Taking a deep breath… OK. I’m posting this to the sexystories sub and I marked it as containing [Inc]est, but there is not really any actual incest or sex involved. It’s a story about coming of age. Everything I’m reminiscing about here was basically innocent. At least that’s the way it felt back then. Today, as an adult looking back on it, I see things in a sexual light that weren’t sexual at all back then. It turns me on, and I feel an intense yearning to go back to those days, knowing what I know now; but I know it’s not possible. Those days are lost forever. But it was so wonderful while it lasted…
My heart is pounding here… I’ve never admitted this to anyone. Um. Yeah. So… my Ma bathed my sister and me together regularly until we were both in our early teens, and my sister and I still bathed together for a long time even after Ma stopped doing that, and we all thought it was perfectly normal.
There, I said it.
My sister is one grade ahead of me. That’s how I still think of it even though we’re grown up now and it’s been a long time since we were in school. She’s about a year and a half older, to be exact – my birthday is in June and hers is in January the year before. We were always pretty close – I mean, we fought sometimes, like siblings always do, but mostly I’ve just adored her and looked up to her as long as I can remember. Ma was a single mother, and we lived out in the country where there was always tons of chores she had to do, so Rebecca, my sister, was often sort of put in charge of me even when we were both really little. I mean, obviously Ma would be keeping her eye on us, but — just for example — lunchtime she’d usually just put food out for both of us and Rebecca would feed me. Yes, even though she wasn’t even two years older. Ma says my first word wasn’t “ma-ma” but “beh-beh.” I don’t know if she’s telling the truth, but I do know that Rebecca basically taught me to speak. She was a precocious kid and was already talking pretty well by the time I was born, or so Ma claims. Some of my earliest memories are of her leading me around by my hand outside, pointing stuff out and talking animatedly the whole time.
We were, I guess, dirt-poor, although I never thought of it that way. Our father was out of the picture, and neither Rebecca nor I remember him — as I understand it, he left when Ma was still pregnant with me. He supposedly sent money occasionally, but I honestly have no idea how Ma managed to raise two kids with no obvious income. She grew some vegetables and we had chickens for eggs and we ate a lot of government surplus cheese and peanut butter and always got free lunch at school. Nevertheless, we never really lacked for anything important. Ma got us clothes and shoes — OK, they were used, but we were still always overjoyed to get new-to-us togs each fall — and school supplies and even the occasional toys.
One thing about being poor that I do remember, though, is that we were always cold in the winter. We had a big, rusty old propane tank in the back yard and every year or so the funny-shaped truck came to fill it and Ma was always worried around then how she’d pay for it. If the winter was especially cold the truck might have to come twice in a year, and that was a real disaster, even though Ma only kept the heat on high enough that the pipes wouldn’t freeze. We wore long underwear under our clothes, and bulky thrift-store sweaters, and were used to it, so we didn’t really *feel* cold most of the time, but it was always nice to be able to get warm. There was an old iron wood stove in the sitting-room and on the colder winter days, Ma’d build a fire in the afternoon just before we got home from school. That was always a wonderful memory – we’d sit around the stove and talk and sing until it was time to go to bed.
But the best thing of all on a cold day was taking a hot bath.
We didn’t *start out* by taking long, luxurious baths. When we were really little, we didn’t even use the bathtub. There was some kind of heater in the cabinet under the kitchen sink that I was strictly forbidden to open — I don’t know if it used propane or electricity — but that was usually the only faucet in the house that had hot water. The boiler in the basement didn’t work. I remember that Ma used to fill up a tin basin in the sink, and I’d sit or, when I got bigger, stand in it while she washed me with a rag; then Rebecca would do the same. In the winter we’d do this in front of the wood stove so that we wouldn’t get too cold, and afterwards we’d sit in front of the stove naked for a while until we were dry. Once a week, Ma’d wash our hair in the kitchen sink before filling the basin. I hated that; being forced to bend my head back and close my eyes as the water ran over my forehead was unpleasant.
