Your Mom Told Me You're Still a Kid

Curled up in his computer chair, Terry tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down. What had just happened downstairs a few minutes ago had him so worked up he needed release -- now. Otherwise his balls were going to explode, and he had a pretty vivid feeling the blast might take his whole room with it. By the time he hurried up to his room on the second floor, that familiar dull ache had already settled in his groin -- the virgin's constant companion. And Terry wasn't just any virgin. He was a lovesick one, hopelessly hung up on his mother's friend.

Every Friday, his mom's relatives and girlfriends gathered in the living room downstairs -- wine, homemade cookies, and those boring card games Terry had never bothered to learn. A few months ago, a new face joined the usual crowd -- his childhood "aunts" and his mom's old friends who'd known him since he was in diapers.

Yana was an immigrant from somewhere in the former Soviet Union -- maybe Ukrainian, maybe Belarusian. Terry didn't care about politics any more than he cared about card games, so he had no idea where she was actually from. He didn't care about much of anything, really, apart from game design and the games themselves, which he happily sank into whenever he wasn't at university.

He did know one thing for sure: she was stunning. He still remembered the moment he first saw her. A single instant that rewired his simple, uneventful life.

That day, Terry had come downstairs to grab a glass of ice water. He was walking past the living room, the women's chatter spilling out into the hallway. His gaze slipped through the wide-open doorway -- and he slowed, then stopped dead, like a statue in the dim corridor, staring at the new guest.

She was perched on the very edge of the couch, hands folded neatly on her thighs. Those thighs were wrapped tight in a pencil skirt. Terry's eyes caught on a tiny detail that burned itself into his memory: beneath the elastic fabric, faint rings showed through, clinging to the full curve of her legs. He realized she was wearing thigh-highs, and those marks were where the bands bit into her skin.

Terry forced his gaze higher -- and immediately ran straight into her breasts, high and full, barely contained by a stiff bra. From where he stood, half-hidden behind the door, he had a perfect view of the deep cleft between her heavy breasts -- a thin gold chain slipping down into it.

His brain lit up at once with images so intense they made something deep inside him clench painfully. Before he could stop himself, he pictured burying his face in that generous flesh, a soft feminine hand stroking his hair, indulgent, almost tender, while he sank deeper and deeper into that warmth...

She must have smelled like floral perfume and warm, milky skin. He could almost breathe it in. Just the hint of that imagined scent made something twitch low in his groin. Embarrassed, Terry slipped off to the kitchen, afraid of being caught.

His hands were shaking as he poured water into a glass. He couldn't steady them even as he passed the living room again. Ice clinked against the glass -- that must have been what gave him away. His mother waved him in, motioning for him to come say hello to her new friend.

Standing there like an awkward statue in the middle of the room, mumbling polite words, Terry forced himself to look up and meet Yana's eyes. He dropped his gaze almost immediately, staring at the patterns in the carpet, but her face burned itself into his mind as sharply as a photograph. She gave him the faintest smile, and his heart flipped in his chest, slammed against his ribs, then started up again -- twice as fast as it should. His mother let him go, and he bolted upstairs, hearing the women's laughter behind him -- they must have noticed how flustered he was.

That same evening, he got himself off in less than a minute. All it took was picturing her bottomless grey-green eyes, her soft, rounded cheeks, that cute little upturned nose...

Who the hell was he kidding. Of course he was thinking about her breasts. Her hips. Her skin had to feel like silk. Her flesh -- soft, like ripe fruit...

Terry had barely managed to picture his hand sliding along her leg, from her knee and higher, higher still, until it found the band of her stockings beneath Yana's tight skirt -- when he came at once, whining softly from the sheer intensity of it. Even the brief spasm didn't release the tension. That night he slept badly. Every time his eyes closed, bright, obscene images flared against the inside of his lids. He tossed and turned until morning, twisting the sheets into knots.

From then on, he waited for every Friday with unbearable anticipation. All the girls from his university were forgotten -- without a second thought. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he'd never actually had any girls -- just the ones he fantasized about in secret, the ones he sometimes used for his dirty daydreams.

