Friends mom[sex]

Friends Mom

One of my lifes greatest friends is leaving for the other side of the country tomorrow,

His wife transfered out there earlier this year, and he also asked and was lucky enough to be allowed to work remote from his own companies San Diego offices, as long as he promised them at least one year of continued service.

I helped him pack all his things into his van today, which was a somber moment.

He is 15 years younger than me, and as we share similar physical attributes (dark features, and often similar beards), are often mistaken for father and son

I have no actual son, and he has not known a father most of his life, but our relationship is one of pure friendship, though “brothers” might apply here, too.

I think it is important in this world that men are allowed to build strong male connections with other men, without the stigma of a “relationship” beyond a spiritual kinship, and we are resilent against any suggestions of a physical relationship. Masculinity and male bonds are vital to a healthy society.

As with all things that grow, his life now leads him down a new path. A new adventure awaits him away from me, away from his home and his mother whom he has lived with his whole life.

So today, we 3 packed up his van (a van I’ve helped convert into a camper) of all his worldy things. His life summoned up in the contents of a few dozen boxes.

We sat for one last meal at his house, of course home cooked by his mother, full of his favorite Mexican foods (they are both natives).

To get a jump start on the 7 day journey, he left tonight, hoping to put 5 hours behind him and knock at least one state off the trip.

His mother and I saw him to his van, and as I wanted to give them the last moment together, I left her with him and returned to their apartment on the 3rd floor.

While I waited I made her some tea in a Japanese tea pot that was a gift to her from one of my trips overseas. It looks as if it was once broken, but then repaired, which reminded me of her (she had a scare with a brain tumor), but once repaired, is considered more beautiful for having been lovingly restored. The Japanese (and Chinese) have a name for this, which I believe is “Kintsugi”.

She is a deeply spiritual person and having been with them (my friend and his mom) through her health issues, I thought it the perfect gift.

While she and I are bound together through her son, we share no other real connection and due to a language barrier (she mostly only speaks Spanish) we had not yet made a strong connection. That, and the idea of becoming my friends step-dad was just really very off-putting.

The tea steeped for some time as it took her a long time to let her son go, though every passing moment was one more moment later he would get to his first hotel.

But eventually she let him go, and stood on the street watching him leave long after he had pulled out of sight.

Upon returning upstairs, she went to the window to continue her watch, conflicted between pride for a man setting off and sorrow for loosing her son, the boy she had lived with his entire life.

I joined her at the window with a cup of tea, which she took out of habit, and we stood in silence. Her, having nothing to say, and me, not knowing what words could sooth her cares.

As we drank, we stood closer, and my arm found its way around her shoulder as she leaned into me.

I’m not sure what kind of tea it was but it did have a calming effect, and we both breathed in the aroma it brought into the room.

“Would you like some more”, I asked as she finished her tea.

She looked at me from a 1000 miles away, and not expecting to hear or need to understand English, she looked at me puzzled.

I held up my empty cup and made a gesture for more.

She smiled, misunderstood the offer, and took my cup from me and walked into the kitchen. It seemed like a good break from her vigilance at the window.

I followed her in to kitchen to collect my things, make sure she would be alright alone in the house for the first time in years, and head home as my own trip was about an hour itself.

But when she got into the kitchen she grabbed the tea pot and filled both our cups again, and gestured me to sit as she busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner and (I then noticed) getting out plates for desert.

I’m not sure what it was, but of course it was delicious. Some form of flour-less cake I imagine, but couldn’t extract from her what it was made of as I don’t speak a word of Spanish.

I know very little about her, although I know she is a spiritual women as I’ve already stated. I know of no man in her life, or at least her son has made no mention of one. She worked for a while, but also went to school for acupuncture and homoeopathic medicine, neither one of which I put much stock in but fully support for those who pursue it.

We sat for a while communicating as best we could through gestures and what amounts to mime, but it was a pleasant time for both of us as we remembered a friend and a son through pictures through out her kitchen.

“Her” kitchen now, not “theirs”. Something about that thought gave me pause, and she must have picked up on it as she offered me her hand as we sat wondering where life would take him.

Some time passed as we sat in the kitchen, but something buoyed our spirits together as we looked across the table at one another. There is something about being alone together that I can’t explain.

But I must be pressing on, so I get up and collect the desert plates and drop them in the sink. She follows me over and out of the blue hugs me from behind as I rinse off the dishes.

Not a terribly intimate hug, but one of relief after a trying time.

