American Dream
“What?” Steve was talking to me, but hanging so far out of his bedroom window to smoke I couldn’t hear a damn word. “You deaf, McNeill? I said – my mom wants to come to the movie.” “Uhh,” I didn’t want to sound too eager about it – Steve’s mom was hot, like way too hot for anyone’s mom to be, so I just said “okay.” “Yeah,” he leaned out to take another drag, then ground out the cigarette on the side of the house, “I think she’s pretty bummed these days with all the divorce stuff.” “That sucks, man.” “I dunno, I guess she’s bored too, with dad moving out and all.” “Boys, are you ready to go?” her voice came floating up from downstairs. “Coming, Mom!” Steve yelled back, “hey, Adam, do I smell like weed?” “Yeah. Spray some cologne over that shit, you’ll be all good.” We came downstairs and I was incredibly glad Steve was in front of me so he didn’t see my face when I laid eyes on his mom. She was wearing a short skirt and heels, with a soft cotton top that wasn’t tight but just clung to her breasts perfectly. This was nothing like the embarrassment of seeing older women all dressed up and not being able to pull it off – short denim skirts above tangles of varicose veins, or tops dipping low to reveal a wrinkled valley where cleavage should be. Not Mrs. Arista, no way – her soft mounds perked up still, smooth skin above her shirt, and her legs were tightly muscled, smooth, golden-colored. I tried not to stare, to focus my gaze somewhere else, on the ugly painting they had hanging in the hallway, on the broken stair rail. I could feel my cock stirring anyway, as it was doing all the time these days, wherever I was, however embarrassing a hard-on could be. No fucking mercy from my crotch this time either, as the stirring grew into a swelling warmth, and there I was, rock-hard in front of his mom. Steve thankfully headed straight out the front door, and I tried to make it past Mrs. Arista, kind of walking with my legs a little wider, hoping the bagginess of my jeans covered me. I thought I caught her glancing at my crotch and raising her eyebrows, but I couldn’t be sure, so I just legged it out to the car and sat there forcing myself to think about football and not imagining how it would feel to get my hands up under that cotton shirt and release her large breasts from her bra, how it would feel to squeeze them. Or what if she really had noticed my erection in there, and had slammed the door closed, stroked me through my jeans before sitting back on the stairs and spreading her legs wide. I wasn’t helping myself. Steve was staying quiet – probably got too high and didn’t want to say something retarded in front of his mom. We got to the movie theater, and found seats at the back, our laps piled with large popcorns, mine to hide any further cock misbehavior, Steve’s to feed his munchies. The movie started, and my worst fears about it were realized. Not only was it full of sex scenes, but they were between a girl and her friend’s dad – an exact reversal of my situation. As I watched Kevin Spacey fantasizing about the hot blond chick covered in roses, I wondered if Steve’s mom had ever had any thoughts like that about me. I’d started lifting since getting on the football team, and my hair looked significantly less goofy since I’d switched from my mom’s hairdresser. Ah fuck, who was I kidding – she just saw me as a kid, Steve’s friend. That’s when I felt her hand on my knee. Oh fuck, I thought, having no idea what to do, how to respond. I did move my bag of popcorn to act as a shield, so Steve, sitting the other side of me, wouldn’t see. I sat tight, waiting to see what she’d do next. Her thumb began moving in light circles, pushing gently but insistently against my leg. How could something be so relaxing and so exciting all at the same time? The scene in the movie had the hot blond girl naked in the bath now, covered in petals again, but you could make out the shape of her breasts from the way they floated in the water. Between that and Mrs. Arista’s hand working its way crotch-ward, I had no chance, and was already hard again. I snuck a peek over at her, and her dark eyes were watching the movie, reflecting the flickering scene, while a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. My cock was bulging at the seam of my jeans now, the pressure getting uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to move an inch, just in case she got the wrong idea. Her hand moved higher and she placed her palm over my hard-on, pushing down gently, moving my cock backwards and I nearly moaned out loud at the release of the pressure. I swear something about the angle switched the bloodflow, changed it up somehow so I got even harder. When I looked over, her smile was wider as she felt me up. It wasn’t really until I felt her hand on me that the whole thing felt real. I mean, a hand on a leg, okay, but now my cock was pretty much right in her fingers, aside from