Of course Rebecca and I would each watch while the other was washed, so we found nothing particularly mysterious about our naked bodies. In the winter, naturallyr, we’d hurry to wrap up again as soon as we were dry, because otherwise we’d get cold. But in the summer, especially on hot days, we’d often run around half-naked, even outside. There weren’t any nearby neighbors to complain. Usually we each had on underwear bottoms and nothing else, but even if for some reason we needed to take those off, we weren’t bashful about it; it just wasn’t a big deal. Almost every day we played outside, for example, one or the other of us would have to pee and we’d just pull down our underwear in front of each other and do it. I remember I used to squat outside to pee, just like Rebecca – without any brothers or other male role models, I just copied what she did.
I adored Rebecca and aspired to be like her, so I’d watch her all the time, naked or not. Her lithe, sun-browned body, marked all over with scrapes and scratches was as familiar to me as my own. I think because there was no real mystery about our bodies, we never really did much of the kind of experimentation or exploration that I often read about young kids doing. I don’t recall ever “playing doctor,” for example. There wasn’t really any need to make up games to see, or even touch each other naked; that was just part of everyday life. Even Ma was pretty casual about nudity. She stayed dressed most of the time, to be sure, even when it was hot and Rebecca and I were running around bare; but we caught glimpses of her naked all the time, changing in the morning or evening, or sometimes when, after bathing us, she decided to put the remaining hot water to good use and wash herself down. Usually she would just take the basin into the bathroom and, I guess, use the hot water to wash herself in the tub, but in the winter when the stove was on, she didn’t want to get any further from that heat than she had to. On those occasions she’d strip naked right there in the sitting-room and, sitting next to the basin, give herself a sponge bath with the lukewarm water before standing up and toweling herself down. I’d look at her breasts and her thick black bush with innocent curiosity. I didn’t really make the connection with my sister’s body; oh, I guess I knew intellectually that Rebecca, being female like my ma, would surely look like that some day when she grew up, but right now, flat-chested and with no hair on her genitals she resembled me far more than she did Ma. Which was good because, as I said, I wanted to be like my sister in every way I could.
It was around the time I’d just turned 8 and Rebecca was 9 that washing in the basin started to become a bit too much of a hassle. We were getting a bit big for it even standing up (we’d both long outgrown the time when we could sit down), but doing as Ma did and just sponging ourselves next to the basin wasn’t really thorough enough. Ma wanted us to be fresh and clean every day for school and even in the summer we’d get so dirty playing outside that we really needed a full bath every night. Ma took a deep breath and called a handyman to come fix the boiler. I remember it especially well because it was a hot summer day and both Rebecca and I were playing near-naked, as usual, and Ma made us get dressed. I knew of course that it would be impolite to go into town without putting clothes on, but I couldn’t really fathom why anyone would care if we were running around bare at home when someone came by. Anyway, the handyman came and we were on our best behavior for an hour or two while he did whatever he did in the basement. And after that, lo and behold, we had hot water at every faucet in the house! It came out rusty at first but eventually cleared up. Now we could wash our hands with hot water instead of cold after going to the toilet. Ma told us to go easy with the hot water, though — to wash our hands as quickly as possible and make sure the faucet wasn’t dripping when we were done. The boiler used propane and that was expensive.
That evening, Ma asked ceremoniously if we were ready to take our first real bath in the bathtub. She went in and ran the water for us, and we got undressed (we’d been so excited that we hadn’t even taken our clothes off and run back outside, as we usually would on a summer day, after the handyman left). I stepped into the warm water and stood there uncertainly. Ma laughed – “you can sit down, Tom!” she said. It hadn’t even occurred to me; it had been a long, long time since I’d been small enough to sit in the tin basin. I cautiously lowered myself into the water. It felt unimaginably luxurious. We went swimming in the local swimming hole often enough, but that water was *cold* — even on a hot summer’s day it would take us many minutes to venture all the way in. The water in the tub was warm enough that I could sit down right away. What I vividly remember is that, quite spontaneously and for no obvious reason, my little willy got hard as soon as I sat down. I think it was just the lovely, unaccustomed feeling of the warm water enveloping my lower half. Neither Ma nor Rebecca commented on it, if indeed they noticed it at all. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d sprung a boner for absolutely no reason. When it happened Rebecca would occasionally tease me gently about it (Ma never did), but mostly we’d all just ignore it and it would go away as mysteriously as it had arrived. I didn’t think any more of it than goosebumps or an itch or any other involuntary bodily function; it was just something that happened sometimes. This time, though, my brain made the connection with the new, luxurious sensation and since that evening I have rarely been able to climb into a hot tub without getting an instant erection.
