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I had come home for Christmas break during my second year of college and decided to get together with a longtime buddy, a guy I’d known since I was ten. He’d elected to go to a local college and was still living at home so we decided to meet up at his place, about five blocks from where I grew up.
On the walk over, via a route I’d taken hundreds of times before, I was visited by a series of mental images that first took shape during my post-puberty years. That time when I began discovering and developing the fantasies that would drive me to cum in my bed late at night, frantically jerking my cock as the mental movie played out in my mind. And the images that drove those movies were fresh, usually just hours old. The truth is, when I would go to see my buddy…he wasn’t the only one I was going to see.
She may not have been best described as ‘beautiful’ but she definitely wasn’t unattractive. She was in her mid-40’s with longer, brownish-red hair, only about 5’2″ and a little on the chubbier side. You could tell she had ample breasts but they weren’t highlighted by her everyday clothing. Her look was decidedly Mid-Western although she lived in the Southwest. All in all…she was a “Mom.”
And maybe because Moms in the good ol’ days seemed to inspire a different kind of respect; she was still “Mrs.” to me. Even though I’d cum to her many times in my fantasies, whenever I was around her I could flip the switch, turn off the lust, and stay in line. So when I approached the door it was more about seeing a woman who had made me a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches over the years than who had been the object of a fantasy.
“Hey, there he is,” she said while giving me a nice, brief hug. She invited me in as my buddy came around the corner with his “Hey Man’s.” We all stood in the entry way for a few minutes as we made small talk. Mrs. J mentioned her road warrior husband was out of town on a sales trip but sent his best. I never really understood that relationship. He was one of those jowly, loud types who laughed too hard at his own jokes and didn’t have an edit button. She was a lot more cerebral and introspective. Opposites attract I guess.
My buddy and I didn’t have any real plans but Mrs. J wanted to leave us alone so we could, “…go have fun but be careful.” So we did what most guys who were too young to get in to bars did in those days. We drove around. After making a few passes down the main drag trying to look cool for girls, no easy task in my buddy’s beat-up 1972 Vega, we headed over to a parking spot on top of a hill on the outskirts of town.
It was the spot that most towns had. Ours was called Flat Top which I never understood because the ground wasn’t level. It was where I got my first hand job along with countless other teenagers over the decades. But tonight it would serve another purpose which became apparent when my buddy parked, reached in to the broken glove compartment and pulled out a joint the size of my finger filled with some of Humboldt County’s finest.
I enjoyed smoking weed but my friend was a fiend and after too many ‘just one mores’ we found ourselves thoroughly and blissfully high. We laughed until we snotted, decided that the universe is so vast that our galaxy is a speck of sand on another galaxies beach and agreed that my friend’s ex-girlfriend was a bitch. When food became more of a necessity than an option we decided to head back to his place and fulfill our stoney needs.
We came in the front door and headed to the kitchen. When we did, we walked past the living room where Mrs. J was sitting on the couch and reading a book.
“Hi guys,” she said not looking up, completely focused on the pages and oblivious to the world. And I’m glad she was because what my stoned, lustful eyes zeroed in on was the kind of scene that never failed to stir a reaction in me. Mrs. J was curled up on the couch, wearing an oversized, light pink robe, reading a mystery novel and holding a cigarette. The smoke curled up from her hand that rested on the arm of the couch and changed colors as it rose past the lampshade.
I became aware of Mrs. J’s smoking at about 15. Something about getting a hard on every time she lit up clued me in. I also knew this attraction I had was a little outside the ‘norm’ and needed to be kept private. But that sure as hell didn’t stop me from sneaking glances when I knew she wasn’t looking. This was before the days of the Internet. We didn’t have access to the never-ending stream of porn of any kind that’s available today. So those mental photographs mattered.
Her smoking style was always relaxed and easy but with the way she performed a small cheek- pop before a quick snap after each drag before inhaling deeply and executing a tight, cone exhale she always conveyed a certain decadence and indulgence. It was easy to tell that she liked smoking and took time to properly enjoy it.