As I finish up, I hold her arms against me in an attempt to return the hug, though I am facing away from her.

She lets go, hands me a dish towel and I head towards the door and notice she has returned to her spot at the window, hoping that perhaps her son has forgotten something and has come back. He hasn’t.

I gather my things on the way and slip my shoes on at the door before she notices. Her look gives me pause: sadness, plus somehow conveying that once I leave, she will suddenly be alone.

Neither one of us know who should move first: if she comes to me, it will signal that I too am leaving her. I’m not sure what my moving to her would signal, so we stare for a moment before she turns towards me.

Slowly she paces the distance between us. I stand firm, hopefully indicting that the next move is hers.

As she walks, she suddenly looks very soft. Her hair, short and silvery blond. Her skin, pale white with rosey checks of a loving mother saddened by her son leaving the roost. Her body, petite, gentle and warm. She stands less than a foot shorter than me and as she finally makes it to be standing in front of me, I smell a mix of the tea still permeating the room, and the softness of her perfume: no strong chemical oder of course, but some flowery, understated auro that is intoxicating.

Still, I stand my ground.

She stops less than a foot from me and looks into my eyes. Sadness there still, but pride. A woman make no mistake. Soft, as beautiful now as in her youth (her homoeopathic life cannot be discounted) as the pictures around the apartment prove.

Again, a moment of indecision. I stand there with my coat on but unzipped. She still looks at me, waiting for a signal but I dare not breath (an expression only as my breathing has now become a bit laboured).

As she has had no resistance, she inches a little closer, and motions to put her arms around me again so I offer to (properly) return her hug this time.

To my surprise, she slides her hands inside my coat, then around my back and clasps her hands. I am not a large man, but her petite arms seems to need to squeeze me tight, or she has just opted to do so.

She presses her head into my chest, almost to the point I could now zip my coat up with her inside, which is almost what happens as I wrap her up in my arms, trying not to smother her.

I’m the first to break away, sliding my hands apart and they land on her shoulders as she climbs out of my coat, her hands lowering, and stopping on my hips. She hooks her thumbs on my belt.

As her fingers rub and tap on (what is basically) my butt, my thumbs start rubbing along her collar bone through her soft and fuzzy pink sweater.

If anything is to happen next, it must be me who makes the move. She can’t rise up enough on her toes to reach me. Slowly, painfully slowly, I start leaning down towards her. At this pace she has what seems will be 10 minutes before I make it down to her to decide.

I stop half way, reassess, then tilt my head as she now starts to rise up, tilting her head in unison.

Her outward appearance of softness does not do justice to what my lips now feel. Tender is more accurate, though as I embrace her body against mine, the various textures and contures of her tell many stories.

Petite, but not thin. Soft, but not weak. Tender, but passionate. In these few moments, as we share with each other our mouths, our tongues just beginning to dart in and out, experimenting with what we each might desire, I find a woman still in her prime, lonely for a man and finding it in her sons older friend.

The language barrier no longer a problem, we tell each other what we want physically. She pushes my coat off my shoulders, but as a mother, she takes the time to break away from me to actually hang it back on the hook I found it on, as she motions me to take off my shoes.

I do, but place them properly back onto the mat.

She returns to me and throws her arms around my neck, returning her mouth to mine more aggressively now that we find our rythm.

I want to pick her up from here, but she isn’t short enough, and I’m not young enough, so I simply let my hands explore her curves, continuing to enjoy the soft fuzzy sweater under my hands, which finally land on her hips, rounding down to her ass. She doesn’t resist me.

She once again breaks free, and says something in Spanish that I take to mean “follow me” as she takes my hand and leads me back to the living room. I notice she makes an effort not to look towards the window.

She twirls me past her and I land on the couch, and she follows me down and straddles my lap, takes my face in her hands and we resume our make out session…on the couch her son and I shared to play XBox not 2 hours ago.

Her hands find the bottom of my shirts (I’m wearing two) and we stuggle but get them pulled up off over my head, somehow (seemingly) without breaking our kiss! She slides her hands down my neck, chest then around my sides, tickling me a bit and I laugh while we continue to make out.

She’s aggressive now. I feel she has a passion pent up inside her. I take no credit for seducing her. Although I am not inferring in anyway she “sleeps around”, I know I am just a convenience. Someone to work through her emotions against. I welcome it none the less.

Her nails begin scratching my chest, leaving little red lines down to my waste.

She sits up, letting us both catch our breath.