“Go on,” Ma encouraged Rebecca. *Of course,* I thought. The bathtub was plenty big enough for both of us. Rebecca clambered in and sat down facing me. The faucet was embedded in the wall above the middle of the tub (something I’ve often missed in other bathtubs I’ve been in since), so we could both lean back comfortably at either end. Rebecca stretched out, stuck her foot out and playfully touched my crotch with her toes. I felt sudden embarrassment at having my little stiff penis touched and splashed wildly at her foot. She giggled and pulled back, still not making any comment. Ma instructed Rebecca to duck down in the water and get wet all over, and she scooted forward, her butt sliding over my feet and legs. Still embarrassed, I protected my penis with my cupped hands, but Rebecca’s crotch touched the back of my knuckles for a moment as she ducked her hair into the water. I still remember how soft and pillowy her special place felt. I think that moment marked the first awakening of some actual curiosity towards my sister’s body. We were so used to seeing each other naked that I’d never really even thought about it before, but now all of a sudden, in short succession, she’d touched me and — even if accidentally — I’d touched her, and in my mind it was all somehow tied up with the luxury of taking a hot bath and so it was exciting and mysterious.
After Rebecca sat back up, it was my turn. I slid forward and lowered myself half in, up to my chest, but Ma wasn’t having any halfway measures. She pushed down on my shoulders until the back of my head was under water. I reflexively reached back to steady myself and was painfully aware that waist was sticking up unavoidably above the water; my boner was visible to all. Again, this was the first time I had ever really felt any sense of embarrassment about being hard; it’d never occurred to me to even try to hide it before, but something about all the novelty of that night: the luxurious new feeling of taking a bath, the fact that Rebecca had (even jokingly) touched me with her foot, the fresh memory of accidentally touching Rebecca’s special place — all those things awoke a slight sense of anxiety in me. However, neither Ma nor Rebecca said anything about my state and eventually, as we got down to the business of soaping and scrubbing and shampooing and rinsing my erection naturally subsided. When we were done washing, Ma had an extra treat for us – she took a showerhead on the end of a rubber tube and connected it to the faucet, then had us stand up and turned the water on. When she first sprayed us, the water was still cold – Rebecca and I shrieked and giggled and grabbed each other. It felt nice holding her slippery-wet body. When the water got warm enough we relaxed and enjoyed the spray. Ma left it on for far too short a time, I thought – just long enough to get the soapy water off of us. Then, reluctantly, we stepped out and, each taking a towel, rubbed ourselves dry.
From that evening on we took a bath, religiously, almost every night. There was of course no question of taking separate baths; hot water was a luxury (even if it was now a daily one) and, besides, we *loved* bathing together. It would have never even occurred to us to want the tub to ourselves. Ma never bathed with us — we wouldn’t have all fit in the tub! — but she was always there to help scrub and especially to make sure we washed our hair properly when that was on the agenda. (We gradually increased the frequency of hair-washes from once a week to almost every other day; I didn’t mind at all — ducking my hair under the water in the bath was far more tolerable than having Ma run water over it in the sink.) After we were done, about half the time, Ma would get undressed and climb into the used water to bathe herself. Sometimes Rebecca and I would stay and pretend that we were helping her wash. It was those times that I was able to satisfy my nascent curiosity about what an adult woman’s naked body looked like up close. Maybe Rebecca was satisfying her curiosity too — I never asked her. Ma would sometimes let us scrub her with the washcloth or rub the shampoo into her hair. She’d sit in the shallow, already-soapy water, her big black bush usually just above the waterline, her breasts glistening in the humid air. Seeing her like this, I was fascinated by her big, heavy nipples and especially by the mystery of what lay under all that pubic hair. I knew that she had a vagina, like Rebecca’s, underneath, because I’d caught glimpses of it when she parted her labia to wash down there. I wondered if it would feel soft and pillowy like Rebecca’s had that one time, but I didn’t dare to ask or to try to touch it. Ma didn’t mind if I washed her breasts, though, and I got to feel those intriguing nipples many times under my fingers. They felt large, firm, almost rubbery; not like my own nipples, or Rebecca’s, which I’d felt totally incidentally on any number of occasions, like when we were playing chase and I caught her around the waist and wrestled her to the floor.
