She is now 73 years old. Her figure is well preserved even though she never exercised, ate healthily, slept regular hours, or took particular cautions where sex and social media, the internet, and banking were concerned. Not until 2019 did she become aware of who she was due to the influences of her childhood.
Her mother harangued her unmercifully as a teenager, afraid of pregnancy, and who knows what other fears her mom may have had for her daughter. Her mother cared so much she had the opposite effect on her daughter. The problem became insurmountable, and the daughter married a sailor and fled home and the tiny suburb of the 1960s as soon as she turned eighteen and graduated from high school.
With her, she took her lack of personal confidence, her beauty suppressed by her past denigrations from her mom so much that she indeed was not able to see the attributes that were exceptional and desirable to most other new friends. She made friends quickly, was socially appropriate, and didn't know how to believe what people said, since her mom had belittled her even in words she would use intending to be supportive and complimentary.
The wedding was on a delightful early October day, warm, clear, sunny, and bright. Lots of pictures were taken at the reception, and she was smiling from ear to ear. He was excited to be marrying her. She was happy to be getting out of town and away from mom.
When they drove away from the reception in the late afternoon, they were both happy, kissy-face, and looking forward to the new adventure called marriage. Though she thought of another man, she was determined to love this sailor, the actual savior from her past.
Our past stays with us as we make decisions to live our life a certain way. Living to avoid our past isn't ever a successful separation, oh, maybe for a little while. Still, when combined with her mom and her decision to marry the wrong guy, she was facing an inevitable dark day of disappointment and reckoning with her past.
The groom, on the other hand, was hopelessly and blindly in love with this young woman and didn't want to hear the warnings of families on both sides. He was going to marry her and enjoy being the first man to make love with her. He was full of hormones, lust, ignorance about women, no experience with a family of happily married couples, and knew he was going to live happily ever after. His desire for her was nearly unlimited. However, he still held it against her that she wouldn't let him go much beyond feeling her breasts under her blouses until after they were married. He had never even gotten close to touching her vaginal area.
One date, she had unfastened her waistband and then changed her mind while still kissing and hugging. He had gone home in a huff, first jacking off in his car in her driveway, then driving toward home with his pants pulled down to his knees. He was so horney that he stopped alongside a park and jacked off among the trees, spraying his sticky white semen all over the side of a tree.
His adrenalin was subsiding after two orgasms within the last six or seven minutes. He looked at the tree, rubbed the dangling come from his cock, and licked his hands clean. He left his slacks open to air dry the come in his pubic hair.
When he was back in the car, he noticed a hobo type man about thirty feet away watching every move. The hobo came over to him and asked if he wanted a blow job for a dime. The groom, passing on the offer, was so tempted to do it that he started jacking off while driving toward home. When he pulled into the driveway, he had to see his way through a large blog of white and translucent come hanging from the inside surface of the windshield because he had his third orgasm in less than fifteen minutes as he pulled into the driveway.
His pants, shirt, shoes, arm, and his face had come smeared on them, so he entered the house quickly and quietly so he could get his clothes soaking in the washing machine before anyone could tell what he was hiding.
It was 2 am, so the chances of anyone being awake were slim, but he was still careful. When he had started to load the washing machine, he found more dirty clothes to add to the small load he had and threw it all into the same washing cycle as his own clothes. He did, however, take the usual precautions with his mother's and sister's undergarments, as he had been reminded too many times not to forget to treat those clothes items special and that they were placed in small lingerie bags before going in the washer. While he was in the laundry room, he looked at the labels in the bras and panties. He determined that his sister had 36AA bras, his mother had 44D bras, and his sister wore size 4 and 5 panties. His mother seemed to wear a size 6 to 12 panty depending on the cut of them.
His sister's underwear were all colors, shapes, and conditions, from torn and frayed to bright delicate lacy and frilly. His mothers were all white except for a pair of sheer black panties that had an open crotch. He became so engrossed in looking at the crotchless panty that he unconsciously had begun to stroke his cock. He quickly was rigid, hard, and pointing to the overhead light. He put the crotch against his nose, inhaling his mother's scent. He slid them over his cock, and standing on his tip-toes began to masturbate using the vibrating clothes dryer to stimulate his balls.
As he approached another climax, he realized that he needed to be taller, and to cure the problem, he could use the stool that his mom stored between the washer and dryer. After he climbed on the stool. He could then swing his balls very hard against the vibrating dryer while he enjoyed smashing his balls between his fist and the vibrating dryer top. Add in the socially unacceptable behavior, and he (Dale) had grounds for so many cautions that he felt embarrassed after he came in the washer.
