When my parents divorced I urged my mother to buy a new town house that came with a maintenance contract. But mother insisted that she wanted something with a little more character and finally chose a 70-year bungalow in Fairfax County, Virginia. I must admit the house had a certain retro charm but it did require several major improvements, including a new roof, attic insulation, and, to avoid putting in an expensive new furnace, electric baseboard heating.
I'd try to get by to see mother about once a month when I would sl**p on the couch in the living room. Although I was no Mr. Handyman, I did have a pretty good sense of how things worked so I could make minor repairs, proud to show mother that I had learned a few things after four years of engineering school. Two perennial problems were the old plumbing and the fireplace. The latter, despite having been cleaned by a chimney sweep (who also replaced the flue), remained temperamental when I would try to get a fire going in the winter.
Because mother loved to watch the Turner Classic Movies channel, especially when some sophisticated 30s or 40s comedy or drama was featured, I gave her a DVD player that first Christmas in her new/old house so she could rent the oldies she loved. Often in the winter, after dinner, I'd light—or try to light—a fire and we'd curl up side by side under a blanket on the couch to watch the latest DVD mother had rented. We both loved the great actresses and suave men who appeared in these films. The dialogue was always snappy, sophisticated, and often filled with double entendres. I remember remarking once to mother how I loved the actresses with their slinky dresses and elegant cigarette holders. She agreed, remarking how the sense of subtle seductiveness had seemed to disappear from modern movies.
The weather when I came to see mother on the first weekend of February was nasty. It was cold and rainy all day Saturday making it impossible to any of the little repairs I had promised to do outside. About all I could do inside was fix a couple of faulty plugs on lamps and make sure that all the weather stripping on the doors and windows was tight. "Come warm weather," I told mother, "we've got to get these drafty windows replaced by new ones with double thermal-pane."
Mother made spaghetti for dinner, I started a fire, fixed a salad, opened the bottle of good Bordeaux I had brought as a gift, and we sat down to eat. After dinner, mother had a cigarette and then cleared the table while I loaded the latest DVD mother had rented, "They Met in Bombay," a comedy-drama from 1941 starring the incomparable Clark Gable and the beautiful and sultry Rosalind Russell. I tried to get a fire going, too, but it did not look promising.
Mother had a flair for the dramatic, having acted in several amateur theatricals, so it was no real surprise to me when she announced that she was going to slip into something that would get her in the mood for the movie. While she was changing in her bedroom I ventured outside to try to stop the banging of a loose shutter. The weather had gotten worse: the wind had picked up and the rain was turning to sleet.
As soon as I came back inside mother emerged from her bedroom dressed in sheer white silk pajamas. "You look fantastic mom," I exclaimed, "you could have stepped right out of a movie set. All you need now is a cigarette holder to complete your outfit."
"Well if you buy me one, Sweetie," mother purred, "I'll use it."
"That's a deal, k**do" I quipped.
We settled down under a blanket and I clicked the "play" button on the remote. It was a great movie, a wonderful bit of pre-World War II fluff before America was engulfed in a horror. Mother nestled close to me under the blanket and I could smell that she had put on perfume "It's so nice to be next to you, warm and snug," mother said, giving my hand an extra hard squeeze.
At about 9:30 the electricity went off. Fortunately, mother had left burning the two candles she had set out on the table for dinner so we weren't completely blind. "Well, I guess there's nothing to do but go to bed," I sighed. Mother agreed, although neither of us was all that sl**py.
In a winter storm, a poorly insulated cottage with leaky windows and no heat—the fire had petered out by then—doesn't take long to get cold—so cold that without heavy bedding, it becomes impossible to sl**p. I had only one blanket on the couch. Mother had a down comforter, which wasn't a whole lot better. At what must have been about 11:00 o'clock, I called out, "It's just too damn cold to sl**p. I'm going to come get in bed with you and maybe between my blanket and your comforter we can generate enough heat to get some sl**p." Mother agreed and I felt my way along the wall, through the door to her bedroom, and into her bed, dragging my blanket behind me. It was pitch dark because the candles and long since burned out.
I lay facing mother's back with my arms encircling her. Although we were both shaking at first, it didn't take long for our two bodies, pressed together under two layers of insulating bedding, to warm up. And as I warmed, I hardened. Mother, of course, felt my cock between her legs. I began to kiss the back of her neck and whispered in her ear, "I love your silk pajamas. You don't know how sexy you look in them. And I love the way the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume mingle in your hair. It's intoxicating."
