This is a story that has both incestuous and voyeuristic themes. The entire story is presented below.
July 14, 1965. If you, dear reader, were alive on that day, do you remember what you were doing? Chances are, you don’t. For me, the day was just as significant as the day President Kennedy was assassinated, or the day Neil Armstrong made that one giant leap for mankind. If you were alive back then, you remember what you were doing on those days, as do I.
I also remember July 14, 1965. It was a Wednesday, and our area was going through a bit of a heat wave then. It was a heat wave that would cause severe thunderstorms during the day, and I recall their intensity very clearly too.
I had just graduated high school, and before heading off to the local community college in the fall, was spending my 18th summer enjoying my favorite hobbies. I loved baseball, and spent every afternoon hanging around the local ball field, playing in pick-up games until dinner time.
My other hobby, and one that frankly I was better at, was masturbation. Since I was a homely guy with bad acne and social skills that were awkward at best, I spent considerable time with my best friend in hand, stroking away while wearing out my very limited collection of pornography, which consisted of two very ratty copies of Playboy and a black and white photo of a woman by the name of Virginia Bell, who had big tits.
I had found the photo in the crawl space of our attic, apparently belonging to my old man, and had taken possession of it for my own use. I must have spilled a quart of semen while drooling over the woman, who wasn’t incredibly attractive but had tits, and that was enough for me.
The attic. My explorations of that musty and dusty place, where you could only stand up straight in at the very center and you could only access by pulling down a stairway from a hatch in the hallway, netted me much more than the photo, because it was up there that I discovered a secret about our old house.
You could see down into the other rooms from up there. Apparently there had been some sort of different heating system installed in the house at one point, and although the ducts were no longer used, the little squares with the grates covering them remained.
The view in each room was limited, of course, but I was able to look into my older sister’s room and my parents as well. It was a tribute to how horny I was back then that I actually looked down into my sister’s bedroom.
My sister, bless her soul, was the female equivalent of me. Homely and flat-chested, I got to see her in all of her glory on many occasions, and it was all I could do to not laugh when she would stand in front of her dresser mirror playing with some device she had bought from the Mark Eden company that was supposed to make her breasts bigger.
“I must. I must. I must increase my bust!” Emily would chant as she would stand there for the longest time in an obviously futile attempt to make her little sprouts blossom.
Emily’s tits never grew until after she managed to get married and had kids, and then she got her wish, but that was years after she moved out.
Not laughing was essential to watching from up there. I could hear just fine from up there, so obviously any sound I made would be heard down in the bedrooms, therefore I had to be quiet. Not only quiet, but once I got up there, I had to not move around very much.
Our house creaked like all old houses did, but someone started walking around up there, you would know it downstairs, therefore it was essential that once I settled in I stayed still.
The action was more exciting in my parents bedroom, even if they only had sex on Saturday nights. They never did it with the lights on either, so a lot of times I couldn’t see real well either, but my mother did get dressed and undressed everyday, and I liked that.
My Mom wasn’t a raving beauty, but for a woman who was 47 in 1965 she was pretty cute. Mom wasn’t fat but solidly built, probably carrying about 130 pounds on her five foot two frame. She had short black hair and olive-toned skin, and was a woman that looked so much better with her clothes off, as I learned.
Mom dressed like most housewives back then, usually with very little makeup and wearing these drab house-dresses that didn’t flatter. She would also wear socks – usually these little white ones – unlike housewives on TV who wore stockings and jewelry and never did housework.
When I first saw Mom naked, I was stunned. Seeing her take off that old frumpy bra and watching those big boobs roll out knocked me for a loop. About as big as old Virginia Bell’s were, and a lot fuller than her modest everyday appearance suggested, and they had these enormous crimson aureoles that were as big around as a baseball.
Mom had a real jungle of hair between her legs too; a rich overgrown triangle that must have been in part due to her Italian heritage, and she was so hairy down there that the fur istanbul escort peeked out of the leg openings of her panties, which were not exactly the kind that were in any way revealing.
When Mom and Dad would screw on Saturday nights, and I was able to manage to get up in the attic in time to watch, I was in heaven. It didn’t last long usually, but I loved listening to them.