She watches my face as she applies more pressure to her fingers. Each time leaving deeper marks than the last. I welcome it. I flinch, but don’t stop her. Her fingers find their way up to just under my chin, and she drags them down again, marks will now be seen when I’m once again dressed. I welcome it.

She then smacks both hands down on my chest in unison, leaving her hand prints in my flesh, but then relents and now removes her soft pink sweater.

We are both mid-40s, I in descent shape having spent my youth in various sports, and by keeping active into adulthood. She, petite, very health conscious, must also work out, most likely yoga or some other eastern excersise knowing her lifestyle.

Her bra is plan, though I suspect smaller than it should be as she spills out of it with her delightful breasts. Not large at all, but large enough that they also spill out of my large hands as I grab at them, rougher than I might have with any other woman.

She lets me enjoy them, proud that they are still as youthful as they are. As she reaches her arms behind her back to release the clasp, they a pear to grow, offering themselves to me, so I take them.

Sitting up into her, I wrap my arms around her waste to help pull myself up and bury my face between her breasts, kissing, nibbling, trying to find my way inside with just my mouth.

But I’m in her way now, so she pushes me down again, back against the couch and frees herself from her shackles, tossing it across the room widly, very un-motherly like!

No longer is she someones mother, or daughter, or ex-wife, but instead a women filled with passion and heat, which for a long while has been held in check but then suddenly been allowed out.

She falls down onto me, smothering my face with her chest, her hands wrap around my head to keep me from escaping.

I breath her in, my hands feel their way around her bare back, my mouth kissing and now biting at her flesh. Her hips begin grinding into my crotch, but she keeps hitting my belt.

Angry at the fact I am still wearing pants, she pulls at the belt unbuckling it, and undoing the button on my jeans. Having no way to continue, I grab her by the waste, spin her around and down onto the couch as we switch places.

I stand tall in front of her now, her naked top jiggling as she shows off her breasts to me, teasing me with them as I unzip my pants. Again, I pause.

Do I continue? Are we both ready to move forward? She has a chance, too, to resist me.

She welcomes it.

Again, she says something in Spanish as she reaches for my zipper to start undoing it herself, but I push her hands away and do it myself.

As I do so, she raises her hips and starts to undo her own pants and we somehow simultaneously pull our pants off.

We are now both in just our underwear and we gaze over each others bodies as our hands explore ourselves. Her hands find her breasts and hold them, as her thumb and finger tug on her nipples, her eyes gazing at my expanding bulge now freed from my jeans. My hands rub my chest as well, but find their way down my stomach (rounder than it should be), and then to the waste of my shorts.

I reach in mostly to adjust myself after having been crushed under her weight (very welcomely!) but she suddenly sits up on the edge of the couch, her butt now hanging over a bit, and swats my hands away.

To keep well out of the way of what ever she has planned next, I put my hands behind my back, military style. This has the added affect of pushing my hips forward, and my crotch closer to her face.

Looking down at her with a grin, I see she is exploring the waste band with her finger tips and she starts to place kissing on my belly just above it.

She leans in, and feeds the band into her teeth and once her hands are free she lifts them up to once again drag her nails down my chest, but this time doesn’t stop until she hits my knees.

To get past my shorts, she pulls them away from my body with her teeth, then lets the band snap back against my skin. She times the sound it makes when it hits me with two firm smacks on my ass checks, which I am totally surprised by! I jump, which basically launches my now engorged cock towards her face, which was her design.

As I do so, she motions with her mouth as if she was going to bite me! I welcome it!

I lean down and grab her face in my hands and kiss her again. While I do so, her hands slide in and pull my shorts down, springing my cock free. Without breaking our kiss, she finds it, dances her fingers around it as if welcoming it to breath the free air, and gentle fondles my balls.

I step out of my shorts finally, and lift her to her feet as I lower myself in front of her, kissing her belly on my way. Before I am even on my knees, my hands have found the delicate waste band to her soft pink panties, which are sexier, in contrast, to her bra. She kicks her saddle off her feet.

Slowly I peel them down, her hands in my hair encouraging this behavior. I kiss her. Unlike the modern porn stars and instagramers, she has a full bush, trimmed, short as her hair is, but no complicated as it must be for those women. I rub my nose in it as I help her step out of her panties.

I kiss her, from hip to hip, then I press my hands inside her knee and press her legs apart. I continue to kiss her, now exposed to me more, I have more access. I start lapping at her, encouraging her to spread her legs more.

