In Awe of a Young Man Ch. 01

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How a woman, me, is in awe of her 18-year-old nephew.
7.1k words
4.37
119.6k
59

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 02/09/2011
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Catmoore
Catmoore
1,796 Followers

How a woman, me, is in awe of her 18 year old nephew.

*

As the final waves of the self-induced orgasm crashed over me I clicked the mouse and the PC screen went blank.

Other than removing my finger from the mouse I didn't move. I remained exactly as I had been as I'd climaxed. Laid back in the leather office chair in front of the glass topped desk, one of my hands was still cupping one of my full breasts the other was between my legs. I also didn't adjust my clothing. The tracky top remained undone, I wasn't wearing a bra. The lycra gym pants, with the elasticised waist, were left around my ankles and the pretty, pale blue, lacy panties stayed half way down my thighs.

As I lay there, so the feelings and emotions that were becoming quite familiar filled my mind. There was the thrill of "talking" to an almost total stranger in a chat room; the arousal as he became more and more intimate and the excitement as I felt myself responding. There were doubts, of course, but the intensity of a man saying such stirring things to me was such a turn on. The release I gained when my hands roamed my body and the satisfaction when I brought myself to a climax were always awesome. But after, there was always the guilt and the remorse, the feeling that I'd demeaned myself. Demeaned myself with the man but more so to myself. They were particularly strong today for the man I'd cybered with was still in his teens. True his late ones for he was over eighteen, but still young enough to be my son and, worryingly in some ways, I found that added to the thrill.

As I at last moved somewhat reluctantly from the chair and rearranged my clothing so the reconciliation and justification began. It was my enormous sexual frustration that caused this, or so I figured. The frustration brought about by the lack of sex between me and Richard, my corporate lawyer husband. The frustration caused by him seemingly having lost his sex drive. He blamed that on the murderous hours and demanding travelling that the job required. He was rarely at home before eight or nine in the evenings, often had papers to read when he got home and one week in four was spent at the firm's New York office. As a result, sex seemed to happen pretty much only when we went away for the occasional weekend or when we had holidays which, nowadays, as Richard fought hard for his partnership, were few and far between. Richard more and more needed something other than my body to get him going. He seemed to have lost interest in that in most ways apart from photographing it and that had became a key part of our sex life; in some ways I often pondered that was our sex life.

When I thought back to the early days of our marriage I realised, that compared to many, we were not that active and were certainly far from adventurous even then. But Richard was a very conventional man and I came from a solid middle class English background. Such things were just not talked about. I admitted freely that other than in the bedroom our marriage was fine. He was an excellent provider, a caring father to our two children and really a good friend to me. That was significant and has become more so as we passed the ten then the fifteen and now the twentieth anniversaries of our nuptials, he was my friend, not my lover! He was generous, not that I needed that for I have my own money, generally very caring and considerate and never questioned what I did with my time or what I spent on clothes or the house in St Albans, which he knew I hated.

All in all it was an ok marriage, certainly from the outside looking in. We were, I suppose, rich, had a huge, albeit an ugly Victorian pile of house that had been in Richard's family since it was built, god knows why, a son of eighteen and a girl of sixteen both of whom had gained entry to good public schools where they boarded, another aspect of our marriage with which I was not happy, but was powerless to change. We attended grand functions through Richards work, ate at the very best London restaurants and when we travelled it was usually at least business if not first class and we stayed in the top hotels. We generally got on well, rarely rowed and certainly in public gave the appearance of being the perfect couple.

But the lack of sexual action was becoming wearing. To be truthful it had been getting to me for several years now and it was beginning to tell. I was permanently frustrated. Frustrated to the point that some days I walked around like a dog in heat and often found myself masturbating two or three times a day. Hence, the chat rooms. Finding those a couple of years ago had been a godsend to me, and may well have to date saved the marriage. It was a new way of giving vent to my sexual needs without recourse to having an affair. But as time went on I wasn't at all sure that I wouldn't succumb to accepting one of my chat pal's invitations to meet and to having another affair. The sexual pressure and the loneliness were becoming so strong that I was afraid that if the right man came along, as he had just on four years ago when I'd had my only affair, I'd start another relationship. But they were so messy. The lies and excuses, the pretence and the subterfuge had so messed up my mind that I had nearly had a nervous breakdown. I felt that the pleasure and excitement I'd gained wasn't worth the constant guilt and worrying. That's why I was at present fighting hard against giving in again.

