You, dear readers, have already met the boy Sasha on my page. I really like this funny little naughty boy. He is the grandson of my good friend. I have already written a poem about him “Sasha - Sashok”. And I haven’t forgotten about his grandmother. She is mentioned in my poem “A friend called me.”
The other day Natalya called again and told me more stories about her beloved grandson. I’ll try to create a story from these unimagined stories.
In the morning, Natalya started cleaning the apartment. She was tidying up the toys of her grandson, who was next to her. Five-year-old Sashok watched his favorite cartoons and put together puzzles at the same time, combining business with pleasure. Having put the room in order, Natalya went to the kitchen to prepare lunch.
Soon her grandson came to the kitchen. He was clearly upset about something.
Grandma, look, my tooth is loose,” the baby said with alarm in his voice.
Sashok put his finger in his mouth and shook his front tooth.
So what? - the grandmother responded as if nothing had happened, - all children’s teeth fall out, and new ones grow in their place.
This answer clearly did not suit the boy.
Grandma, but I haven’t uttered bad words for a long time,” Sashok said, almost crying, “and my teeth are still loose, so you deceived me?”
At first Natalya could not understand what had excited her little grandson so much, and then she remembered her conversation with the boy.
Lately, the baby has become interested in pronouncing bad words. Each time, returning from kindergarten, the grandson replenished his collection with new swear words. At home, Sashok pronounced these words as if he himself had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Grandma,” Sashok began the conversation, looking slyly at his grandmother, “today Maxim said bad words again in kindergarten.
Here the grandson loudly and with gusto pronounced the swear word he liked. At the same time, he watched with curiosity his grandmother’s reaction. Seeing that she frowned, the grandson hastily continued his story:
Granny, don’t be afraid, I didn’t swear and didn’t say these bad words to anyone,” here the grandson again relished the forbidden word and hastily finished, “I know that you can’t say these words to children.”
The naughty boy looked slyly at his grandmother and, once again loudly uttering a swear word, covered his mouth with his palm. Natalya knew that it was useless to punish her grandson. We must try not to pay attention to this so that the grandson understands that these swear words at home are of no interest to anyone. She turned to the silent grandson and threw it to him in her hearts.
If you say bad words, you’ll be left without teeth,” Natalya threatened her grandson.
Sashok looked carefully at his grandmother.
Granny, open your mouth,” he asked her, “obeying her grandson, Natalya opened her mouth.
Apparently you also swore a lot,” the kid said confidently after performing his examination.
Natalya understood why her grandson accused her of foul language and explained to him that she had once uttered just a few bad words on the sly from her mother, and this was the result.
If I don't say a single bad word anymore, my teeth won't fall out anymore? - the boy asked his grandmother.
“They shouldn’t,” she reassured her grandson.
My son returned from night duty. Natalya hurried to the kitchen to bake pancakes. The son went to the bathroom. Suddenly her grandson ran into her kitchen.
Granny, come with me quickly,” Sashok said in a half-whisper, pressing his finger to his lips.
Sasha, I’m baking pancakes, they’ll burn,” Natalya tried to refuse, but her grandson stubbornly pulled her hand.
The boy led her to the bathroom where her son, Andrei, was bathing.
Look, grandma, the grandson whispered, “Andreika is washing there.” He's naked.
The bathroom door was closed. But Sashok, resting his forehead on the frosted glass of the door, invited his grandmother to spy on his uncle as he washed.
Natalya took her grandson by the hand and took her to the kitchen to feed him delicious pancakes. While pouring sour cream on the pancakes, she noticed that her grandson, stealthily from her, pulling the elastic on his shorts, was carefully examining what he had recently looked at with such curiosity at his uncle’s.
Noticing the grandmother’s gaze, the grandson asked not to say anything to Andrey about his spying on him. Sashok knew that after lunch his uncle would definitely turn on the computer and play war. And he really liked to sit next to him and tell Andreika where to shoot in order to destroy the next enemy.
Natalya drank tea with pancakes, and the grandson, taking a large plate, filled it with apples, oranges and other tasty things that his mother had prepared for him. Soon Uncle will sit down to play, and Sashok will put a plate of sweets and fruits in front of him. After such generous offerings, the uncle will no longer be able to refuse his nephew to take part in the games.
A few minutes later Sashok came running into the kitchen.
Grandma, grandma,” he shouted loudly, “come to us quickly, look at how Andreika and I are fucking up enemy tanks.”
What kind of words are these! - Natalya was indignant when she heard her grandson’s invitation.
Yes, these are normal words, grandma,” Sashok waved him off, “this means that Andrey and I defeated all our enemies.”
Joyfully waving his arms, the boy skipped back to his uncle to continue the game.
Yuri Kuvaldin
PLEASURE
story
On a June evening, in a summer cafe under the crowns of old trees in Izmailovsky Park, Mikhail Ivanovich was congratulated on his seventieth birthday, and his thirteen-year-old grandson, Boris, dedicated his poem to him, which began with the line:
Think about it, grandpa, seventy is not old...
He composed this and recorded it on his mobile phone while he was walking from Partizanskaya to the park. Boris was seated between his mother and grandmother, the wife of the hero of the day, Tamara Vasilievna, a young-looking woman with a lush, dyed hairstyle.
After the first toast, Tamara Vasilyevna, looking around the table, called the waiter standing at her table and said:
- I want trout fried on coals!
Mom’s father, grandmother’s husband, grandfather Mikhail Ivanovich looked at her with concern and only said:
- Tamara...
