My mother and I had always been very close, and that closeness only got stronger after my parents divorced when I was 11. Seven years later, we reached a whole new level of closeness that I never would have expected back then.
It was the summer after my senior year of high school, and I had decided that I was going to take a year off to "find myself" before going to college. My mother was the person who insisted I consider taking the year off, as there would always be time for school, but I might never have the opportunity at a full year off with no obligations. I had decided that in the fall I would go on a hiking trip along the Adirondacks with my father (he was trying to make up for lost time) and a couple of his b*****rs, and in the winter, I would take off at least a month to go skiing in Colorado with some friends of mine that had moved out west.
But the summer I left open. I wanted to make sure that I had every opportunity to enjoy what was going to be my last "free" summer before I plunged head-first into the working world the following year.
My mother was somewhat of a free spirit. She and my father divorced when she found out that he had been cheating on her. Why he did so, I could never figure out. My mom was a terrific lady, and was very pleasing on the eyes. She stood about 5-foot-8 and had long, wavy brown hair with just a hint of gray, which seemed to match her hazel eyes. She had a very athletic figure; her breasts were large, but always perky, and she had a fantastic ass. But she thought her best feature were her legs. She always commented on how she thought there was only one other woman on earth her age that had legs as nice as her own – Tina Turner. And mom would show them off a lot, wearing very short skirts and short dresses whenever she had the chance.
Yup, mom was a real looker. And if I didn't think so myself (which I guess I did, but never really allowed myself to acknowledge), my buddies would always let me know their feelings. She was a "MILF" to them all, long before the term became as commonly used as it is today.
When I turned 12 years old, my mother had decided that since I was living with her and seeing my father only on alternating weekends, that she better have "the talk" with me about the birds and the bees. I was a little embarrassed at first, but my mom put me at ease by keeping it friendly and light-hearted. She explained everything I needed to know, answered any questions I had, and told me that it was perfectly normal for a boy my age to masturbate. In fact, not only was it all right, she encouraged it! She even bought me a Playboy magazine for my birthday (I still remember it fondly...Miss January 1989, Fawna McLaren...I think I nearly wore her out, or was it the other way around?). The one thing my mother had asked was that I make sure that the first time I went "all the way" with a girl, that I do so out of love, not out of lust. She explained to me how that simple act of respect (for both myself and for the "lucky girl" as she put it) would teach me a lot about love for years afterwards.
About a week after school ended the weather really began to heat up. We lived within walking distance of the town beach, and I had planned on spending my share of time there this summer. Not only did I plan on swimming and enjoying the sun, but I had decided the time was right to finally get myself laid. I had a few on-again, off-again relationships throughout school, but nothing was ever serious. I just felt that the girls who seemed like the type who would have sex with me were too easy and not "special" enough for me, and the girls that were special just didn't seem special enough for me to stay with. I guess I was just being a bit picky. But I knew that this summer was my first real foray into manhood, and I felt the urge to "hook-up" before the summer was out. I had been going to this beach for most of my life, and I knew a lot of girls whose families stayed at the beach for the summer, and I knew they'd be ripe for the picking.
The only problem was that I was a terribly shy person when it came to girls. I was the type that wanted to wait until I was absolutely 100% sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the girl really did like me in "that way" before I would ever even consider making a move. But I knew that I was a handsome guy, and I had a new-found confidence having just graduated high school. The time, as they say, was at hand.
This one day in particular was a Tuesday. I got up early (about 7:30 am) and stumbled out to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast and hopefully grab a cup of coffee before the pot automatically shut off. I was surprised to find that it hadn't even been turned on yet, from what I could tell. This was particularly odd, as my mother was usually up and out the door by 7:00 for her job. I made my way over to the window to check for her car and sure enough, there it was, still in the driveway. As I was turning back around, I saw that she had arisen, and had started to make the coffee herself. Mom had on a long, sheer silk nightgown and a thin bathrobe, open in the front. As she was pouring the water into the coffee maker, her robe fell open a little more and I could see one of her nipples, dark as night, through the flimsy material of the nightgown. I was already semi-hard just from waking up, and seeing that nipple, regardless of the fact it belonged to my mother, sent a jolt of electricity down to my prick. Seeing as how I was only wearing a pair of boxers, I decided I better sit down at the kitchen table so she wouldn't detect anything.
