My Rapist – part 1

My husband and I have made a fairly good life for ourselves. We’ve worked hard, saved as much as we could, and lived within our means. Both of us are professionals, so our combined incomes add up to a tidy sum. After ten years of marriage we managed to buy a house on the beach on the Outer Banks. Whenever we can we drop everything, even if only for a weekend, and go to the beach. It’s wonderful.

We had our son Jason when we were still in college. Pure luck, he was born in the middle of the summer, so I didn’t even have to miss any classes. I graduated on schedule, with a ready-made family. We’ve had a good life.

Jason is now a sophomore in college. That should make us seem old, I guess, but I’m only 37 and don’t feel old. In fact, I still look and feel pretty darn good, thank you very much. As always, this summer has been a hodgepodge of trips to the beach for a weekend or a week. Because I’ve been in the same job almost since college, I’ve built up quite a lot of vacation time. I always have two weeks more vacation than Dan, my husband. And I don’t feel a bit guilty about taking that vacation at the beach, while he’s home working his butt off.

I just love the beach. Our house isn’t spectacular; just a two bedroom bungalow with a combined dining room-kitchen and a den downstairs. But we have a wonderful enclosed porch that runs around the half of the house facing the ocean. We can open it up when it’s nice, or keep the screens closed if the bugs are biting. We sit out with a glass of wine, listen to the waves and watch the stars. Did I mention our house sits right on the beach?

This year Jason stayed at the beach all summer and worked as a lifeguard. Towards the end of the summer Jason invited his college roommate to visit him and spend the last couple weeks of the summer there. Jason would quit his job a little early and they could spend the time together. I had met Tommy once or twice the previous year. They weren’t roommates then, but had become best friends as freshmen and decided to room together as sophomores. Tommy was on the college swimming team. That’s how he met Jason. We met Tommy when we watched several of the swim team meets. They aren’t competitors on the team, since Jason is a sprinter and Tommy swims distance races. They are both very good, as far as I can tell.

It happened that I planned to spend the second two weeks in August at the beach house. I needed to lie in the sun and bake my tension away. Dan couldn’t get away, so it was just me and the two boys. We led separate existences there. I lived my little life, bathing and sun-bathing, sipping wine in the evenings, and enjoying the quiet. Jason and Tommy swam and surfed during the day and bar-hopped at night. They spent very little time at the beach house, which was fine with me. I was there to chill out.

My one concession to being a mother during the vacation was that I would make the boys breakfast if they were up when I was making breakfast and dinner if they were willing to eat the healthy things that I preferred. One day late in the first week Jason was up early enough that I was willing to make him breakfast before I went for my jog on the beach. I asked him what his plans were for the day (not prying, I just was making polite conversation). He told me that they were going for a little road trip to a beach further north and might not be back till very late. That was fine with me. Although we were studiously avoiding each other in the interests of having our own space, I still looked forward to having the house to myself for the whole day.

I jogged about five miles, then came home and changed into my swim suit. As I padded down the stairs of our porch and strolled onto the beach, I could see that the trunk of Jason’s car was open. The boys must be getting ready to leave, I thought. I lay on the beach for hours, it seemed. Occasionally when I was too warm I would wade into the water to cool off. But then I’d be back on my towel, letting the sun just melt that tension right out of my body. I felt so relaxed and peaceful. When the sun got high in the sky and the temperature started to soar, I decided to call it a morning. I went back to the beach house. We have an outside shower so we can clean off before we come into the house. Ours is a very well enclosed shower, so there is no fear that anyone on the beach or on the street can see you. The only thing I don’t like about the beach is getting sand in your swimsuit. When it gets in the bottom of my bikini, it’s so uncomfortable that when I’m through bathing I am eager to get out of my suit. I took off my suit, and took a thoroughly enjoyable shower under my house. When all the salt and sand were off of me, I wrapped myself in a towel and climbed up to the porch and then into the house. I felt so good.

I threw the towel into the hamper we keep by the door for just that purpose and strolled through the house in the nude, which is my favorite way to be when I’m alone. I decided I had better get dressed, since I really couldn’t be sure when the boys would be getting home. I wouldn’t want to shock my son, Jason. He might be most shocked that I have no pubic hair. I keep myself totally shaved. Dan liked it that way nineteen years ago, and I still like the way it feels when he licks me there. And just knowing I’m shaved there still gives me a bit of a thrill. Anyway, this isn’t the kind of information a son wants to find out about his mother. To Jason, I’ve always been this conservative swimming mom type who tries never to embarrass him by being either too sexy or too dowdy. He wants to believe that of me, and I’ve let him believe it. He’ll never know that his mother loves sex.

He’ll never know that his mother has a rich fantasy life. Sometimes she dreams of showing herself off to strange men; even to strange women. He’ll never know that his mother masturbates almost every day of her life. They say that women are at their sexual peak at a certain age – my age! It’s one of God’s little jokes that most men reach their sexual peak in their teens after which they are on the slippery slope down to no peak at all. Unfortunately, Dan is like most men. He’s content with a once-a-week session of affectionate touching followed by brief but frenzied lovemaking. Just as I’m getting started, Dan is starting to snore. I love him, and he’s a good lover, he just lacks a little of his youthful stamina. My life is good enough over-all that I am more than willing to accept a less than perfect sex life. If I’m not getting enough from Dan, I just finger myself to completion. That‘s enough for me to be happy. Still, I have my little fantasies. They’re what fuel my rich masturbatory life.

I was padding through the house totally naked. Lying on the beach in my bikini (even though it is a conservative motherly bikini), always makes me feel a little sexy. By the time I was out of my suit, out of my shower, and walking to the bedroom, the only thing on my mind was to lie in bed and stick several fingers into my pussy, and just imagine some of the men I see around the beach but this time without their swim suits. The house was totally quiet. I walked into my bedroom eagerly anticipating a self-inflicted orgasm of the nastiest kind. What I saw stopped me in my tracks with my mouth and my eyes wide open.

Tommy was lying on my bed totally nude using a pair of my panties wrapped around his organ to masturbate with. He was large. I mean he was very large, especially when compared to Dan (which is the only comparison I can make, to be honest). And he seemed to be on the verge of ejaculating!