Seeing the old man was reassuring to me, because his modest sized dick wasn’t any bigger than mine was. He would already be hard when he climbed on top of Mom, and he would root around in her for about a minute before he would groan loudly and collapse on Mom. Sometimes Mom would make some noise too but usually Dad would just roll off and go to sleep.
One of my best memories was one time when the old man went in to take a shower after humping Mom. While he was in the bathroom, Mom started playing with her pussy, her one hand inside of herself and the other hand clawing at her tits until she curled up into a ball and started shaking and crying out. By the time the old man came back in, she was under the sheets again with her back to him like she always did after they had sex.
But back to July 14, 1965…
I was going to head off to the baseball field as usual around 10:00 a.m., and when I told my mother that, she told me she was going to be out shopping most of the day. When I noticed that she was going to take a shower I pretended to leave the house and then doubled back inside.
Plenty of time for baseball, I figured, so when I heard the shower turn on in the bathroom I opened the hatch and pulled down the stairs, scurrying up to the attic and yanking the stairs back up after me.
I had plenty of time to position myself at the vent, and got myself ready. My jeans and briefs came down and I got my handkerchief ready, fully prepared to enjoy watching Mom come in and do her thing at the dresser mirror before getting dressed and heading out. I would be back down the stairs and at the park in a half hour, or so I figured.
As it turned out, I was going to be up there a lot longer than I expected, and over the next five hours my entire life changed.
My dick was hard when Mom came into the bedroom, humming some old Elvis song as was her habit, and as she tossed her fluffy pink bathrobe onto the bed I got a great view of her damp body from the rear.
Mom had a nice butt that might have been a bit on the large side but was nicely rounded and pretty solid, and when she bent down to pick something off of the floor I saw the crack of her ass. As the full globes parted, her hair-filled ass crack was revealed to me for a brief second before she sat in front of the mirror and began brushing her hair.
Because I was more of a breast man that an ass aficionado, I was saving my orgasm for when she would turn around and give me a nice frontal view, so I did more holding of my dick than stroking. When at last she would turn around for me, I would bring myself to climax while enjoying her tits and bush, but this time that moment happened faster than usual.
The blue Princess phone rang, startling me, and when I watched Mom run over to answer it, her big jugs swaying as she moved, I covered my cock as it spat a copious load into the handy handkerchief.
“Hello?” Mom said breathlessly.
“Yes Paul,” Mom said after a second. “He’s gone. Went to Boston on business. Sean’s gone too, off to play ball all day. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“Yes. Hurry,” Mom said and hung up the phone before hurrying back to the make-up table.
Paul. My mother had a boyfriend? MY mother? This couldn’t be. That was stuff that went on in the movies, and as I watched my Mom go back to brushing her hair I looked at her in a different way.
Disgusted? Disappointed? Yes, but I felt something else too, and although I didn’t understand it I looked at my mother differently now. Somebody else wanted her. Somebody besides me, and my friend Doug Graves (who had the hots for her for years) thought she was really good looking no matter how hard she tried to hide it with her frumpy attire.
Mom was putting on make-up, taking care to put the lipstick on straight, and then she was dabbing perfume behind her ears. After that, she sprayed deodorant under her arms. Mom didn’t ever shave her armpits, except for that one time she was in her younger sister’s wedding and had to shave because the dress was sleeveless. I remember the old man complaining about it, so I guess the pit hair was his idea.
That used to embarrass me early on, because not only didn’t she shave like most of the other guy’s mothers did, but Mom was really hairy, and when she would raise her arms you could see the hair if she was wearing one of those house-dresses with the little cap sleeves.
My friend Doug had noticed that too, which made me feel really embarrassed until he told me that he thought it was really avcılar escort sexy.
“All of them Italian movie stars – Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida – they let their pit hair grow too,” Doug assured me, and as time went on I began to find it more and more erotic as well. The fact that Doug even mentioned my mother in the same breath as those actresses made me feel proud too.
