Birthday Blues


God, could my life get any worse?

I stare solemnly out my bedroom window, watching a brown leaf being blown down the street by a light gust of wind. It’s a warm, crisp, autumn afternoon, and the sun is low in the sky, glaring in my eyes. It’s a rather serene sight that doesn’t seem to match my mood. I’ve been moping around my bedroom, mostly staring out this window, brooding, bored out my skull, for the past three days now. Anguish is eating away at my resolve, but it’s the tightness in my groin and a dull ache in my balls that is causing me most concern. If an adolescent boy ever tells you he doesn’t masturbate at least once a day, he’s lying.

You never really appreciate something until you lose it. Imagine losing the use of both hands, for example. Just take a minute to think what your life would be like without the use of at least one hand and how that disability would impact your everyday life. It’s difficult to predict exactly what it would be like. Though for me, at this moment in time, I don’t have to imagine it, because I’m living it, gaining first-hand experience of life without functioning hands.

Today is my eighteenth birthday and should be a joyous occasion, full of excitement and merriment. But here I am, watching a pile of leaves being blown up the street as depression eats away at me. It’s now four days into the autumn half-term holiday, and I’ve spent the past three sitting here in my room, contemplating revenge on the person who has caused my current predicament.

It happened last Saturday afternoon while hanging-out at the park with my friends. My girlfriend, Sammy, of whom I had grown quite fond, told me she wanted to speak to me in private. Like a puppy chasing a bone, tongue wagging, I followed her to behind the thick trunk of an enormous oak tree, anticipating a game of tonsil-hockey and a fondle of her plump breasts.

So imagine my disappointed when, instead of slipping her tongue down my throat and unclasping her bra, she informed me in a solemn tone that she was chucking me. The news hit me like a haymaker to the gut, causing me to hunch over slightly and hold my midriff. But what she told me immediately after really got my hackles up: she was dumping me for my best friend. They had been screwing for the past week – something she and I had yet to indulge – which made it all the more gut-wrenching.

First I contemplated ripping off Sammy’s clothes and screwing her, right there behind the oak. After all, I felt quite disgruntled that my opportunity for a knee-trembler with Sammy had vanished for the time being, perhaps forever.

But it was a spur of the moment urge, conjured by the anger coursing through my veins. So, high on adrenaline and intent on revenge, I ran off in search of my “best friend” who had stolen Sammy’s heart.

The anger I felt building inside of me that day was like nothing I had ever felt before. Charging around the streets like a madman, my only objective was to find the person who had stolen my sweetheart. It was, however, a fruitless exercise. Eventually, with lungs burning and legs aching, I gave up, sat down with my back against a wall and sobbed like a baby.

As I reached inside my trouser pocket to find my handkerchief, I found a piece of white chalk. Immediately I sprang to my feet and sketched a picture on the wall of the wretch who had stolen my girlfriend and proceeded to take out my anger on the drawing. If I couldn’t hit him, a representation of him would be the next best thing.

Fists clenched tight, my right hand landed hard against the wall, directly on the nose of the drawing. I knew straight away that I had broken something; the pain shooting up my arm was incredible. But I hadn’t finished just yet. I landed another blow to the wall – this time with my left – before running off home, with two hands grazed and throbbing.

So that’s the story. It’s why I’m here, three days later, with both hands bandaged, the right broken and the left badly bruised and swollen. Although the prescription painkillers, which the doctor prescribed me, make me feel great at times and tend to lift my mood, nothing seems to take the edge of the boredom. Especially today, being my birthday and knowing nothing exciting will happen is soul-destroying.

But let me tell you the worst part of all, above all else, the one thing that’s really unbearable: I’ve not masturbated for nearly a week.

My testicles are now swollen to such an extent they have become painful. It’s a dull ache, almost crippling at times, that throbs with a demand for release when I get a hard-on.

I groan as I feel an inadvertent erection coming on, the fifth one today, which will surly increase the pressure in my balls and cause the throbbing sensation to return with a vengeance. I leave the window and sit down on my bed with a despondent sigh.