Mother and I are not big people. Mother's breasts are small which I find tremendously appealing in a woman and my cock is not large by any means. It's in proportion to my body and, thank god, fully functional and easily aroused as it was now. If I was slow, gentle, and loving, I was sure that it would fit snugly into mother's rectum.
"I've got to dash to the bathroom," I suddenly announced.
"Please come back as quick as you can, Sweetie," mother implored, "I need you to keep me warm."
"Oh, I will, believe, mom," I answered.
The bathroom door was near the bed and easy to find in the dark and the sink with the medicine cabinet above it was right across from the door. I had seen a small jar of Vaseline there and with a little fumbling found it, opened it, scoped up a gob of Vaseline in my right hand, and smeared it on my cock from head to root.
As I climbed back into bed and assumed my former position, I whispered into mother's ear. "Drop you bottoms, mom, because I don't want to stain them." Surprisingly, she did so without comment. I gently opened her mouth with my left hand and began to massage her gums and the inside of her cheek.
"I'm going to be very slow and gentle as I penetrate you," I whispered, giving her ear lobe a nibble. "If you feel that I'm hurting you, just bit down on my fingers and I'll stop."
But mother didn't bit me but rather lowered her left hand and began stroking her pussy as I slowly entered her rectum. At the same time, I ask mother to raise herself slightly so I could cup my right hand ove one of her lovely breasts and caress the now erect nipple. I was in total ecstasy.
"I want you to feel warm and loved, mom" I cried, "I want you so much. I want to fill your little ass with my cock and make love to you all night."
If only I could have, but I soon reached sensory overload and shot off again and again into that forbidden tunnel. We then fell asl**p with me still cupping mother's breasts and my now shrunken cock still in her rectum, though barely.
It must have been about 9:00 next morning when the power came back on. We lingered in bed another hour waiting for the cottage to heat up. Mother made us coffee, lit a cigarette, and we sat down at the table looking at each other with barely suppressed smiles.
" Did I ever tell you what a sexy smoker you are, Mom?" I asked.
"You are so sweet to say that, " mother answered. With that, she reached over, queezed my hand, and blew a stream of smoke into my unexpected mouth.
"Wow," I stuttered, "that was sexy."
"You were such a naughty boy last night," mother laughed.
"Gee mom," I answered, " I thought you liked the enema I gave you."
"Liked it, Sweetie?" I loved it! It was the most incredible experience of my life."
"God, mom, hearing you say that turns me on."
"I'm so glad it does because I'm going to get the Vaseline, but this time I'm going to put it on your cock myself."
I dutifully dropped my pants and mother began to apply the Vaseline to my swollen member, first making sure that my foreskin was fully pulled back as she lovingly applied the ointment to the tip of my penis, and then slowly moved down the shaft.
"Easy, mom," I cried, "I don't want to have an accident before the curtain goes up."
Quickly, I stepped out of my pants and stripped off my shirt. Mom disrobed almost as quickly. Then bending over her bed, she spread her luscious cheeks so that there would be no way that I could fail to miss that beckoning hole. When I was in, I helped mother upright and we switched positions so that I was sitting on the bed. She now began to move up and down and to stroke her pussy while I cupped her breasts and teased the nipples. Both of us were moaning and I was biting into her shoulder.
"Oh god, this is heaven!" was all I could cry.
After 10 minutes I could control myself no longer.
"Mom, I'm going to cum, I can't hold back!"
"Oh, come to me, come to me my sweet baby. I want to feel your warm juice deep in my ass."
And cum I did, again and again.
We were now ready for a real breakfast: bacon, eggs, and sticky buns--the works. Afterwards, we decided to go for a walk.
The aftermath of an ice storm can be beautiful, but walking is treacherous. Mother clung to my arm as we staggered along.
"You do know what we've been doing is called, don't you?" asked mother
"Mom, I'm not naïve. I've read Freud's Totem and Taboo and I know all about why close inbreeding can produce genetic monsters. But I also know that you went through menopause a couple of years ago so even if I make love to you the conventional way, which I want to do so badly, there's no chance you could get pregnant."
"You know mom," I continued, "even though all my friend would say that I'm totally normal, I've never been one of the guys. For one thing, it was always their mothers that I looked at, not their s****rs. For another, I secretly enjoy giving conventional society the finger. So what if i****t is taboo? We're both consenting adults and the thrill of forbidden fruit obviously turns us both on. And, besides, who's being hurt? You're divorced and I'm single. Let's face it, we're both outliers and we've found something special and precious that we should treasure"
Mother hugged me even closer. "Let's go home now. We've got a lot more love to share."