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IMy name is Teddy Carlson and I fucked my stepmother. Not just once in some momentary lapse of judgement. But again and again…and again. Now before you judge me, there’s a few things you need to understand. First, Dad and I never exactly got on like a house on fire. He was the CIO of a large hedge fund which meant that he wasn’t around much. He travelled to Europe regularly and commuted during the week to Manhattan for meetings.When he was home, he was either at the office working late or in his study with the door firmly shut. I tended not to see him except at breakfast or dinner, and then, the conversation was largely unbearable. Dad would inevitably turn to sport, our single subject of common interest. “Hey, Teddy, you know the last time the Yankees played the Cubs at Wrigley on an 101 degree day, Bernie Williams hit two homers?” I’d nod along, feigning interest, as he reeled off a series of even more mind-numbing stats. Finally, Mom would interject by trying to steer the conversation to art – her single subject of common interest with Dad.That was my best guess at how he’d landed her. Mom had been an aspiring art collector and Dad had introduced her to a lot of the prominent art dealers and artists on the East coast. Dad also came from good stock. His mother was a direct descendant of Teddy Roosevelt and his grandfather on his father’s side had been a Big Oil man. So Dad was a tedious, well-connected workaholic. But the other thing you need to understand is that Mom was a living wet dream. A former Guess model and Miller Lite girl, she was tall, curvy and gorgeous. At thirty-eight, she had somehow managed to remain ageless and maintained her killer body. She’s five-foot-nine with never-ending legs, generous breasts and full hips that scoop dramatically into her slim waist. People who say Barbie’s proportions are unrealistic obviously never met my stepmother. Her face is pretty too, with long eyelashes, sculpted cheekbones and big, blue eyes that tease and smile at the same time. Her long brown hair rests on her shoulders in thick, tousled layers like in one of those Pantene Pro-V commercials.One memory seared in to my brain from my early teenage kaçak iddaa years is of Mom parading around the house one evening in nothing but her heels and underwear. I was sitting on the couch in the living room watching TV when a flurry of long limbs and blow-dried hair burst in front of the screen.“Teddy-bear. Do you know where Silvia left the dry cleaning? I’m running late for dinner with the Blackwells and I can’t find my red cocktail dress.”Mom stood before me in matching off-white, La Perla bra and panties and Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Some subtle gold hoop earrings hung from her ears and a tiny bit of mascara on her eye lashes highlighted her sparkling, blue eyes. Aside from the missing dress, she was otherwise ready to go.“I think she left them hanging on the chair next to the other sofa,” I said, trying my best not to gape at Mom’s perfect body.Mom trotted across the room, her heels tocking on the hard wood floor. I watched her slim, sexy back as she lifted the dry cleaning onto the sofa and then bent over to sort through the garments. My eyes followed her long mane of brown hair down to her heart-shaped ass. Her panties stretched tightly across each cheek as she bent further down.“Found it!” She cried, springing back upright, causing her 35Cs to bounce up and down from the sudden motion. They were thrusting proudly off her ribcage and bulging out over the fabric of the balconette bra like two titanic eggs. Her supple skin pushed out over the silk edges. And then she was gone as quickly as she had arrived, her long legs striding back down the hallway.So Mom was incredibly, painfully hot. And I wasn’t the only person to think so. From as early as I can remember, Mom commanded the attention of men. I’d watch with amusement as their jaws dropped and they went goggle-eyed at the sight of her swaying hips and never-ending legs. When I was younger, she would pick me up from the front gate of school in her Range Rover in full hair and make-up, fresh from a photo shoot. As she stepped out of the car to greet me, the Dads on pick-up duty couldn’t help but stare at Mom’s full breasts and perfect ass. The school teachers and other Moms would kaçak bahis look on with furrowed brows and clenched teeth.It was around about that time I realized Mom wasn’t your average Connecticut Mom. And that was saying something because there was no shortage of hot Moms in Greenwich. We lived in a neighborhood of Tudor-style houses and sprawling mansions owned by hedge fund managers, property developers and Connecticut bluebloods. Many touted their own trophy wife. But Mom was different. Aside from being beautiful, she had a rebel flair and an innate sensuality about her. She was famous around town for having kicked one guy in the groin after he cut her off in traffic and stole her car park outside Whole Foods. Another time, we were paying for gas at the service station when the man serving us couldn’t stop gawking at her cleavage. “Careful Ed,” she said reading his name tag with a bemused smirk on her face, “you’ll sprain your eyes”. He turned bright red and undercharged us by accident.But I know what you’re thinking. ‘That’s it? You slept with your stepmom because she’s hot and you didn’t get on with your Dad?’Well, kind of. But if she was your stepmom, you would have tried to bang her too. And if you think that’s bad, I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. Trust me, I don’t try and fool myself. I’m under no illusions. What happened that summer’s afternoon will stay with me for the rest of my days.But, there is one other thing I haven’t mentioned. The spectacular, earth-shattering sex. Mom fucked me back every bit as hard as I fucked her and, boy, did we have a good time. III can’t pinpoint an exact moment when the attraction between me and Mom became mutual. As I think back on it, it was more of a series of episodes, each one building on the last.It was 1997 and Connecticut was experiencing its hottest June in fifty years. I was back home for summer after having just completed my second year at college. I’d spent the year playing wing for my college water polo team, the UCLA Bruins, and I was determined to spend next season playing center forward. For those of you who don’t know water polo, it’s basically the equivalent of QB1 in football. illegal bahis Coach’s intense training program meant that I’d already beefed up a lot since leaving school, but I’d been told I needed to get bigger still. So I signed up to an even more stringent diet and strength program for the summer. I worked out twice a day, mixing it up between weights and cardio. Fortunately, there was a premium gym in our neighborhood and plenty of space in our sunny back yard for drills. I could use our pool for laps too. It’s 25 yards and boasts some of the best views in Connecticut.Not surprisingly, Mom got right behind my decision to beef up and eat more healthily. She had always lived a healthy lifestyle herself. She went to the gym or did pilates each day to maintain her figure. She put me on a detox program and made sure our double-door fridge was always stocked full of healthy sources of protein. She even whipped me up a green smoothie each morning and brought it into my room if I slept-in late.So Mom became my number one cheerleader and nutritionist. And I certainly wasn’t complaining. Often, I’d be doing drills on the neatly trimmed stretch of lawn next to the pool while Mom egged me on from her sun lounger. Sometimes she’d just look up at me and smile, lift an eyebrow over her sunglasses and then tilt her head back down to her book. During my breaks, I’d steal a look at her firm breasts bulging out of her French bikini or her tanned legs stretching out across her lounge chair.None of this was particularly unusual. Mom and I had always had a pretty good relationship. There was never any wicked stepmom dynamic like you see in the movies. Sure – Mom was fifteen years younger than Dad and a trophy wife of sorts – but she genuinely cared for me. She’d never had any kids of her own as Dad didn’t want any more.But it felt like her affections started to take on a new character after we started going to the gym together. We had a family membership at Elixr, a three story-fitness center downtown. Mom and I started sharing rides given we were both going most days of the week. We had each set a goal to reach by the end of summer. Mine was to put on an extra ten pounds of muscle while Mom decided she was going to regain her old measurements from her modelling days; a ridiculous 35-24-34. If you’re not sure what that looks like, picture Denise Richard-like curves.
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