"What are you still doing here? Alarm not go off?" I asked, relieved in a sense, because the woman made one killer cup of coffee!
"No, I called out sick. They worked me to death last week, and I knew better than to call in on a Monday. Besides, it's really supposed to be a beautiful day today. It seems summer is finally here! I'd like to get outside and enjoy it for a while, plus I need to get some errands done. What are your plans this morning? Going to loaf around the house all day enjoying your freedom, or do you actually have plans?" As she asked this, she walked past me and ruffled the hair on my head.
"No plans, really. Just gonna head down to the beach for a while and take in the sun."
"Hey, the beach sounds like a wonderful idea!" She came over to the table with two cups of coffee, one for her, one for me. "Do you mind if your mom tags along for a while, or do you think I'll 'cramp your style' with the lady lifeguards?" To be honest, I wasn't that thrilled with the idea. But I knew that I had all summer to work my game with the ladies, and I knew that my poor mother only had a day off once in a great while. And it always seemed to rain on the weekends, pretty much eliminating any chances she would have of going to the beach.
I told her that would be fine, and added that I would understand if she might not want me around, in case she found any hunky male lifeguards for herself!
She winked at me and started to chuckle, saying, "Honey, the last thing any of those young studs want is an old woman like me chasing after them. Besides, I have a book that I'll have my nose buried in all day anyway." I knew the types of books my mother read. They were those steamy romance novels with the pictures on the front of guys who looked like Fabio carrying damsels in distress away from all of their worries and troubles. When I was younger, I used to bring them up to my room and try to find the erotic parts so I could have something to stimulate my imagination with as I jerked off.
I don't know why, but I decided to question my mother about her choice in literature that morning. "Why do you read those trashy novels, ma? You've read nearly every one that's been published by this point, haven't you? And they all seem like they're just the same story with just a few names changed here and there?"
Mom started blushing and retorted pretty quickly, "I could ask you the very same question about that collection of sexy videos of yours in your closet! If I'm not mistaken, those also seem to pretty much be the same story, with just a few names changed here and there!"
Now it was my turn to blush. Mom and I always had an open relationship, so I decided to be honest with her. "Well, those really aren't movies...they're just, well, they're just vehicles to bring me to...well, umm...to help me, umm..."
I was stammering, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what I was trying to get across. My mother, clearly in the know as to why I watched the videos, was enjoying watching me squirm, and had a devilish smile on her face as she sat there, running her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. Finally she ended my agony by saying, "You mean to say that your sexy videos help you 'get in the mood.' Well, let's just say that my naughty books have the same desired affect on me." And with that, she got up, ruffled my hair again as she passed by me and left for her room, but not before calling out to me, saying, "I'll be ready in about an hour. I think I'm going to have to go read a chapter or two now, before I get ready to go out."
I sat there, stunned. Not because my mother just told me that she uses her "naughty books" as she called them to get herself off, but because she pretty much announced to me that she was going to her room to do so right now. I wasn't even aware of how hard I was under the table. I finished my coffee and decided that I needed to go take care of my own situation in my room. I half-hoped to find her door partially open as I walked past it to my own, but no such luck.
When I got into my room, I thought about what my mother had said. I thought about those books that I used to read as a k** to help get myself off. And then I began to wonder if the same parts that used to get me so excited also did the trick for my mother. The thought that we might be turned on by the same things was really driving me wild, and I ended up cumming in no time flat. I hopped into an ice cold shower, hoping that I could take the edge off before we left for the beach.
About an hour later we were ready to go. I had packed a few drinks into a cooler along with a few snacks as well. I knew that we would probably come home for lunch, just like we used to when I was a young k**, so I didn't bother with any sandwiches. As I gathered all of our gear – towels, a couple of chairs, a radio, the cooler, etc. – my mother came out wearing a sundress. "I threw on a load of laundry. Remind me to come up in about an hour and flip in over in the dryer, ok?" I stole a quick glance toward her and admired her sexy body. I had to admit, the sundress made her look a lot closer to 26 than her actual age of 46. We walked to the beach and set up our stuff near the edge of the water. Being a weekday somewhat early in the season (June in Massachusetts is still considered winter by a lot of people's standards, or so it seems), it was pretty empty.
