All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old
Saturday, December 22, 1962
Eighteen-year-old Barney Barnes slipped his six-foot-two, hundred-and-ninety pound, athletic frame through the back door into the kitchen in his house in Westport, Connecticut. Even on the very short walk from his hot thirty-seven-year-old neighbor's home, the cold night air chilled his fingers and he had fumbled the lock. As he eased the door shut behind him, its hinges squeaked. Fearful that his late return would wake his mother, he exclaimed silently, "Darn, Darn, Darn it!"
The house seemed to pick up and amplify every little sound. He heard his heart beating as loud as the school marching band's big bass drum. The ceramic owl wall clock, with its big gold-and-black plastic eyes that shifted left, right, left, right, with every ticking second, clicked implacably. Mrs. Maxon's words, hours ago, following her phone call to his mom, echoed, like a referee's whistle in an ice arena:
"Your mother says to tell you to be sure not to make a lot of noise when you come home, because she's going to bed."
Then Barney's stomach gurgled worse than if he had started up the Westinghouse roll-about dishwasher. Looking up to the ceiling, he held his breath as he listened for tell-tale footfalls immediately above him in his mother's bedroom. As he worried that she might demand an explanation, he thought wildly, "I can't just say 'Sure, Mom. I fixed Mrs. M.'s damper, then we danced a little, then she sucked my dick, then we fucked, then we fucked again, and then we had a nap and so, now I'm home at 12:15 in the morning. What's wrong?' "
When he heard nothing to indicate Judith Barnes had wakened, Barney exhaled a long quiet sigh. Suddenly, the house was still; even Owl's tick-tock seemed muted. He mused to himself, "Don't be stupid. Everything's okay. It's all normal noise that wouldn't wake a cat." No longer tired or tipsy from his Cuba Libre fuck party with Roberta Maxon, he pulled off his rubber boots and heavy parka, then put them away in the hall closet.
Upstairs in his own room, at the far end of the hallway from the master bedroom, Barney stripped down. Heaping his jeans, flannel shirt, underwear and socks haphazardly onto the carpeted floor while he walked around, he mulled the amazing life-changing event he had just experienced with Mrs. Maxon. His sweat, her Chanel No. 5 perfume, his cum-smell and her sex-scent clung to his sticky body. He wondered whether he should risk a shower, then decided to set his alarm and get up earlier than usual to wash away the evidence.
Turning down his bed, Barney retrieved his Boston Bruins flannel pajamas from under his pillow. As he pulled on the bottoms, he thought how his favorite team had just skated to a big victory over the Red Wings, but it was only their fourth win against eighteen losses and eight ties. Buttoning up his top, he sighed regretfully. They were having a lousy season, but he loved them.
In bed, Barney dismissed the Bruins and returned to the MILF-next-door. She had invited him for cocoa. His hockey practice, if it wasn't cancelled due to the weather, was not until ten. Maybe he could see Mrs. M. later, after all. The thought made his cock wiggle and begin to thicken.
Barney tried to ignore his stiffening prick, but his balls added their complaint and made it impossible. Still, he was concerned that his squeaky bed in the early morning quiet would carry its noise to his mom, wake her up, and maybe get him caught in an embarrassing predicament. Climbing out of bed, he padded barefoot down the hall toward her room to check on her. If she seemed very asleep, maybe he could risk jacking off standing up in the bathroom.
Startled to find her door wide open, Barney crept cautiously to his mom's Colonial-style maple four-poster double bed, where he got another surprise. Judith was certainly asleep, however she had, during the night, thrown off her blankets so that only her feet and ankles remained covered. Semi-curled on her right side, with that arm bent beneath her pillow, her left arm lay extended atop and along her ribs, with her relaxed fingers' first knuckles tucked under her nightgown's hem. Like the bedding, this was skewed, leaving her higher leg bared to her hip, while with her lower leg indecorously flashed flesh well up its inner thigh.
Over the years, Barney had frequently seen his mom wearing this long white flannel nightdress, so prettily patterned with little green-stemmed violet and purple flowers. Never, though, had he seen her under these conditions and circumstances. Not only did the nightie diagonally slant precariously up across her pelvis, all four of its shirt-front buttons were undone and the plackets were spread immodestly. Her right breast, squashed by her weight into the bottom sheet on the mattress, was exposed to its partially buried areola, while her left tit, still technically hidden, bulged threateningly downward.
As he looked on his mother with a completely new perspective, Barney forgot his dream image of Roberta Maxon, naked on her knees in her pink negligee and red bedroom slippers. Adjusting his viewpoint, he cocked his head sideways and peeked to see what he could see up under her nightgown. Her closed legs formed a triangular darkness and revealed nothing, so he moved closer to the wall, then craned his neck to peer upside down into the open valley between her hills. Though they swelled and settled provocatively with her regular breathing, he was again prevented from seeing more than he had already.
What was seen and what was guessed, however, was sufficient for Barney's thick cock to fully harden in his pajamas. Licking his lips unconsciously, he boldly pushed the Bruins below his butt and stroked his stick with his left hand while he cradled his recharged walnuts in his right. He wanted to reach down and lift Judith's nightdress the rest of the way up to her stomach, or pull its opened bodice fully away to free her left boob to fall where it may. More than that, though, he did not want to disturb her repose or let go of himself; not even for a second.
Pulling and squeezing. Pushing and pinching. Barney worked his hands faster in opposition and in concert. Groaning low in his throat, he recognized the welcome building tension rising from his gonads to his gut and then from there onward to his chest.
