Chapter 4

DAY 04

STEPHANIE AND MICHAEL: CHAPTER 1

Stephanie is one of those women who turns a man’s head as he immediately speculates on her sexuality and availability. At the age of thirty-eight, she still retains the youthful figure that won her an insignificant beauty title fifteen years previous.

Born and raised in a small Kansas town, Stephanie was quickly ostracized when she became pregnant by a con man who promised her television contracts. As in most midwestern towns, ideas were firm and morals strict. Where once she had been popular and numbered her friends as the total community, she found herself sneered at and spat upon as a bad girl, or in the word of the townspeople, a ‘jezebel’.

With all the ill feeling about her—her parents were too ashamed to show understanding—-Stephanie took what savings she had accumulated over the years and rode a bus to New York City. There, she worked as a waitress until it was time for her baby’s arrival. After her son, Michael, was born, Stephanie had a rough time, financially, for a few years, but she was too proud to contact her family for assistance.

Michael was a chubby, happy baby, and Stephanie loved the small, pink and wiggly item that bubbled and gurgled at her.

For a few years, Stephanie and her son subsisted on the county dole. The money from welfare wasn’t much, but it provided her and the swiftly growing baby the necessities of every day living. When Michael started school, Stephanie found employment once again as a waitress, this time in a cocktail club where she had to wear abbreviated costumes such as exaggerated miniskirts and bikinis. Although it was not required, the waitresses were encouraged to drink with the customers.

But, with all the available males to her, Stephanie was leery of any man who offered her better than what she had. This, of course, stemmed from her experience in Kansas—an experience she had no desire to repeat.

Then, a customer offered to put her in contact with a man who would give her a more lucrative position. She toyed with this man, withholding her sexual favors. Fortunately, the offer was legitimate and Stephanie did not have to enter into a sexual relationship with this man.

In her new position, she was again in costume, even more revealing than the ones she had worn before. This did not bother Stephanie too much. She knew men enjoyed looking at pretty girls, and as she wandered among the tables, serving drinks between floor shows, her pert, rounded bottom came under assault from pinching fingers and caressing hands. Realizing her tips were be greater, Stephanie flirted and teased the men, always stopping before anything could come out of such an incident.

When Michael was eighteen, Stephanie was making enough money in salary plus tips to move into a more expensive apartment in a much better neighborhood. Although she was happy with her new surroundings, Michael was not.

He was shy and withdrawn from children of his age, not making friends easily. In the new neighborhood, the boys of his age were formed into a gang, and when Michael refused to have anything to do with them, they taunted him and called him names. He was considered a mama’s boy by the rougher element in the neighborhood, a sissy because he would not play kick ball and other rough, body contact sports in the streets with them.

Although Stephanie was happy with her job and new home, her son was becoming even more shy and withdrawn, tormented by his classmates and tortured by a growing guilt about his incessant masturbation. Stephanie, although she showered affection on her son, did not recognize the signs of his tormented condition.

That is, she did not recognize them until an incident concerning her son came about abruptly one afternoon.

“I wasn’t working that night, fortunately,” Stephanie related to me. “I think it was somewhere about two in the afternoon. I remember it was almost time for my son to come home from school. We had planned to spend the afternoon in the park and then have dinner together downtown.

“I knew Michael was looking forward to our date, as he called it. Since I worked in the evenings and not getting home until almost four o’clock in the morning, I only had a few hours to spend with him and we always made the most of that time.

“Of course, I didn’t like the idea of leaving my son home alone at night, but it didn’t bother me so much, now that we have this nice place here. I had no idea how badly it was going for Michael until that day. I had thought he was quite happy now. Anyway, I waited for him to come home from school, and since it was a Friday night, we had plans for a show after dinner. I guess it was like a date to my son, now that I think about things a bit clearer. I knew he was of the age when a boy begins to think of girls, but that didn’t bother me.

“Well, when Michael came through the door, he was crying and his clothing was mussed up. He had on a new shirt that I had bought him, and it was ripped and torn to pieces. There Were smudges on his face and a bad skin on one of his elbows. My first thought was that he had been in an accident of some sort. I ran to him and hugged him tightly, asking if he was hurt anyplace. My son wrapped his arms about my waist and buried his face into my breasts, sobbing his little heart out.

“He blurted out what had happened to him. It was the first I had heard of a gang in the neighborhood, and you know how cruel boys of that age can be. Somehow, they had found out Michael didn’t have a father—never had a father. They called him a bastard and a mama’s boy. Michael, being shy and afraid of violence, at first shunned the boys. But all during school they tormented him about being a bastard and when school was out, they caught him near an alley and dragged him into it. There, they told my son his mother was a whore who fucked men in the nightclub for money and they told him I was a cocksucker who gave blow jobs for a quarter. Of course, my son didn’t use those words, but I got the meaning.

“I was furious, and if it were not for the fact that my son required me right then, I would have gone out and spoken to those little bastards’ parents. I wanted to get them and beat their brains out, kick them in the balls and ruin them for the rest of their life. That’s how angry I was.