While I never believed she was smoking for me personally, those occasions where I would steal glances bursa escort felt like private moments. I would try and find ways to be around her so that if she smoked I could watch without being obvious. There were quite a few nights where the three of us would watch a movie where I was actually getting my own ‘private screening.’
My friend and I moved past her towards the kitchen and began rooting around for the quickest, tastiest, saltiest, sweetest food we could find. As we were foraging through the kitchen Mrs. K. called to her son from the next room.
“Honey, please grab me a beer and bring it here, ok?” With a heavy sigh my friend made it seem like an imposition. But I saw it as an invitation to embed an image in my mind that would come in handy later when I was laying naked in my bed.
“It’s cool. I got it,” I said to my friend and reaching past him to grab a Budweiser out of one of three six-packs in the fridge.
“Cool,” he said and went back to trying to decide if chocolate and cheese would go together.
As I walked out of the kitchen and turned the corner to the living room I was greeted with the powerfully erotic image of one of Mrs. K’s long, streaming exhales. The lights in the room were dim, except for the low reading light behind the long, beige couch where she sat, and the smoke from her full lips took on a bluish grey color. She was dressed in her flannel pajamas with her reading glasses dipped low on her nose and seemed engrossed in the reading she was finishing.
Watching her in this private moment, I immediately felt my cock began to stiffen and I had to subdue the desire to rub the palm of my hand against its hardness. Luckily, I was wearing a long shirt that covered my quickly growing bulge but it didn’t stop me from making sure it was pulled as low as possible. The idea of walking up to Mrs. J with a beer and a hard on, with my buddy in the next room, had “awkward” written all over it.
“Here you go,” Mrs. J I said as casually as possible.
“Thanks very much,” she replied, looking up from her book. “Where’s yours?”
I’d never had a beer in front of her before so I was a little surprised she asked. I was always a “good kid.” At least in front of her.
“Go grab a beer and tell me about school,” she said with that kind of playful “Mom” sternness which immediately turned me around on my heels to head back in to the kitchen.
My friend was still rooting around for food when I nudged past him to grab a beer. As casually as I could I said, “Your Mom said it was cool if I had a beer.” He barely looked up and instead, in his stoned state, seemed more concerned with sizing up the leftovers.
I went back the living room and took a chair by the far end of the couch which was positioned at a slight angle to Mrs. J. Although there was room on the couch I wasn’t too confident in my abilities to be relaxed and casual to get much closer. I was also stoned out of my skull so a little distance would be a good thing.
“Glad to be back?” she asked which started us off on a conversation about college life, my classes and just general catching up. I asked her about her work and hobbies and while she was polite in answering I got a sense there was a little boredom setting in. Her husband was always traveling and the only entertainment it seemed she was getting was from her mystery novels. The only time she seemed to get excited about something was when I asked her what she was reading.
Now my excitement was a whole other story. It was building with each long slow drag she took off her Marlboro 100. Invariably, those drags would come in the middle of me relaying some story about college. It demanded me to focus on what I was saying and not what I was looking at. I always liked this part of my Mrs. J. fantasy. To keep the fantasy I had to keep it secret…in every way.
Eventually, my buddy came back in with a frozen pizza and waffle combination, (if Mrs. J didn’t know we were stoned before she probably did now) and we decided to flip on the T.V. for a bit. My friend set the pizza down on the coffee table in front of the couch which meant I needed to move over to sit a little closer to Mrs. J. By now, my cock had kindly decided to show some manners so I wasn’t forced to crawl over to the side of the couch in an attempt to hide my hard on.
We dug in to the pizza and turned on the T.V. My friend started flipping through the channels and when he landed on an old movie Mrs. J. quickly said, “Stop there. Can we watch this one for just a little while? Just a little while, I promise.”
What we stopped on was Casablanca. Bogie and Bacall. And it just so happens that about 15 seconds after turning it on Lauren Bacall reached for a cigarette and in a way only she could, brought it to life with sensuality and power. As we watched the movie silently and with the pizza finished, Mrs. J. took the last sip of her beer and noticed mine was gone too.
“Up for another one?” she asked with a slight smile bursa escort bayan on her face. It was a little less “Mom” and a little more “friend.”
