'He slams his eleven inches deep up her cunt. After one stroke she comes. Five minutes later they were fucking again, and she was screaming like a bitch on heat. Her second climax was volcanic.'
I winced. David writing porn didn't upset me, but writing it so badly, did. It was crude, without any subtlety, and some of it was even naive, as if it had been written by an inexperienced adolescent boy. In my opinion, it was only a three out of ten. And I was being generous. My Son was very clever, he could do a lot better than this.
I'd gone into his room to tidy it up. As usual, it was a mess. I should speak to him about it, but he was a straight A student, studying hard, so for now, I'd cut him some slack. When I picked up the empty mug from his desk the PC made a noise, and then a document appeared on the screen, as if by magic. On another day I would have ignored it. It would be part of his thesis, and therefore of no interest to me. But something caught my eye, it was the word cunt. That was strange, because my Son was majoring in Geology, and not Gynaecology!
I knew that I shouldn't read it, but I was intrigued. It started off as a love story between a young man and an older woman, but it soon became porn. And when I'd got to the end, that's when I'd winced.
When I left his bedroom it was tidy, and the document on the PC was as I'd found it, on the last page, so that he wouldn't know that I'd read it.
For the next hour I was busy doing my chores, and then I put my feet up. As I drank my coffee, and munched on chocolate biscuits, I thought about David's story. Until it had got sexual, it had been well-written. However, after their first kiss, it had rapidly gone downhill. It was as if it had been written by somebody that had very little experience with women, and that's why it wasn't realistic. And that got me thinking about my Son.
He's twenty years old, and in my eyes at least, he's good looking. He has strong rugged features, just like his Father. If you like your men clever, then he's for you. I just wish that he was more self-confident. His Father has that in spades, and he'd used it to sweet-talk me into bed with him when I was only eighteen.
When Jim got home, I talked to him about our Son.
"Do you think he's still a virgin?"
With surprise in his voice, he said, "He's twenty years old."
That was his way of saying no. To him, being that age and still a virgin was unthinkable.
"But he's not like you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You aren't shy. Talking to women is easy for you. You can charm the birds from the trees."
Without even a hint of false modesty, he said, "That's true."
"I don't think he's had much experience with women."
After shaking his head, he said, "He's had lots of girlfriends."
That wasn't true. Yes, some girlfriends, but not many. However, I didn't challenge him about what he'd just said, because he was never going to change it. As far as he was concerned, his Son was like he was when he was twenty. A stud!
I thought that he would have wanted to know what had prompted me to ask that question about our Son, but he hadn't. If he had, I wouldn't have told him it was because of the story that I'd read, I would have given him a nice smile, and then said, "No reason." For other men, that wouldn't be enough, but for Jim it would be. He would be happy with that answer. I loved him dearly, but I wasn't blind to his faults. He wasn't just self-confident, he was also self-centred, so he wouldn't be too interested in finding out what had motivated me to say it.
David wasn't back until seven, just in time for him to eat with us. During the meal he didn't say much, and as soon as he'd finished he went to his room. He would now be studying, or perhaps he would be writing more of the story?
We didn't see him again for the rest of the evening, and at ten o'clock we went to bed. As soon as we were in our room, Jim surprised me.
While we were undressing, he said, "Do you really think he's still a virgin?"
I could tell that he was concerned, even worried. This was unusual for him. He was showing compassion towards his Son. Then he spoilt it, when after getting in to bed with me, he revealed the real reason for his emotions.
"If he is, I hope he keeps it to himself. I don't want my friends finding out about it."
That got him a poke in his ribs, with enough force to make him yelp.
"That hurt, why did you do it?"
"If you don't know why, then there's no point in me trying to explain it to you."
I then quickly moved, so that my back was towards him. He knew what that meant. I was annoyed with him. Despite knowing that, I felt his hand on my breast. When I grabbed it, he pulled it back, and I let go of his hand.
"Sorry. Sometimes I can be a little insensitive."
It wasn't sometimes, it was often, and it was never little, but at least he was apologizing, and that for him was unusual.
This time when his hand was back on my breast, I let him keep it there, and when his skilled fingers found my nipple, I gave a low moan. I knew what was coming next, and he didn't disappoint me. He was now kissing my neck, and as always, that was getting me excited. I was forty one years old, and we'd been together since I was eighteen, so he knew what buttons to press, and in which order. And for somebody who could be quite selfish, he was a generous lover. If I was to list his faults it would take me some time, and I'd need more than one page. But there would be nothing on that list that was anything to do with our sex life.
It wasn't long before I turned over. His fingers on my nipples was always nice, but his mouth on them was even better. As soon as my tits were facing him, he was greedily sucking on one of them. And I was moaning again, but this time louder.
When he pushed me onto my back it was so that he could get to my other nipple. It was now a two-pronged attack. One of them in his mouth that he wasn't just sucking on, he was also nibbling it, and the other was getting the expert attention of his fingers. And very soon it would get even better, because I'd opened my legs, and that was to let him know that I was ready to be fingered.
When they went in, I gasped. He'd pushed them in quickly, and he hadn't stopped until they were deep inside me. For some women that would have been too harsh, but for me it was perfect. Just what I wanted. Then as he started fucking me with them, I reached for his cock.
He was now servicing my tits and my pussy, and I was slowly stroking his swollen member. When we were younger, we'd both quickly reach it, and then soon after, we'd be fucking again. But now, for most times, once is enough, so we pace ourselves.
Even now, his cock still fascinates me. I'd come to him as a shy virgin, and it was the first one that I'd ever touched. Then it had seemed so big, perhaps too big for my little pussy. But now, because we occasionally watched porn together, I knew that it wasn't a large cock. However, his six inches was enough for me, and up to now, it has never failed to give me complete satisfaction.
As I got more excited, my hand was moving faster. Jim understood that, and he used it to tell him when I was ready to accept his cock. It was rare when I had to speak, to ask him to fuck me. But tonight I had to.
"Put it in," and then to make it clear that it was urgent, I quickly added, "And do it now!"
When he entered me I gave a loud sigh, and then when he was fully in me I purred. Was there a better feeling than having my pussy filled up by a nice cock? If there was then I had never experienced it. And this was just the start. He would now fuck me, using all the experience that he had, to a climax that would be long and satisfying. I loved him for lots of reasons, but his skill in the bedroom was probably the top of the list.
