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“A Helping Hand” (circa-1966)
The full length mirror on the bedroom wall threw back an image of a fit and healthy eighteen-year-old man, boasting an impressive sculptured and toned physique.
Lifting the lid of the record player and carefully lowering the needle onto a black piece of vinyl, cursing when the needle missed the start and scratched the surface.
‘In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty,’ Donovan chimed. ‘To feel you all around me,’ he sang, letting the wet towel drop to the floor, smiling with admiration at the perfect specimen of manhood hanging in a gentle curve over his left thigh.
Some of his friends often teased him about the size of his penis. And when he was taking showers after playing football he noticed that compared to other boys of his age he had been gifted with an exceptional attachment.
Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan looked down from posters on the bedroom wall as he pulled on a pair of tight beige shorts and slipped a white t-shirt over his chest.
He looked into the mirror, checking his winning smile, his immaculate appearance and the orderly bulge straining inside his shorts.
With temperatures reaching into the high seventies it was only late morning and even with all the windows open his bedroom was incredibly hot and uncomfortable.
A generous splash of after shave and another glance in the mirror, making sure everything was perfect before he left the house and headed off to meet his best friend.
Strolling along in the sweltering heat he wondered if this year could get any better. England had beaten Germany 4-2 in the final of the World Cup. He was about to start his fist job as a trainee building surveyor with a local firm of architects and next week he was going on holiday to Barcelona with his best friend, Andy Dobson.
But football, work and holidays were insignificant. The only thing on his mind today was meeting Andy’s mother.
Ruth Dobson lived with her son in a detached house on a private residential estate on the outskirts of Gateshead. In all the time he had known Andy and Ruth they had never once discussed or even mentioned the subject of her divorce, almost six years ago.
According to gossiping neighbours when Ruth discovered her husband was having an affair with his secretary – apparently a woman half his age with loose legs and firm young tits – he came home one night, packed a bag and walked out of her life.
During the early stages, Ruth was devastated and struggled emotionally with the circumstances, but time is a great healer and eventually she recovered from her ordeal and was able to get on with her new life. Some people said that when the time came she actually looked forward to the divorce.
The divorce settlement left Ruth financially comfortable which enabled her to pay for Andy’s university fees and a new Austin Mini for his eighteenth birthday.
He often wondered whether his insatiable appetite for knowledge was driven by his own aspirations for academic achievement or more of a parental motivation to please his mother.
In the girls and sex department, Andy claimed to have lost his virginity to a girl he met when he was on a camping holiday with his parents in southern France.
He was still a virgin. Probably because he had been going out with a girl for almost two-years, who constantly reminded him that the Catholic Church advocated that sex before marriage was an unholy act. And definitely because her parents had an over-bearing disciplinarian attitude with their daughter’s social life, both lecturing her about the merciless wrath that would befall her if she ever gave in to temptation and that boys were the evil seed of Satan and if she ever explored such wicked and unholy temptations, God would come down and pierce her eyes with fire.
But the day she let him touch her breasts for the very first time would be embedded in his memory for life. He wasn’t sure whether it was her final pledge of endearment or just a parting gift, but there was an uncanny coincidence on that particular day.
Not long after he had fondled her breasts she told him that her parents were going to live in Australia and she would be going with them.
Up till now, sex had been nothing more than imagination and endless hours of masturbation.
For a woman in her early-forties Ruth Dobson was a beautiful, elegant and sexy woman.
Greeted at the door with an infectious smile and a soft kiss on the cheek was all it took to shape a growing lump inside his shorts.
“Come in Mark,” Ruth invited, with a sweeping hand, a smile showing perfect white teeth, sipping a cool drink from a glass, a motioning finger pointing at the kitchen door.
“Andy’s waiting outside on the patio,” she said, her voice whispered in a seductive melody, her large breasts making a brief appearance through a gap in her blouse. “I’ve prepared cold drinks. If you come this way,” she offered, heading for the door, his feet following quickly on her heels, his eyes bahis firmaları glued to her shapely curves, her endless legs disappearing inside a pair of snug fitting white shorts, her pouting bottom lifting and lowering as she shifted her weight, waving invitingly from beneath the tight fabric, revealing shrouded hints of the alluring nakedness that lay beneath.
