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Naughty America

Last Update »   September 18, 2014

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Young Man Lies Down With Stepmother

A young man and his stepmom, alone in their home, secretly yearn for each other. Will they succumb to their passion? A citizen journalist from Chattanooga tells his story.

My name is "Burr," and when I was 14, my father remarried a 26-year-old divorcee from Tennessee. His new wife, "Rebecca," was tall and athletic, with platinum blonde hair, natural medium-sized breasts, and long legs. I was smitten.

I had grown up in Connecticut and had never met a Southern woman. Rebecca was always put together, no matter the time or place. If it were a Sunday morning, she would come into the kitchen wearing a tight T-shirt and color-coordinated sweat pants. Her hair would be pulled back, and she would give off a faint scent of powder. She also spoke with the most seductive Tennessean accent.

For the first three years of the marriage, I lived with my mother in Connecticut. Before my senior year in high school, however, I moved to Chattanooga to attend a private school and improve my test scores.

The first two weeks, in late August, were hectic. I made the varsity football team and spent most of my time at school. I rarely saw my Dad, who traveled frequently, or Rebecca, who worked long hours as an event planner.

But then I broke my arm playing football, and Rebecca got laid off. While she and I started spending more time around the house, my father continued to travel.

Being alone in the house with Rebecca was awkward. I fantasized about her all the time. I would lie in bed at night, unable to sleep, envisioning all the realistic scenarios that could bring us together. But I felt guilty for fantasizing: Rebecca was my stepmom. I loved and respected my father and never wanted to hurt him.

Sexual tension developed between Rebecca and me. The age difference between us was smaller than the difference between her and my father. And we knew it. We could feel it.

At night, the two of us watched TV together. We would go out to eat occasionally with her friends. It was like we were a couple, but without the sex.

One night over sushi, I asked her how she felt about marriage in general. “I love your Dad,” she answered. “But I think I got married too early.”

The next day, she began to touch me. At first, it was barely perceptible, a brush here, a brush there. A tap on the shoulder. I noticed, but never dared touch her back.

I knew where we were headed. My father had been traveling a lot and would be back in Chattanooga for an extended period. And I was conflicted.

The day before my father came home, it happened. It was late Saturday night, and I had just gotten back from a night out with my friends. I was in my boxers, lying on my bed, when I heard a soft knock on my door, followed by Rebecca saying my name.

I opened the door and saw Rebecca standing there in white panties and a University of Tennessee T-shirt.

No words were exchanged.

We looked into each other’s eyes for several seconds and saw a longing that we’d never dared show each other before. We hugged in the doorway. My chest pressed against her breasts for the first time and I smelled her hair. Then we kissed, passionately.

I pulled Rebecca into my room, shut the door, and turned off the lights. In the darkness, standing up, we made out and groped each other. I fixated on her ass and tits, two areas that I’d fantasized about touching for years. She fondled my penis.

We knew we shouldn’t have been doing what we were doing. Any conversation would have been about guilt or trepidation. So we remained silent.

After making out for five minutes, I pulled her panties down to her ankles. She stepped out of them and hugged me.

I reached down to touch the one thing I’d wanted to touch more than anything else in the world. Her pussy was trimmed and she was very wet. Her vagina lips felt so viscous and soft, I nearly came just by playing with her.

I found her clitoris and teased her with glancing touches. Her breathing became heavy.

Then I removed her shirt and my boxers and led her to my bed, placing her on her back. She parted her legs as I positioned myself on top of her, and in an instant, she inserted my penis into her vagina.

She sighed and took me all the way in.

“Go slow,” she begged me.

And I did, while she ravaged me with kisses on my chest and shoulders.

I was in ecstasy. After only three minutes, I had to pull out, so I wouldn’t ejaculate. I reinserted, but realized I wouldn’t be able to hold it.

“I’m gonna come,” I said. “I can’t hold it.”

“That’s OK,” she whispered. “I want you to come inside me.”

And ten seconds later, I thrust deep inside her, reaching her uterus, and ejaculated. She whimpered and held me tight. It was the most intimate moment I’ve ever had. I felt physically and emotionally one with Rebecca. She was no longer my stepmom. She was another person, vulnerable and flawed. And equal.

We fell asleep in each other arms. The next morning, early, she arose and returned to her bedroom. We never talked about what happened. There really wasn’t any time.

My father came home and spent the next several months in Chattanooga. I started to practice with the football team again. Two months later, Rebecca moved to India for six months, to study meditation. She and my father remain married. I live in Chicago now and don’t see either of them very often. When we do get together, Rebecca and I feel very little tension. I’ve got a girlfriend I love and Rebecca seems to have found fulfillment with Eastern religion.