Mom sat in her chair, sundress still on, reading one of her "naughty books" for the first hour or so. I lied on my back, wearing only my swimming trunks, soaking up the rays. "You're going to get burned you know! You really ought to wear some sun block!" That's my mother – always looking out for me! I told her that I forgot to bring it along, and then remembered the laundry. I offered to go back and flip it for her, but she insisted, saying that she might take me up on my offer when it came time to fold the clothes.
When she returned, she removed her sundress to reveal a stunning one-piece bathing suit that complimented her figure quite well. It was baby blue (my favorite color on women) and seemed to really bring out her hazel eyes, not that I was looking very much at her eyes. The suit ran high on the hips, accentuating her sexy legs. It ran quite low on the back and showed off a flattering amount of her cleavage in front. She caught me looking and blushed a little, and did a bit of a pirouette, asking if I liked it. "One look at you and the lifeguards are going to need to be resuscitated! Wow, you look fantastic!"
"Well, then, I guess I'll have to give them mouth-to-mouth." I couldn't remember the last time my mother was this playful. Her work had really been hectic over the past year and a half or so, and was really taking a toll on her. But today, that old carefree spirit seemed in full f***e.
She then pulled out a bottle of suntan lotion and started to apply it liberally to her legs. I tried not to stare, but failed. For her part, if she noticed, she didn't let on. She handed me the bottle and said "If you do me, I'll do you." I don't think she realized at first how inappropriate that sounded, but when I reached for the bottle, we both started to laugh. "I guess I shouldn't have said it that way. You must think I'm just a dirty old woman."
By this point, I was beginning to get more than a bit aroused, and found myself, much to my surprise, flirting with her a little. "Old? No. Dirty? Well, you DO read a lot of those books, so you've probably got a few ideas in your head." I flashed her my sexiest smile.
My mother didn't respond at all, and I thought that I may have gone too far. I decided to take her cue and shut my mouth. I squirted some of the coconut-scented lotion into my hand and asked where she wanted it. "Back and shoulders, please." I got on my knees behind her and started to work the lotion into the small of her back. As I reached her shoulders, she sort of cooed a little. I inched my fingers back down a ways, so that I was rubbing the lotion into the area very near the sides of her breasts. She let out a couple of soft moans. That did it; I was now as hard as a rock. The coconut aroma, mixed with the airy scent of strawberry coming from her hair was almost too much to take. I was afraid that I might accidentally brush my hardon up against her back; either afraid, or determined...it was tough to tell.
I quickly moved back over to my towel and rolled onto my stomach, hoping she wouldn't see my now very obvious erection. She asked me if I wanted her to return the favor and rub some lotion onto my back. I said I thought I'd be fine, but she insisted. She straddled my ass and started to work the lotion into my shoulders. It was so much like a massage that I really began to relax. She moved slowly all up and down my backside. She even ran her fingers just barely under my waistband, and I swear she must have heard me gasp for air. She returned to my shoulders and almost whispered to me "You're getting so strong. You have such a muscular back and such strong shoulders." Was it just my imagination, or was she beginning to grind her crotch up against my ass. She started to rub the lotion into my arms, and asked me to turn over, so she could finish. I really didn't want her to see how hard I was, but she was very persistent. I offered up a few lame excuses, and she finally said, "Oh, are you too big for your mother to help you out?" and started tickling my sides and armpits. With me in this vulnerable state, she physically started to roll me over. I ended up on my back and her eyes went straight for my crotch. She stopped moving all together and muttered, almost to herself, "Oh..oh my, yes, you are big." She looked back up at my eyes and turned bright red. "Oh Matt, oh god, I'm so sorry. What have I done?" She embarrassedly went back to her chair and buried her face in her hands.