The drink was cold, his heart warming to the acquaintance of her elegance and captivating smile, watching her skipping around the patio, fussing over the two of them as if they were both her children, an accidental meeting of hands or the slightest touch of her womanly curves sending a shiver up his spine, leaving him with an iceberg of an erection straining inside of his shorts.
There had been numerous occasions when the heat from hormonal proximity was so intense that he had to sprint home to release the build-up of steaming contents inside his testicles, although there were times when his desire to masturbate was so urgent that he had to use her bathroom to offload a generous amount of seminal fluid into the toilet pan.
Thermometers were almost reaching boiling point, sending needles high into the eighties the day Andy and Ruth pulled the car to a halt outside his parent’s house.
After squeezing his bag into the boot of the car and giving his mother and sister Victoria a hug, they were gone.
Their holiday to Barcelona involved a short detour to Ipswich to visit Andy’s grandmother. While the two boys were away Ruth was going to spend some valued time with her mother.
Even with all of the windows rolled down the heat inside the Austin Mini was unbearable. Andy at the steering wheel, him in the front passenger seat, accepting the role of navigator, Ruth casually thumbing through a magazine in the back, a wide-brimmed straw-hat tilted on her head, her fingers playing with a silver pendant hanging on a chain around her neck, twisting the buttons on her blouse, the white summer dress creeping slowly above her knees, the slightest movement in the seat offering hints of the enchanting treasures that lay beneath.
“Would you two boys like a mint?” Ruth asked, searching inside a straw bag, the question giving him another excuse to crane his head and look back over his shoulder, a welcoming smile and a soft voice greeting his inquisitive eyes.
“Take one for Andrew,” she said, fanning her face with the magazine, her summer dress riding high on her thighs, her white knickers in full view, his decadent subconscious flashing images of the buttons on her blouse springing apart and a surge of pure woman spilling out.
In the claustrophobia of closeness and the emerging heat of hormonal chaos, pulses throbbed, heart beats raced and genitalia stirred, perspiration and perfume teasing his nostrils, filling the car with the aroma of sex.
Was it the humidity of the afternoon sun, or was it the heat of sexually charged bodies, he thought.
Whatever it was it had left him with a throbbing nuisance inside his shorts and he wondered how many times he could discretely lower his hand and make an adjustment without making it too obvious.
It was almost six-o’clock when they finally reached Ipswich.
The imposing Victorian double-fronted detached house set in an acre of land, boasting six bedrooms and a large sun terrace at the rear leading to a gazebo bordering a small orchard at the bottom of the garden, was certainly impressive.
Although Edith Webster had recently suffered a stroke, leaving one side of her face and body semi-paralysed, she showed amazing courage to ensure that her disability wouldn’t prevent her from the life she had cherished with her late husband Arthur.
The house held many memories of her late husband and Edith made it very clear to anyone who asked that she would only leave when heaven calls her name.
During dinner that evening, Ruth had been sampling the red wine a little too much and a little too often, and it was evident from her slurred speech that she was heading for a severe hangover the next day.
After putting Edith safely to bed and making a short detour to her wardrobe, Ruth walked back into the living room wearing a figure hugging red skirt and a blouse with too many buttons undone.
She smiled poured wine into a glass and lifted the lid of the record player.
The romantic voice of Frank Sinatra filled the room. ‘Strangers in the Night,’ she sang, a glass of wine in her hand, twirling on tiptoes to an imaginary waltz, a vision of wonder floating on air around the room. ‘What were the chances, we’d be sharing love, before the night was through,’ she harmonised with Frank, her curvy bottom swaying with the rhythm of the music, sweeping her tongue suggestively over her lips, blowing the occasional kiss from the palm of her hand when she thought her son wasn’t looking.
Andy sighed, jumped to his feet and pointed at the clock above the fireplace.
“It’s getting late. I think we should all get some sleep.”
Andy’s kaçak iddaa uncompromising stare was enough to prompt his friend to lift from the sofa.
