I started out by rubbing my cock over the slick pages. I mean that I would hold my hard cock in my hand and slide it over the picture until I was read... to cum. I was very afraid of getting any cum on the pages of my daddie's porno magazines so I would always push it away when I felt like cumming. I was and still am not a fan of hair around genitals. I love the bare and smooth cocks and pussies of the younger set, if you know what I mean.Anyway I was determined to show my mom how big my hard boy. We arranged all kinds of signals so one of us would know if the other was going to let a guy get lucky.We sat at the bar for most of the night alone. The only difference between what we did that night was that instead of making the drinks ourselves, the bartender made them for us and they cost us a hell of a lot more.Patti blamed it on the bar. She said we should have gone to a livelier place. I tried to remind her that there had been a lot of men there and I did see them hooking up with some. "That's more like it" she purrs.I plead for her to let me go, masturbate me, anything. "We can quit anytime you can assure me I won't ever be left wanting.". I just swallow. She take my silence as an agreement to continue this lesson. Removing the back pillow, she rolls me back on my back and climbs on top for some intense kissing. She focuses on my mouth and nipples and alternates between them often. I moan with pleasure. She often teasing with me with her hair or bust. Brushing both over. ”“Why don’t you try it… it really does make you feel free,” Sarah said as she crunched some popcorn.“No way,” Steve exclaimed, “I’m not taking my clothes off!”“Why, are you chicken,” Sarah asked laughing.“No, I’m not chicken,” the teen boy answered indignantly.Sarah giggled, and in a mock baby voice said, “What’s wong wittle bwover, is your wittle dickie hard?”Now Steve’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment as he said, “I’m not your ‘wittle’ brother… and I don’t have a ‘WITTLE’ dickie,.