When winter came around, the bath became even more the high point of the day. It was warm and inviting; it was an escape from the cold reality of our house. Ma would start running the bath for us and we’d get in before it was even done, so as not to miss out on any of the heat. Of course the exact right moment was always a conundrum: we didn’t want to undress until the last possible minute. It felt extra cold in the bathroom, with its tiles and porcelain fixtures. Sometimes it got cold enough that our breath would condense and we’d pretend to be dragons. The steam would rise from the hot water in the tub as the water ran and, by mutual agreement, we’d suddenly decided it was time, throw off our clothes as fast as we could and hop in. Often, instead of sitting at opposite ends of the tub, we’d start by hugging each other close to stay warm as the water rose around our legs. The fact that we were both naked made no difference to us. Why would it? It felt nice to huddle up against each other’s warmth while we waited for the tub to fill.
Poor Ma rarely got to enjoy the leftover hot water after we bathed in the winter. We would stay in the tub as long as we possibly could, until we’d absorbed almost all the heat and our fingers looked like prunes and we reluctantly stood up to be rinsed off, then grabbed towels and ran to sit in front of the wood stove to dry off, leaving Ma by herself to strip down and use the lukewarm, dirty water if she dared. We’d snuggle up next to each other as we sat in front of the stove, just as we had in the tub. Sometimes Rebecca would run her hands up and down my bare back and I’d feel shivers. I loved it when she touched me like that. And I remember that it was on one of those times, drying by the stove after a winter bath while Ma was still in the tub, that Rebecca suddenly put her hand on my willy. It was a perfectly innocent gesture. Nearly 10, just on the verge of puberty, she was getting curious about bodies, I guess, without even knowing why. But I shrunk back; it felt weird to have her fondle me. Rebecca whispered that I should let her look and touch, that she’d let me do the same. Reluctantly I allowed her to feel it. It hardened into her fingers as she did and I got embarrassed and told her to stop. Then she took my hand and put it on her special place. It felt warm and soft. I looked, interested, and noticed for the first time that she had just a few downy hairs around the lips. I didn’t really make the connection in my mind with Ma’s thick blanket. Rebecca patiently let me touch it until I got bored. When I took my hand away my finger had a faint, not unpleasant odor on it.
After that, I started paying more attention to what Rebecca looked like in the bath. Her body was starting to change, just a little at a time. Besides the hairs down there, she was also getting tiny little swellings around her nipples. They were especially obvious when she raised her arms. Sometimes after the bath, when Ma was still in there and we were out by the stove getting dry, we’d do the “look-and-touch thing,” as we called it, again. By silent, mutual assent we had decided that it was OK to satisfy our curiosity. Rebecca seemed to be fascinated by my the way my willy would stiffen and after a few times I would automatically get hard when we sat down naked by the stove. For my part, I always wanted to touch her chest and feel how it was developing. When Ma came out of the bath, of course, we’d guiltily take our hands off each other and pretend that we hadn’t been doing anything but getting dry. I don’t know if Ma knew better or not, but she never said anything to us.