Mom was putting a little yellow nightie on now, something I had never seen before, and as she scurried around in anticipation, it occurred to me that I was stuck up in the attic. Not that I wanted to leave now, mind you, but how long would I be able to stay still up here? It was already hot and stuffy as hell, and before look it might become oppressive.
When Mom left the bedroom for a minute and I heard the toilet flush, I took the opportunity to move around a little and get more comfortable. There was a towel that I pulled over to rest my elbow on instead of the rough wood floor, and resigned myself to the fact that I was up here for the duration.
Mom was nervous – just as nervous as I was it seemed. She was pacing the floor and looking out the window every so often to keep a watch for her mystery lover. She grabbed her electric razor out of the drawer not once but twice, putting her legs up on the chair and running the noisy appliance up and down her calves for a minute and then running her palm up and down her full and curvy legs to check her work.
When Mom went back to look out the window once again, from behind her came her guest, who had apparently let himself in the house while she was preoccupied. She jumped when she heard him enter the room, and when he came into my range of vision I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.
“Paul,” my mother said as she ran into his arms, and I mouthed the name as well as I looked down on the two of them, barely six feet away from me.
You see, I knew Paul. I knew him very well, although I had never called him Paul. To me, the tall slender man with the thinning grey hair was not Paul. I called him Grandpa.
I had put some of that towel in my mouth, trying to stifle what sounded to me like my overly loud breathing, and watched as my grandfather kissed my mother in a way that he did not kiss his daughter-in-law when he would visit for Christmas dinner.
Grandpa had a fist full of my mother’s hair in his hand, and as he clenched the back of her scalp he pulled her skull backwards.
“How’s my little slut?” Grandpa asked my Mom, whose eyes looked as wild as they had been when I talked her into riding the roller-coaster at the carnival years ago.
“Need you so bad,” Mom gasped, her hands scrambling over the buttons on her husband’s father’s shirt, and her hands were shaking so bad that she was fumbling with the simple task.
“I can tell, you pig,” Grandpa sneered as she finally managed to get the shirt off him, exposing his skinny upper torso, his chest covered with a silver pelt of hair.
Mom’s hands were sliding up and down Grandpa’s wiry arms, over the faded tattoos on her biceps. Grandpa used to make the mermaid on his right arm dance for me by flexing his muscles when he was a kid, but now my Mom’s fingers were squeezing that ink in what looked like a death grip.
This couldn’t be happening, I recall thinking as I watched my mother attacking this man, who was in his sixties, like he was Elvis Presley or something. My Mom was nuzzling into his neck and running her hands all over his body, practically climbing over him while he stood there like she was his slave.
“Hot as hell in here,” Grandpa said, running his hands through his thinning grey hair and linking his fingers behind his head, thrusting his chest out like he was Jack LaLanne, and I almost giggled when I wondered how he would like it up here, where it had to be close to 100 degrees.
Mom was running her hands through the hair on Grandpa’s chest, raking her nails through the pelt that was much thicker than that on his head. She leaned forward and sucked on his nipples, getting Grandpa to growl in a deep voice, and then let her tongue slide over into his armpit, lapping at the wild spray of long grey hairs like an animal.
“Want to taste your sweat – taste you everywhere,” Mom said, and Grandpa chuckled as he brought his hand on top of Mom’s head.
“Then get busy,” Grandpa said while pushing Mom down to her knees.
It was as if Mom was under a spell of some kind, because she was not only taking Grandpa’s derisive treatment, she seemed to be loving it. Where was the woman who would rip my old man a new one if he forgot to take out the garbage? To Dad she was often feisty and argumentative, but with Grandpa it was like she was his servant.
Part of me wanted to run down downstairs and rescue my Mom from this man – a man I thought I knew – but it was clear that Mom didn’t want to be rescued. Instead, Mom was kneeling in front of Grandpa, şirinevler escort looking up at him like he was a king while she undid his belt.
His baggy trousers fell to the floor, and Mom took them off of his pale legs as he stepped out of them, folding the pants and setting them on the chair beside the bed before her hands took hold of the top of his equally baggy boxer shorts and slowly eased them down.
It was then that I hit my head lightly on the grate I was looking though, and the sound made Grandpa look around, although it was clear that he didn’t know where the noise came from. I held my breath as I leaned backwards for a second.