"Mom, it's ok. I'm the one who should be sorry. I got up and tried to console her, but she pushed me away and got up herself. She told me she needed to go for a swim, and ran to the water. I sat back down on the towel and felt like such a fool for making my mother feel so horrible.
About an hour and a half later she came back. She swam a good length of the beach and had walked back, by the look of it. She was completely dry now and seemingly in good spirits. I could smell the drying salt from the ocean on her. She asked if she could take me up on my offer of helping with the laundry, and I told her that I'd love to. Besides, I wanted to get something to eat anyway.
We walked back, and my mother made some small talk about what my plans were for the rest of the summer and beyond that. It was all stuff she heard before, but I think she was just happy to be talking about normal "mom & son" things again.
We ate a quick lunch and were about to head back down to the beach, when she remembered the laundry. She asked if I wouldn't mind helping her fold it and ran down to the basement to grab it. I ran up to my room to grab a book to bring back to the beach with me, and I found her in her bedroom, beginning to fold her clothes. I gave her a hand and we chatted about nothing in particular. As it always seems to happen, as we got down to the bottom of the laundry basket, all that remained were her panties and bras. Mom had some pretty risqué underwear, some of which I would expect to see only on exotic dancers, and I decided to tease her a little about them.
"Wow, mom, I'm surprised that Dad would agree to a divorce after seeing you in some of these," I said, as I held up a tiny red g-string.
"Those are all strictly post-divorce purchases, I'm afraid. It's too bad you're the only guy who gets to see them."
I kept folding and decided to press on a little. "Why haven't you been dating anybody lately, mom? I know things didn't work out all that well with Phillip, but that ended over a year ago, didn't it?" I kept ogling her panties and bras while I folded them. Phillip had been her one long relationship after the divorce. But it ended abruptly when my mom caught him getting serviced by the mailman.
"I guess I just haven't had time, with work and everything. Here, would you mind putting these over in the top drawer?" She handed me a pile of panties.
As I opened the drawer, my mother still talking behind me about Phillip, my senses shut out everything but what my eyes had found – inside the drawer, tucked under a lacy pair of white panties, was a big, fat, black dildo. It had to have been about 10 inches long. And there seemed to be a shiny coating of something somewhat sticky on it. I froze, mesmerized by the sight, and my mother must have noticed, because she came running over to my side. All I could muster was a "Wow."
My mother reached in and grabbed it, pulling it out of the drawer. "Wow, mom, that's...um...that's pretty big!"
"Matthew, I'm sorry you had to see this. Sometimes a woman just has needs, and sometimes she needs to help herself."
"It's ok, mom, I understand. It's just so big. And so black."
"And dirty. I didn't have a chance to clean it off this morning." And with that, she took the pair of panties she was holding, wrapped them around her hand, and started stroking the long, thick, black phallus. In essence, it was like watching my mother giving a handjob.
Wait – did she say 'this morning?' Suddenly, the thought of my mother using that monster dildo on herself right after our conversation, teamed up with the visual of watching her stroke it now, with a pair of panties wrapped around her hand, had me harder than I could recall being in a long time. I needed to excuse myself and run to the bathroom. I didn't even care how obvious it was to her. For the second time that day, I came in buckets, thinking of my mother.
When I came back out of the bathroom, I found my mother waiting for me in the kitchen, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. I decided that, since I had already made her feel so badly down at the beach, I ought to follow suit and just put it out of my mind. I owed her that much.
We walked back to the beach and I went for a swim. When I got back, I noticed that there was a lifeguard sitting with my mother. He was very obviously flirting with her, and I found myself getting jealous as I walked closer. He looked me in the eyes and told me I was a very lucky guy, and winked at me and then walked away. I asked my mother what that was all about and she told me that he had asked her if she wanted to join him over by the lifeguard's area, but she told him she was already with somebody. I didn't know how to take that, but decided to let it pass.
We spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between reading on the beach and swimming in the water. What little crowd there was had pretty much thinned out completely by 4:00 and the lifeguard area was closing up for the evening as well. The same guy that had been talking to my mother when I came out of the water was walking back up to us now, hand-in-hand with a hot little blonde that would have fit nicely into the cast of "Baywatch." He walked up to us and got down on one knee in front of us, while his girlfriend stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "I never know exactly how to approach this subject, but from our little talk earlier, I thought you might be interested." He was looking directly at my mother, while his girlfriend was now looking right at me." He continued, "We're going to be having a party tonight, sort of a 'swingers' party if you and your boyfriend here would like to come along. We'd both really like to have you." The last sentence was pregnant with innuendo.
Before I knew it, I had blurted out "I'm not her boyfriend; I'm her son, you fucking perv!"
I have never seen a guy lose his cool so quickly. And by cool, I mean that this guy really thought he was hot shit when he came up, trying to woo my mother with his girlfriend's permission. But now, he was stammering and apologizing and trying to save face and balk away all at once, while I was sort of pushing him away. If I hadn't been so upset, I'm sure I would have laughed at the situation. Which is exactly what my mother's response was.
"You could have at least played along, you know. Is the thought of being with somebody my age really that appalling? Besides, it really seemed that his girlfriend was into you, and from the number of nights in a row you've been home, I would guess that your love life is just as dull as mine."
I hastily grabbed my things and said I was leaving, and stormed off alone...just like a 4 year old in the midst of a temper tantrum. My mom tried to call after me, but it was no use. I was pissed. I was jealous. I was angry for reasons I wasn't even aware. How dare my mother insult me like that! How dare she assume that my love life was "dull" (which, of course, it was)! How dare she take such a cavalier attitude toward it and practically laugh in my face! How dare that guy assume that I was her boyfriend, or that I would want to share her with anybody if she was! I was mad at the world.
Deep inside, though, I knew why I was so upset. I was mad because my mother was right. I was tired of being a virgin. I was tired of having to get myself off on my own every night. I was angry that I didn't have a girlfriend who was willing to go down on me and let me eat her out, and to do it to her doggy-style, and all of the other filthily erotic things I had in mind. But most of all, I was upset that all day long, I had been thinking how much I wanted that person, that dirty, filthy whore, to be my mother. I hadn't been able to shake the thought all day. It was like an avalanche of momentum all day long: the realization that my mother masturbates to her "naughty books;" that she was going to be doing so virtually right under my nose; that she liked to dress in such sexy lingerie; that she hadn't been getting any in so long – so long in fact that she was f***ed to use a big black dildo on herself (and why was that dildo such a turn on for me? Was it simply because of the dildo's intended outcome, or was it because of the dildo itself? Was the thought of a big black cock what was helping to drive me over the edge?). All of this, combined with the massage she had given me, was pushing me dangerously close something that I was not at all ready to handle.
I was becoming sexually obsessed with my mother.
I entered the house pissed. I threw my things on the ground and stomped off to my bedroom. Once in there, I realized I had no idea what I was doing and decided to go take a long hot shower. I lathered up my hair and rinsed, soaped up my upper torso, and rinsed. I started working on my legs, and all of a sudden, for the first time since getting back from the beach, I started to think again about my mother. Something about the way I was soaping up my legs; it was reminding me of how she had put the lotion on her own legs earlier that day. Suddenly, memories of my mother from days gone by started to flood my mind. How many times had I watched her removing her stockings late after work, or bending down to tie her shoes? How many times had I been with a friend or two and seen her bounce down the stairs into the f****y room wearing one of her ultra-miniskirts, my friends' mouths agape? All those times, without ever really knowing it, I had been looking at her in a way that a son should not look at his mother.
My cock began to twitch. I was getting hard one more time. I began soaping it up, and stroking it slowly, so painfully slowly. I closed my eyes and breathed in the warm comforting scent of Irish Spring. In my mind's eye, I saw my mother, in her beautiful one-piece bathing suit; the way it hugged her hips. Her tits, nearly spilling out of the top. How soft her skin was as I rubbed the suntan lotion into her. Oh, how I wished it could have been my cum that I was rubbing into her! I remembered her hands, so warm and tender on my shoulders and back; how gentle they were as they approached the waistband of my shorts. I played with my balls now, and thought how much I would love to have my own mother suck on them. I thought how great it would be to run my hands through her hair as she blew me. I was so close to cumming already, but I wanted this to last.
