For quite some time, Mom had been the vehicle to appeal to my masturbatory urges. They were her freshly used panties that I sniffed. They were her bras that I fondled in her undies drawer. It was her naked body that I watched from the darkness of my bedroom, those lovely curves, that shiny wet pussy. It was her vibrator that I sometimes sucked on when I was feeling kinky.Yet through all this, Mom was just a surrogate, a sexy representative of the female of the species. She could just as well have been a plastic mannequin in a storefront window, a picture of a bra model in an advertisement in the Sunday papers, a girl walking into my classroom after I was seated, an ugly old nun with just the barest hint of tit pressing against her prim blouse. And of course one of those big busted models in a girlie magazine, the ones under my bed with dried cum sticking the pages together.And suddenly Mom became Mom, the actual person I visualized as my right hand performed it's soliloquy in the. I carefully walked around the front of my vehicle and examined the ground.I could see where he had crawled over the gutter and disturbed the dry leaf matter. I stepped carefully and tracked his movement back to the left side of the lorry. I took a couple of stills as I moved around. I looked back at my light post and determined that while I had been blinded, he had snuck around behind me.Being covered in matte black clothes, he had blended in with the shadows. The ringing in my ears and my own heartbeat had probably been enough for me to miss his movements if he had made any noise. Getting dirty hadn’t bothered him, and his actions just reinforced my belief that he was military trained.I walked back to him and looked at his face. He had pulled the balaclava up when he went to talk to me. Not a good sign of his intentions. I didn’t doubt for a minute that he would have raped me, and probably more if he could have. I didn’t believe for a second that he had any intention of letting me.
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