But she immediately blurted out:
- And no talking. Understood? I don't want any conversations!
“Mommy, I want it too,” Boris’s mother said to her mother, Boris’s grandmother.
Apparently, Tamara Vasilievna belonged to those old women who know how to command with sweet arrogance if they are obediently obeyed, but who, at the same time, are easily timid.
After several toasts, the drunken Tamara Vasilyevna began to examine Boris with keen interest, until she finally kissed him on the cheek with thick red lipstick and said with a breath:
- How handsome you are, Borenka!
She could be understood, since she had not seen her grandson for five years, because she lived with her grandfather in Kyiv. Now they have managed to exchange Kyiv for Moscow, for 9th Parkovaya.
Boris even blushed from surprise, and during the dance, to which his grandmother pulled him out, she pressed him tightly to her large chest and dared to stroke his cheek with her palm.
She said:
- Well, tell me, tell me how things are going with you at school, what you think about doing after school... I really want to listen to you, Borya... I really want to talk to you, granddaughter...
“I want it too, grandma,” Boris said for the sake of decency.
- Well, that's good. It’s stuffy here, let’s get some air... You get up and go out to breathe. And I'll be out in about five minutes too...
Boris himself wanted to go out and smoke so that his mother wouldn’t see. The fact is that he started smoking a month ago, and he was strongly drawn to it. Behind the cafe there were thickets of bushes and trees. Boris lit a cigarette, turned away, and secretly took several deep puffs, feeling his soul feel even better than from drinking a glass of champagne. In general, Izmailovo Park looked like a dense forest. Soon Tamara Vasilyevna appeared.
“What an adult you are,” she said. - Let's take a little walk, breathe...
She took Boris by the arm, and they walked along the path into the thickets. Having walked a certain distance, Tamara Vasilievna sank onto a wide stump and turned to Boris, who sat down on a nearby log. The light dress the grandmother was wearing was not long and ended at her knees. Boris listened attentively to what Tamara Vasilyevna said about studying, about choosing a path, about Kyiv and Moscow, but her knees were in front of him and inevitably attracted attention. They were very beautiful, not angular, but smoothly flowing into the hips, a piece of which was noticeable from the side. Everything else was hidden from his sight.
Then Tamara Vasilyevna started talking about how Borya was already an adult, that he needed to know how to behave with women, and he looked at her plump knees with curiosity, probably thinking about his grandmother as a woman for the first time. Indeed, she was attractive, with a fashionable hairstyle, long eyelashes, manicure, rings and bracelets.
Grandmother was short, wide in the hips, and in general was a plump woman with fairly large breasts. But the figure, despite its plumpness, was quite slender with a noticeable waist. Continuing to admire his grandmother’s round knees, Boris began to crawl from the log onto the grass, leaning on the log with his elbows pulled back. Grandma didn’t seem to notice, she just spread her legs slightly. Afraid to believe in his luck, Boris timidly lowered his eyes and saw from the inside almost completely her full, smooth thighs and a small part of her belly, which hung in a rather large fold and lay on her hips. This picture took Boris’s breath away, and even what it said about Boris growing up ceased to interest him completely. Afraid to move, he admired the opening picture, and his imagination painted what was hidden from his eyes. Here Tamara Vasilievna herself spread her legs wider.
Now he could not see her stomach, but her legs became fully visible. Since she was sitting with them spread wide, he saw how her wide, thick thighs were spread out on the stump, and, following his gaze further, he saw how they gradually came together. The further between the legs, the darker it became, and almost nothing was visible at the junction of them.
Boris's throat became dry, a blush appeared on his cheeks, and an incomprehensible and very pleasant movement began in his pants; his boy, from a small faucet, began to turn into something quite large and relatively thick, sticking up.
The sight of Tamara Vasilievna’s knees and legs was so seductive, they were so alluring that, forgetting about everything, at first Boris carefully touched them with one finger and began to move them back and forth over the knee, as if he was drawing or writing something.
Tamara Vasilievna did not pay any attention to this, and the inspired Boris continued his task with a few fingers. Seeing that this also seemed normal, he placed his entire palm on her knee. It turned out to be very pleasant to the touch, delicate, soft, with slightly rough skin and a little cold.
At first, Boris’s hand just lay there, but then he began to move it a little, at first by one or two centimeters. Gradually he stroked more boldly, moving his hand along the entire knee. The grandmother still did not pay attention to her grandson’s activity, or pretended not to pay attention.
Then he completely slid off the log onto the grass, and as a result his hand involuntarily slipped from his knee and slipped into the space between his thighs. At first, Boris was very scared, but he did not remove his hand, but simply moved it away from his leg and began to touch the surface of the thigh only slightly, with a few fingers.
Afraid to look his grandmother in the face and that she would notice from him what was happening to his grandson, Boris listened and was surprised to find that she continued to talk about his future. True, it seemed to him that Tamara Vasilievna’s voice changed a little, became a little hoarse, as if her throat was dry and she was thirsty. Having convinced himself that since his grandmother continues to raise him, then everything is fine, Boris pressed his entire palm to the inner surface of his thigh. This surface turned out to be softer and much warmer than the knee, it was very pleasant to the touch, I just wanted to stroke it. And, as in the case of the knee, at first carefully, and then more and more boldly, Boris began to move his palm back and forth. He liked this activity so much that he no longer noticed anything around him. Stroking and feeling the pleasant warmth, Boris gradually moved his hand further and further. He really wanted to touch her hair and move his fingers there. Gradually he succeeded. His hand first came across solitary hairs, stroking and fingering them, he gradually reached the thicker ones, at the very top of the thigh.