I kept the shower on, but got down on my back in the bathtub, so the water, as hot as I could get it, slapped into my chest. I soaped up my dick again, and played with it for awhile more. My mind drifted to my mother holding that big black dildo, stroking it with the panties in her hand, I tried to match my rhythm to hers as best I could remember – not that the image would be lost; it was something I was sure I'd hold onto forever. I found myself focusing more and more on the dildo now, thinking how impossibly big it looked in her little white hand. I thought of her, lying in her bed, propped up on her pillows, wearing nothing but that little red g-string I saw earlier, and a pair of stockings, slamming that dildo into her, as deep as she could, and then slowly, lasciviously, pulling it back out, feeling every vein, moaning as inch after inch after inch pulled back out of her, spreading her lips...all the way out and then plunging it right back in, somehow even deeper than before. I wanted to know what her face looked like when she was just about to cum. What was her other hand doing when one was being used to guide the rubber cock in and out of her cunt? In my mind, I saw it slip down to her asshole, and I let my own hand follow suit. I placed one carefully soaped up hand and the entrance to my own hole and started to run my finger around the rim, similar to how my mother traced hers along the rim of her coffee mug as she questioned me about my porn stash. I slipped a finger in, and then it happened. I came harder that I ever had before. I shot cum so far that it landed on my cheek. A drop or two had actually shot into my mouth, allowing me to taste my own cum for the first time.
I had realized that in my orgasmic bliss, I had been grunting and moaning pretty loudly. I now hoped that my mother hadn't yet returned from the beach. I shut the water off, toweled myself off, wrapped my bathrobe around me and headed down to my room. As I passed my mother's room, her door was shut. This meant, of course, that she was home. Whether or not she heard me was anybody's guess.
I took a nap after drying off and when I awoke, it was to find my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, playing with my hair, brushing it off of my forehead. It was twilight now, and getting dark fast. There were no lights on in the room, but I could see that she was in a bathrobe herself and had most likely just returned from the shower. As I groggily came to, she told me that she really didn't want to wake me, but that she thought we should talk. She said she was going to get dressed and start a light dinner, and she hoped that, if I wasn't too upset, I would join her in the kitchen in about 45 minutes.
I made my way downstairs to find that the dinner table was set for two (my s****r, 3 years my senior, was hardly ever home these days) with a nice salad and a bottle of wine. My mother was dressed in another summer dress, hair pulled back, and she was tossing some pasta together with some sauce. She asked me to sit and poured me a glass of wine. She said that she thought I was mature enough to handle it, as long as I didn't get out of control. In a few minutes, dinner was ready, and we sat down together.
She was the first to speak. "Matthew," she only called me Matthew when things were serious or when she was upset with me, "I want to let you know that I am tremendously sorry for what happened earlier today. It was just so wrong." I tried to interrupt, to tell her otherwise, that it was my own actions that were crying out for an apology, but she wouldn't let me. "You're a man now, a very handsome young man. I have seen the change taking place right in front of my very eyes. But I guess that I selfishly didn't want that to happen, because if you're getting older, that must mean that I am too. I am sorry that I teased you earlier. It wasn't right how I acted. I was treating you as if you and I were both young teenagers, and I am really ashamed of it."
The look of concern on her face was so sincere, so tender; it nearly brought me to tears. I wanted to walk over to her and cup her face in my hands, and kiss her on the lips, like a son shouldn't do. I wanted to tell her that I had acted so immaturely, only because I couldn't handle the feeling I had inside. The feelings of love. I loved my mother. I loved her the way a man loves a woman, not just the way a son loves his mother. I wanted so badly to tell her this, and the wine was filling me with just enough false bravery, that I felt that not only could I say these things, but that I could do so in a way that would make her weak in the knees. But before I could muster up the nerve, she switched gears on me completely and told me she was going out tonight.
"I know I have to work in the morning, but if worse comes to worse, I can always call out sick again."
