Forbidden Love

by Lizzie Boudoir 4 years ago in taboo / erotic

Forbidden Love tells the tale of a 30 something woman and the love of a younger man.

Ethan and I were refugees when we first met in his father's apartment in New York City. He was 19 and I was 32. He was feeling banished from a mother and stepfather who could not make time for him because they were to busy raising the three young children they had together. For me, I felt banished from my home in Connecticut where I could no longer communicate with my husband of six years.

Ethan didn't bring much over with him when he moved in with his father. Just a few pairs of jeans, worn out shirts and an old Gameboy with his favorite game, Star Wars. The rest of his possessions was left behind in his poster covered bedroom in his mother's large red-brick colonial house in the Hamptons. It was as if he was trying to leave memories behind by leaving his possessions behind. The memories of his old high school friends, the years of awkward puberty, and memories of his 16 year old ex girlfriend who never went further with him than dry-humping.

The only thing I brought with me was my two-year-old daughter who clutched her pink worn out cotton teddy bear that my husband had bought her during one of his visitation rights back at our old family home. I had left behind memories too. I left behind memories of a dying relationship, and of family dinners where nobody talked except for my daughter who happily babbled away from her high chair. My husband and I had stopped talking and were only in the same room when friends or family was around in order to spare ourselves from admitting we were no longer the happy couple we were on our wedding day. We never spoke of it, even when I took our daughter and moved to New York City. It was as if the idea of our dying relationship was too painful to even look at.

We lay there afterwards and started talking about age. Andrew was 45 and told me that experience came with age. As if to prove his point, he winked at me, turned on his radio and crawled down between my thighs and started giving me head. He took it slow and easy, taking his time as Kelly Rowland's song, Kisses Down Low, played softly in the background. He seemed to enjoy my orgasm as much as I did.

After I met Andrew's son, we shared a fantasy that one day I would be the one to take his son's virginity and introduce him to all the moves that Andrew had shown me. We planned to wait until he started college so that way he could start his next chapter as a man. Andrew told his son this plan once while they were out at a baseball game at Fenway and Ethan had been excited at the thought. He told the friends that he still kept in touch with that an older woman, his father's friend, was going to fuck him. But it never happened. Ethan showed no interest in going to college and I was kept busy with caring for my daughter, working nights as a bartender and perpetuating fantasies that one day my life would change. When I was sexually frustrated I found my way up to Andrew's apartment and into his room, trying to ignore Ethan's closed door.

Photo by Viva

One night when I had satisfied my sexual cravings with Andrew, we lay in bed together and he told me that he was worried about Ethan.

"He seems to be frustrated at everything. He is moody and stays in his room the majority of the time. I know he is having troubles with his mother and step-father but he can't keep this all bottled inside. Something needs to change."

Not long after that night, Ethan had sex for the first time with a drunk girl at a party. She let him fuck her in her parent's bedroom while the party raged on downstairs. The sounds of drunken laughter and rambunctious teenagers drifted up to the room while Ethan clumsily had sex with the girl who just laid there, stiff and uncertain, half expecting someone to burst in through the door. While it wasn't a magical first experience, at least he didn't have to make up stories for his friends anymore.

When Ethan was in high school, he used to shoot up during lunch period with his friends and deal molly in the hallways to all the rich kids living in the Hamptons. While he no longer sells drugs, he was still heavily addicted to getting high by any means possible. Drugs seemed to secure him and they had enabled him to tolerate his changing body and mind. They helped him through the difficulties of communication with his stepfather and it made it okay for him to be alone and shut out what he didn't want to deal with. He wanted to redefine the universe his mother and father had given him and he wanted to do big things. Drugs were his allies and his master, both entangling in his veins with each plunge of the needle. I wasn't aware that just getting with him would be just as addicting.

On a cold winter evening, I had found myself over at Andrew's apartment with my daughter. We had spent the day Christmas shopping and my daughter had insisted on having hot chocolate with Andrew when we were finished. We had just finished our steaming mugs of hot cocoa when Ethan arrived home from being out with friends at an ice skating rink. Our eyes met and a slow blush moved up his neck and inflamed his cheeks. He muttered a quick hello and headed out to the living room. The sound of the television caught my daughter's attention and she hurried out to go watch. I remained in the kitchen for a while longer talking to Andrew then made my way to the living room with the intentions of taking my daughter home.

