Practice had been a royal bitch on that day back in 1978. It had been worse for me, since I had gotten beaten for two scores by that Lee High prick the past Friday night. So, on the day I turned eighteen, I had been running shit drills all morning. The lone saving grace on this Monday morning was that there was no school, so practice had been in the morning. The rest of the day was mine to do as I pleased.
Of course, after running gassers for half an hour on top of a two-hour practice, I was in no mood to hit the mall or attempt anything much more than take a shower and zone out in my room.
After practice, I usually showered at the locker room; however, I just wanted to get the holy fuck out of the place that day. I had blown two coverages on defense, and though I had a pretty good day on the other side of the ball, we were all about "perfection". Coach Travis, our secondary coach, had not even wanted to speak to me after the game, but he seemed more than happy to scream at me from the first minute of practice to the last. I can only imagine how the day would have gone had we actually lost to the Rebels.
Anyway, I had experienced all the football I could handle for the day. After the grueling practice, I just wanted to sleep the afternoon away. By the time I pulled my Camaro into the circle drive in front of the house, my sweat-sopped, gray t-shirt was pressed wetly to my chest. As I stepped from my car, clad only in the t-shirt, a pair of black shorts and my cleats. The cleats had been hard to drive in, but my feet were numb from the gassers we had run. I had actually been scared to take them off for fear my feet would come off with them.
I kicked them off before entering the house. I knew if I hadn't my step-mom would have had a fit. It would not do for me to mark up "her" beautiful tile floor. Holding my shoes, I gingerly padded off to the bathroom. The long, hot shower soothed my tired, beaten body. I toweled off, and without bothering to cover up, I walked directly from the bathroom across the hall to my bedroom.
Even as bone tired as I was, I looked down at my semi-hard cock, as it bobbed with each step I took. I was glad to have a day off from school where there would be no dad and no step-mom. I decided I would give my eight-inch tall little friend some attention after a much needed doze in my room.
Back then, my hair was long, down on my shoulders. That was another thing the coaches harped on, but girls loved it. Girls always trump coaches. Fuck, if it hadn't been for pussy, I would never have gone through all the sports shit, anyway.
I laid the towel on my pillow, pulled on my earphones (they were massive back in the day) and stretched out nude on top of the bedspread. There were still small beads of water on my arms and chest, as I closed my eyes to the sound of Pink Floyd.
I don't know how long I had been asleep. I guess, as I recall the shadows in the room, it had not been long. At first, I thought it had been the sound of the cash register on the 8-track which awakened me. I didn't open my eyes at first. I just lay there and enjoyed the moment. The heater had just kicked on, and the warm breeze felt good on my tanned, muscled flesh. There was a scent in the air, a faint whiff of something---something familiar. I smiled, as it immediately caused my cock to stir.
Perfume. That's what it was. It smelled like Linda, my stepmother. It made me think of her immediately. Just as quickly, my cock hardened. I reached down my taut belly to slip my fingers around it. The supple, veined shaft felt good in my hand. Without opening my eyes and breathing deeply to take in the scent wafting through the air, which I figured was leftover from her readying herself for work and filtering through the central air vents, I slowly stroke to thoughts of my dad's wife of two years.
"Very impressive, Barry", Linda whispered huskily as she stood above me. My eyes opened wide, as I looked up into her emerald green eyes. My stroking stopped immediately. I think my heart did too. I just gaped up at her mutely, my right hand still wrapped tightly around the shaft of my cock, precum oozing onto the tip of my index finger.
She was so fucking close. God, she was close. I could have easily moved my left hand to the edge of the bed and touched the hem of her knee-length skirt. I wanted to hide, but I was frozen like a deer in the headlights. I wanted to turn away from her sultry gaze, but I couldn't. I just lay there like a retard with my hand on my cock looking up at my step-mom.
"Don't stop on my account", she whispered, breathlessly. "It is such a beautiful cock, Barry. You shouldn't waste an erection as lovely as that, honey."
I was stunned. I could not believe the words slipping from Linda's lips, as she looked alternately from my eyes, down my body to my throbbing dick. The words swirled in my head, almost making it swim. Slowly, uncertainly, I resumed my stroking, as I looked up at her.
Dad had really picked a hot one, I had thought upon meeting her. She was several years younger than my dad, but it was not like she was half his age or anything like that. She was just past thirty, as she stood there next to my bed, watching her nude stepson stroke his pulsing prick. She had the long, shapely legs of the competitive diver she had been in college. She had long, honey blonde hair, which flowed in curls down to the middle of her back. The conservative, blue dress she had worn that morning to work fit closely to her lithe body.
