Again, my apologies, I know some of you want me to get to the point but I think the slower route is usually the more scenic one.
I made sure to get home later than usual that night. When I came in the house was dark save for the living room. Mom was watching TV, drinking a bottle of beer. That was odd for her she only drank socially as far as I had seen. We talked a little, said goodnight, and I went to bed.
I remembered throwing my dirty clothes in a heap in front of my bathroom door in my rush to get out of the house. When I went to my bathroom to brush my teeth I noticed that the soiled shirt I had been wearing had been partially pulled out of the pile so that the telltale stain was completely visible. I did my own laundry and Mom always respected a closed door so I had no reason to think that she had come in to pick up dirty clothes. She wouldn’t have done that anyway. But, it looked too deliberate to be coincidental. I didn’t know what to think about it but it was late and I was tired.
She slept in that morning which was fine by me. The question of the shirt was still looming overhead, that’s why I made it a priority to do laundry right away; getting rid of the evidence for all the good it may have done me at that point. I still wondered about it the whole day.
When I got back from work that day she appeared to be her usual self. She said nothing about the shirt. I couldn’t tell if anything was amiss so I let it be. Eventually, I convinced myself that I had left the shirt like that and believed that to be the case for a while.
The next several months went by without incident then strange things started to happen. For instance, I’d come back from work or classes and my laptop had been opened or moved. That doesn’t sound like much, I know, but when you keep one thing in one place day after day you do notice if it’s been moved. Besides, taken in tandem with other signs that someone was snooping, I felt sure that my suspicions about my computer were confirmed. Not that Mom or anyone would have gotten anything off of it. I always deleted my browsing history.
There were other signs too; she’d make a fuss about doing my laundry for me-an excuse to go through my clothes or get into my room, I’d catch her peeking from time to time at my phone whenever I had it out, leading questions about where I was going for the night, who I was going with, it looked like my bathroom drawers had been gone through a couple of times, etc., etc.
There were also very obvious changes in her behavior. Her style of dress changed. Around the house, Mom was always a t-shirt and jeans girl. She liked to be fashionable and comfortable. Her clothes became a little more fitted, snug, not revealing per se but more fetching. I seemed to be seeing more of her underwear. Not on her, obviously, but around the house. Some of her underthings had to be washed by hand and I would see them, air drying on hangers, in the basement laundry room; that wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she kept those kinds of things in her bathroom. I mentioned that she has to specially order her bras. Sometimes, I’d come home and on the kitchen table there would be an open package with her new bra or bras half pulled out. I also noticed that her underwear was getting to be more ornate, sheer, and much more titillating.
It may seem to you that she was dropping some pretty obvious hints. I’ll visit her side of this time later but for now I want you to know that I didn’t believe any of her new behavior had anything to do with me. I’d caught snippets of conversation between her and her girlfriends that she was on the dating; when I heard that, believe it or not, I was genuinely happy for her. Even though it was weird to think of her as being someone who would date-she was my mom-I was glad for her. That had become all the explanation I needed. As far as I knew then there hadn’t been a guy in her life since that night with my father. So I was able to attribute some of these changes to her social life.
Still there were other events that should have been a clue to me that her regard for me had changed. Some of them were subtle and some were not so subtle. But most of the time I could rationalize or invent a reason why my suspicions were completely wrong. For instance, sometimes, very late at night, I’d hear an audible humming sound coming from her room. The idea that she masturbated wasn’t strange to me; that she would masturbate with a vibrator (I found out later that it was a Sybian) without bothering to be as discreet wasn’t like her though. Those nights I would stare at my bedroom ceiling and take care of myself. In the morning I’d tell myself, “Hey, she’s human too, she has needs like the rest of us.” And that was very true, she may be Mom but she’s also a woman, right? I always found a way to explain these things away.
But some of those things couldn’t be explained at all as being within the scope of her normal behavior or even being just normal. Two in particular stand out.