At this time, Boris noticed that something had changed around him. Looking up from what he was doing for a second, he realized that his grandmother had fallen silent, and it was this silence that alerted him.
Without raising his eyes or removing his hand, Boris saw with his peripheral vision that his grandmother had closed her eyes, and on the contrary, her lips were slightly parted, as if she had stopped her speech mid-sentence. Here, noticing this, Boris froze, even got scared. But the grandmother did not say a word, but only threw her hands back, to the edges of a wide stump, and leaned on them. And Boris realized that Tamara Vasilievna also wanted him to continue stroking.
This encouraged Boris, gave him courage, and he carefully began stroking her hair, expecting to stumble upon her panties, but there were none.
“It’s very hot,” the grandmother said, noticing his surprise, in a trembling and quiet voice.
Boris was fingering his hair, his hand was already moving in the groin itself, it was even warmer and a little humid there. There was much more hair, his whole hand was buried in it. Then Boris noticed that the grandmother was trembling a little, some kind of cramps were running through her legs, and they parted a little and came together. Lowering his hand lower, Boris finally felt what he wanted to touch. Under his hand was his grandmother's lily! It was incredible, even in his dreams Boris could not imagine it. Her thick secret lips were clearly felt; they were very large, swollen and barely fit under his palm. Boris began to more energetically stroke them with his hand and move his fingers, trying to embrace and explore them.
Tamara Vasilievna’s breathing became more frequent, deeper, and Boris thought he even heard it. And immediately after this, the grandmother herself began to move under his hand, fidgeting with her curvy ass on the stump. She stopped for a moment, pushing Boris back, and slid onto the grass. Her hairy womb pressed closely against Boris's hand and moved in all directions. Under his hand it suddenly became very wet, but from this the movements became lighter and more gliding, Boris felt her large lips parting and immediately his fingers fell inside, into the wet, warm and very tender cave, sliding there, causing the grandmother to scream. Both grandmother and grandson began to move together in rhythm, he with his fingers, and his grandmother with her hips, swaying her huge buttocks.
During all this time they did not say a word to each other, as if they were afraid of frightening and disturbing with careless words what was happening between them. But gradually Boris became completely uncomfortable, his hand became numb, and, probably, his grandmother was also tired of sitting in one position. Without saying a word to Boris, she lay down on her back, her legs spread wide and bent at the knees like the letter “M”, her dress was approximately at the level of her stomach, revealing all her charms. Boris also turned over a little, lay down more comfortably, and moved closer. Her legs in beautiful high-heeled shoes lay on display in all their glory - slightly hairy calves, knees, thick thighs that were spread and her wet, swollen lips were right in front of him. But now Boris’s attention was attracted by what was above, he wanted to see his grandmother completely naked.
Boris put his hand on the very bottom of his stomach. It was very soft to the touch, easily bending under his hand. He began to stroke it, knead it, gradually move his hands up, lifting up the dress. First he saw her deep navel, then her entire belly. It was large, soft, flaccid, some strange veins ran along it, it was quite ugly and not at all like his. But it was precisely such a belly - of a plump, adult woman - that attracted his gaze, exciting Boris even more.
Having looked at him enough and seeing that the grandmother did not object and allowed all his actions, he jerked the dress up his neck, got rid of the bra and saw her breasts. Boris was amazed that she was much smaller than he expected. It seemed to him that it should be large and stick out upward. After all, this is exactly what she was like when grandma walked, and her chest swayed as she walked. Her big tits somehow spread all over her body, and blue veins ran through them in thin streams. The nipples were brown, large, shriveled and stuck up. Boris carefully touched one tit, then the other, and they swayed following the movement of his hand. He put his hands on them, began to knead and feel. They turned out to be very soft and flaccid, but, nevertheless, it was very pleasant to caress them. Sometimes his hands would brush against her hard, large nipple, further intensifying her arousal. Boris was already lying almost next to his grandmother, and she was all naked in front of him. That was incredible!
Then her hand moved, and Boris froze, but the grandmother carefully unzipped his jeans and put her hand there. Boris lost his breath, it seemed as if something was about to break inside him. The grandmother's fingers gently stroked his testicles and the bench, which was very tense and sticking up. Boris experienced incredible pleasure from her movements; the whole world was now focused only on the movements of her hands. Boris even stopped caressing her and simply admired her body.
Then the grandmother parted her lips and said something barely audible, and he guessed rather than heard her words and, leaning over, kissed her breast. At first, carefully, then more and more boldly, he kissed her soft and warm tits, slightly salty in taste, like a baby enjoying his grandmother’s breasts, he took her into his mouth and sucked, biting her nipples. At the same time, he convulsively kneaded and squeezed her sides with his hands, running his hands along the folds of fat on her thighs and fingering them.
Tamara Vasilyevna was moaning louder and louder, her desires were growing. Boris lowered his hands down and began to knead and squeeze her little baby, no longer carefully, but forcefully and maybe even roughly. The Gates of God were all wet, and Boris's hand literally squelched in this swamp. Here grandmother’s arms gently hugged Boris and pressed him to her, then she lifted him and laid him on top of her. Boris felt very comfortable and good, grandma was big, warm and soft. Boris felt her all under him, her body close to him, which now belonged to Boris, her large breasts, belly, thighs, on which his legs lay. It was delicious.