“Not before I have a dance,” Ruth insisted, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
“You can go to bed Andrew,” she added, her words slurred from too much wine, pointing a finger at the door. “We’ll follow you up as soon as we’ve finished our dance.”
Grunting his frustration through hissing teeth, muttering in disapproving grunts, Andy headed for the door, his footfalls thudding in fading echoes on the creaking stairs.
“Dance with me Mark,” she whispered, her words breathed more than spoken, peppering soft kisses over his neck and blowing a whisper of hot air into his ear, running a soft hand across his face, feeling his growing limb pressing urgently against her burning heat.
The closeness, the warmth of two bodies joined together in a moment of spontaneous intimacy, moving to persuasive urges, meeting the force, applying more pressure against his swollen flesh, twisting and wriggling her hips, letting him feel the heat of arousal, the urgent sexual desire of a wanting woman.
The kiss was warm wet and hungry, the promise of expectation stealing his heart and the breath from his lungs, lust and hormonal chaos teasing his senses, adrenaline fuelling testosterone, a heart racing in timeless beats, a throbbing limb straining inside his shorts, threatening to make an appearance, his balls about to erupt at any second.
He wanted to tell her to stop but that was never going to happen.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept on dry sheets. The sleepless nights, his mind creating images of her naked body lying in his bed, a running commentary, a filthy narrative to stimulate the countless hours of masturbation and the violent orgasms that followed.
And now the woman who had helped to launch a trillion sperm was pushing her body against his swollen flesh with lustful intent, teasing his senses and corrupting his mind with potential and suggestive implications.
Mouths collided, tongues duelled passionately, the warmth of her breasts flattening against his chest, hands fondling and touching, feeling and caressing, hormonal turmoil spinning inside his head, his body responding in ways he could never have imagined.
He had to ask himself was this really happening or was he dreaming? If it was a dream he never wanted to wake up.
The pulse of her lips and the fullness of her breasts promised him the moment was real.
A vulva burning with desire, the heat of passion pooling between her legs, breathing in short gasps through tight lips, moans and groans chasing laboured pants, her breasts rising and falling against his chest, a thousand butterflies fluttering inside her stomach, the ache between her thighs pleading for attention, closing her eyes, a wanting woman floating in a dreamy trance, a needy woman lost in a moment of sensual arousal.
Hormones erupting with the acquaintance of touch, two hearts beating in an intimate union of surreptitious flutters and anxious confusion, two heads swimming in a sea of mixed emotions, two people losing control of rational, arousal and expectation sweeping away caution, pushing and thrusting, letting her feel his hardness pressing against her softness.
Tugging and pulling impatiently with the clip on her bra, two weighty breasts spilling from their bondage and into his hands, feeling the warmth and the softness between his fingers, fondling the hard nipples between his finger and thumb, pulling and twisting each one a little more than he intended.
“Be gentle,” she whispered, breaking away from the embrace, smiling at his innocence, watching his face turning crimson and his mouth searching for apologetic words.
She smiled and placed a finger over his lips.
“Don’t say anything. It’s not necessary. Sex is a perfectly natural biological function and I’m rather flattered that…at my age, I still have that effect on a man,” she said, removing the finger from his lips, a soft voice revealing a trace of sadness.
“I also have needs, Mark. It’s been a long time since my divorce and far too long since I had…” her voice faded, her eyes taking a detour over his youthful physique, a collection of immoral thoughts gathering inside her head. His fit young body…His firmness…His endless stamina…The gruesome muscle hidden beneath his shorts…
Shaking her head and rolling he eyes, banishing the corrupt thoughts from her mind, a deep intake of breath giving her time to regain her composure, a feigned smile and an anxious voice betraying a hint of longing and frustrated desire.
“Well let’s just say far too long since I enjoyed the comforts of a man.”
What happened next would be etched in his memory for the rest of his life.
The embrace was warm and affectionate, lips touched and mouths crashed together in a smouldering kiss, two bodies energised by an exchange of powerful electric charges, eager kaçak bahis tongues joining together in a ballet of heightening endearment, impatient hands sweeping over fabric, over curves, over bulges, over flesh, searching and probing, fondling and squeezing, feeling the firmness, the length, the thickness, the pulse beneath the cotton fabric responding to the persuasion of touch.