I had been in the habit of keeping sketchbooks for years. Some were for what I considered serious work, some were for doodles, some were more or less workbooks where I hashed out new techniques, and a few were private ones. Like I said, Mom had always until recently at that time, respected my privacy. I never felt the need to hide anything and really, who hides a sketchbook? In those private sketchbooks I’d draw her or women like her, rudimentary erotic comics featuring her or incest related scenarios with characters of my own creation; my own Tijuana bibles. I was very influenced by artists like Hanz Kovaqc, Frank Thorne, Robert Crumb, Milo Manara, several hentai artists and others. I was drawn to their technique and to their stories. I liked dirty comics, okay? I was ashamed about it but at the same time I figured that it was no more perverse than confiding those same impulses into the pages of a written journal.
Anyway, one day I had come home from running some errands and Mom told me that a lot of mail had come for me and she had put it in my room. I didn’t think anything of it, sometimes she did that. When I went to my bedroom all of my mail was in a neat stack at the foot of my bed while, in the center of my bed was my current private sketchbook. There was no way it had been left by me; no way. Even the way it was placed was done to draw attention to the fact that it wasn’t there by accident. When I saw it I felt like the bottom of my stomach hadn’t just dropped out, it had crashed through the floor and was pulling all of my innards along with it. After I put it away, I went downstairs expecting to walk into a talk. Instead, Mom was in the kitchen getting dinner together. She asked if I got the mail. I said I had. She nodded and held my eye with hers for a little longer than was normal. Mom didn’t say anything at all. When it was obvious I wasn’t going to say anything she smiled sweetly, put her hand on my cheek and squeezed my shoulder before caring on like nothing was out of the ordinary. I didn’t know what to make of it. Again, there was the abundance of evidence but nothing direct enough to give me the requisite bravery to take the leap.
The other incident concerned Livia. Mom had never broached the subject even though I was pretty sure she had a good guess about what had happened between us. It was autumn and she was going to have a kind of pre-holiday open house for her friends and her co-workers. What happened wasn’t that involved. When you think about it though, what happens when you step on a landmine isn’t that involved either. I was helping her prepare again. My attendance was, as always, optional. We were conversing naturally; “Are you making those bacon-things?” “Could you bring folding table in from the garage?”
Nothing was out of the ordinary. I asked her when the people were going to start showing up. She told me and then she said, “Livia said she and Foster will be here around 3.” Mom was cutting up some vegetables for a relish tray. “She said that they would be arriving together, they’re both bringing something so I don’t think she’ll be alone.” And just like that I knew that she knew.
“Oh,” I said. I looked at her to see if she would say anything else. The only thing she did was look up from the vegetables with this small smile on her face.
“Oh,” she repeated, with her eyebrows raised. She came around the counter then and gave me a hug. But it wasn’t any of her usual hugs. We’re the same height when she’s in heels; actually she’s just a bit taller in heels. Anyway, she didn’t say anything at first she put one arm around my shoulder and put her hand on the back of my head. The other arm snaked around my midsection and pulled her body against mine. She had never been this intimate with me before. I didn’t know how to react-I can see some people reading this doing a face palm as I write this. I put my arms around her loosely and she swayed us from side to side. She’s a sturdy woman so it wasn’t hard for her to rock us both. I knew her breasts were big but feeling them against me added another dimension to the knowledge. I felt her smile against the side of my cheek. Mom didn’t say anything; soon she let go.
She patted my arm and said, “Stay away from that one.” She wasn’t angry about it and her tone was a little serious; more like she was giving me general advice than anything else. After I helped her set up I left.
There were a lot of reasons why I didn’t act on any of these signs. For one, even though they would’ve been obvious to an outside observer they weren’t necessarily obvious to me. And secondly, I loved her. I knew I wasn’t in love with her then or now but I definitely loved and continue to love her. We were and still are very close. Besides being mother and son we were friends, we talked to each other, we shared things, and we did things together. I was afraid of destroying that. It’s not that I thought she would have been disgusted by my sexual interest in her but I knew that it would have fundamentally changed the dynamic of our relationship and our friendship. It was too much to risk. At any rate, I thought the whole thing would kind of end. I was moving out soon, going to another school. I thought with some distance these feelings would eventually run their course.