"But who are you going out with?" I asked, knowing that there currently were no men in her life.
"After you left, Alex, that young lifeguard came back over to apologize. He was so sweet. He felt so badly. He really thought you were going to knock him out!"
"And I should have!" I blurted out, feeling the anger coming back, and knowing that it was showing on my face.
"Matthew, it's ok. He's a nice k**. And pretty cute, too. He said that he and his girlfriend talked and they decided to have their 'swingers party' another night. He said that he wanted to make it up to me and asked if he could take me dancing tonight. You know how much I love to dance, Matt, and it's been so long since I've gone out. When he looked up at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes, how could I resist?"
I tried to come up with something to say that would get her to change her mind, but all that came out was, "But you don't even know him! He's a total stranger. He could be an axe murderer for all you know! Besides, he's got a girlfriend and likes to 'swing'...how can you trust a guy like that?"
Mom started to chuckle a little at this, and came over to my side. She rested her ass up against the table and leaned into me, so her face was only a few inches away from mine. She ruffled my hair again, and said, "Awww, look at you, so protective of your mom. It's ok honey, I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself. Besides, I just need to get away a little and have a good time. I promise I'll be careful and I'll be safe. You know, you could always go out for the night yourself. It's not like you've got school in the morning. The way he made it sound, his girlfriend is going to be all alone. I'm sure she could use somebody to come by and cheer her up!"
I was astonished. Could my own mother be hinting on to me that I should go try to sl**p with the girlfriend of the guy she was going dancing with?
Maybe it was my newfound feelings for my mother, or maybe the 3 glasses of wine she let me drink, but I decided to let my mother know of my sexual inexperience. "Mom, I'm still a virgin, you know. I made you a promise that I would wait so that my first time meant something. I promised you that the first time I had sex it would be with a woman that was special to me, a woman that I loved. And I'm pretty sure that I know who that woman is, and I loved her for so long now. But now you want me to go and fuck some lifeguard whore?" It was the first time I have ever used the word "fuck" in front of my mother. I was getting emotional and tears started to well up in my eyes. I was hurt. I drained my fourth glass of wine in one gulp.
"Matthew, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I really thought that somebody like you, somebody so young, so strong, and so handsome, would have lost their virginity by now. There's gotta be a million girls knocking down your door. I am glad to know, though, that you kept your promise to me, honey, and that you're waiting for true love. And I'm glad that you have your eye on somebody special. Maybe you ought to give her a call tonight and have her come over. I'm going to be gone for quite a while, and I doubt your s****r is coming home. You two would have the place to yourselves..."
Pure defeat. She wasn't getting it. "No, I can assure you that she wouldn't want to be here tonight. She's already made that much clear."
"Well that's too bad honey. It might be a good thing, though, since you've had so much to drink. I really ought to get going. Why don't you give your mommy a kiss goodbye?" Mommy? She hadn't called herself that since I was a c***d. But I didn't have time to concern myself with that, as I sensed this was my only chance...she was asking me for a kiss, and I intended to give one to her. She kissed my cheek and moved my head down to her breast before I could really do anything, and she just sort of held it there. I could hear her heart beating. I pulled away and looked deeply into her eyes. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes. And then I leaned in for a kiss, slowly, touching my lips to hers. I begin to part mine and stick my tongue out a little, and she quickly, but tenderly, pulled my head back away from hers, saying, "whoa, there, cowboy, I think you've had a little too much to drink." But I could see there was a moment, it may have been just a brief moment, but it was there nonetheless. It was a moment of hesitation, of longing, when she looked back down to my lips and her head nodded forward for a fraction of a second. But she, having far less to drink than I, had the wherewithal to restrain herself.
I slumped back into my chair, too numb to really feel any embarrassment, and to d***k to do much of anything else. My mom called out to me that she was heading out, and not to wait up.
I had blown it. Completely and utterly blown it. But at least I might be able to blame it all on the wine, right?