When I looked back down, what I was seeing was so surreal that I felt like I was hallucinating. Grandpa’s cock was swinging between those skinny legs of his, and although I rarely looked at the other guys in the showers after gym, the dicks I had seen before bore no relation to Grandpa’s manhood.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand to clear my vision as Mom took Grandpa’s cock in her hands – one hand wrapped halfway around the stump of his huge member and the other holding it up by the middle while her mouth moved closer.
Grandpa was uncircumcised, like my old man, but it was clear that while my father and I might have inherited some traits from Grandpa, we sure didn’t get blessed with anything approaching the ungodly weapon that my mother was running her tongue over.
Years later, watching an adult movie with my wife, she would look at John Holmes and declare that nobody could be built like that and that it had to be trick photography. John Holmes had nothing on Grandpa though, and in fact I think Grandpa was bigger.
“Suck that cock, Anna!” Grandpa grunted as Mom peeled the foreskin back so she could lick the plum-sized head. “Make me hard so I can fuck you silly. Gonna have your ass today.”
“Please don’t Paul!” Mom said, sounding terrified. “Anything but that. You’re much too big. It hurts too much.”
“Quit yakking and start sucking,” Grandpa barked, grabbing Mom by the hair again and pulling her head backward sharply. “You know you want it.”
Mom went back to try to stuff as much of Grandpa’s enormous appendage into her mouth as she could while trying to move her hands up and down the shaft of the cock, which seemed really rubbery judging by the way it was wiggling in her grasp.
After a minute of watching this, Grandpa’s cock was still limp but to my shame, mine wasn’t, and as I watched Mom’s mouth gobbling that cock intensely, I popped another load into my handkerchief.
From above me, I heard a clap of thunder, and after that I began to hear some raindrops hitting the metal roof a couple of feet over my head. When the occasional drops became more like a staccato, I wished the roof leaked so I could quench what was becoming a powerful thirst.
“Come on you slut!” Grandpa said, taking his cock from Mom and slapping her across the cheek with the salami a couple of times before reaching over and pulling something out of his trouser pocket. “Put this on me.”
Mom took this small strap of some kind, which looked about as wide as a belt, and as Grandpa held his cock upright, Mom wrapped it around the base of his dick.
“Tighter you pig,” Grandpa snarled. “Tighter. Watch the hair.”
Whatever it was, Mom had that thing wrapped tightly around the base of Grandpa’s cock, and when she went back to sucking Grandpa it started to get hard right away. The formerly beige-toned organ was getting a reddish hue to it, and as it got longer and harder Mom really got to work on it.
Her hands were wrapped around the shaft right above where the binding was, and her mouth went up and down most of what her pumping and spinning hands could not take in. Mom leaned back a couple of times and spat on his penis, affording me a look at Grandpa’s erect penis, which I swear had to be a foot long by then.
“Up,” Grandpa commanded, and he reached down and helped her get to her feet before yanking the pretty nightie over Mom’s head. “Let me at these udders of yours.”
Grandpa’s long and bony fingers grabbed Mom’s pendulous tits and mauled them roughly, squeezing the very pliant globes so hard his hands seemed embedded in the tender flesh.
“You like this jugs manhandled, don’t you? Yeah!” Grandpa hissed as he grabbed Mom’s nipples and pulled upward, actually lifting them by their fat pegs, and as Mom cried out he lifted them higher, twisting the thick nipples as he did, until it looked like Mom was going to faint.
“On your back,” Grandpa barked, letting go of Mom’s nipples, which looked twice as big as they had been before. “You know what I want.”
As Grandpa practically threw my mother on the bed, I shifted my position so I could still see. I often went into my parents bedroom and nudged the bed a little closer to my observation post so I would be afforded a better view, but it usually got moved in the usual spot after a while.
Mom got onto her back, much like she did when Dad would mount her, but instead of climbing onto Mom like my old man did, Grandpa climbed onto the bed and faced the foot of the bed, straddling her face with his knees. My angle of vision was restricted to seeing Grandpa’s cock swaying in front of him like a third leg, crimson in color now.