By that summer, though, the swellings around Rebecca’s nipples had already developed enough that they were noticeable even if she wore a shirt. And that was more and more often. Ma would often ask her to put on at least an undershirt before we went outside to play in case a neighbor or salesman happened to come by, although she was inconsistent about it at first; I remember in the dog-days of that August that we both went butt-naked almost the whole time. Visitors were rare, anyway. But the bath was sacred. Every evening, without fail, we’d be in there, sitting at opposite ends facing each other, so no changes in Rebecca’s body escaped me. I watched as the hairs in her special place got darker and denser. I watched as the swellings on her chest grew into small, but unmistakable breasts. By the time she turned 11 it was obvious that the changes were accelerating. For my part, I still looked the same as always. I had no hairs down there, I hadn’t gotten bigger, I was getting taller but very slowly. I understood of course that I’d eventually start changing into a man in the same way as Rebecca was starting to change into a woman, but I was very unclear on when it would start happening or what it would be like. Only a couple of the girls in my class at school had started to develop, and none of the boys; I snuck peeks in the locker room so I knew.
The winter after Rebecca turned 11, I started to feel self-conscious about the “look-and-touch thing,” and demurred when she tried to initiate it in front of the stove after a bath. It was not that I wasn’t still intensely curious about Rebecca’s changing body — I was — or that it didn’t feel nice when she touched me — it did. But it irked me that I was steadfastly failing to get any hair down there, or show any sign of growing out of little boyhood. Of course I was not even ten yet, and I had no reason whatsoever to expect my development to be any faster than my classmates’, none of whom where showing any signs either. But it felt embarrassing to have Rebecca looking at me and touching me down there when she herself was already “becoming a young woman,” as Ma put it, and i was so far from becoming a young man. Of course, not only was Rebecca a year and a half older than I, but (as I now know) puberty ordinarily begins later in boys than in girls. In any case, I wouldn’t let Rebecca touch me any more and feigned a lack of interest in touching and looking at her. She took this in good humor and we still sat next to each other naked in front of the stove after our bath, only now keeping our hands strictly off each other. I was a little more circumspect in front of Ma in the bath, too, trying — mostly unsuccessfully — to hide my childish nakedness and especially the occasional, inevitable spontaneous erection from her by, for example, turning away when she rinsed me off with the showerhead. I never thought, even once, of demanding more comprehensive privacy. Rebecca and I obviously could have washed ourselves — or each other — without her help, but the tradition had been established and bathtime had taken on an importance far beyond getting clean; it was a family ritual, an hour or so each evening when we’d all be together enjoying the precious sacrament of hot water. I really didn’t mind at all that Ma was there to bathe us; I just didn’t want her looking *too* closely and, maybe, in her mind, unfavorably comparing my development with Rebecca’s.
Almost two more years passed before I began to show the first signs of puberty myself. I’d long since forgotten my self-consciousness by that point, and no longer made any special effort to hide myself in the bath. Rebecca, in the meantime, had matured into an adolescent, widening in the hips, with smallish but prominent breasts and a thicket of pubic hair that seemed almost as extensive as Ma’s. Of course it was no mystery to me now what that hair concealed, as I had seen Rebecca almost every night in the bath, had seen her special place go from bare to completely covered over the course of a couple years. She’d also started her period and, so, a few days every month she would shower alone instead of taking a bath with me. On those days I often just skipped the bath, but sometimes Ma would just bathe me by myself. I was always sad when Rebecca was “off” for a few days, and always relieved when she joined us for the nightly ritual again.
I remembered what it was like to touch Rebecca down there back when she used to suggest we do that, how soft and pillowy it had been. At night I’d think about it and it’d give me a funny feeling; my willy would get hard and I’d think about what it was like when she would touch it. I kind of wished I hadn’t stopped her from doing it, but I didn’t know how to suggest that we start it again. We never played outside naked anymore; I still didn’t wear a shirt in the summer, but Rebecca always did now. We’d both gotten out of the habit of wearing just underwear; these days we always had shorts on. In the winter, we’d still dry ourselves in front of the stove, but Ma’d bought some really big towels as a special treat and we’d wrap ourselves in those before we left the bathroom. It was only in the bath that we were still naked together regularly, and Ma was always there, so there wasn’t much opportunity for exploration. I especially longed to touch Rebecca’s breasts and see what they felt like now. Were they like smaller versions of Ma’s? Ma’d still let me wash her breasts if we stuck around when she got in the tub after us — in retrospect I think she must have realized that I enjoyed it, and let me have my innocent fun. But once when, heart pounding, I dared to try reaching down with the washcloth and scrubbing the mound of hair between her legs, she let me do it only for a few seconds, then gently reached down and took my wrist, pulling my hand away. She said nothing and gave no indication that there was anything shameful about what I’d done, but my cheeks still burned; I felt like I’d violated an unspoken but rigid boundary. I didn’t try that again; but Ma still let me do her breasts the next time she took a bath, a few days later. I would have happily done the same for Rebecca but the chance never presented itself. We washed ourselves (Ma, while she always sat by, rarely intervened in the actual washing anymore except to help with shampooing and rinsing our hair if we wanted – which we always did) and, while some incidental contact was unavoidable — both Rebecca and I had gotten taller and our legs at least were always touching in the tub — we never scrubbed each other.