Resting back on my elbows, I hook my thumbs into my underpants and tug them down over my thighs. Sitting back up, I hunch forward Eskort to examine my genitals. My willy’s stiff, pointing straight up toward my face. A globule of goo rests upon the slit atop my helmet; a sure sign the gunk is bursting to gush to the surface. The skin of my scrotum, which is sprinkled with a layer of scraggly hair, is stretched tightly around my distended balls and is painful to the touch.

The throbbing sensation is even worse this time, making its way up the shaft of my stiff pecker, all the way up to the tip, making the helmet-head pulse along painfully with my beating heart. “God, it’s even more painful than before,” I rasp loudly.

As I say those words, Mum bursts into my bedroom, singing at the top of voice. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear—”

“Mum, for Christ sake!” I snap, spinning over and lying on my front to hide my modesty from her view. My cock’s mashed against my duvet as I try in vain to hoik my underpants back up. “I’m not a little kid anymore,” I say, as I wriggle around like a worm on the bed, trying unsuccessfully to pull up my underpants with the tips of my thumbs.

Jesus Christ! I wish she wouldn’t burst in like that. I was doing something…private. And I have an erection. Doesn’t she know how to knock before entering my room?

“I don’t care how old you are, darling,” she replies, in a silly voice as though talking to a baby. “You’re still my little baby boy.” She sits down next to me at the edge of the bed and says, ” Let me help you with those underpants.” I feel my underpants being pulled up my thighs, snagging on my bloated balls on the way up, making me gasp and wince with a sudden jolt of pain.

“You can turn around and sit up now,” she sighs, feigning exasperation.

“No, I’m quite alright where I am,” I reply, voice quavering, mind willing my erection to subside.

She lies down on her front next to me on the bed, puts her mouth to my ear, and whispers, “Are you trying to hide something from me?” Why were you inspecting your willy when I entered the room?”

My face lights up bright red, like a pomegranate. “Mum, I’m not in the mood,” I whine.

Now you may think that my mother’s questions are somewhat inappropriate to be asking her teenage son. Well, my mum’s behaviour is a little unorthodox to say the least; she’s not your everyday, run-of-the-mill mother. And even though she’s been known to make a nuisance of herself on occasion, she’s my mum, and I love her and wouldn’t change her for the entire world.

Mum’s as barmy as they come, completely bonkers, always acting daft and takes great pleasure in embarrassing me at every available opportunity. She’s incredibly immature, like a teenage girl trapped inside the body of a full-grown woman. She can be a real wind-up merchant at times. I usually find her quite funny, but today I’m not in the mood for her shenanigans.

“Come on, birthday boy,” she says, climbing on top of my prone body and mounting my bottom. “So you’ll be spending your birthday with your mum; that’s nothing to sulk about, is it? I’m sure we can have some fun.”

I dare not tell her about my inability to masturbate. Knowing her she’ll offer to do it for me. Now that would be awkward.

I then feel her hands on my body, gliding up and down the skin of my bare back and shoulders, massaging my spine, inducing goose pimples on my skin and a warm tingling sensation in my torso.

I wish she wouldn’t touch me like this. I’m getting too old for this shit. But it feels so good. Oh, God, my erection will never subside at this rate.

Mum has always been the touchy-feely type, over affectionate and likes to speak her mind, no matter how inappropriate it may seem to other people. She refuses to accept that I’m not a little kid anymore, that all the touching and caressing and frolicking is just wrong at my age. The cuddles on the couch, the play-fights, the kisses, the massages, the tickles, were all fine when I was a small boy, but now I’m a teenager, it can be disconcerting at times. I’ve just not got the nerve to tell her; it’ll break her heart. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t enjoy Mum’s playfulness and affection anymore, but it can create incredible awkward situations at times.

For example, there’s nothing more comforting and consoling than lying down on the couch on top of Mum and resting my head on her plump, cushiony bosom and feeling her fingertips stroking up and down my back with feather-light caresses. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Another thing I enjoy – but she only seems to do this now when I have dry skin – is to sneak into my room in the morning and wake me by pulling off the sheets and rubbing moisturiser cream into my body. It feels awesome when she rubs it into my feet and legs.

The problem is, I’m a sexually aware teenager now, and I can’t help but get a whopping great stiffy every time Mum lays her hands on me. I just can’t help it; it’s like my todger has a mind all of it’s own. It’s up and down like a yo-yo, and I have absolutely no control over it. It’s been happening for about a year now, and is dreadfully embarrassing, especially when Mum notices and makes comment.