This is where it finally happens. I owe it all to a family of bears…..seriously.
I lived apart from her for about a year and a half. We kept in touch. We stayed close. Eventually she wanted to move again and I moved back to help her. She bought a fixer-upper, like she normally did. It was mutually advantageous. She didn’t have to hire help. I was transferring to another college in the area anyway. I was glad to be back. She was glad to have me back.
We were living on the west coast, I think I mentioned that. The new place was in the Pacific Northwest and our property was located on a far flung cull de sac in a smallish, heavily forested neighborhood. It was pretty remote. Mom loves nature as long as it’s on the other side of the window. The perfect place for her is someplace where you couldn’t see the lights of the city but you could drive to town in less than 30 minutes. In that sense she had struck gold. The house itself was on the southernmost edge of a national forest.
We had been living there for about three months. Most of the big repairs had been taken care of. We were down to mostly cosmetic repairs with some major stuff left. When we first moved in there had been a circular sent around by the local Fish and Wildlife department warning newcomers to the area about what to do if they encountered some of the local wildlife; moose, mountain lions, wolves, and bears. She worried about it at first but eventually we both forgot all about it.
The backyard opened literally to a forest. Mom had spoken about wanting to get it fenced in, especially after she saw the circular but she had grown used to looking out the big kitchen window and seeing it, being able to open the big sliding glass patio doors and walk into the woods beyond. She loved it. She hated the patio doors though. We both did. They were flimsy. They didn’t close well. They were drafty. A well placed kick could knock them off their tracks. They were on the list of repairs. They became a priority pretty soon.
One of the things that we had been warned about by our neighbors and the circular was storing trash properly; especially food waste or anything that had been used as a food container. We were really busy with the renovations though and we began to let it slide. It was easier to just open those crappy patio doors since they were so close to the kitchen and put the trash into the trash can than walk our trash all the way down the drive to put it in the critter safe waste barrel.
Anyway, one night, Mom shook me awake. It was pitch black. There’s no dark like country dark. I could barely see her.
“There’s something outside,” she said.
“There’s something outside,” she said again more urgently.
Mom’s not afraid of people at all. When it comes to animals she isn’t as formidable. My first thought was raccoons, possums, that sort of thing. I tried to tell her that but she pulled me out of the bed by my arm. She led me to the kitchen and froze right in front of it. I was glad that the lights were out because I could see clearly through the big kitchen window and the patio doors. Three bears, a mother and two cubs were snuffling around the trash cans. While we watched they knocked them over and began to root around in the contents. We had been told that bears were making a comeback in the area. We both knew about how protective mother bears could be. What really scared Mom and me when I noticed it was that the patio doors had been left open. The only thing between the kitchen and the bears was the cheapest imaginable wire screen in a flimsy patio door.
The kitchen was clean, it was always clean but I guess the bear smelled the food underneath the smells of Clorox and Lysol. The big bear, I’m sure it was the mother, started to paw at the screen. It bowed inward and then we heard it pop out of the track. The only thing I could think to do was flip on the light and start yelling. I grabbed two pots from the hanging rack above the kitchen island and started to bang them together, yelling. It worked. They all shot away into the dark.
We both looked at one another for a moment and then I broke into nervous laughter. Mom kept saying “Jesus Christ,” over and over again.
We both cleaned up the trash that they had gotten into. I took it into the garage for the night while Mom called around to find out who was responsible for acts of bear, I guess. She gave up, eventually, and said she’d take care of it in the morning. I closed and locked the glass patio doors. For a while we both sat at the kitchen table staring out at the forest in the backyard.
She asked me to get her pack. Mom smoked at times; very, very, occasionally though. Normally right after a move or when she was really busy. “Takes the edge off the tough ones,” she’d say. Her method of keeping herself from getting addicted to them was by giving the pack to me to hold for her. She knew I wouldn’t smoke and I never did. She had shown me pictures of diseased lungs, cancer patients, that kind of thing to scare me away from them. She smoked but she wasn’t a smoker. It would take her a week or a week and a half to clear a pack.