There were no secrets in the bath, however. And when, finally, I sprouted a few pubic hairs myself, it was actually Rebecca who noticed the light sprinkling of hair. She said, “Look, Ma, Tom’s getting hair down there!” I wasn’t embarrassed; far from it. I was relieved, and absurdly proud of the incipient change. Finally I was starting to follow in Rebecca’s footsteps. I actually got up on my knees so that she and Ma could get a better look. Ma smiled gently and said that I was indeed growing up, hadn’t I noticed how much taller I was getting? I guess my genitals had begun to grow a little by then, too, though it was all such a slow process that I hadn’t really taken note. But after that it seemed all to happen quite fast. I’d look anxiously in the mirror every morning, fervently willing the process to speed up, and I felt certain it was working, although of course all the wishing in the world couldn’t have had any real effect. The hair became a fuzzy halo around my genitals. My scrotum got bigger and felt tight, and for a while I felt awkward because my willy seemed comically small. On the other hand, it was getting hard much more often, usually for no reason at all. I liked when it was hard; it seemed to be more proportionally-sized when it was standing straight up, and it also felt nice. I’m embarrassed now to think of how I ostentatiously showed myself off in the bath when I had an erection. Ma never said anything, and Rebecca looked on with interest but didn’t make any jokes that might have made me more reluctant to expose myself. So they both had to endure me standing up longer than necessary if I was hard when I got into or out of the bath, or arching my back when I was rinsing my hair to ensure my little pride and joy could be seen.
The boys at school talked, uninformedly, about sex and I thought more and more about what that must be like when I lay down to go to bed. I knew of course that it had to do with putting your willy into a girl’s special place. I imagined taking baths with girls in my class. I wondered what they’d look like naked; if their special places were hairy too; if their breasts looked the same as Rebecca’s or Ma’s. There was one girl who’d matured very early; she was short, overweight, and had huge breasts. I didn’t like her very much — she was a bully — but I’d caught tantalizing glimpses of her in gym class and I’d frequently tried to imagine her naked. I never really thought that much about Rebecca; I saw her naked every day, so there was no real mystery about it. But one night, when I was almost thirteen, I had a crazy dream, and it wasn’t about the chubby girl in class, or any other classmate for that matter. I imagined that Rebecca had taken me in her arms and hugged me to her naked breast — in the dream we were playing outside — then touched my the way she used to out of curiosity in front of the stove. I was hard and it seemed to be really big. Then she sat on top of me — actually, this part of the dream was unsurprising, as she’d wrestled me to the ground and sat on me while we were playing that very day; of course we hadn’t been naked as we were now. As she sat on me in the dream, somehow her pubic hair and mine touched and suddenly it felt very, very, very good. It was like the funny feeling I’d often got down there, that would come and go away, had finally stuck around and *done* something. I woke up and my underwear and sheets were soaked.