“Sure,” I quickly said and got up asking my friend if he wanted one too. He passed because he had to be at work in the morning, so I headed off to the kitchen, grabbed the beers and took my seat…this time on the couch next to Mrs. J. She gave me another little smile when I brought her the beer, took a long drink, set down the bottle and almost absentmindedly reached for her cigarettes, her eyes glued to the screen.
From where I was sitting, and the angle of the couch to the TV, I was able to subtly see the profile of her face without her, or my friend, seeing me. She tapped a cigarette out of the pack, reached for her lighter and then placed the cigarette in her mouth. But as the scene in the movie was particularly dramatic, she just let it dangle there, the lighter at the ready just inches away but with her total concentration on the movie.
My cock grew harder with each moment. I was still very high and the dream-like state only allowed me to fall deeper in to the depths of my fantasy. Mercifully, she fired up the lighter and, never taking her eyes off the screen, moved it to the tip of her cigarette, collapsed her cheeks with a hard drag, inhaled without removing it from her pursed lips and slowly put the lighter back down on the table. The first blast of smoke came in a rush out of her nose as she then again dragged hard, popped her cheeks slightly as was her style, held the smoke in her mouth before executing a perfect quick snap, inhaled deeply again before exhaling a long, thin stream of smoke that danced across the flickering TV screen.
My cock was as big and full and hard as I’d ever felt it before.
We sat like that quietly and watched the movie. I would try and concentrate on the screen but kept sneaking glances at Mrs. J. It felt different this time. Maybe it’s that I’d been away at school and grown up a bit but I was looking at her less as the sexy smoking Mom I used to stroke my cock to and more like the sexy smoking woman I wanted to kiss.
We finished our beers at about the same time and she wordlessly nudged me to the refrigerator for another round…and then another. In addition to being high I started feeling the effects of the alcohol and I have a feeling Mrs. J was as well. She was sitting on the couch with her legs pulled up and to her side and seemed very relaxed. Actually, she looked a lot younger than I remember.
As the light from the black and white movie cast a moody glow around the room both Mrs. J and I heard a large snort from my friend who had fallen asleep in the reclining chair. We looked towards each other and smiled and went back to watching the movie. In my mind, it was like we were now alone…just the two of us curled up on the couch watching a great old movie.
Before long a scene came on where Bogie lit Lauren Bacall’s cigarette. The black and white photography enhancing the obviously sexual undertone’s the director was seeking. As I watched through my burgeoning fetishist’s eyes Mrs. J, without taking her eyes off the screen said, “You know, this movie was one of the reason’s I started to smoke.”
Just the fact that she mentioned something about her smoking was enough to send my mind in a million directions at once. With all the casualness I could muster I came back with, “Yeah…they sure make it look good, don’t they?”
“Yes they do,’ she said but offered nothing additional. We sat for a moment more and then she again, reached for her cigarettes. Only this time when she reached for her lighter and tried to get it lit all it fired was blanks. She tried unsuccessfully a few times to bring to bring the flame alive before she set it down and started looking around the room. Noticing some matches on the table by her son she asked me,
“Could you grab those matches for me? And maybe one more round while you’re up?” she asked, pointing to her only half-empty beer bottle.
I was fine with both those requests and got up to grab the matches. But instead of just handing them to her I made a half lame attempt at both with and charm with “Let me get that for you Miss Bacall” as I struck the match against the box. Considering my buzzed state, and lack of experience with women, I remember being pretty pleased with myself for that line.
She played right along and as my slightly shaky hand moved towards the long cigarette positioned just right of center of her perfectly formed mouth, she leaned in to it, holding my hand with hers which sent a warm shiver through my body, and drew hard, sucking the flame up in to the now smoldering tip. She pulled hard and after inhaling deeply said, “Thanks Bogie,” before exhaling a long, slow of smoke upwards and away from me face. I was mesmerized and stood staring at her face, the match still smoldering in my hand. She graciously leaned in to the match and blew it out.
“Uh…another escort bursa beer, right?” I stammered before turning and heading back to the kitchen. The cold of the refrigerator felt good as I leaned in to grab two beers from the back. It was like the cold shower I could have used as my cock stood rock hard against my belly and I, yet again, made sure my shirt was pulled as low as possible to hide my obvious arousal.