I got them and she lit up right there in the kitchen. I turned on the exhaust hood over the stove to take out the smoke. That said a lot about how unsettled she was at the moment. When she did smoke she never did it in the house or her car. I let her puff away. I was more worried about the patio doors. It was starting to get windy and I could hear them rattling in their frames. I went outside again, she protested a little but we both agreed the bears were long gone for the night, and I dragged this large, long picnic table that was in the backyard to the patio doors. It was longer than the doors were wide. It was also heavier than I thought it was. I wanted to turn it on its side so it would lay with the table surface across the patio doors. That’s how I got hurt. When I was lifting it to turn it on its side and gently lean it across the doors I overextended something in my lower back. Mom could tell that I was hurt when I came back in.
“Turn around hun,” she said. I did and I felt her lift up the bottom of my t-shirt and press firmly into my lower back feeling around. She said that it was in spasm, nothing serious, and that she could see to it. At first, I thought she would just give me some Tylenol.
“Go take a hot shower,” she said. “Use mine it’s got the massage setting.” “I’ll use yours,” she said. She was looking at both of us. I was covered in spider-webs and nature crap from the picnic table in addition to the garbage juice that had gotten on both of us from cleaning up the trash that the bears had been going through.
When I got out of the shower I noticed that the bed clothes I had been wearing were gone. I wrapped myself in a towel and crept out of the bathroom. Mom had already finished her shower and was back in her room, sitting on the bed, with her laptop open. She looked a lot different. When she had woken me up she was an oversized bed-shirt and lounge pants, with her hair in the practical pony tail she usually wore around the house. Now her hair was down, it’s thick and wavy, very luxurious. She was wearing these plaid boy shorts with a white bed t-shirt. Her hips were packed into those boy shorts, I had never seen her show so much thigh to me before. Her bed-t had some kind of graphic on it I can’t remember it because her breasts were stretching it out so much that I couldn’t tell what it really was. Besides her nipples were hard adding another distraction, the fabric seemed to mold around them perfectly. What was really jarring was simply seeing her like that: her laptop open as she sat Indian style on her bed. It was like seeing her when she was in college herself. It was weird.
“Did the massage setting help?”
“Yeah, it did,” the sharp pain had subsided. As long as I held myself a certain way it wasn’t bad at all.
I noticed that her bedroom door was closed and I could tell that it was locked. She put the laptop aside.
“Good, c’mere hun,” she rubbed the other side of the bed she was on. “Go ahead and lie down, let me work on your back.”
I did. She left the room to get something saying she’d be right back. There hadn’t been any of the weird tension that had been between us that I talked about in Part 4 or Part 5. I felt completely relaxed. I still had the feelings that I had always had for her but I wasn’t as held by them as I once was. She was always comfortable around me, until that point I don’t think I was as comfortable around her. It’s hard to explain. The best way to describe it was that it was like I felt that if she wasn’t my mother I would never be this close to someone like her. I hope that makes sense.
Anyway, she came back with her pack of smokes and a saucer to tap into. I remember looking up at her as I was lying on my stomach and realizing that something was going to happen. I just knew. She had this look on her face when she took off her earrings, when I saw it I knew that she thought something was going to happen too. Why else did she lock the bedroom door again?
She got on the bed behind me.
“Okay, let’s see,” she pushed her thumbs right into the left of my lower back. I grunted. If you’ve messed up some muscles in your lower back you know the sensations when someone starts to work the kinks out. I just felt heat and pain at first. It wasn’t bad, just enough to make you grunt or grit your teeth. Eventually, the muscles un-knotted and she began rubbing my back in these long strokes from my shoulders all the way down to where the towel was wrapped around my mid-section. It was great. I felt like I was sinking into her bed. My breath was slower, deeper, and then I started to smell that rose oil she wore. My back broke out in gooseflesh instantly. I tensed up. And I got hard.
