Takashi Komuro had become an orphan at a tender age, following a catastrophic plane crash that claimed his parents' lives when he was merely six years old.
The young man lay sprawled in his room, resigned to spending the remainder of the day in bed with nothing but a magazine featuring mature women clutched in his hands.
Takashi wore only a white shirt and a pair of blue boxers pushed down around his thighs. The late afternoon dragged on interminably as he flipped through the glossy pages, stroking his rigid cock to the sight of sultry, voluptuous women posing in lingerie across every spread.
"Almost there... fuck, almost!" Takashi grunted as he finally reached his climax.
"Ah... goddammit." He exhaled, spent, and tossed the magazine carefully onto the bed before grabbing a wad of toilet paper from beside his mattress to wipe down his slick member and soiled hand.
"Here I go again with this shit. Fucking hell, if only that manager weren't a stacked, curvy older woman..."
Komuro's face flushed crimson just recalling the supermarket manager he'd worked for—a woman who always dressed like a consummate business professional, tailored suits hugging every generous contour.
Though her ample tits were concealed beneath three layers of fabric, Takashi's imagination ran wild every time he glimpsed her striking face and the lush curves she'd developed over the years.
Straight men harbor varied tastes when it comes to a woman's allure. Some chase after enormous breasts, others fixate on well-defined hips, and still others prefer younger girls with prominent chests and or asses.
Takashi, however, craved them... mature. Women no older than forty but firmly past twenty-five, the so-called MILFS.
For reasons he couldn't fathom, he'd cultivated an insatiable lust for older women—single, married, mothers with children; it made no difference. Komuro found such women sexually irresistible.
He'd taken a job at a supermarket belonging to a small local chain, where he'd encountered a short-haired brunette who served as manager.
One night, when he'd been assigned the graveyard shift, they'd had an encounter in the restroom. She'd discovered him there, fist pumping his cock while moaning her name. The manager had returned unannounced to retrieve something she'd left behind.
Mortified, he'd been scolded as she demanded an explanation—why, of all people, did he use her for such a filthy act meant to be kept private at home? That demand for an explanation ended with his manager's lips wrapped around his shaft, and the night culminated in hours of fevered, sweaty passion between employee and superior.
"I lasted three months at that place. At least I got to fuck her the whole time." Takashi didn't say it like an achievement, nor did he feel it was one.
"If her husband hadn't caught us, she would've agreed to keep me as her lover." He rolled over on his bed, trying to shut his eyes and sleep the day away.
That hadn't been Komuro's first job, nor his second. He'd attempted to settle into other positions suitable for a student needing to fund his own education and existence.
Yet the same pattern kept repeating itself each time: he'd meet a woman who fit his particular obsession and end up buried deep inside her. It didn't matter if she was a coworker, his boss, a customer, or a supervisor. By now, Takashi had fucked around twenty-three women—twenty-four, counting the most recent manager he'd worked under.
Takashi had a problem: any mature woman he laid eyes on became the subject of his fantasies. All because a stunning woman belonging to a family friend—the same family that had taken him in after his parents' tragedy—had awakened his raw sexual appetite once he'd hit puberty.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell chimed. 'I'm not expecting any visitors.' Ding-dong! It rang again.
Takashi scrambled out of bed, washed his hands hastily, pulled on a pair of pants he had nearby, and went to see who was bothering him so late.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he grumbled at being disturbed at night. He swung the door open, only to be met with a staggering surprise.
"Huh? Yuriko-san?"
"Hello, Takashi-kun." The woman greeted him with a genuine, joy-filled smile gracing her beautiful face. She carried a small suitcase. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
His heart hammered a thousand beats per minute. Yuriko Takagi was the very reason Komuro had developed his unparalleled obsession with mature women.
She always dressed with elegance and class, gowns and outfits that elevated her beauty to breathtaking heights, cut low enough to offer a generous view of her sensual cleavage, hugging the swell of her hips, and revealing from the side the ripe, fleshy fullness of her heavy breasts.
"Yes, of course, come in, please," he stammered, delayed in his response.
The woman noted that despite living alone, Takashi kept his house clean and orderly. He accepted the compliment with a nod, though he had to ask, "Yuriko-san, why have you come to visit me so late?"
"Can't a mother visit her son at his home on the weekend? Besides~!!" she exclaimed with a smile on her face, placing her hands behind her back to create a brief air of mystery before revealing a small gift she had hidden.
"Ta-da~ Happy Birthday, Takashi-kun."
"Yuriko-san..." He hadn't expected this, least of all from this woman. With a trace of embarrassment, he accepted the gift.
"That's not all," she added, deepening the mystery.
After Takashi excused himself to change into more appropriate clothing for the unexpected visit, Yuriko led him to the dining room, where she revealed that, in addition to the gift, she had purchased a small cake for the two of them to share.
After placing a single candle atop it and offering her congratulations, they would both be able to savor the modest yet majestic-looking dessert.
"Happy Birthday, Takashi-kun. You're eighteen now; officially, you're an adult, my son," Takagi celebrated with a soft clap as the boy blew out the candle.
"Thank you for the gesture, Yuriko-san, even though my birthday was a week ago. But..." He paused, carefully considering his next words. "I appreciate it, but... I'm not your son, Yuriko-san. And you know I detest my birthday."
Moved by remorse at the sight of the boy's saddened face, she rose from her chair and embraced him, pressing her cleavage directly against Takashi's face.
"It's alright," she consoled his sorrow.
"I know you hate your birthday. Not every boy loses his parents in a plane crash on the day he was born. Although my husband adopted you out of the deep regard he held for your parents, I know we could never replace them, Takashi-kun. Besides, this country's government prevents…"
"Thank you," he said, devoid of spirit.
They ate every last crumb of the delicious dessert. Komuro opened the gift she had brought him to discover a small, thick-covered notebook—a blank journal. It sent a brief surge of excitement through him.
"This is..." emotion flickered in his voice.
"My daughter told me you like to write stories in your school notebooks, so she bought this for you so you could write your tales in a more professional manner."
"It's amazing. These kinds of notebooks are really expensive."
"Saya intended to give it to you on your actual birthday, but you stood her up," a hint of displeasure colored her tone regarding the dark-haired boy. "I don't blame you. You said it yourself—you hate that specific day. That's why I came a week later."
"I see. I'll apologize to her when I get back to school," Takashi commented, feeling genuine remorse for his actions that day.
Saya had invited him on a date for his birthday, disregarding the psychological pain tied to his parents' tragedy. She had wanted him to know he wasn't alone, but Takashi had resigned himself to never celebrating that day.
"You know, my daughter holds you in very high regard," she remarked, causing a mix of empathy and irritation within him. "I'll stay with you this weekend. Even though you're finally a legal adult, that doesn't mean a true adult can't look after you anymore," Yuriko said, now seated with him on the living room sofa where they watched a movie the boy had stored away in his room.
"Alright. The guest room is always ready," Takashi stated without issue.
"You know, that gift was only from Saya. I didn't actually bring you anything myself," Yuriko confessed.
"I feel bad about that, so you can ask me for absolutely anything you want. If you want, I can take you somewhere special tomorrow, just the two of us. Or I can buy you something—no problem at all. Or if you prefer, I could give you a massage, or even help you with your bath..." she trailed off, offering these things without any sense of obligation or ulterior motive.
It was then that Takashi realized this was the opportunity he had been desperately craving.
"Anything," he stated flatly, betraying no eagerness to exploit Yuriko's generous offer. "In that case... I'd like..."