At Mothers Window Again - Sex Stories

At Mothers Window Again

http://ep3.xhcdn.com/000/080/893/231_1000.jpg We were horny young guys just past the cusp of puberty. It was summer holidays and we were allowed to stay out far past the falling of darkness. It was the late forties and k**s were safe in the streets, even in a working class neighborhood like ours. Women on our street all stayed home keeping house and raising their broods while their husbands worked twelve-hour days to make a living. The heat of July baked the houses during the day and kept the screened windows wide open all night to attract the slightest breeze. Throughout the hot months, the young wives wore shorts, modest halters and colorful bandannas that kept the hair up off their necks. We were at an age where we knew which halters held the nicest tits and which shorts were snug enough to make us giddy. They were in the houses that we came back to each night, prowling quietly out of sight near the lighted windows. Occasionally, we would catch a glimpse of someone we admired getting into the bath. Usually, it didn¹t matter who we saw. The thrill was in spying on someone naked, violating their privacy without them knowing. After, we¹d nearly bust a gut trying to suppress our laughter at being so bold and outrageous. By 10.30 the younger crowd was off the streets and the older guys hung out beneath the street lights. They smoked and talked quietly while the moths buzzed around the bare bulb. They were a lot tougher than us and we treated them with great deference. ...

... Envious of their privileges, and anxious to prove ourselves, we emulated everything about them. One night, when the air was particularly muggy, I lay awake on top of the oppressive blankets and listened to the sounds of the summer night. From far down on the road I could hear the muted voices of Tom Dory and his friends swapping lies and trading laughs as they did most every night. I wanted badly to be old enough to join them but I knew they didn¹t give me the time of day. The window sill brought me a little closer to the voices and I strained to hear what was being said. Since I wouldn¹t be welcome in the group, eavesdropping seemed to offer the next best thing. The screen was loose and the urge to sneak up on them proved overwhelming. Beneath my bare feet the dew soaked lawn felt foreign and exotic licking between my toes. I crept to the corner of the house and peered down onto the street below. The rendezvous was empty and the voices gone. Then, from the back of our garage, there was a muffled sound like someone stumbling followed by the hiss of hushing as others cautioned for silence. Terrified, I crouched near the stoop where my mother stood to hang out the clothes. Four shadowy figures made their way over to near where I was hidden. Tom Dory was the only one I recognized. The others listened as he told them where the window was. He had obviously been there before and I was stunned to realize they were there to spy on my mother. Tom bragged about how much he had seen of her, ...