After that I was desperate to get that very, very, very good feeling back. For some reason I assumed I’d have to be in a dream for it to happen. I tried to think about sex every night when I went to bed. I thought of the chubby girl with the big breasts in class and I’d get hard and have that funny feeling, but I’d fall asleep and no wet dream would come. Then, because she after all had been the one in the dream, tried thinking about Rebecca, even though I had a sense that I *shouldn’t*, that it was shameful for me to be thinking of her that way. I got the funny feeling and my cheeks burned but still — no wet dream. Finally, one night, I discovered the secret. I thought as hard as I could about the scene in the dream. I was playing naked with Rebecca and she wrestled me to the ground and sat on me. I knew exactly what it what her naked body sitting on me would look like, of course, so it wasn’t hard to visualize once I got over my shame. I was hard and I felt the funny feeling and I put my hands down there and gently stroked myself, trying to imagine it was Rebecca’s hands doing that. The feeling intensified and I imagined Rebecca planting her butt on my willy and moving back and forth and I kept touching myself until the feeling was almost unbearable and I had to stop. I knew I had figured out something really important: I could intensify that funny feeling by touching myself while thinking about Rebecca; focus it until it became just too much. I still didn’t know how to get the very, very, very good feeling I’d had in the dream, but I figured I was getting somewhere. And indeed after a few nights of doing this before going to sleep, I was rewarded with another intense wet dream. This time, oddly, the dream had involved not Rebecca but Ma and I woke up very confused and ashamed, but when I calmed down I decided that dreams were dreams and no one could see into my head, and so there was no reason to be upset about it.
A few days later — on my thirteenth birthday — something happened that changed the bathtime ritual for good. We’d had a wonderful day; Ma had baked a birthday cake and we’d gone to the swimming hole and played outside and sung songs and had all sorts of fun. It had been hot and we were all pretty sweaty. Rebecca was having her period, and had showered alone earlier that evening; she was reading in the sitting room. Ma went to run the bath for me. I jokingly suggested that she could get in with me and enjoy the water while it was still hot, rather than waiting until I was done. She looked a bit surprised, then shrugged and said, “why not?” We both got undressed and she got into the bath first, sitting on the side where Rebecca usually did; then I got in on the other side. Ma asked if I wanted her to wash my hair, and when I agreed, suggested that I turn around so it would be easier. I sat between her legs and she deftly slid me down to duck my head under the water, then pulled me back up. She leaned me forward and, putting some shampoo in her palm, massaged it into my hair. It felt nice. Then she ducked me under again to rinse. When she pulled me back up, she unexpectedly hugged me tightly, pulling me back against her. I could feel her breasts against my shoulders. “My big boy – imagine, thirteen already!” she sighed. I didn’t say anything. We sat still for a minute or so, then Ma grabbed the washcloth and began to scrub me, starting with my chest and arms, then moving down to my tummy. I didn’t mind; it was nice being touched all over. It was like when I was little and she’d wash me in the basin. Ma put her legs together, lifted me out of the water onto them, and scrubbed my thighs as well. I wasn’t expecting her to wash me down there. When she reached my crotch, she soaped it up with the washcloth, not actually touching my willy but kind of brushing it a few times. Inevitably, I began to stiffen from the sensation. Ma ignored it and kept on with the soapy washcloth, but when she was done, she spread her legs to let me back into the water and, after a short pause, put her hand right onto my genitals, under the water, and felt them all over. It was only for five or ten seconds at most, and in my surprise I didn’t have time to react. Afterwards I wondered if it had actually happened or was just my imagination; but no, the sense-memory of her callused hands cradling my scrotum and my penis was too vivid for it not to be real. Then, as if nothing had happened, she slid me back down under the water to rinse the suds off my upper body.
When I came back up, she said, brightly, “There you go, Tom!” and told me I could get out and dry off. I said, “what about you, Ma?” She said she would wash herself. I asked if I could scrub her, like I usually did. She was quiet for what seemed like forever; then she said, “All right, climb in behind me.” I stepped out of the tub. she scooted forward a little, and I got back in. She gave me the washcloth and leaned forward, and I scrubbed her back. After a while, she sat up again, and I put my arms around her and began to wash her belly. It felt soft and nicely rounded. Ma closed her eyes and leaned back; her cheek was next to mine and I could hear her breathing. I rubbed her belly then moved up to her breasts, my favorite part. It felt very different washing them from behind instead of while sitting on the edge of the tub like I always had done before. I dropped the washcloth and let my hands slide around her slippery, soapy skin. Her nipples were hard under my fingers. If Rebecca had come in and seen us now, it would have been hard to pretend that I was just washing Ma as usual. Frankly, I was simply fondling her breasts, marveling at how nice it felt. Ma’d always let me touch them a little when I washed her there, but I’d never dared to do it for so long. My penis was pressed up against Ma’s plump buttocks, and I was getting that funny feeling down there. She certainly had to have felt my hardness against her, but she didn’t say anything or try to move away. In fact she seemed to be enjoying the sensations as much as I was. She still had her eyes closed, and her breathing was getting a little shallower and faster as I fondled her. She was soft and warm and wet. I felt like I couldn’t get enough of touching her, and she was letting me do it as long as I wanted!