“Relax, breathe hun,” she said, “it’s all okay.” She leaned forward over me, I felt her grab my shoulders gently, felt each of her large breasts and hard nipples press into my back. She pulled the hair away from my ear and kissed me on the lobe. I heard her whisper the same thing she had said before and felt her teeth gently touch the same place she had kissed. The feeling of her breath on my ear, Jesus; I’ve felt it since but that first time has an irreplaceable clarity. She stayed there kneading my shoulders for a while and then laid her whole body on top of mine. I wasn’t tense anymore. The goose pimples were gone. The erection remained.
“Yeah,” I said. Words are so stupid sometimes, small clumsy things that don’t do anything but take up space. Her weight, her warmth, her smell, it’s beyond describing.
She changed her position so that she was straddling my right leg. She drove her knee up slowly between my thighs until she pushed up the towel that I had on up past my knees before she lay down beside me and propped herself up with her elbow. Her other hand undid the towel on my other side. When I turned to look at her she had on the same direct expression I knew. She was also smiling.
“Do you want to lie on your back?” We both knew doing that would leave me bare. I bit into my lower lip and turned over. It’s seems ridiculous that even now I was still afraid to pull the trigger. I was beside her naked, with all but one part of me completely horizontal. Mom snuggled in close and pulled my arm around her. She draped herself across my chest. I swear I could feel her heart beating through her nipples. She started to run her hand across my torso.
“Tell me what you want from me, hun. I know, but I want to hear it from you. I want to do this. I want to but I need you to say it.”
I closed my eyes and told her. I felt her nodding; she said okay, she had questions though. The discussion wasn’t lengthy. We said what needed saying. She asked if I was in love with her as opposed to just loving her. I told her I knew the difference and said I loved her deeply but wasn’t in love with her. She said “good, I’m glad you know the difference.” She made sure I understood that what might happen between us was just between us. I said I understood of course. We both agreed that the situation was unusual and that we had to be honest with each other. She also made sure that I understood that we weren’t going to be a couple. I got that. I was fine with that; I never had the intention that we would change our relationship only the wish that we could add something to it. She asked me why her. I saw through that. She really wanted to know if she had done something or if I was damaged in some way. In short I told her that I had these feelings for her because I was attracted to her, her personality, her being her, I intentionally side stepped the whole oedipal thing; it didn’t apply. I didn’t hate my father, I didn’t think about him at all. I knew his name and that was about it. I was afraid that my kink would scare her. She didn’t let me get out of it that easily.
“And the whole me being your mom thing? Tell me about that.” I could feel her smile even though I couldn’t see it so I knew she was more or less committed to having sex with me; still, I answered her.
“Just a kink,” I said. “It’s taboo, I think that’s the attraction. I guess it developed for a couple of reasons.” I told her about the instances I related to you and some others. She was surprised about some of them. But I had some questions of my own. When I got to the stuff I covered in Part 4 and Part 5 I asked her the questions I had. It was the first time Mom ever hemmed and hawed with me but she opened up more quickly than I had.
She knew something went down with Livia. She asked me if I fucked her point blank then. When I said no, she said “Thank God, I gave that bitch the maloik during that whole party; the fucking whore.” She asked me what happened and I told her. Mom intertwined her leg with mine and started rubbing it up and down, it didn’t seem possible but I think I got even harder. It dawned on me that hearing about it was a turn on for her. She told me that after that party she had started to snoop around, she hated doing it, but she wanted to be sure I was being careful. At that point she grabbed my upper arm and faced me, “You have been careful right?” I told her I had been. I was no Lothario, I assured her. Before this moment I had all of three sexual encounters, Livia included. I didn’t tell her I was a virgin, she found out that night. She said that she had to know if Livia was plying me with sex to piss of Foster. When I told her there had just been that one instance she shook her head, “I thought so.”
I asked her about the sketchbook. She said that she had found that by accident. Mom was always interested in what I was drawing. Finding it had been a surprise. Mom said those sketches of herself had brought about a real mix of emotions. She wanted to talk with me about it but felt that it would be prying. Instead she gave me the chance to speak about it and I chose not to. She admitted that it had been hard for her not to press the matter. “I wanted you to be healthy, happy,…normal, y’know. No matter what I was feeling at the time.”