But between his legs there was a real fire and itching, and instinctively he began to move, trying to relieve this burning, moving back and forth over the naked body of his grandmother. But instead of relief, the itching only got worse. The grandmother also moved under her grandson, her movements were more powerful. She unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down along with his boxers, then lifted his shirt so she could see his stomach and chest. Her bottom moved from side to side, and his legs finally fell from her hips to between her legs, Ben pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. The grandmother was still hugging Boris with her arms, but suddenly she began to move his body down, and he already thought that the games were over, but as soon as Yasha fell off her stomach, she stopped moving Boris and just hugged him.
Their movements continued, but the grandmother was no longer moving from side to side, but raising her butt, she ran into Boris, while his van rested between her legs, feeling moisture and warmth. The grandmother’s moans intensified even more, and it seemed that she was losing control of herself, her cheeks turned pink, her eyes were half-closed, her lips sometimes said something, but Boris could not understand what exactly.
Suddenly, after one of the movements towards him, Boris realized that he was right between her big thick lips. Considering the small size of his teenage Adam and the large, adult size of his grandmother, this was not surprising. Boris’s sensations intensified, Vanechka felt very pleasant, it was warm, humid, and he wanted this warmth and moisture to always envelop him from all sides. At this time, the grandmother also felt it in herself and stopped moving for a moment. Perhaps she did not want to let him go, or some doubts suddenly took possession of her. But after a momentary lull, instead of moving back, she raised her buttocks, and his red-hot phallus entered her completely. It was an indescribable feeling. The grandson's rod was in the grandmother's vase.
Boris lay on her large body, wrapping his arms around it. The grandmother put her hands on his hips and began to move Boris, now pressing him, now pushing him away a little, as if showing him what he should do, and gradually it came to Boris.
And Boris began to independently make movements back and forth, rising above his grandmother’s body. And at that time she began to move her butt towards him, rotating it from side to side, her pubis pressed closely against him and rubbed furiously and strongly. The grandson plopped down on her large and flabby belly, but he felt very soft and pleasant. Tamara Vasilievna moved more and more furiously under him, her body did not remain in place for a second, hugging and stroking her grandson, she moaned loudly. His halyard seemed to fall into some kind of hole, rubbing against the wavy walls of her vagina. They both had already forgotten about everything and entered each other with force. Her plump body arched and fell, forming fat folds that her grandson squeezed like crazy.
Suddenly the tension in the phallus grew to the maximum, Boris felt dizzy, he tensed, and something suddenly came out of him, devastating him, his strength left him. He felt delight, extraordinary pleasure, relief. The grandmother, noticing the tension in his ball, twitched furiously, her thighs squeezed him very tightly and painfully, she uttered some incredible moan, sound, wheezing, and gradually her movements began to subside. Boris simply lay on her, exhausted, and maybe already unconscious from everything that was happening.
After some time, straightening her dress, Tamara Vasilievna said:
- You should know that this did not happen. Never tell anyone...
“Okay,” Boris stammered, calming down.
We were silent. A crow squawked high above them.
Literally a second later, abruptly looking away, the grandmother exclaimed:
- Squirrel!
And then the cell phone rang. Boris, not without respect, asked his grandmother whether to answer - maybe it would be unpleasant for her? Tamara Vasilievna turned to him and looked as if from afar, tightly closing one eye against the light; the other eye remained in the shadows - wide open, but by no means naive and so brown that it seemed dark blue.
The cloudless sky was visible in the gaps between the crowns of motionless, venerable birch and linden trees.
The fluffy-tailed red creature sat on its hind legs on the path, and made pleading movements with its front legs.
Boris asked to hurry up with the answer, and Tamara Vasilievna left the squirrel alone.
- Well, you have to! - she exclaimed. - This is him, for sure!?
Boris replied that, in his opinion, whether to say or not, one hell of a lot, he sat down on a stump next to Tamara Vasilievena and hugged her with his left hand. With his right hand he raised the phone to his ear. The sun slantedly illuminated the forest. And when Boris raised the phone to his ear, his brown hair was lit especially favorably, although perhaps too brightly, so that it seemed red.
- Yes? - Boris said into the phone in a sonorous voice.
Tamara Vasilievna, experiencing pleasure in the hug, watched him. Her wide-open eyes reflected neither anxiety nor thought, all that was visible was how large and black they were.
A man’s voice came through the receiver - lifeless and at the same time strangely assertive, almost indecently excited:
- Boris? It's you?
Boris glanced quickly to the left, at Tamara Vasilievna.
- Who is this? - he asked. - You, grandpa?
- Yes I. Borya, am I not distracting you?
- No no. Something happened?
- Really, I'm not bothering you? Honestly?
“No, no,” said Boris, turning pink.
“That’s why I’m calling, Borya: did you happen to see where grandma went?”
Boris again looked to the left, but this time not at Tamara Vasilievna, but over her head, at the squirrel running along the branches.
“No, grandpa, I didn’t see it,” said Boris, continuing to look at the squirrel. - And where are you?
- As where? I'm in a cafe. The party is in full swing! I thought she was here somewhere... Maybe she was dancing... I literally searched for Tamara...
- I don’t know, grandpa...
- So you definitely haven’t seen her?
- No, I didn’t see it. You see, grandpa, I had a headache for some reason, and I went out to breathe... So what? What's happened? Granny lost?
- Oh my God! She was sitting next to me all the time and suddenly...
- Maybe she just went out to get some air? - Boris asked with a delay, as if thinking out loud.