My heart was pounding and my I felt light-headed. I was remembering my dream with Ma and how it had felt in the dream when her special place had touched my penis. I wanted to see what she felt like down there. The last time I’d touched her there, she’d taken my hand away pretty quickly, but this time I dared to put my right hand down between her thighs and touch her gently. She sighed but didn’t say anything, so I kept touching her. She even parted her legs a little. For a minute or two, I was in a heaven I didn’t really understand. I couldn’t see very well what I was doing, so I groped around, trying to understand what I was feeling with my fingers. Even though Ma’s crotch was half out of the water it felt wet and kind of sticky down there. She still hadn’t said anything or opened her eyes, and she was breathing irregularly. I was concentrating so hard on trying to grasp what I was experiencing that my willy had gotten soft, but when I thought about the dream it stiffened again. I wanted to encourage the nice feeling and I began to move back and forth a little against Ma’s backside. Finally, Ma snapped to her senses. She opened her eyes and gently, but firmly pulled my hand away from her crotch. When she spoke, her voice sounded a bit unsteady. “All right, Tom, I think the water is cooling down now. Let’s rinse off and go out to see what Rebecca is doing.” She pulled herself up and connected the rubber shower hose to the faucet. Jokingly, she squirted me, then began to rinse herself in a business-like manner. I stood up and she hosed me down as well. Then we got out, toweled ourselves down, and let out the water.
My head was spinning for the rest of the evening. That night as I lay in bed I thought about what had happened and touched myself and this time, when it got unbearably intense, I pushed through, imagining myself pressed against Ma’s ample buttocks, and I made myself come for the first time in my life, pumping my seed all over my hands and my belly. I felt obscurely shameful afterwards.
The next night, Ma said she didn’t need a bath when it was my turn to go. And the night after that, Rebecca wanted to share the bath with me again, so we did; but Ma, after running it, said that we were old enough “not to need your old Ma to wash you!,” as she put it, and left us to our own devices. She never really bathed us again. We’d still leave the water in the tub for her if she wanted to use it, but she’d go in after we’d left the bathroom. I sensed that I shouldn’t offer to wash her as I’d used to; I knew that we had both crossed a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, and I understood that Ma felt that way too.
For years after that, Rebecca and I still bathed together, on our own, almost every night. There’s not all that much to tell about that. For a while Rebecca was as curious about my developing body as I was about hers, and without Ma there to inhibit us, we cautiously revived the “look-and-touch thing.” Rebecca felt my willy and marveled at how big and stiff it would get; I finally got to feel her breasts and determine that yes, indeed, they felt as nice as Ma’s, though they were much smaller. I touched her special place and she giggled and squirmed about and let me keep feeling it for a long time, but I still felt confused enough about that evening with Ma that I didn’t try to push it further, and I think Rebecca, being older and more mature, was being careful too. We repeated “look-and-touch” on many occasions, but over time it tapered off, though we continued to bathe together until we left home.
Having discovered masturbation, I of course took frequent advantage of my new knowledge. I often thought about Rebecca or Ma, but I’d also realized that Sandy, the chubby, big-breasted girl in my class, wasn’t as big of a bully as I’d once thought. Once you got to know her, she could be positively nice. She soon became the main subject of my fantasies and wet dreams, and a couple of years later in high school we took each other’s virginity.
But I’ve never stopped loving a hot bath.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/p7lvza/bathtime_memories_str8incffm
Amazing work as always