“How did you feel, though? You didn’t seem pissed or scared.”
“I was intrigued,” she said. “Knowing that you wanted to have me was…different, I can’t say that I was ever disturbed about it, hun. I wanted to know why, though, that’s for sure. I always knew you had an eye for me.” She reached up to touch my face then. “I thought it was puppy love, a sweet little crush, it was so cute.” She kissed the corner of my mouth and then full on the lips. “Knowing that you had been with Livia, yeah…I think that got me thinking about you. You’re a cutie pie, y’know.”
I smiled at that. No one thinks their kid is ugly.
“And the whole me being your son thing?” I’m not that snarky most of the time. But turn-about is fair play.
Mom gave me a deep throated laugh, rolling her eyes.
“It’s a little family fun, babe,”she said. “I like kink too; role-play, some other stuff. Even though it’s not really role-play between us is it, hun?” She said it seriously. She wanted me to know that she was on board. I was always grateful for that admission.
“Why did you decide to do this tonight?” I was curious, seriously.
Mom sat up and leaned over me. She shrugged and smiled again. I remember how it made her breasts jiggle. She saw me looking and gave them a little shimmy. We both laughed at that. “I don’t know hun,” she thought for a moment, “I guess the fright of what happened. I mean, bears right? My bloods pumping,” she looked down at my hard-on, “so yours.” She gave me another kiss and told me to open my mouth. She filled it with her tongue, I tasted smoke and sweet. “I thought about it after I saw your sketchbook. I thought about it at night sometimes. I have my own desires too, hun. I want to do this with you. I want you, too. I think we can do this together we just have to be honest with each other. It’ll be like friends with benefits.” She kissed me again, deeper, and longer. When she broke the kiss we looked at each other in silence for a while.
She lied down beside me again and put her mouth against my ear.
“Do you want to be kinky tonight? We have all night, sweetie.” When she whispered that, I thought I would faint dead away. I knew Mom was no prude; she was too frank to be one, to open to be one. Until then I don’t think I had ever really seen her as being a person with her own sexual agency. The idea that she could be someone who enjoys sex and isn’t afraid to make sure that she enjoys the sex that she has never even occurred to me.
“Yeah, I want to be kinky with you,” it sounds corny, I know, but I was dead serious. We both were.
“D’you wanna call me Mommy, baby?”
“Yeah, I want you Mommy.”
“D’you wanna fuck Mommy, baby?”
“So much, wanna fuck you so much,” I said.
We started kissing deeply, really mauling our faces. She bit my lip gently and started to nip at my neck. I was gasping; she was grinding her thigh hard into my erection. My arms were around her grabbing her back, her butt, her hair. I was breathing raggedly. Every time she let me up for air I drew it in a gasp. That’s when she noticed my breathing. Mom started to slow down. She took my hands from her body gently and pinned them just as softly to either side of my head. For a terrible minute I thought she was having second thoughts. In fact, I thought, and I really thought this, this is the part where the dream ends. It didn’t though. Mom looked over her shoulder and I noticed that she was grinding her thigh against my dick very lightly. She raised her leg and I could feel her move it over the tip of my penis. I could feel the wet trail of my own pre-cum.
She looked down at me. “Hun,” I could see that she wanted to put whatever she was about to say delicately, “Are you a virgin?”
I stammered at first. I thought that telling her the truth would be the one thing that made her change her whole mind about the thing. I couldn’t lie to her, though. Not for any noble reason, I just couldn’t lie to her.
“Yeah, is that okay? Do you want to stop?”
Mom furrowed her brow, “No, no, not that! It’s just…y’know, I didn’t know if you wanted me to be your first. I don’t want you to have any regrets. It’s not like I think virginity is some precious commodity, but…well, some people think it is.” She shrugged again. I put a tentative hand on her breast for the first time in my life. Even the feel of it swaddled in cotton was incredible, it was heavy and soft. I spread out my fingers and I watched the flesh of her ooze slightly between them while the nipple popped out like a turkey thermometer. She put her hand over mine and pressed it into her tit.