“I wish I’d come back already, she’s been gone for about twenty minutes.”
“So quickly did all this happen?!” - thought Boris.
“Listen, grandpa, don’t be so nervous,” Boris said calmly, like a psychotherapist. -Where can she go? She’ll take a walk, freshen up and come back... Now she’ll come.
- So you haven’t seen her, Borya? – Mikhail Ivanovich insistently repeated the question.
“Listen, grandpa,” Boris interrupted, taking his hand away from his face, “I suddenly got a terrible headache again.” God knows why this is. Will you excuse me if we finish now? We'll talk later, okay?
Boris listened for another minute, then turned off the phone and put it in his pocket. And Tamara Vasilievna said:
- Borenka, pleasure is everything, exactly everything that is contained in the world, love is embedded in every person by a persistent need, desire. Every person pursues pleasure and happiness and, in the end, finds his own happiness...
Tamara Vasilyevna fell silent, looked at him without blinking, with admiration, and opened her mouth slightly, and Boris leaned towards her, put one hand under the hem to the black bush, put the other on the back of her head, pressed her wet lips tightly to him, and kissed her passionately.
22.12.2014, 16:13
Hello! I created a topic in the next thread.
In short, the moral and psychological climate in the family is not very good now. I'm working on it.
And I ask for advice on specific manifestations in the child’s behavior.
Boy 2 years 2 months.
1. Throws objects, spills water.
We had such a period of one and a half years. He threw everything off the table, and also threw whatever he could get his hands on. Just 2 weeks ago it started again. He throws everything wherever his eyes look, but not at people. If he suddenly hits someone, he comes up and regrets it. This does not happen in a fit of anger or rage, but when he is either joyfully jumping or casually. Today we decorated the Christmas tree, he just walks up to the toys and starts throwing them at the walls, at the TV.
And even earlier he loved to knock over glasses and cups of water. He sees it and pours it out. Then everything went away. The child drinks well from the mug and can carefully place it in its place. For several days it floods again. Today at lunch I knocked my mug over into the borscht. Moreover, it was as if he was waiting for my reaction. That is, I took the plate, he looked intently, stood up and silently left the table.
I don't know how to react correctly. And calmly, using simple speech constructs, she explained, and scolded, and arranged time-outs. The first thing he does after a time-out is repeat what he was punished for.
And in general, apparently, this type of persuasion will have to be abolished. This is such torture for both of us, the child screams, runs, I hold him, he generally begins to roll, falls to the floor, crawls and fights. In general, in our case, this is worse than the worst.
I also rule out physical influences, firstly, they are ineffective, and secondly, after she whispered on the bottom, when trying to explain that this cannot be done, he begins to spank himself.
2. Pot. Started going potty a week before my second birthday. No mistakes. The first time I sat down and from then on I kept asking. This lasted for a month, after which problems began to occur.
I wore diapers to sleep, and during the day I ran around in my pants.
Again, the last 2 weeks have been replaced. He doesn’t want to go to the potty, he asks less and less often. Yesterday I was sitting watching a cartoon, peed on the sofa, my husband was sitting next to him, he didn’t notice it. So the child didn’t even care about his wet pants. Then he got up and went about his business. When I saw him, I started talking to him, offered to take off his pants, and began to pull them off himself.
What do i do? How to react to this now?
I understand that this may be due specifically to the atmosphere in the house, or maybe due to age.
I would be very grateful for your advice.
20.11.2017, 02:44
Hello! Son 5 years old. Born with a weight of 3350 and a height of 51 cm at term. There are no chronic diseases. We are not registered with anyone.
The son is complex in character and disposition. Capricious and demanding. Nervous and excitable.
There is only one in the family. The only son before my husband and I and the only grandson for my grandparents.
I went to the garden from time to time. He has been staying at home for the last year. We were actively involved in different sections and clubs: art, speech therapy, development, taekwondo, triz. Can read and count.
For the last 2 months I have been living with my grandparents for family reasons.
The family is complete. He has been sleeping with me since birth. In the family he commands. Sometimes he behaves aggressively, sometimes affectionately.
About half a year ago I began to focus on the difference between mom and dad. He spied on me, tried to take off my panties. I explained it well and scolded him for it. It's the same with grandma. He asks to take off his panties and look. Grandmothers shame him.
In general, the further you go, the more this idea is in it. He told me that he dreams about his dad naked.
I wasn’t very upset about this because other than that I didn’t see any problem. I thought that all this would outgrow.
And yesterday he asked for my panties. I explained that everyone has their own individual underwear, especially since my underwear is girly, and he has beautiful panties with robots and balls. Then I discovered that my son had snuck onto the balcony, took his panties from there, undressed and began to put my panties on himself. When asked why he lied. I'm 100% sure. He said he wanted to be an Indian. Further more. Today he told me that when he grows up like dad, he will be an aunt as beautiful as his godmother. In the meantime, you can put on my panties and boobs. And then the story is about how he makes them: he will cut off plastic bottles, fill the holes with plasticine and paint everything the same color as the skin. This story completely left me cold. That is, he thinks about it, in art and on TV they clearly didn’t teach how to do boobs.
I told him that then they would laugh at him (and I regretted it), because my son began to cry and say that then he would be a shameful boy, that he didn’t need anything girly or “aunty.”
He plays with cars and robots. Watches cartoons about cars.
I am very worried about what is happening to him. He realized that I was upset, that he did the wrong thing and now he would only withdraw.
There is no psychologist in our locality; we moved to a remote place. Help me please.
