Part Two - My Beautiful
There's a difference between events in the real world and those of fiction. Simply put, those in fiction can lead on to events without consequence and be dismissed at the turn of a page, but real life is not quite like that.
Following my one drunken evening's series of events, the mobile phone 'pee video', my sexual adultery with my young office friend's boyfriend, and worse, my son witnessing and sharing a masterbation session with me in which I blurted out some very stupid thoughts in the heat of the moment, my life had suddenly become very awkward.
From the following morning I immediately began to regret my sordid escapade.
From a lusty, perverse, alcohol fueled pleasure seeker to a guilt ridden, anxious mother in one sledgehammer like blow, reality check moment.
What had I done and how could I face up to this?
This following day I did not see my son at all, it was as if he was avoiding me for the same reason as I was hoping he would, 'guilt' and 'shame'. I found it difficult to face my husband an daughter without the fear of my knowing what I had done, broadcasting some kind of embarrassing message directly to them. I imagined they somehow knew of my sinful activities.
I afforded little conversation throughout the weekend and managed to avoid social interaction with my family. Without going into too much detail, when eventually I did converse with my son, it was somewhat strained and we would not look each other in the eye as we exchanged basic niceties.
As the week progressed, even my return to work created increased anxiety. Did Jasmine allow any of my office colleagues to view her phone video? Did she know of her boyfriend's brief sexual encounter with me? What if I bumped into him?
Around me, there was a strange calm, it felt like I was underwater whilst normal activity carried on regardless. I was not fully experiencing the reality in which I lived. I had withdrawn and become slightly depressed.
My friend Carla eventually noticed this and after a while she tried to coax me into explaining what was wrong. She still talked of her sexy encounters and how she was 'pleasuring' everything she could lay her hands on. This kind of talk only made me all the more ashamed. We eventually communicated less, she was not wanting her mood to be brought down by me as happens when a depressing person is around.
I was hoping these clouds would pass. I found it increasingly difficult to look at my son, and as for my husband, he had as good as given up on sex with me.
Strangely, nothing had come of the pee video, nor did Carla, Jasmine or her boyfriend after only a few days mention the Party evening again in my company.
But my son and I had truly damaged our relationship and I seen a lot less of him. I still loved him very much and considered him the beautiful son that I would protect and do anything for in the way that all mothers would for their offspring.
I was resigning myself to the fact that this is the reality of a moments lustful stupidity.
At around the three month period I was still feeling down, my sexual abstinence coupled with it's forced deprivation was creating a turmoil in my mind. I started to have dreams of an erotic nature.
They started as shadowy events in the night. Each evening after my husband fell asleep I would lay for hours gazing into the dark and still thinking about what I had done, eventually falling to sleep.
In this sleep I would feel to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Then from the shadows in the corner of the room, a young naked man would walk toward the bed. I was unable to move or make a sound, my husband would be in a deep sleep beside me. This young man would be sporting a beautiful large erection, carved like a muscular work of art. The engorged head would sway back and forth as he slowly approached as he became ever more close, the angry plum on the end of his shaft seamed slightly menacing. The dim light in the room would only highlight his muscular torso, his face being hidden in the shadows. Just as I would open my mouth as if to speak or scream, the cock would explode lashings of thick white spunk over my face and into my mouth. The young man would lean in as if to kiss my cum drenched face . . .
. . . It was at this point I always awoke.
Never did I see who the handsome teen man was in my dream but he became ever more frequent. It became like the pre-guilt fantasy I had, involving the men from the office, when they would be wanking all around me. Only now my fantasy wanker was one very handsome, mysterious teenager.
The daytime may have been bringing guilty depression, but now, the night was bringing feverish fantasy.
The intensity of my dreams increased and it did not matter what time of the month it was. In these dreams, on some occasions he would approach and wipe my mouth or slap my face with his cock or force his swollen helmet between my teeth before blasting me with his jism. On other occasions, he would draw the bedcovers back and direct his spurts onto my pussy.
Some evenings my dream hunk would signal for me to part my legs and ejaculate onto my swollen petals and as he leaned to kiss my sperm covered heaven, I would awake, soaking in sweat and with my flower totally sodden with my own love juice. I would have to delicately but urgently bring myself off, careful not to awake hubby.