“Wow,” she gasped, breaking from the kiss. “That’s something to be proud of. The girls will be queuing up for you,” she said, forcing a smile that quickly faded.
The sound of elephant-like feet thudding on the stairs interrupted their moment of passion.
A frustrated sigh and a nervous shuffle on the sofa, eager to get distance between them, a quick rearranging of clothes making sure there were no signs of mischief, innocent faces looking up from the sofa, watching and listening, waiting patiently for the living-room door to burst open at any moment. They looked at the door. They looked at each other. They waited for the lecture that never came.
Disapproving sighs and mutters of frustration, glasses clinking and an unnecessary clashing of cupboard doors echoing from the kitchen was all they got.
“Just getting a drink of water,” Andy growled into a glass, the tone of his voice growing louder, a clear sign that he didn’t agree with leaving his mother alone with his friend.
In a room full of emotions they forced smiles and spoke in surreptitious whispers, watching the fire crackle, the mood unavoidably broken, the intimacy and the passion, the excitement and libido consumed in the flames.
But although the interruption frustrated him a little there was no denying that the promise of flirtatious interaction and the mutual exchange of chemistry were all encouraging signs that their conversation was becoming more of an adult nature.
Ruth emptied what was left of the wine into two glasses and made the best attempt to apologise for her son’s protective behaviour.
“Ever since the divorce, Andy has inherited a protective influence on my life. He means well,” she sighed, lifting the glass to her mouth. “He’s still young and sensitive but it’s just a matter of time before he grows out of it,” she smiled, draining the wine from her glass.
It was just after one o’clock when they climbed the creaking stairs and headed off to bed.
His bedroom was spacious and immaculately clean, boasting a double bed, a wash hand basin and fitted wardrobes running the entire length of one wall.
He removed his t-shirt, dropped his shorts to the floor and took himself in hand.
It was time for the tissues.
Tonight’s masturbation would be special.
The bulging veined beast throbbed in his hand, images for masturbation already forming inside his head. The kiss… The heat of her breath… Her stunning body… Her shapely bottom… Her weighty tits falling into his hands… Her hand stroking his cock…
The solo stimulation quickly gathered speed, an eager and impatient hand working the meaty length up and down, fast and slow, tugging and pulling, up and down, increasing the pace, a filthy commentary motivating momentum, faster and faster.
The sound of the bedroom door closing against the latch and the shapely silhouette of an unexpected visitor dressed in a white robe, standing motionless with her back against the door, interrupted his moment of pleasure.
He sat up in bed and pulled a bed sheet over the swollen limb, blinking his eyes and trying to focus in the darkness. But even in the obscurity of the room the shapely curves visible through the diaphanous material and the unmistakable smell of perfume informed him that Ruth Dobson had entered his bedroom.
Floating across the room in a whisper of silent footsteps, her shapely breasts bouncing beneath the robe, the bed creaking slightly as she settled her weight on the mattress, a thin smile curling the corners of her mouth.
“Don’t say a word. We don’t want anyone to hear us?” she whispered, covering his mouth with her hand.
“But…But…We…” he stammered, opening and closing his mouth, searching for words, but nothing was coming out, the promise of suggestion interrupting his painful dilemma.
“It’s okay. Don’t try to talk. After our unfinished romance I had to come here tonight. I think you were expecting me, weren’t you?” she asked, resignation making way for optimism, leaning over and kissing him softly on the forehead.
“Yes…I suppose,” he mumbled unconvincingly, failing to disguise the delight in his voice, the phallic object poking beneath the white cotton sheet teasing her curiosity, bringing a smile to her face and a question forming on her lips.
“Is that a present for me?” she mockingly asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I like presents…Can I open it now?” she smiled, pulling the bed sheet from his naked body, flicking the switch on a table light. “I like to see what I’m getting,” she giggled, the forty-watt bulb just enough to show white teeth smiling through full red lips.
He shuffled nervously on the bed, clutching his testicles with one hand and grabbing a very impressive erection with the other, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a smile.
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