As I moved out of the kitchen towards the living room I was immediately stopped in my tracks. Mrs. J. was lying back in the couch and gently caressing the side of one of her ample tits. It was almost an absent-minded gesture. I took a step back behind the wall where I had a perfect sightline to see her take a hard drag and execute the kind of snap inhale only someone who was really concentrating on performing a perfect, slow snap could do. It was beyond smoking. It was smoking for pleasure, both visual and physical. Coupled with the totally unexpected image of her touching her own breast and my mind began to race. Was she excited or just scratching herself? She couldn’t have known I could see her…could she?
As these thoughts flooded my mind I did my best to gather myself and headed back in to the living room. I must not have been as gathered as I thought because I walked right in to a telephone stand by the wall, sending the phone crashing to the floor. And in those days phones had bells. No way to hide this one. The noise jerked me back to reality and brought my sleeping friend right out of his chair. Shit.
I quickly picked up the phone and offered my “Sorry’s.” I noticed Mrs. J with a smile on her face. My buddy wasn’t wanted one of those people who wake up well. He started mumbling to himself; obviously a little pissed off and noticed the movie was still on.
“Isn’t this stupid thing over yet,” he whined.
“No it’s not over and if you hadn’t fallen asleep you would have enjoyed it as much as we are,” she mock scolded before turning to me and asking, “Right?”
“Yeah, it’s kinda’ cool man,” I replied immediately, kind of happy that she and I were ‘team’ on this one and we’d moved past the jarring scene I’d just caused. He grumbled a bit more before saying he had to go to work in the morning and was going to sleep.
“You don’t have to stay man,” he said to me, maybe thinking I felt some kind of obligation to his mother. “No, that’s ok” I answered. “The movie’s actually pretty good. Is it cool if I stay to watch the end of it?” I asked him before turning to Mrs. J and saying, “If that’s ok.”
Before she could answer he said, “Whatever man. I’m going to crash. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Later.”
And with that he walked up the stairs to his bedroom and I went and took my place on the couch next to Mrs. J. and handed her a beer.
“Now listen. You don’t really need to stay if you don’t want to,” she said.
“No, no,” I too quickly answered. “I really do want to watch the end of this. It’s pretty good.” That seemed to make her happy and she took a big swig of beer before falling back in to the couch, shifting her legs again so that her bare feet where about a foot away from my leg.
We both turned our attention back to the movie but, being in such close proximity to her while my mind was racing with sexual thoughts, I was having a hard time concentrating on the great acting and story but, given the circumstances, I tried to put what I’d just seen out of my mind. But the image of her languidly touching her breast kept crashing back. At least I knew I’d have the mental picture of what I’d be stroking my cock to the second I got in to bed that night.
We sat like that for about five minutes when yet again, there was Lauren Bacall lighting up a smoke. After one of her classic drags Mrs. J. said, “Damn. I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs. When I see her smoke I need one too!” And with that she reached to take her matches and Marlboro 100’s off the table beside the couch.
“You know, I never asked you this,” she said. “But do you ever smoke?”
Like a lot of people who enjoy the image of smoking I did smoke, but it was very much in the closet and not daily. My smoking at the time was only reserved for special occasions like being drunk or high, which I certainly qualified for at the moment, or if I was really horny and masturbating. And since her question was more of an invite than curiosity, and the idea of sharing something as intimate as smoking with her set my testosterone in to high gear, there was no way I was going to turn down the opportunity.
“I guess I’m a rare, once-in-a-while, after I’ve had a few beers smoker,” I said with a little embarrassment in my voice. I mean, this still was my friend’s Mom for crying out loud. She knew me when I was 12 and I almost felt that I was doing something “bad” by admitting to her that I sometimes smoked.
“Well I know you’ve had a few beers. So what do you say? Is this a “once-in-a-while” Mr. Bogart,” she coyly asked as she tapped out a cigarette from the bank and held it between two fingers in an offering gesture. “Oh good,” she giggled. “Bogie’s going to smoke for me. I just love a man who smokes,” and with that she handed me first a cigarette and then the matches.
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