Another dull day at work again. After I return home, I try not to think about her. If I thought that tomorrow I would go there again, and the day after tomorrow, and for the rest of my life, with my next salary I would buy myself a pistol and shoot myself in the head. Why, everything was much simpler. After all, I live on the eighth floor. And the height is enough so that there is nothing left of me, all I have to do is jump headfirst into the bottom. But only one thought warms me up: today I’m going to the gym again. Don't think, I'm not one of those narcissists obsessed with my appearance. Who post half-naked photos of themselves on their social networks, with information about proper nutrition and how much protein to eat. I'm on a slightly different side. I locked myself in my room, sat clicking on my mouse, and looked at my watch every ten minutes. Another hour before I have to go there. Continuously scrolling through a bunch of information, looking at the latest news. But I can only think about one thing...
Time. The alarm on my phone beeped loudly. I put on my favorite song to make it doubly pleasant. A slight smile appears on his face. I turn off the computer, take my battered backpack and begin to put clothes and hygiene products into it. I throw on my jacket and hastily leave the house, at the same time warning my mother that I had left. She answered, as usual, “Okay.”
I have headphones in my ears so as not to hear the people around me. The drive is only fifteen minutes. But on a minibus, time drags on for a very long time. Finally I made it to the hall. I quickly climb the stairs and head to the locker room. Besides me there are two more guys. I'm a little uncomfortable here. They all try to say hello to me, but I don’t even know them. I quickly put on my sports uniform and hastily go out into the hall, ahead of the guys who came before me. I hope the day is a success, you never know if everything will turn out the way you want. I look around, there are much more girls today, maybe because of the day off? So, it’s annoying that there is no stability. I sit down at the exercise machine. And all my thoughts are only about those who came here to pump up their butts. In short, tight shorts, through which her panties are faintly visible. It's like light erotica, only in real life, and not on monitor screens. It is very difficult to convey what I feel now. One of them crouches, turning sideways to the mirror to see if she is doing everything correctly. How she loves herself. On the other side lies a blonde in a white T-shirt, spreading her arms in different directions, holding light weights in them. With every movement her breasts shake. This made a stake in my pants, and I adjusted my penis before anyone noticed. Oh, the blonde seems to be without a bra, her nipples are sticking out. Why did she come here in this form? ... Although all the same, the main thing is that I can enjoy her view.
Sometimes I observe and give them ratings, from one to ten. But there are rare exceptions when a sexy woman of about thirty appears in the hall. I assign number twenty-five to these. Because their beauty is indescribable. Many people call them Milfs. How I would like to rock with this one. But these are just dreams, because I won’t even be able to talk to her. Even if I could, even if we succeeded. Well, I mean sex, I would cum just from touching her breasts.
A brunette about twenty years old began to bend forward. I switched to another machine in order to discover a better view. The cut on her breasts is so large that they are about to fall out. From under the tight black pants, a red thong is visible. It's good that I learned to control myself. In the first days, and I remember there were two of them. I came right there and had to leave the room after only twenty minutes. I hope no one noticed that I left quickly.
Don’t think that everyone here is such a beauty, there are two out of ten who need to lose extra pounds. But I try not to pay attention to them. One day one came up to me, as I remember yesterday she was, seven out of ten. But there wasn't an evening when I didn't fantasize about her. I, as before, was sitting on the machine, lifting weights, when she came up and offered to take turns doing it. Don’t think that I’m completely downtrodden and can’t even speak to the opposite sex. We had a nice chat. However, she did everything carelessly, so I had to explain to her. Seven either really didn’t understand, or did it on purpose. I had to grab her arms, then my nose plunged into her hair. The sweet smell of caramel wafted from her. It was so nice to touch her, my heart was simply breaking. If I were older, I would definitely have had a heart attack. Afterwards I put my hands on her waist as she was bending her back and not keeping it straight. She was so thin, it seemed like I could break her. My hands were shaking. She just smiled sweetly, giggled and said thank you. It's a pity she stopped coming here. I haven't seen her for a month now. For now, we can only be content with the view and hope that someone will again ask for help or to work out together. For the rest of the workout my dick was tense. It was time to leave because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I put all my thoughts aside and tried to relax. After all, before going home I have a shower waiting for me. My least favorite place. I took off my sweaty gym clothes. I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to one of the booths. There were three in total. A guy came out of one, a head taller than me, and it seemed his body consisted of nothing but muscles. He looked at me with a smile. I often had thoughts that some of them were blue. They look at my body like that and smile. And unlike me, they don’t cover themselves with a towel. All their belongings are dangling from one side to the other. I took a shower and washed off all the sweat. He hurriedly headed home. Half an hour later I was at the door. I opened it with the words - I'm home - Mother, as usual, asked how you went? Answering that it was good, I locked myself in my room. I closed the curtains and turned off the lights so that no one could see me. And he sat down in a chair in front of the computer. I threw a T-shirt over the webcam, I always did this, it seemed like I might be being watched. Maybe it's just paranoia. I put on a condom so as not to cover anything up, and began to immerse myself in my thoughts. Remembering the last hour in the gym...
But the wonderful day did not end there. Exactly at eleven in the evening, and I was looking forward to this time. I was getting closer to the window. The room was still in darkness. Through binoculars, which cost half my salary, I watched one of the windows of the neighboring house. It was on the seventh floor. There, one lady was going to bed at that time. Exposing your body. It’s so nice to watch, and she doesn’t even know. She took off her outerwear and climbed into bed wearing only her panties. At the same time, she could walk around the house for some time, teasing me. Sometimes I was pleased with a great performance when she and her husband had sex. The most beautiful thing is that they did this with the lights on, as if they knew they were being watched. I watched and enjoyed it with them.