The chat rooms, though, had influenced me in other ways for they'd opened my mind up a lot. They had given me a different perspective on sex, introduced me to the erotic and I admit to porn and filth. They had shown me that there were so many people out there with fetishes, with differing sexualities and a really deep interest in an amazingly wide range of variations on the common theme of sex. Until the chat rooms I had no idea just what a huge part sex played in so many peoples' lives and was, I realised with a jolt, beginning to play in mine.

It wasn't just chat rooms although they certainly played a part in me finding a determination a year or so ago to do more with my life. I'd taken up tennis again and had started having golf lessons. I'd toyed with salsa or ballroom dancing but steered away from them in fear of what my reactions might be when in a man's arms being held close to him.

I'd taken a big plunge though by going into business and I'd started a food shop and posh café in Harpenden just outside London to the north. Although it never really made much money it was a great outlet for me for it gave me another interest. Organising and managing and using my mind to overcome problems had been a great stimulus and had given me a very strong feeling of independence, it also really helped my self-esteem, which had taken something of a battering recently. It was there that I met Amanda with whom I quickly became good friends. It was so good that Amanda would pop in most days for a coffee, so good that now and then we'd have a drink or dinner together, so good that she, a very good golfer, gave me a few lessons. It was so good that slowly Amanda seduced me.

We both knew it couldn't last, but we both enjoyed it. Amanda was by her own admission, "probably b-sexual" but I had never been with another woman. I have to admit, though, that I was a willing 'seducee' and during the affair an avid participant. That was how my excursions into chat rooms and the subsequent email exchanges had enlightened me, opened up my mind and made me receptive to her advances. I wanted to experiment, push out the boundaries and try new experiences. Amanda gave me those opportunities. Our affair petered out after a couple of months when she moved to inner London, but we keep in touch are aware that one day we will probably end up in bed again.

The short bi affair, apart from opening up my sexuality, also seemed to give me more confidence. I felt more empowered and liberated and my views on self gender sex and erotic matters in general widened very significantly. That, together with my chat room activity really changed me to the point that sometimes I felt that I was beginning to live purely for sex.

"The fucking trouble is though," I often muttered to myself, "is that I don't get any."

Pulling up my loose gym pants and panties I went into my bedroom and showered. As I ran the soap over my, what I knew was still a nicely rounded body, I thought about the eighteen year old boy with whom I'd just masturbated. I'd seen his lean, youthful muscular body on his cam and I had visualised myself crushed against it. I'd seen him cum and then watched in amazement how within fifteen minutes he was hard again. Hard enough for us to play out a scenario in which we pretended to have sex. Well really we did have sex only it was of the very modern electronic kind called cybersex.

I'd been using chat rooms as a masturbation tool for a while now, after all it's much more exciting to type to or, better still see on cam the man I am pretending to fuck than laying on my bed with my eyes closed trying to visualise it. I was beginning to lose count of the number of times and the number of men and since Amanda women with whom I'd "cybered." It was starting to worry me that I was losing control. But did it really matter I pondered as I walked naked into our large bedroom? "So what if I fuck half of America via a screen?" I reasoned, "I'm not hurting anyone and quite frankly I enjoy and more importantly need it."

"Hello Cat."

"Phil, how are you?" I asked down the phone to my sister Phillipa, who lived in Canada.

Phillipa said."I've got a favour to ask Cat?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well Glenn's coming to London for one semester as part of his degree course and I wondered if he could stay with you. It's only for six weeks or so?"

"Of course he can, he'll be most welcome but you know that the kids are both away at school so it'll be pretty boring for him."

"He's there to work hon not have fun," Phillipa laughed.

"When's he arrive?"

"Actually it's all rather sudden and he'll be there in two weeks.

