I even added, trying to keep my cool during this strange encounter, “I hope mine look that good when I’m older.”
“Please, Tessa, call me Lia. ‘Mrs. Morrison’ makes me feel so damn old,” she offered as she reached for my hands.
As I went to agree, I suddenly discovered I was grasping two handfuls of bare breasts. I was a bit confused, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t placed them there myself.
I stammered, having never touched a pair of breasts other than my own, “S-s-sure, Lia.”
“Do they feel firm?” she asked, holding my wrists in place so I had no choice about feeling her up. “That’s as important as how they look.”
Bewildered, I agreed, as I squeezed them, in awe of them, “Yes Lia, they’re perfectly firm.”
“Thank you, Tessa,” she smiled, letting go of my wrists. “I needed to hear that.”
Oddly, maybe out of utter paralysis but maybe not, my hands remained on her breasts, gently squeezing and caressing them for about ten more seconds, before I realized what I was doing and pulled them away. She had made no move to hasten me away.
My face burned red, feeling like I had just been involved in an act of lesbianism. But it progressed to crimson when I glanced down and saw that her vagina was completely shaved.
I quickly looked back up, but it was too late. I was busted. “It’s important to keep your nether regions bare,” she explained. “Vaginal hygiene is critically important.”
“Oh,” was all I could say as the awkward situation became even more awkward.
“Let me see your vagina, my dear,” she requested.
“I’m not really comfortable with that, Lia,” I refused, wishing the masseuses would show up.
She ignored my protest and obvious discomfort and insistently snatched the towel away from me. She explained, “Tessa, we are both women. We have the same body parts; there is no reason to be shy.”
Overwhelmed and shocked, I stood there as she studied my body very thoroughly.
“Your breasts really are amazing,” she complimented, looking at them as if she were a jeweler appraising two fine diamonds, before looking down at my hairy vagina. “Oh my, we will need to do something about that, though.”
Before I could respond, although I was speechless and wasn’t sure what I would have stammered if given the opportunity, the two masseuses walked into the room.
I quickly grabbed the towel on the bed and covered myself, feeling again as if I was caught in the act of lesbianism.
Lia simply walked over to a bed, not at all uncomfortable to be completely naked in front of two strangers.
I quickly moved onto the other bed and hid myself under the sheet of safety, still trying to comprehend the surreal encounter that had just occurred.
Throughout the entire quiet massage, which felt utterly amazing and relaxing, I tried unsuccessfully to make sense of that strange encounter.
The rest of the afternoon passed without anything else out of the ordinary as we got scalp massages, manicures and pedicures, and haircuts while we chatted about school, James, and holiday locations she had been to and that I wanted to go to when I was older.
I noticed that when she talked, she was often touchy feely, either with the hairdresser or with me, when we were sitting beside each other for our pedicures.
The more we chatted, the more I came to the conclusion that my brief feeling at the beginning was just Lia being Lia: friendly and touchy feely.
On the way home, she suggested, giving my leg a squeeze, “I want you to come over on Saturday for supper.”
“Okay, that would be great,” I agreed, oddly captivated by her and her motherly attention… she was all the things that my mother wasn’t.
A few days later, I arrived for supper dressed up in a cute sundress and pantyhose. I had noticed that every time I saw Mrs. Morrison she was in a dress or skirt and pantyhose that looked very good on her. I felt a need to emulate her.
And truth be told, I wanted to impress her.
I had also, although I had done it awkwardly, and despite it not being something she would ever have the chance to discover, shaved my vagina. It had taken forever and I was terrified the entire time that I would cut myself, but I did it… as a special surprise for James on the day I would finally allow myself to give him my virginity, and also as an expression of my secret desire to be more like Lia.
When I arrived, she was indeed wearing a dress. A nice black one that didn’t camouflage her large breasts at all. She pulled me in for a big hug, our breasts squeezing together, as she complimented, “You look utterly delicious.”
I thought the word ‘delicious’ was strange, but parroted back, “You look delicious too.”
As she broke the embrace she smiled, her tone oddly sultry, “Oh trust me Tessa, I’m a taste treat to die for.”
I laughed, unsure what she meant, “I imagine so.”
She looked down at my feet. I had taken off my heels as soon as I walked into the house, since she had a no shoes rule, and said admiringly, “Pantyhose. Classy.”
“Thank you,” I nodded, before adding, wanting her to know I was trying to emulate her, “I’m trying to learn elegance from you.”
“You are? In that case come with me,” she said, taking my hand and leading me to her bedroom.
I was confused, but I followed. She then ordered, “Wait here.”
“Okay,” I agreed, having no idea what she had in mind.
She went to her dresser, shuffled through it for a bit, then returned with nylons in her hand.
“Hold these,” she ordered, handing them to me.
“Okay,” I obeyed. I watched in shocked awe as she dropped to her knees in front of me, reached under my dress and pulled down my pantyhose.
She explained, acting as if her intimacies were perfectly normal, “Reinforced pantyhose are what grannies wear.”