We were cuddling on the couch once, watching TV, and I had an erection twitching in my pants and pressing against Mum’s upper thigh, and she said, ‘Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?’

Honestly, I could’ve died I was so embarrassed.

Another time, she was sat at the end of my bed, rubbing cream into my feet and legs, and I got an erection and didn’t even realise. It wasn’t until Mum pointed at the tented bulge in the front of my underpants and said, ‘Are you carrying a torch for someone, or are your underpants just rucked up at the front?’ that I noticed I had big ol’ hard-on. Believe me, it was cringe worthy.

Now, Mum doesn’t drink too often, but when she does, she takes her fun and games to a whole new level. And it was a drunken occasion, some six weeks ago, that really put things into perspective.

We spent a summer’s evening at a friend’s house, Shelia and Franks, about six weeks ago. Shelia and Frank Styles have been good friends of ours for many years and I get on great with their son George who is roughly the same age as I am. Shelia and Frank have a pool in their back garden so, being a stifling hot evening, Mum and I spent a fair amount of time in the pool with the Styles family, playing with inflatables and generally fooling around.

We had an evening meal, outside on the Styles’ patio, during which Mum drank an awful lot of wine. When the evening drew to an end, since we live a reasonable distance away and the air was still close and stifling, Mum and I decided to slip on our flip-flops and walk home in our bathing suits. Mum was absolutely sloshed. She was giggling and stumbling and saying the daftest things all the way home. Upon our arrival home, as soon as we walked through the door and kicked off our flip-flops, Mum went into hyper mode and pounced on me.

Now, please bear in mind that we were both wearing very little at the time – I had on nothing but a pair of speedos and Mum was wearing a two-piece bikini, which left little to the imagination.

First, she charged up behind me and got me in a fierce headlock. Feeling my head crushed in a vice-like grip and my face mashed against the side of Mum’s left breast, I dropped to my knees with a shrill wail, shocked. Her right hand dropped to my chest and found my nipples. Giggling with glee, she pinched, twisted and tweaked my nipples so hard I cried out in pain.

Mum getting me in a headlock and pinching my nipples isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but that night she was being surprising rough with me, actually hurting me. But it was when she started growling and snarling like a mad woman, seemingly intent on really hurting me, that I grew concerned.

In a panic, my left hand reached up behind her, up her back, and I grasped for something to grab on to, something to get purchase on so I could at least attempt to pull myself free of her grip. Of course, she was wearing a bathing suit, so the only thing my hand found was the clasp of her bikini top. It snapped with a loud ping, fell away from her breasts and dropped to the floor. It was then, to my utter shock, that I realised my face was mashed against Mum’s naked breast.

She stopped tweaking my nipples. We both froze, down on our knees, breathing heavy, her squidgy breast squished against my cheek. It seemed she was contemplating something. My eyes rolled upwards and locked onto Mum’s nipple. I was in awe, being the first time I had ever seen a female nipple that close, in the flesh. Even though it belonged to my mum, it was still an awesome sight.

The teat was pink, with cute little dimples around the areola and a prominent tip that looked like a little pink jellybean.

I couldn’t help myself, just couldn’t resist it. Well, she’d been pinching my nipples, so why shouldn’t I return the favour?

I heard her gasp when my hand touched her breast, then scream when I pinched the pink jellybean and twisted it. She released me from the headlock and, being drunk and worse for wear, stumbled sideways, then fell to the floor and lay on her back.

Thinking we were still in the throes of a fight, I wasted no time and lay down on top of her. Our sweaty bodies pressed against each others, moulding as one. All we wore were the flimsy garments covering our nether regions. I could feel her naked breasts mashed against my chest, her boozy breath on my neck, my groin pressing against the thin material of her bikini bottoms. I don’t know what come over me, but I felt my cock spring to life, twitch then swell.

Knowing my genitals were squished against Mum’s, separated by nothing but the fabric of our bathing bottoms, seemed to have a profound affect on me, draining my inhibitions, robbing me of my senses, exciting me.