My child was sprawled on the couch, cheeks flushed from a day of excitement, a thin brown line of dried cocoa crusted her upper lip and her fingers were curled tightly around her teddy bear. Andrew was sitting on the other couch, his eyes fixed on whatever movie he was watching. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch, a signal that I had come to find out meant that he was high and actually twitching. There was an innocence about him despite his drug abuse. His awkwardness was apparent, even when he was motionless. His blue eyes were warm though, large and liquid like, as if the entire ocean came together and formed two perfect spheres. I noticed he had started to grow a beard and the fuzz on his cheeks excited me in a way that I couldn't explain.

I walked back into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around Andrew's shoulders in order to lean in and I whispered seductively while licking my lip.

"Is it okay if I fuck Ethan tonight?"

Photo by Viva

It had been both of our ideas a long time ago and I wondered if Andrew had ever really meant for me to sleep with son. He chuckled and unwound himself from my arms and walked into the living room. He scooped up my sleeping daughter and made his way out of the apartment, on route for my own. I went back out to where Ethan was still tapping his fingers against the couch and sat down next to him. I took his hand in his and we started to play handsies. I discovered his fingers were very long, his palms soft, all his nerve endings at the surface, open and curious. He wouldn't look at me. I stood up in front of him and slipped out of my leggings and baggy sweater.

He started to blush again and tried to keep his eyes on the television. It didn't seem to occur to him that I actually wanted to be with him and didn't want to start undressing and making a fool out of himself. I straddled his lap and started kissing his neck and up to the peach fuzz of his beard. He was still at first, as if unsure what to do. Then his hands found their way up my back and to my face, pulling me close to him to kiss me deeply and clumsily. His hands fumbled on the clasp of my bra as I ran my fingers over his smooth shoulders and down his arms over the bruises left by years of using needles, over his bony wrists and sharp knuckles. My fingers then grazed teasingly over his growing bulge that was tucked tightly underneath cotton boxer briefs.

My body and mouth seemed to fill the void he had for contact, a fix for his years of feeling alone, desperately trying to get high in order to avoid the reality of life. I was no stranger to trying to fill this void in my own life, sucking Andrew's cock and sending dirty text messages to any man that expressed even the slightest interest in getting with me.

I felt his long hair drift across my stomach as he kissed a perfect line downwards from my belly button to my lips. I pulled him back towards me and we kissed deeply, his tongue forcefully probing my mouth as his hands clutched at my breasts. My own hands traced patterns on his back down to his plump ass and over to his eagerly awaiting penis. It throbbed from beneath a small delicate clump of black curls. It was perfect: big, hard and hardly ever used. Our first love making session went on for hours as if one night could make up for all those months of thinking about it. What he lacked in experience he made up for in sheer enthusiasm and energy.

When he finally relented, I was sore and our bodies were both sticky from sweat and cum. He got up and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water and a snort of coke. When he came back to me I saw that he was riding high on bliss and the drugs in his system. We cuddled together in his bed that night, his twitching hands exploring different parts of my body until he fell asleep, his eyelids fluttering as the drugs invaded his dreams. I held onto him and we slept.

After the first night with Ethan, I began to spend most of my time with him. We would go out to Times Square and just sit for hours, people watching and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes or we would take my daughter to Central Park and let her roam the playground while we sat on a nearby bench. Yet his youth and spontaneity made me feel old and heavy with the burdens of my failed marriage and single motherhood.

"I love to watch you" I said, "You're just you. You don't try to be anyone else. You just do what you want to when you want to."

"Don't tell me that. I might start having some ideas about who I am and stop being myself."

For a few weeks we were happy.the only downside was that he didn't have any idea on how to sexually please a woman. We fucked with quick movements and hurried enthusiasm. At first, this was difficult to get used to. I had to forego the patterns that I had developed with my husband for so many years, the calm and sensual times I spent with Andrew, or even the quickies with strangers after last call. But eventually, Ethan was able to slow down and start to appreciate what we were doing and was taking direction on how to do certain things to me, like giving me oral sex. When Ethan and I were apart, I would recreate our sexual scenes in my head. Looking out a bus window or from the balcony of my porch, I would find myself lost in the erotic memories of him touching me.

