Watching 1 – Summers Watch

One aspect of my childhood that I hold dear are fond memories I have of watching my parents have sex. This was back in the early 80s in suburban London. My mum has always been averse to the darkness or feeling closed in, consequently she was insistent on keeping doors open and lights on, even the sitting room doors were glass panneled. Mum was and still is a compact 5ft lady with ample breasts and bleached blond hair held up with copious quantities of hair spray. Dad at the time was about 5ft10, with growing middle aged spread and thick but greying hair.

My watching began from the when I was 10 in the summer of 79. I was sleeping fitfully due to the all too rare heat, when I was woken up by a noise from my parent s room, across the landing. As always the door was open. I had already removed my pyjamas in a bid for coolness, and with the grogginess of sleep dissipating with fascinated realization I crept to stand in the shadows of landing where I could clearly see my parents. This first sight of them having sex has seared itself upon my mind as indelibly as any accident or other dramatic event.

I could see them naked, side on, in the early morning light. Mum was on her back, her feet by the pillows her legs entwined with dad s who had his back to the headboard, hands gripping mums legs, pulling her to him. Their loins were tightly together each thrust, shaking mums breasts. She moaned with growing volume and rapidity as dad called out "Come on Mother!" I had never before realized what was going on when I heard those noises, now with rapt attention, I knew their reason. As if on instinct I found myself toying with my genitals.

Their rhythmic grinding continued till a crescendo of grunts and moans, brought the union to a panting end. Both, though horizontal seemed to collapse to the bed, as they disentangled, dads softening member drew a sticky rivulet from mum s thick bush that dropped to the crumpled sheets. As mum now turned to cuddle up to dad s ample middle aged form, I snapped out of my entrancement and fearing discovery bid a soft footed retreat to my room.

Though I lay there listening for any continuation of the fun, eventually bringing my self to a dry surge, sleep nonetheless overtook me. When later I woke, I knew that my perception of my parents would never be the same again. In the years that followed watching my parents was to become a largely undisguised, but when realized by my parents, un – discouraged passion.

So that summer of first awareness rolled on my awareness of sexuality and the desire to see more grew with barely understood rapidity. Whenever I could, I would spy on my parents, the first cues being my mums moans or the soft laughter of them warming up when the chance of a vantage point presented it self I would eagerly sneak up, still nervous of a floor boards till I was able to move to the their door stepping over the audible joints beneath the carpet to do so naked added to the thrill.