Mum’s eyes were closed; she seemed asleep, stirring gently every now and then. I lay prone for a few minutes, mashed against her, feeling my cock grow to a full erection. When it was fully erect, I ground my groin hard against hers, feeling the shaft of my stiffy rest snugly inside the cleft of her camel-toe. An erotic, tingling sensation, the likes of which I had never before experienced, spread from my groin and engulfed my body. My balls were bubbling, my cock leaking. I could have stayed in that position all night.

But then her eyes flew open and she snaked an arm around my neck and held me in position with my face squashing her cheek. Her bare feet hooked around my calves and shins, holding my bottom half in position, as her free hand dropped to the waistband of my speedos. She grasped the elastic waistband and yanked them upwards with all her might.

“Wedgiiieeeee!” she screamed with glee as I felt my speedos wedge between my buttocks.

I squirmed and wriggled, gasped and moaned, trying to break free, feeling a sharp pain in my anus as my pants were forcefully pulled tight against my sphincter. Then her mouth was on my neck, drooling, her teeth sinking into the skin, biting, sucking. She was like a rabid dog attacking me. But through it all, I was still blissfully aware of my erection thrusting and grinding against her camel-toe and her bare breasts rubbing against my chest, as I flailed and writhed on top off her body.

Next thing I knew, she had flipped me over so I was lying on my back. She sat up next to me, holding a forearm across my neck, pinning me to the floor. I was looking up, straight at her unfettered breasts, dangling perilously close to my face, the nipples even more prominent than before. They looked awesome, all firm and plump, good enough to eat. I was momentarily transfixed by the way they moved – jiggling and bouncing and swinging every time she moved her body.

Her free hand caressed my stomach, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to do next – Pinch me? Tickle me? Bite me? Slap me?

What she actually did next was beyond comprehension, something I never would have expected, and something I will never forget, not for the rest of my life. It was beautiful, shocking, comforting, yet deeply perturbing, all at the same time.

She took hold of the tip of my stiff pecker, which was propping up the front of my speedos, then pinched the head between thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard, extracting a blob of pre-cum from the tip that soaked into the fabric of my speedos. I closed my eyes and groaned. My mind was swimming with confusion, in total chaos; I didn’t know how to react. So I just lay still and went with the flow, ignoring the conflicting emotions waging war within me.

Her finger and thumb pinched and released the head, over and over again. Then worked their way up and down the shaft, pinching and releasing as they went. A big damp patch had now formed at the front of my speedos. I could feel the goo oozing from me, coating my cock with slimy secretion.

My body started buzzing with sexual arousal. I had never felt emotion so intense, so good, so overwhelming. The tingling sensation in my body seemed to wash away any fears and doubts, any embarrassment and awkwardness that I should have been feeling.

Then she began mocking me as she tweaked up and down the shaft of my gooey cock. “Baby’s got a chubby. Baby’s got a chubby,” she repeated over and over in a childish tone between giggles.

Then, to my disappointment, the pinching stopped. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Mum had passed out next to me. She lay on her back, arms by her side, with her knees raised, pressed together.

I was in a daze, a deep state of sexual arousal, my mind befuddled by the sexual sensations consuming my senses. So I sat up to ogle Mum’s naked body. She looked wonderful. Her legs were smooth, soft and slender. Her hips were perfectly formed, her tummy flat and hard. My eyes fixed on her firm breasts. They were sagging a little, drooping ever so slightly to her sides as she lay on her back.

I was operating on sheer instinct, in a dream-like state. Nothing seemed real. I was almost certain it was all a dream; a peculiar, perverted, yet immensely enjoyable wet dream.

Quivering with nervous excitement, I reached out a tentative hand and cupped my palm over Mum’s left breast. It felt amazing, all soft and squidgy. The tip of her erect nipple grazed over my palm as I closed a trembling hand around the spongy mound and squeezed. It felt like heaven. I reached out my free hand and pinched the nipple of her other breast, tweaked it gently before rolling the nub between thumb and forefinger. It was soft yet stiff; the only thing I could liken it to was an eraser at the end of a pencil.

Then my mind flashed back to a moment before, when I was lying prone upon Mum’s body with my cock tucked snugly inside the crevice of her camel-toe, and felt the sudden urge to inspect between her legs. My cock throbbed at the mere thought.