Besides, the girls at his course went for older guys. Tall, skinny, all elbows and bones like a scarecrow, perpetually disheveled and brooding, Terry didn't attract anyone's attention. All he could do was watch other people's fun from a distance, catching scraps of conversation -- look at Jack, I'd totally... What do you think about Tom? I heard he...

Terry suffered in silence, trying to ignore how invisible he was. Now, though, that quiet misery had faded -- Yana had taken root inside him, pushing out every passing crush he'd ever had.

Every Friday, he found some excuse to come downstairs -- or at least walk past. He kept going back and forth to the kitchen for drinks, until a whole herd of empty glasses and mugs ended up by his computer. Sometimes, before the guests even arrived, he'd deliberately leave one of his stretched-out hoodies somewhere behind the couch. Other times, he'd suddenly appear in the doorway and start rambling to his mother about his studies -- something she usually had very little interest in.

Later, growing bolder, he began settling into the armchair by the entrance -- sitting there like a sullen owl, watching the guests from under his brows, careful not to linger on Yana alone. He pretended to read something on his phone, but his mom's friends noticed his interest in the newcomer -- and teased him for it, kindly enough.

"Would you look at that puppy in love," Carol, his mom's cousin, said. "Those eyes are shining like headlights."

"It happens to everyone. Especially at his age," Irene, his mom's best friend, chimed in.

"And Yana is gorgeous -- I wouldn't be able to resist her myself. Shame I'm into men," Aunt Annie added with a playful wink.

"Girls, stop," Yana said, finally stepping in. "You're embarrassing him."

She was embarrassed too -- her cheeks faintly flushed, her eyes glistening like she might burst into tears at any moment.

"Alright, that's enough," his mother said with a soft laugh, loosened by a couple of glasses of wine. "Don't be silly. He's still just a kid."

Nearly nineteen, Terry had long since grown a head and a half taller than his mother, yet to her he was still a clueless little boy. She never took him seriously -- and she wasn't paying attention now, either.

So Terry sat there in silence until his presence became downright awkward. Then he'd get up, trying not to be noticed, and head back upstairs. There, he'd fire up another shooter and stare at the screen, hoping his cock, stone-hard in his pants, would somehow go down on its own.

That Friday, though, something unusual happened -- a small inconvenience for everyone else, but a major event for Terry.

First, he got a little crafty. While his mom wasn't looking, he turned the AC down in the living room by a full three degrees. Something he'd read online told him that might let him catch a glimpse of Yana's nipples -- especially if she showed up in that semi-sheer cream blouse, the one that let her bra show right through. The only thing he worried about was that the harsh climate of her home country might have made her immune to the cold -- in which case his little trick wouldn't work.

However, none of his little tricks were even needed. As Terry made yet another pass by the living room, parading past with God knows which glass of water in his hand, trying to catch what was going on inside -- he noticed the commotion. The women were gasping and exclaiming over each other. Terry slipped into the shadow of the hallway and started listening in.

"Oh God, how awkward! I'm so sorry, please forgive me!" Irene was wailing the loudest.

"It's nothing," Yana replied softly, her accent wrapping around the words -- vowels softened, consonants pressed. "It happens."

"Let me wash your blouse? Or better yet -- I'll take it to the cleaners. My treat, of course..."

"I don't even know..."

"I'll give you something to change into," his mother cut in. "We'll figure it out later. Come with me."

His mother swept past in a rush, trailing a faint scent of wine. Terry jerked back in surprise -- and nearly ran straight into Yana as she stepped out of the room.

Even in the dim light, he saw her flushed cheeks, the freckles standing out sharper against the red. Her neck was just as flushed -- her skin was so delicate she blushed all over, not just her face. His eyes dropped lower and locked onto two small points pressing shamelessly against the fabric of her blouse, soaked through and ruined by a dark wine stain. Terry saw exactly what he'd been hoping to see -- and from much closer than he'd ever imagined.

Embarrassed beyond words, he backed into the corner again without making a sound. Helplessly, he tried to tear his eyes away from Yana's nipples. When he finally managed it -- what felt like an eternity later -- he ran straight into her gaze, like into the edge of a sharp blade. There was amusement in it. Understanding. As if that wasn't enough, Yana winked at him. After giving Terry a slow once-over from head to toe, she turned her back on him and calmly followed his mother upstairs.