"He's at uni? I'd never have thought he was old enough," Richard said when I told him my nephew would be staying with us for a while.

"He was eighteen earlier this year, don't you remember?"

*

I hadn't seen Glen since I had visited Vancouver some five years ago. In my mind, as I waited at Heathrow for him to clear customs, it was a young teenager who I imagined would emerge through the glass sliding doors. I knew, of course, that he wouldn't look as I recalled him, but I was absolutely amazed to see the tall, blonde haired, ruggedly handsome young man walking towards me smiling.

"Hi there how are you?" He asked with the typical North American confidence bending down and pecking my on the cheek. "Thanks for coming out to get me."

I never find meeting strangers that easy and although he was my nephew I didn't really know him having only ever met him on two occasions. I hadn't, therefore, been looking forward to the journey or having him stay with us come to that. He was, though surprisingly easy to chat with and unlike many people asked lots of questions. The journey in the Rangerover from Heathrow to St Albans passed amazingly quickly and I was surprised to be turning into our driveway so soon.

He settled in to the household very quickly and easily. He was intelligent, polite and considerate always willing to help with setting and clearing the table, making his own bed and keeping his room spotlessly clean and impeccably tidy. He was interested in everything that was going on and asked lots of questions about London and life in the UK, about our lifestyle, Richard's job and my business that was now being run by a full time manager. They weren't prying or nosy questions, but ones that created conversations and enabled him and me, and Richard to a lesser extent, get to know each other.

Glenn didn't start the course until four days after he arrived so I showed him around London. We developed an easygoing relationship. Our senses of humour were similar and it wasn't long before he was gently taking the micky out of me and before we developed our own in jokes. Things like intentionally calling my aunt when others could hear.

"Don't do that," I said the first time he'd said it putting on a jokingly stern voice. "It makes me feel old."

"Well if I don't they might think I'm your toyboy," he joked back saying exactly what I had been thinking about people who saw us together.

The "aunty and toyboy" theme became our in joke and cropped up quite regularly over the two days sightseeing. At times, though I felt a little uncomfortable when out with him. Particularly in restaurants or when we had a drink in a bar or pub. I felt that others would be looking at us and thinking that he really was my toyboy and this made me feel embarrassed. It also made me feel rather guilty, but I couldn't put my finger on the reason for that.

The truth of the matter was that as Glenn looked older than eighteen and could quite easily be taken for twenty five or so, and as I have been blessed with looking younger than my thirty nine years at the time, at a quick glance anyone would probably have taken us to be a couple.

"He seems to be a really nice lad," Richard said as we finished dinner at nine thirty a few evenings later. Glenn had eaten with us, but had excused himself to go to his room to study and have an early night.

"Big day tomorrow, start of my course and I'd better be really up for it" he'd said giving me a peck on the cheek and shaking hands with Richard as had become the custom.

"Yes he is very nice and intelligent and so considerate as well," I replied as I cleared away the dishes, noting that Richard didn't help.

As Richard looked over some work papers, as he did every evening we were in and alone, I watched a little TV and then logged on to my laptop. I checked my "proper" e-mail account and then making sure I'd hear if he came out of the kitchen I opened up the one I used for my chat room contacts. There were several new mails that I flicked through noting the usual sexy and rather crude manner of writing and then I opened up the one I'd been hoping for from iloveolderwomen2000. It was the young guy that I'd been chatting to recently and with whom I'd masturbated several times. He wrote well and expressed himself clearly. Unlike many I had corresponded with he had the knack of being graphic and open with his writing producing a highly erotic narrative yet not sounding crude or too basic.

I never ceased to amaze myself at how nowadays I could read the most intimate of phrases and not feel put off or offended. Sentiments such as 'Cat I so want to fuck you' or 'I want to lick your ass until I make you cum' would previously have appalled me, but now if reasonably well crafted simply excited me.