I’m not sure either one of us has been in this actual position before: her standing with legs wide, me kneeling in front of her, tasting her as we both try not to fall over. It becomes a bit awkward so in unison decide to change, but I have a new idea.

Kneeling back away from her I guide her hips to spin her around and still from my knees, coax her to bend over at the hips and give me full access to her from here. She does so, leaning onto the back of the couch for support, knees locked, and sit before her and bury my face in her.

The access I have from here is amazing, and she thinks so too. Her knees often buckle, but I hold her up by wrapping my arms around her thighs, pulling her into me.

My tongues flicks at her as I bury my face deep into her crack. I even manage to get 1 finger around her to press and tease her clit as I lick at her with my mouth.

It is too much for her, and she buckles, her knees rest against the edge of the couch and I stand up, now primed to enter her from behind. I steady her hips, rub my cock up and down her slit to lubricate it before sliding it into her. Before sliding it into my friends mom, who I just not less than an hour ago helped move out of this very room.

That thought flashes quickly in and out of my mind again as the sensation is powerful. She is warmed, wet and ready for me and she is amazing.

My hands steady themselves against her hips and start to pull her into me on opposite motions as I start to slam into her. Once we find a rhythm, I reach around her hip again and continue playing with her clit.

It does not take me long and she senses it. We slow down as we decide what to do next, and I am lost in a trance, enjoying her rocking back into me, pushing against the couch for leverage.

I then feel as she slides herself off of me so I look at her as she turns around. As she spins around to face me, she takes a swipe at my cock with her hand. The sensation is overwhelming, but does what I think she intended as I no longer have an immediate desire to cum suddenly.

I smile at her touch, which she takes to mean I want another (I didn’t!) so she does it again with the other hand, very unexpectadly!

She again smiles at my pain (which we both take pleasure in) and she pushes me down to the ground, I assume she means to stradle me and continue fucking, but instead as I lay out flat on the ground facing up, she walks the length of my body to stand with her feet on either side of my head.

I stare up at her soaked and glistening self and she stands with her hands on her hips, like a conquorer or hunter over their prey.

I playfully turn my head and kiss the instep of each foot. She enjoys this immensely so I do it again, but she pulls her feet away and walks back down my body about half way, then lowers herself onto my waiting cock.

I slide back in easily, and she starts bouncing on top of me. She also starts saying something in Spanish, the words mean nothing to me but I think I understand what she means!

She puts her hands on my chest, nails digging into my skin again. I can’t see how she is moving, but imagine it is all hips at this point. The main weight of her body isn’t shifting, but she is moving herself up and down my shaft, stopping every once and a while to grind forward and back.

She looks at me now, getting a sense of my state, trying to time her orgasm to mine. She continues to mumble something in Spanish but now even if it were English I would be lost.

Her nails grind as much as her hips. She rides me and I get the sense she looks like a jokey riding a horse. I imagine and wish she had a riding crop.

Not faster, but more in sync, her hips move her now forward and back, rubbing her clit between us. She can no doubt feel my knees raising up to prepare myself. More Spanish. More nails.

Slower now, I sense she is cuming, and give up any hope that I can stop either one of us now. I curl up against her hands but her weight keeps me down. I cum…deep inside her as she plunges herself into my pelvis. Her hips now stop as her body clenches in orgasm, and somehow squeeze my cock burried inside her.

I feel each shot as it exits my body, and she must, too, as after the second, she pulls up off of me slightly, giving it more room to go, and aids in pulling it out of my balls.

Down again as she comes down off her own orgasm and quivers, her hips once again shaking as my hands find her thighs to steady myself. We sit motionless briefly as the wave crashed over us, but she slowly starts moving again. The sensation is too much so I encourage her to stop. She doesn’t, slowly grinding herself around as my sensitive cock, now spent, is still inside her. She thinks she can get more out of me. I wryth in pleasure under her, trying to squirm against the sensation at the end of my cock. She arches up and with her right hand, massages and squeezes my balls as if to empty them, timing her squeeze with a shift of her hips that does indeed pull more cum out of me!

She lets go and falls into my chest, me still inside her, warm, and comfortable. We catch our breath and she still continues to speak to me in Spanish, hopefully about nothing important, but her voice is soft, just like the rest of her.

I finally fall out of her and she sits up against, on my hips, her breasts still look amazing so I reach for them. She puts her hands over mine and holds them to her and says “la lola”!

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/arf6xg/friends_momsex