Terry watched her go. Her wide hips swayed softly as she stepped from stair to stair. The last thing he saw was her small feet in low heels, clicking against the wooden steps with steady confidence. Her ankle was so slender -- you could wrap two fingers around it... circle it, squeeze, feel the pulse beating beneath the bone...

Terry swallowed hard and rushed upstairs to his room. Something burst in his head like a firecracker, sparks rushing through his veins, streaming down his chest and stomach -- down to where, in his groin, a hard shaft throbbed and swelled, aching with that constant, nagging hunger.

He dropped into his chair at the computer desk, dragged a half-used pack of tissues closer with a trembling hand. He pulled down his sweatpants, then his boxers. His cock was already straining, and Terry started jerking himself off, fast and rough. It was the only way he had to deal with it -- the only way to ease the pressure that had grown so intense it hurt. The only way to clear his head. Otherwise, those thick, filthy fantasies would flood his mind and leave it useless.

He was already close -- that part came easy. Yana's image wouldn't leave him: those button-hard nipples pressing through the blouse clinging to her huge breasts. Terry didn't realize he'd forgotten to lock the door, so the quiet female voice behind him came as a complete shock.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Yana asked.

Terry froze, pinned in place by fear and shame. Heat flooded his cheeks. His hand hung suspended halfway, still gripping his cock jutting out of his pants. He didn't dare answer or turn around -- every part of him had gone rigid, no longer under his control.

Yana stepped in and turned his chair to face her.

"Well, would you look at that," she said. "And your mom thinks you're still a kid. Looks like she's very wrong."

"Uh-- I--" Terry choked on his own saliva.

She was wearing his mom's sweater over bare skin -- she must have ditched her soaked bra. The very image that had been driving him crazy was right there in front of his face -- her huge breasts, moving faintly with each breath. Her freckled neck, a thin blue vein pulsing there. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes -- he just didn't have the nerve.

"Want to play with a different toy? For a change," Yana asked quietly.

A burst of laughter drifted up from downstairs, and Terry flinched. He pulled his damp hand away from his cock and set it awkwardly on his knee, as if that could somehow fix things.

"Don't be scared," she said softly. "I'll teach you. Come here."

She took a couple of steps back and sat down on Terry's unmade bed. At last, he managed to look into her eyes -- usually grey, now darker, deep, almost black pools you could drown in. She ran her hands over her thighs and rolled her tight skirt up. Slowly, like in one of Terry's heavy, dragging dreams, Yana spread her legs.

"Come on. Don't be shy."

Spellbound by the sound of her voice, he got up from the chair, walked over, and sank to his knees in front of her. His hands moved as if on their own. Carefully, as though she were made of the finest glass, he touched her ankle. Yana let out a soft breath -- but said nothing.

Then, emboldened, he slid two fingers around her ankle -- just the way he'd imagined it. Even through the smooth nylon of her stockings, he could feel the heat of her skin. Terry's hand moved higher, past her knee, reaching a place he'd barely dared to dream about -- where the tight latex band of her garter bit into the soft flesh of her thigh. He couldn't hold back a low groan.

"Good, baby. Now higher."

Her bare skin felt like velvet -- and even softer further up, where Terry suddenly ran into the barrier of her panties. The fabric was damp, and something swollen and impatient pulsed beneath it, wrapped in silk. This time Yana let out a sound too -- low, barely audible.

Carefully, Terry pushed the wet fabric aside. In the flickering light of the monitor, he caught sight of what she was hiding there: framed by the softest fair hair, her pink folds glistened with moisture. Barely breathing, he reached out and touched her, sliding his fingers over her -- up, then down again, where she parted under his touch.

He felt her thighs tense -- and, not giving himself time to think, slid his fingers inside.

Hot walls closed around them at once, tight, resisting any deeper movement. Slowly, insistently, guided by instinct rather than experience, Terry worked his way further into Yana's pussy. Only two fingers fit -- his index and middle; there was no room for more. Then, on sudden impulse, he pressed the pad of his thumb against the spot he guessed had to be her clit.

Yana's hand came down over his, guiding him.