The mail from Jason was exciting me. Reading him describe what he'd done as we'd chatted was arousing me. But then I thought any woman who'd become a chat room aficionado couldn't fail to be aroused by passages such as:

"I was naked and rigidly hard at the mere thought of caressing those beautiful big breasts that I've only seen in that topless bathing photo. I was stunningly hard, almost frighteningly so. For that's what you did to me. What you did by telling me I'd aroused you, by explaining that you were getting "warm and tingly." The mere thought Cat of me being able to make you feel like that so got to me. You know because I told you that it got to me so much I had to touch that hardness you'd created. Touch it, feel it and bare it. But as I bared it for me and for you my lovely I knew that I would have to be naked. Completely nude as I would be were I with you. And that's how I was even before I mentioned it , I hope you understand Cat that as we simply discussed how I've always been attracted to older women that I was sitting before my PC naked and so strainingly hard for you jacking off."

Or.

"Oh Cat the feel of myself in my hand as you told me to imagine that was your pussy. Your wet pussy you said. Your wet and throbbing pussy. Yes the feel was sublime. Outstanding. It was as if my hand was your pussy and my fingers your lips that were gripping me. Yes the palm of my hand that I was thrusting into became your cunt Cat so I was fucking your cunt."

And

"And when you told me that your top was undone, that your nipples were achingly hard and you were pinching them imagining it was my teeth I thought I would explode. As you described the way you stroked your breasts and slid your fingers down your loose gym pants. As you told me that those pants were being pushed down. As you said your pale blue, lacy panties were down your thighs. As you told me all that and as you described how you were starting to cum I did explode. I exploded with such a force. So powerful an ejaculation. In my mind my sexy darling I was cumming in you. It wasn't my hand pumping my cock but you Cat. Yes as I came so strongly I was shooting the spunk from my cock right up your hot, wet, ready cunt."

Reading those words from the young man I'd cybered with aroused me. My frustration hit me, it began to boil up.

"I'm going up," I said poking my head into the kitchen. "Will you be long?"

"No I shouldn't be, just ten minutes or so."

I went upstairs and Richard finished reading the document that he'd be negotiating tomorrow. I heard him locking up, switching off the lights and climbing up the stairs that he'd descended at five thirty this morning. I was already in bed when he came into the bedroom. The room was lit only by the low wattage bulb in his bedside table lamp. He quietly undressed.

"It's ok darling there's no need to be quiet I'm not asleep," I said as, naked, he lifted the bedclothes and slipped into bed. I cuddled up to him. There was little response. He didn't reach out for me. He didn't turn towards me or cup a breast as he used to. I pressed my 36 C/D cup boobs into his back, put my hand on his chest and started running it downwards. I badly needed sex.

"Cat I'm sorry, I'm beat," he said. "I was up at five this morning and I've got to be up at five tomorrow. Night love."

That infuriated me, I hate being rejected and felt that he could at least have given my a quick finger fuck. I threw the bedclothes back and jumped out. "Fuck you Richard and fuck your fucking job," I shouted, forgetting Glen was in the house.

"Oh come on Cat don't be like that," he replied sitting up, looking at me and seeing that I was wearing a black lacy thong. It was a particularly sexy one that I sometimes keep on in bed knowing that it turned him on, well used to.

"Don't be like that? I shouted back at him. "I'll be like I want to be. You never feel like it, you're always too fucking tired or too fucking busy."

"Please Cat," he replied with the infuriating measured way of lawyers when arguing. "You have to understand, I'm in the middle of one of the biggest deals we've ever done and tomorrow there's a crucial meeting and on top of that please don't shout we do have a house guest you know."

That got me even madder. "There always seems to be something........And don't be so fucking supercilious" I snorted walking to my closet and pulling out a silk robe.

I went to my study. I was shaking partly with temper, partly from the cruel rejection and partly from the sheer arousal over what I was about to do. I logged on. I checked my business e-mails and then my other ones. Nothing. The house was quiet. Richard wasn't coming after me as part of me had hoped. As I logged onto messenger and several names lit up indicating we were online I felt pleased he hadn't.

"Hi Jason," I typed.

"Oh God Cat I'm so pleased you're there, How are you?"

"Like shit actually."

"Why?"

"Long story."

"Husband trouble?"

"Yes."

"Hmmmm he's such a stupid jerk you know if you don't mind me saying."

Catmoore
Catmoore
1,796 Followers
12