“I take it you’re okay with Mommy taking your virginity?” I found out her coyness was maybe the sexiest thing about her.
“Yes, please, I’m more than okay with it.”
“Good,” she said, “I was curious anyway about how far you’ve gone. How far have you gotten, anyway? Do guys still say bases and that stuff?”
I laughed, “Some do, yeah. ”
“How ‘bout you then, hun? I know first and second for sure, have you been given oral? Have you given head? I think you know how to from what I saw in your doodle book.”
“I’ve given oral and gotten it, sort of.”
“Sort of,” she laughed, “what’s that?”
I rolled my eyes and felt myself blush. How stupid is that? I knew the whole situation was surreal but I still was self-conscious about my sexual proficiency.
“C’mon, tell me,” she said.
“Alright, alright, she just kissed the tip, sucked it a little and then jerked me off into her mouth.” I had my eyes closed when I said it. I could hear Mom laughing. I laughed too. She wasn’t laughing at me, she was laughing in part at the situation and at the propensity of sex to be comical.
“That’s not a blow job sweetie.” She kissed me again, tenderly this time. She took my hands and pulled me into a seated position with her on her knees in front of me.
“Undress me,” she said. I had to pull her shirt out before I pulled it up so I wouldn’t smother her with her own breasts. They spilled out of her top and bounced against her chest before swinging to a pendulous stop. Mom pulled my head to them. I started kissing, licking, and sucking every bit of them. She lifted one, traced her hard nipple around my lips until pulling my mouth over it. “Suck it, baby, you can suck it hard, go ahead,” she said. I heard her moan; she pulled my head even harder against her chest. She moaned even louder. “Bite it a little, I’ll say when,” so I did. I heard her breathe in sharply.
“Take the rest off me.” She was breathing as hard as I had been. She rolled on her back while I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her boy shorts peeling herself out of them. When her legs parted I could see she was wet. I was down to base instinct at that point. I started to climb on top of her when she stopped me.
“Wait hun,” she had her hand on my chest. My first thought was that I had crossed a line followed by “how is that possible at this point?” Mom motioned for me to lie down. I did. She put another pillow underneath my head, “Comfy?” I said yes.
“Okay hun,” she straddled me, “we’re gonna do this first.”
I told her that I wouldn’t last long. She smiled at that, leaning down to kiss the blush on my cheeks.
“I know hun, it’s not your fault. The first time’s more about setting up for the next time. It’ll be slower next time, better. We’ll take care of this now so later tonight we can take our time, okay?” Mom had put both of her hands on the sides of my face and held my head while she said that. The look on her face was unforgettable, not because the moment had arrived for me but because we were crossing this threshold together. I nodded my agreement.
“Good,” she said, “do you want the lights on or off?”
“On….if that’s okay with you?” It hit me that this moment would be much weirder for her. I knew that she wanted to do this. I didn’t have any doubt about that but the knowledge that she was about to initiate me sexually made me wonder how she felt about it. I put my hands on her thighs feeling her shaking slightly. She smiled at the touch, reassuringly.
“Yeah hun, that’s fine with me. I want you to see me. I want to see you to. Just wanted to be sure that you’d have no regrets…you know, about this? This is a big deal, you know.” Later when we talked about our first time she told me that she wasn’t only worried that I’d have second thoughts. She was worried that her enthusiasm, her enjoyment, her delight in the kink itself would make me think differently of her. It never did. As I said, she isn’t a prude.
“I’m fine with this, all of this,” I said. “I love you. I love this moment. I want us to have this.”
Mom kissed me deeply and raised her lower body up by one leg. I’ll never forget that she put one had on me solar plexus very lightly while the other reached around behind her to find my dick. She caressed the tip a couple of times while she looked at me.