the couple layers of clothing in between. I checked to see if Steve had noticed anything, but he seemed pretty absorbed in the movie, scooping popcorn into his mouth as his half-closed eyes focused on the screen. I reached over, put one hand on his mom’s knee, testing. I copied her moves on me, rubbing over her skin lightly, climbing higher up her leg as quickly as I dared – which turned out to be a long, slow journey up her thigh, expecting to be slapped away at any second despite her hand rubbing my cock. Her skin was smooth and firm under my fingers, and she responded to my strokes by opening her legs just a fraction wider each time I moved upwards. Soon I was at the smoothest, softest part of her inner thigh, that scooped-out hollow of thin skin where leg gives way to the crease between leg and lips, the tight elastic edge of her panties digging into the soft flesh there. Oh, how I longed to free her from the tight elastic bonds, to pull off her underwear and throw it away forever, have her open and soft and free so the air kissed her there as she walked, so I could bury my face there, feel her soft thighs close, gently vice-like and clamp around my skull as she rocked with orgasm. Instead, I could only dive beneath the tight, cutting ridge of the underwear, slipping my fingers underneath. There, I met slick wetness, creaming over the slightly rough edge of stubble there, as though she’d shaved just the day before, but for me it was ridiculously exciting that she had shaved, that I was touching real lips on a real live woman who shaved and trimmed and was actually opening up her legs for me. I explored between her lips with my fingers, moving upwards to try and find that bead I’d heard about, read about, the secret button that made a woman weak with pleasure. “Like the size of a baked bean but a bean you can’t pop,” as my friend Ian had, significantly less romantically, described it. Then, there, I felt it! Something firmer, a small swelling beneath the slick folds, protruding out, begging for attention, for caressing. I ran my fingers over it, could sense the tiny tremor that passed through her body at my very first touch, and as I rubbed a little more, pushing her lightly there, I heard her gasp, and turn it into a cough. I kept my face trained forward, forcing myself not to look at her, not to check over to make sure Steve wasn’t watching, in case the checking aroused suspicion. Mrs. Arista closed her legs, forcing my hand out of position, and leaned down to her purse. She pulled out her phone, and I thought for a second she was about to call the police, or my mother, but she bent her face next to mine as she stood, whispered, “Meet me outside in the bathroom to the left, in a few minutes,” so close I could smell the sweet floweriness of her perfume. “Sorry honey, I have to take this,” she whispered, a little louder, to Steve, who nodded vacantly and didn’t seem to notice her disappearance. “A few”? What the fuck was a few? I was left there thinking, hoping a few was a very, very short time indeed, because I was dying to get out of there and into her, so I left it as long as I could before I leaned over to Steve. “Man, I gotta take a leak. Want me to pick you up another popcorn?” His disappointed fingers had already scrabbled the bottom of the bag to find only grease and unpopped kernels, and he nodded happily. “Yeah, awesome. And some Milk Duds too. I’ll pay ya back.” “Alright,” I made it down the stairs as fast as possible without actually running, feeling like giving myself a high five for the stroke of genius with the snack offering. And the fuck-up of time awareness from the weed would mean he wouldn’t trust his own estimation of how long I was gone. I looked at the door of the bathroom on the left. Shit. It was the women’s bathroom. Well, if anything was worth it, this would be, I thought as I pushed open the door. An elderly woman with ugly blond streaks dyed into frizzy hair gave me a glare as she exited, hissing something at me that I didn’t hear, and suddenly didn’t give a shit about when I saw Mrs. Arista leaning against the wall, casually waiting. “Adam,” she breathed, “come.” I know she meant to follow her, but she had no idea how easy it would be to stand there and explode in my pants at the sight of her. She pulled me down into the large stall at the end, locking us in, closing the toilet lid and sitting on top of it, already unbuckling my belt, pulling down my jeans, her fingers inside the top of my underwear. She pulled my boxers down, and she positioned her fingers under my balls as though holding up an apple for inspection, then her lips, her wet, warm, soft mouth was on me. She managed to slide lightly all the way down my shaft with her lips and tongue lightly grazing me, until I felt the whole, long warm muscle of her tongue sliding up and down my shaft as her lips gripped me tightly, a strong ring of pressure, with sliding wetness behind