I remember walking home after work and meeting this cute couple. I don’t know what prompted me then, but I greeted them with a slight smile.
The text is large so it is divided into pages.
Just yesterday, I caused a revelation. This doesn’t happen to me often, but it does happen. It struck me so much that I put aside work on the novel and decided, with permission, to write a story without names. I just put into some literary form what was told to me by a woman who, apparently, needed to tell this to someone and get support. She has enough support and reproaches for herself. Once it is published on the site, I think support will appear, I personally somehow did not find the right words...
Who is this woman? Yes, an ordinary forty-year-old woman with a youthful figure, sociable, with a slightly sly look. Lives in the village, works as a nurse, married. Her husband is an excavator operator and is currently off season, disappearing somewhere while laying a water pipeline. She also has a son - a fourteen-year-old boy who is curious about the opposite sex, as probably everyone his age is. That’s probably all I can tell about her within the limits of what is permitted, and now let’s move on to the story itself.
Like everywhere else in the territory from Moscow to Vladivostok, this year there is a dry, hot summer. One day, on a stuffy Sunday, to escape the sun's rays and headache, she decided to go and rinse off in the summer shower. It stood in the yard like an old iron tank, either from an excavator or a combine harvester - at work, my husband burned it out, welded a watering can to it, installed it in the yard and fenced it off from prying eyes with a fence made of weeds. Over time, the boards dried out and decent gaps appeared between them, but since from afar they merged into a continuous row, her husband never got around to sorting them out. In addition, the shower was in demand only in the summer when it was very hot, precisely when it was practically not at home.
Throwing a bath towel over her shoulder and approaching the shower, through the cracks she involuntarily saw her naked son. Apparently, he returned from fishing and, without going into the house, decided to wash off the river mud in the shower. Covering her eyes with her hand, the woman looked at the sun and turned towards the garden; it was still too early to water. She walked away and paused, wondering which of the endless women's worries to do. But, hearing a weak, not even a cry, but rather a groan of pain, the woman returned to the narrows that separated her son from her. The mother's heart felt something was wrong.
No, of course, she admitted that her son might well have erotic fantasies at that age, and lately she had been trying to keep her distance and not infiltrate her son’s world without prior notice. But it was not a groan of pleasure at all, it was pain that her son tried to hide from her in his soul. Leaning her gaze to the gap between the boards, the woman literally forced herself to look down. Moaning, the son tried to expose the head, the foreskin around the penis was red and inflamed...
“Lord, has the boy really become a man already?! These are his night fishing trips! Who awarded him?” - a whirlwind flashed through her head with an enumeration of possible candidates from village wenches living alone. Not finding more than one woman among her acquaintances from childhood who could covet a fourteen-year-old teenager in their village, she opened the door to the shower.
- Mom, what are you doing? - the son said in surprise, hiding his pain behind his palms.
- Hands off! - she almost ordered, while trembling chills ran through her entire body, settling like weights in her legs.
- Mom!..
- Who did you tell?
The son reluctantly released his hands.
The woman squatted down and took the penis in her palm. From the touch of soft and warm female hands, the penis grew larger, causing his son to tremble at the same time with pain and pleasure. Having examined it with the professional eye of a physician, she noticed that it was not only inflamed with white smegma, but also the edges of the flesh were bursting, blood was oozing from a small crack along with yellowish mucus. Carefully and gently, she exposed the head a little, it opened literally to the eye of a needle, but this also caused a new groan from the boy.
- Hurt?
- Yes…
There was no doubt that my son had balanoposthitis - inflammation of the foreskin. But to what extent, and has it already turned into phimosis?
“And how did I look through it?! Poor son! Apparently, afraid of being discovered, he devoted little time to basic hygiene and satisfied himself in fits and starts...”
The woman remembered how she walked into his room and noticed how he was huddling in his shorts. She then asked: “Do you want to go to the toilet?” Maybe it happened more than once, she didn’t even remember! It didn't matter, now I needed to see how bad it was.
- When you pee, does the flesh inflate? - she asked, looking at her son.
- Mother!
- Answer! - she insisted and was scared of her own voice.
- A little.
- And how often did you pee in your pants? Did you put your hands in there?
- Mother!
- Son, dear, this is important! - she changed her tone, afraid to completely scare the boy.
The son just nodded.
The woman took his underwear, sniffed it and threw it into the corner. She took the towel off her shoulder and wrapped it around her son's thighs.
- Come on, run to the room and don’t get dressed. Try to calm down. I'll be right there.
The son went into the house. The woman quickly rinsed herself, mentally remembering where she had put the Diprosaline, which she used to treat her husband for allergic rashes.
Entering the room with a basin of boiled, still warm water, she found her son, as ordered, naked, lying in bed on his stomach.
“Turn over,” she said as softly as possible. Something was spinning in my head that is usually written in such cases: what you did was normal for your age. But what is normal if the son lies there suffering from pain!
He rolled over.
Placing the basin on a low stool and twirling his forelock, she added:
- Cross your legs. Does it burn a lot?
- Only when I pee...
The woman sighed. Her thoughts were spinning in the direction of how she could expose her son’s head in a calm state and see how much it would open. The matter was not simple. Just realizing that he was sitting naked gave him an erection. Such an age.