“I took Michael into the bedroom and pulled his ruined shirt off. I became even more furious when I saw the imprints of teeth on his chest and stomach. I found out then that Michael had retaliated against those names the boys called me, but he lost because of the overwhelming odds.

“I went to the bathroom to run his water, telling him to take the rest of his clothes off. I told him a warm bath would sooth the aches and bruises he had received in his courageous fight. I was extremely proud of my son in those moments for taking up for me. My love for him grew stronger than ever in those moments.

“When Michael entered the bathroom in his robe, I told him I would bathe him just as I had done so often when he was a little boy. He hesitated for just a moment, then slipped the robe off.

“I had not seen my son naked since he was six or seven years old. Now, he was standing there before me in the body of a grown boy ... no, a man. I couldn’t help but glance at his penis. I was amazed and shocked to see teeth marks there, too. I questioned my son and he finally confessed to me that the gang of boys had a girl with them. Once they had beaten him, those hoodlums pulled his pants off and then shamed him by having the girl bite him around his genitals, telling him that it was the same thing his mother did with men for a quarter.

“Michael slipped into the tub and I knelt there, washing him with a soft cloth and scented soap. I took care not to hurt those angry bruises on his body. After I bathed him, he stood out of the tub and I used a huge, fluffy towel to dry him. I tried to be extra gentle when I rubbed him, but he would wince in pain when I touched a sensitive area.

“He was standing in the middle of the bathroom floor, and I was on my knees rubbing his body with the towel. When I finished with the backs of his legs and his buttocks, I turned him around so he was facing me. I was a bit surprised, but not shocked to see his penis standing up hard. I continued to dry the front part of his legs, trying to ignore that throbbing organ before me. I must say I was having a difficult time in this. You see, it had been nineteen years since I had been with a man. I was terror stricken to find myself becoming aroused by the sight of my son’s thick organ poking out in front of him like that.

For must a moment, I thought of having my son complete the drying of himself, but it seemed as though my hands had a mind of their own. I was amazed to find myself working the towel up between his thighs, moving closer toward his genitals without a conscious thought from me.

“My son stared down at me with wide eyes, and then he parted his legs so I could dry him there. I rubbed the towel over him gently, and although it was a thick towel, I could still feel the contours of his testicles through it. I was becoming more and more excited by touching him this way. I made one weak effort to pull my hands away from him there, but my hands wouldn’t obey the commands of my mind. Before I realized what I was doing, I had placed the towel over his penis and was working it back and forth. I was no longer drying his genitals now, I was playing with them! Yes, I was playing with my son’s penis and thrilling to the sensation!

“I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly the towel was on the floor and I had my fingers wrapped about his hard organ and was stroking it up and down slowly, staring at the smooth head there and seeing the clear fluid seep from him. Neither of us spoke, and I couldn’t control the action of my hand. I could see my son’s body tremble as I masturbated him, and my mind was blazing with a passion I had almost forgotten.

“Again I saw the red marks of the girl’s teeth on his penis, and I found myself with an overpowering desire to kiss him there. Why this insane thought came to me, I have no idea. I had never before in my life placed my lips on a man’s penis, nor had I ever thought of doing such a thing. Yet, the urge to kiss and caress my son’s penis was so overwhelming, my face was almost in his crotch before I knew what I was doing. Still, Michael didn’t say anything to me. He simply stood there and looked down into my face. He had an expression I had never seen before, and it was the expression of passion.

“Still stroking slowly back and forth on his penis, I found my other hand moving about his buttocks, feeling him there with more than a mother’s love for her bruised son. My face continued to move closer to his genitals, and I felt something burn against my check before I realized I had pressed the hard side of his penis there. I was no longer stroking his penis, but loving on it and fondling it with my hand, rolling it about my cheek and ears and neck. I could feel the sticky fluids of his organ brushing over my cheek, and I didn’t care! I wanted to feel more of it ... feel it all over my cheeks and nose and eyes and face.

“My nipples swelled up and felt very raw and sensitive against the cups of my bra, and I could even feel the way my vaginal lips swelled up inside my panties. I was becoming very moist down there, and my clitoris was pulsating in a maddening way that made me want to rip my panties off and masturbate myself in a frenzy of wild lust. But, although I wanted to do this thing to myself, I wanted even more to keep my hands on Michael’s body—on his beautifully hard penis and sweet, firm buttocks.

“Michael started brushing his hand through my hair, and my heart went out to him. I was now sitting on my heels, my face pressed into the curling hair of his groin as I held his penis next to my cheek, and I was looking up into his face. I could hear his harsh breathing and see the rise and fall of his chest, and the powerful throb of his penis against my cheek seemed to make everything alright.

“I wrapped my hand around his penis again, and when I started stroking up and down on it, I used my other hand to squeeze his buttocks gently. Then, again without my thinking of what I was doing, I began to kiss at his testicles with my lips. I could hear low moans coming from me, yet they seemed to be separated from my body completely. I ran my lips from one testicle to the other, then brushed them all over his groin slowly. I shoved my face beneath his testicles and kissed that small patch of flesh there while his balls rested against my face. All this time, of course, my hand was rubbing up and down his long organ in a tender, loving manner.