it. I held onto the bars on the sides of the stall, steadying myself, ready to arch back and rocket my cum into her throat, when she licked me slower, long, trailing tongue-strokes, bringing me back from the edge. She stood up, and turned around, bending down to offer me the rounded peach of her ass as she rolled down her underwear, letting it tangle round one of her high heels. Facing the back of the stall, it was her turn to hold onto the bars as she spread her legs wide, flipping up her skirt over her bare ass. She turned her head over her shoulder. “Fuck me, Adam, I know you want to. I saw you getting hard on the way down the stairs. You don’t know how sexy that was for me, you getting so hard just by looking at me.” “Oh god, Mrs. Arista, you’re so hot.” She reached back, grabbing her own ass cheeks and pulling herself apart. “Show me, Adam.” I stepped forward, pushing my cock, still wet with her saliva, between her legs, trying to find her hole. She was so wet, and everything just felt slippery and amazing, and I tried to push but met the resistance of skin. She moved her hand to hold me and guided the head of my cock to the mouth of her open hole. I pushed again and this time gained entry, her warm, fleshy walls closing around me, some parts of inside her smoother than others, all wonderfully wet and tight around my shaft. I drew back and my hips seemed to take over, thrusting the way they were designed to, and I hoped for the life of me that this is what she wanted, that this was the way it was supposed to work because I never wanted this to stop, never wanted it to end, and couldn’t believe my luck if this was actually the way it worked. “Oh, yes, Adam, yes,” Mrs. Arista assured me, her gasping words, the way she thrust back against me affirmation that this was right. “I want to see your face,” she told me, moving forward, slipping off me, which was the most disappointing second of my life, until she turned around, rolling her shirt up off and over her head to reveal those huge breasts heaving out of her bra as she leaned back against the wall, lifting one leg up, inviting me back. I got myself in position again, her hand re-guiding me inside, and after the contrast of the cooler air, inside her felt hotter than ever. With each thrust upward, her tits bounced, and I knew if I kept looking down at them bouncing up and down with my cock pushing in and out of her shaven slit in the background, I would come right then. Her face was next to mine now, her lips in my ear encouraging me onward. “God yes, oh yes, Adam, mmm, fuck, yes,” and she grabbed my hand, placing it on her soft tit, instructing me, “pinch my nipple,” and as I pressed my fingers around the gathered, hard jutting skin of her nipple, “oh yes, yes, harder, harder,” and I pinched tighter, sure she would cry out with pain but she only yelled out, “yes, yes,” as she began shaking underneath and around me. I could feel her pussy muscles tightening around me, clamping, sucking me deeper insider, spasming around my cock, and the harder I slammed into her and the tighter my grip on her breast the longer it seemed to continue. I looked down at her face, her mouth opened, the yelling silenced now as she simply gaped wide in a yawn of absolute pleasure, as though her mouth could do nothing but scream silently, her breasts bouncing wildly with each slamming thrust and I let go, let it happen, allowed the surging, searing white-hotness to blow upwards, the warm pressure at the base of my cock exploding, soaring up my shaft and shooting up inside her as I thrust and thrust again, not knowing how it was possible to come for this long and then banishing any questioning thought from my brain so I didn’t think about it too long and miss it, and just poured my seed into her. Though her own orgasm had subsided, she still clenched around me, taking it all, drawing me in, her lips on my neck, her breast still squashed in my grip. She held me for a moment afterwards, then her hands pushed my shoulders back gently. “We should get back,” she told me, “but I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” “Me too,” I nodded, folding my sticky cock back into my underwear, tenderly belting my jeans in position over my still-hardness. Mrs. Arista straightened her skirt, dropping her balled up panties into the trash can, almost as if she planned to torture me for the rest of the movie with the delicious scent of her sex mixed with my sperm. “Maybe you could come over after school tomorrow, Adam, while Steve’s at practice?” “Yeah? Yeah! I’ll be there. After school.” She smiled, slid back the lock, and was gone, leaving me standing in the bathroom wondering if I was having the best dream of my life or whether my life had just turned better than dreams. I was still dazed as I bought the popcorn and candy, depositing them with Steve. “Thanks man,” he said, “that was fast!”,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,