- Do you remember how I bathed you as a virgin? - she asked, trying to distract him from his own thoughts.
- Mom, I was little then!
- You will always be little to me, son...
As she spoke, the woman reached out and with a quick but careful movement pulled back the foreskin. The circumference of the opening was small, and yet, more than in a state of erection, the head of a bad bluish color and the channel clogged with the smegma of recently descended excitation were visible.
The son jerked in pain.
“That’s it, that’s it... I won’t do it again,” she reassured him. - How long have you been doing this?
- Don't know. At first it just stung when it rubbed against my panties...
- And you were silent!
The son nodded.
- Did it splinter after what?
- Mother!
“After you relieved the tension...” she insisted.
- Yes... But it was rare, when it was completely unbearable...
- Sit on the edge of the bed so that it hangs...
The son obediently moved towards the pelvis, bending his legs around it.
The woman wet her hands and began to stroke her son’s penis in a circular motion with downward pressure. The excitement from her touch grew. The warm water opened the foreskin. It was necessary to hurry otherwise, blood could be intercepted and then only an ambulance. The news will quickly spread throughout the village that the boy was taken away for circumcision. For a fourteen year old this was too much, just as the words were useless: calm down, you can’t get excited now. Nature is inexorable in its rules.
The bluish head jumped out of the flesh onto the palm, with a deft movement the woman squeezed the ointment onto her finger and wrapped it around it, lubricating the red, inflamed frenulum and immediately put the flesh back on...
“That’s all for now,” she said, smiling at her son. - Now you want it, I know, but don’t touch him, okay. Be patient, because you are a man.
- I won’t touch him anymore, mom! Honestly.
- We talked about it later. In the evening, I will wash and lubricate it again, and now put on clean panties. I bought these for my father, new ones. They are loose and won't rub as much.
For five days, twice, the woman washed and lubricated her son’s penis, and with each day that passed, she shuddered and thought about how to proceed to the next stage of treatment. From her medical education course, she knew that after the inflammation was relieved, she needed to start masturbating. In order for the head to finally open and problems to arise in the future, you need to first soften it in warm water, insert two fingers into the foreskin, spread it apart and release the head from it. Then, slowly and slowly over the course of a month, from two to ten minutes, incrementally make progressive movements of the flesh towards and away from it.
To once again make sure that the treatment of balanoposthitis is correct, the woman re-studied the medical literature on this subject. Everything is true, but it was her son! Her son, who had matured over the summer, began to have an erection from one of her touches, and as the inflammation subsided, it became stronger and stronger...
But the mother also could not entrust the matter to the youthful hands, or to anyone else. It is unlikely that the boy will be able to control himself at such a moment, one wrong move and again there will be a crack, blood, inflammation. While applying the ointment, she discovered three scars on the foreskin, evidence of his attempts to open the head on his own. They had adhesions on the skin and did not allow her to move freely. Another notch of maternal distance from the sexual problems of her teenage son and phimosis is definitely guaranteed. Should you entrust this process to someone else? - in the realities of the village this is simply impossible! In a day or two, all the girls will know that the boy is having her boy! problems and it’s better not to be friends with him for now or at all.
To calm her mother’s conflicted feelings, she decided to put on a medical gown, but then changed her mind, it all looked painfully cheesy, and it could have scared the boy.
Therefore, despite the heat, the woman put on a dress with a closed top, washed her hands thoroughly and on the evening of the fifth day went to see her son. Everything was the same as on the first day: the basin, warm water, the movement of the palms in a velvety circle. The son had already gotten used to it and these procedures did not cause him to shudder all over his body, the tension from the pain went away, but the excitement remained. Under the influence of the ointment, the flesh easily slid on the palm, the crack had healed, and the scars had already begun to dissolve. The color of the head was pink, and from friction it gradually filled in and became crimson.
Having lubricated the frenulum, from light stroking she began to rub harder, slowly pulling and removing the foreskin from the head. The boy's eyes widened and he tried to remove her hand.
“That’s it, son,” she stopped him.
- But, mom, I now...
- It's OK. You endured for five days, this is your reward.
- Is this because I stroked him myself?
- No. You just didn't wash it after that. Often got excited without relieving tension because of someone nearby. Smegma accumulated in the foreskin, which caused inflammation... But this is not the cause of masturbation, but a consequence of poor hygiene...
The son no longer heard her. He closed his eyes and in his mother’s hand, as if her heart, pleasure was beating frequently, often, with jolts, causing the boy to groan, which spilled thickly onto the gentle woman’s palm.
Gently stroking her son's penis, she washed it well and lubricated it again.
- Will you do this now? - he asked when the tension had completely subsided.
- Within a month. Until things get better for you. And then you can do it yourself. Just promise that you won't hide from me anymore. If you need warm boiled water, don’t be shy to ask.
- OK, Mom…
The woman went out, thinking about how to tell her husband everything when he arrived, and is it necessary?..
After listening to the confession of a woman who loved her son, I asked: “What is tormenting you?” Yes, I agree, this is not a very common situation, but the main thing is that the child has recovered, and perhaps not only from the physical trauma that such an illness causes in the future. The son could become convinced that this was a punishment for masturbation. Despite our advanced times, this also happens.
The woman thought for a moment, but still decided to answer:
- When he poured into my hand, I also experienced an orgasm. So strong that she held back so that her son wouldn’t notice anything.
- This is normal, Nature worked. “Don’t worry,” I answered, thinking myself: what nonsense am I talking about now...