One afternoon, while I was coloring with my daughter at our kitchen table, Ethan went to visit a 19 year old model he had become interested in before we started sleeping together. I felt my stomach knot when he told me where he was going but I didn't tell him not to go. I wanted him to think I was open and not someone who would be clingy. I wanted him to view me as a sophisticated woman and not a love sick puppy. Anyways, I didn't want to take that kind of responsibility for him. He was just a fling, or was he?

Later, Andrew gave me a call that Ethan had come home over an hour ago and that he was upset that the girl he liked wouldn't even let him kiss her. When I went up to Andrew's apartment that night to check in on Ethan, I found him shooting up in the bathroom. I could see from his face that he was feeling gawky and rejected. His blue eyes were glazed over but I could see the pain shining through.

"You still have me" I said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

He hugged me hard and for that moment, his fear of being rejected slipped away. I pulled him by the hand to his room and he knelt down beside the bed and started to eat me out. Although I enjoyed the way his tongue probed and licked, he wasn't as patient or as refined with his skills as Andrew, but he was getting there.

I had thought our relationship would die a natural death when I left New York City for California. Yet no matter how hard I tried to explain to myself that I couldn't possibly love a boy this young, I was beginning to build up fortifications to protect what we had and prolong it. Ethan's friends treated our relationship as a joke, every young man's fantasy. It was no longer under my control, our relationship had taken a course and life of its own. It was a love affair with all the heat and anxiety that I had once felt when I first met my husband.

Every young woman became a target for my paranoia, as if tight muscles and high perky breasts were enough to woo Ethan away from me. I watched him talk to young women and caught myself wondering, Does he want her? I thought about Ethan's old high-school girlfriends- how they looked, how they were with him in bed. I watched a group of girls playing volleyball in the school yard one day when I was pushing my daughter on the swings. High school seemed to be the perfect time for the human physique. So full of energy that neither long hours spent addicted to texting nor their binge drinking could soil their bodies.

"Someday you'll realize that you can get other women and you'll leave me", I said one morning as we showered together.

"I may realize that I can get other women but I won't want other women."

"I wouldn't want to stay with you because you don't want to hurt my feelings. I know my body shows that I have a kid," I said as I motioned at my big breasts and my lack of hard stomach, "This C-section scar and my droopy tits."

"I love your tits", Ethan swore. As if to prove this love, he grabbed them softly and started to massage them as he kissed my neck.

Photo by Viva

But my paranoia was never ending it seemed. I was becoming more tolerant of younger women but then I realized that Ethan's drug problem was becoming a real issue. Mushrooms, pills and cocaine were only some of his vices but heroin was his favorite and it was my biggest paranoia now. I walked into my apartment one day after working a day shift at the bar to find my daughter sitting alone in the living room playing with her Barbies. I scooped her up and hugged her to my chest and walked around the apartment until I found Ethan, face down on the bed, his sleeve rolled up and a fresh bruise littering his pale skin. That night we talked.

"You need to stop"

"What will you do if I don't?"

"I don't know."

"I'll slow down. I'll do less and less everyday. I promise."

I stayed up with him that night and I made love to calm his itchy, restless body. At first the heroin held on, then slowly, slowly, it left him, leaving Ethan alone with me. I felt bound by the relationship, responsible for what he had promised to give up. Yet it was difficult to comprehend that someone was willing to make such a great change for me. I puzzled over this thought until I allowed myself to be succumbed to sleep, my arms finding Ethan in the dark and wrapping my arms protectively around him, I slept.

Two months passed and it came for me to move to California and pursue what the west coast had to offer me. I had finalized my divorce papers with my husband, gained full custody of my daughter and had our bags packed and waiting by the door. My relationship with Ethan had grown by leaps and bounds from the first night that I fucked a nervous and awkward boy, to the nights of sensational love making with a mature 20 year old. We were no longer refugees looking for an escape because we had found salvation in each other. He had been clean for over a month and he was enjoying reality for the first time. But I wrestled with myself, wondering if this relationship could ever work. I was a divorced mother in love with a boy not even old enough to drink legally. I wondered what people would think about us as we walked down the sidewalk with my daughter between us. Could I handle the questions and the taboo nature of our love? I thought about it for a long time but then I realized, fuck it. I deserve happiness and my happiness was Ethan. When I left for California, I took Ethan with me and we never looked back.

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Lizzie Boudoir

Thrice married, in love once, overly romantic, and hypersexual.

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