"There... like that," she breathed.

Terry began to move, sliding in and out of her wet slit, carefully rubbing the swollen little button of her clit -- now unmistakable. Firm, tight beneath his thumb. With a rush of excitement, he felt Yana start to move with him, meeting each of his tentative thrusts, taking his fingers deeper, her breath growing heavier.

He could feel her tightening, clenching around his fingers whenever he hit that one spot inside her that seemed to drive her wild. He bent his fingers just slightly, pressing deeper; and every time her pussy squeezed him especially hard, he pushed a little more firmly on her clit. Through the rush roaring in his ears, Terry finally made out Yana's plea:

"Try... try using your mouth..."

He slid his thumb off her clit, not breaking the rhythm. Then he lowered his face to her slit, breathing her in -- her pussy smelled unexpectedly rich and warm, like salted caramel. He closed his lips around the clit he'd already worked raw with his fingers. Yana let out a needy moan, and he set his tongue to work.

His clumsy movements drove her into a frenzy. Her thighs clamped around his head -- he wouldn't have been able to pull away even if he'd wanted to. But he didn't want to. Between his own legs, the pressure was about to burst on its own, without any help, when he felt Yana's muscles tighten, her inner walls locking around his fingers so tightly he couldn't move them anymore. He worked his tongue harder, flicking and pressing against her clit, hard and unyielding beneath him.

Yana fell back onto the bed, writhing, letting out low, guttural sounds. Choking on her juices, Terry drew the swollen nub into his mouth and closed his lips around it, working it with his tongue like the sweetest candy in the world. He only stopped when she went still, her body slack, gasping for air.

Her thighs loosened, and Terry reluctantly pulled his head free.

"Did you... like it?" he asked shyly, his tongue heavy and clumsy from the unfamiliar effort.

"You did well. Such a good boy," Yana said, still slightly out of breath. "You've earned a reward. Get up."

Terry sprang to his feet at once. He was no longer ashamed of his cock jutting out of his pants -- well, maybe just a little. He looked at Yana with open adoration, waiting for her to grant him whatever came next.

Unhurried, Yana climbed onto the bed, settling comfortably, tucking her legs beneath her -- the kind of thing Terry had never even let himself dream about. The woman he'd been fantasizing about, right there in his bed, touching his sheets, his pillows with her perfect body... And he was allowed... And he had done something that...

Every thought vanished from his mind the moment he felt Yana's breath against his groin. Her face was impossibly close to his cock, trembling with pent-up need. She licked her lips, paused just a second -- Terry froze, afraid to move -- and then the head of his cock slipped into a soft, hot, wet heaven.

He felt her tongue glide along the sensitive underside of the head, circle slowly, tracing the rim, brushing over the tip. Gentle fingers cupped his balls, teasing, squeezing, and he let out a loud moan, throwing his head back. Her lips closed around his shaft and moved down. Down -- and then back up. And to his shame and delight, Terry couldn't hold out.

The tight knot in his lower belly snapped, bursting into pleasure. The moment Yana took him fully into her mouth again, Terry came hard, spilling into that warm, wet mouth, right onto the teasing movement of her tongue.

He felt her swallow, taking him in, drawing everything out of him. Through a haze, he watched as she let his still pulsing cock slip from her lips, gave it a slow, assessing look -- then, flicking out her neat pink tongue, licked away the last drop clinging to the tip.

"That was quick," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Sorry," Terry said weakly. "I didn't mean to... it just... happened."

"It's nothing, baby," Yana said, smiling -- indulgent and gentle at the same time. "I actually like that you wanted me that much."

"Really?" he asked, unsure.

"Really."

She got up from the bed and tugged her skirt back into place.

"So... we'll see each other again?" he asked, hope creeping into his voice.

"Of course," Yana replied lightly. "I'm here every Friday."

"But... that's not what I meant..."

She glanced at the wall mirror and brushed an invisible speck from her cheek.

"We'll see. Depends on how you behave."

Yana gave Terry an encouraging smile and quietly closed the door behind her. He stood there, grinning stupidly after her, and pulled his pants back up. Terry didn't know much about the world -- but one thing he felt for certain: his life would never be the same again.

And that was perfect.