I saw the tip of my cock push apart the lips of her vagina and watched it disappear into her slick pink. The heat, the wetness of her, it’s too, too much to describe. I felt like I was melting into her. Her breathing changed. It became deeper, slower she brought her raised leg down slowly as she sank onto me. It felt like she was pouring herself onto me as I was being swallowed into her and this place where our bodies met made this incredible throbbing. My first instinct was to grab her waist, force her down, and thrust up into her. I reached to do just that. Mom grabbed my hands and put them on her tits, shaking her head.
“You let me do this, baby, okay? I want you to get me warmed up first, alright?” She covered my hands with hers and squeezed a couple of times to cue me to squeeze her breasts. Mom began to churn her hips on me, I could feel her muscles clutch me, could feel myself moving inside of her. She was moving slowly but it really didn’t feel like it. I was moaning loudly. She had begun releasing these “ooohs” and “aaahs” that this text falls miserably short of describing. I couldn’t help but get into her rhythm.
“Ooooh, that’s good baby,” she said. We started to move faster, well I did actually she had to stop me a couple of times, “it’s not a race hun.” She had taken her hands off mine and put them on the head board to brace her as she moved faster. She wasn’t churning anymore but sliding up and down me, taking me all the way in, there was this awesome meaty suction in the action. It almost felt like she had another mouth down there. Mom looked down at me at me, her mouth was open, her brows were knit, and she had started to grunt a little from the exertion. Her tits had started to undulate, bouncing and swinging, they were all over one another. I knew I was getting close. And that’s when I realized something…
“Mom,” I was gasping trying to hold still long enough to clear my mind and get control of myself, “I’m not wearing anything. I don’t have a condom on.”
Mom didn’t say anything at first. She was looking down at me and gave me this wry grin from the corner of her mouth. I’d never seen that look on her face before. She didn’t stop but kept up this steady pace. She was still breathing heavily.
“Do you really want to stop, hun?” She told me later that she wasn’t playing with me. Not only was she giving me the choice; she wanted me to make the choice. She slowed to a stop gradually and put one hand on my cheek. She wasn’t totally lowered; pinning me to the bed. I could still move, still thrust, if I wanted to. The expression on her face told me that she wouldn’t get up or move until I acted first. I remember that somehow, being beneath her while she was still, being held in her was (in its own way) just as stimulating as moving into and out of her had been.
The control I had mustered hadn’t just fallen away, I threw it aside. The only thing I wanted right then was to have all of her totally. She told me later that it was what she had wanted too.
I took her. I grabbed her by the waist flipping us over. When I got her on her back I felt her entwine one of her legs with mine and wrap the other around me so that when I drew out of her I could feel her heel press into my butt. I felt her hands dig into my back. I ploughed in her. Over and over again, thinking about that first time is a little scary for me honestly. In those moments, I didn’t give a shit about anything. Anyway, it didn’t take long for me to arrive.
Mom put one hand on the back of my neck. I didn’t need much encouragement at that point but her doing that sent me over the edge. The last heave I made pushed us both against the head board. I felt her legs pull up behind me. She held me close to her I could hear her breathing loudly next to my ear before she made a surprised little sound that told me she felt me coming inside of her.
It’s funny how the world resets itself right after you dump what feels like a quart of semen into your mom. I wasn’t horrified by the act. I was very worried by the potential results of the act. I was also afraid that I was crushing her. I tried to get up but she still held on to me. She started to run her fingers through my hair and kissed my neck.
“Let it get soft in me first, hun,” she said, “let’s cuddle awhile.” The towel that I had been wearing was still nearby and when she motioned for me to get up she slid it under her saying that she should’ve taken the comforter off of the bed. She used her shirt to clean me off. When she did I got hard again.
When I layed down beside her she turned to lay on me partially; her thigh came up and I could feel the wetness from both of us there. She knew what I was worried about and let me know, with a laugh, that she was on the pill. There was pillow talk. We talked about what happened mostly. There was some serious discussion too, revisiting some points we had already made; that kind of thing. And more sex.
We’re not a couple. I wouldn’t say that we’re lovers either. It’s really more like a “friends with benefits” situation. That’s the closest way to describe it. Well, I guess that’s it. Sorry for the length of it but I hope you enjoyed it. For my part it’s good to finally be able to tell this.
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
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