I decided to have another glass of wine (why not), and was now VERY d***k). My mind kept thinking back to that damned black dildo. It was all I could think about. I decided I needed to have another look. I crept back up to my mother's room (why I was being so quiet I didn't know, since there wasn't anybody else home), and decided to look through the cabinet where I knew she had kept her "naughty books." There were about 5 or six in there, but below them I saw something I hadn't ever seen before: a few collections of magazines that were predominantly hot, erotic letters (with a few pictures, too). There were some bookmarks in a couple of them, so I went to those first. Almost all of them involved older women fucking younger guys. It seemed my mom had a bit of a fetish. I started to dig around a little deeper, and found another one toward the back that was far more explicit, and had some very raunchy stories, including some i****t.
I decided to read a few of these, and before I knew it, I had to relieve myself. I crawled up on top of her bed and began to slowly stroke myself. I was still very buzzed, and when I came, I didn't react quickly enough, and I shot my load with a spurt or two hitting the page of the story. I didn't know what to do and tried to wipe it off as best I could, but it left a very obvious stain. I buried the magazine back as far as possible, and ran to my room. I fell asl**p instantly.
The next day I woke up to see that my mother had indeed decided to go to work. I had no idea if she ever came home, actually. I went back down to the beach, but being a gray, overcast day, I was pretty much alone. I left for home about 3 hours before my mother was due home, and decided, what the hell; I might as well inspect the area and see if it appears as if she found my little incident from the day before. I poured myself a big glass of wine and headed up to her room.
Everything looked pretty much as it did when I left it there, but I wasn't content to just let it alone. This time, I decided I wanted to sniff some of her panties while I jerked off. So I opened up the drawer and grabbed the first pair I saw, which was a lovely, lavender, lacy pair. I held them up to my nose and breathed in deeply. They smelled like laundry detergent. I should have realized that, in order to get the smell I was looking for, I needed to get a used pair. I folded up the pair I had taken out, and was about to put them away when something grabbed my attention. The dildo. I was alone with it now, and it seemed to be calling out to me. I picked it up out of the drawer, my hand just barely fitting around it, and the first thing I noticed was that it was much stiffer than I expected. The second thing I noticed was that again, it seemed to be covered in something that had dried on it earlier. I sniffed at it and was awarded with an odor that I presumed to be that of my mother. I was deliriously horny. My head was spinning and my heart was threatening to leap right out of my chest!
I brought it over to the bed with me, along with some magazines. I breathed in the earthy aroma again. My mouth was watering. I wanted more than ever now to find the true source of this amazing scent. I knew what I needed to do...I needed to taste it. I licked the shaft and my taste buds nearly exploded. If I thought the fragrance was sweet, the taste was even more incredible! I licked all the way up from the base to the head. The thought that I was giving a blowjob to a dildo was trying to push itself close to the front of my mind, but more than anything, I was thinking, "I'm licking my mother's cum." The thought was almost about to push me over the edge. In no time at all, I was sopping up my own saliva off of the dildo. I was going wild, thrusting my cock into the mattress and trying to clean every last spot off that b**st of a cock. Before I knew it, I was trying to deep throat the dildo. I flipped onto my back, oblivious of the puddle of precum I had deposited on my mother's bedspread. I didn't care. I didn't care that she'd come home to find her bed soiled and her dildo sucked clean. All I cared about was cumming. And hard.
I read another story about f****y members, this one about a b*****r and s****r that fucked each other on a f****y camping trip, in a tent right beside their parents. I read another about an aunt taking advantage or her nephew who was living with her while going to college. But I knew the story I wanted was that hot mother and son story. I gulped down the rest of my wine and masturbated furiously while reading that story. I ended up passing out with the magazine stuck to my chest, drying in a puddle of my own cum. I had a dirty pair of my mother's satiny panties in my hand, and was holding her dildo in it. It must have dropped down to the floor when I passed out because when I awoke, it was no longer there.
In fact, when I awoke, a realization hit me right upside the head...I had passed out, naked, in my mother's room, and she was due home any minute. It was getting dark outside, which meant that, as a matter of fact, my mother was probably due home by now. All of this was coming to me rather slowly, though. And while it was happening, my ears were picking up a faint squishing sound. I wasn't sure what it was, or if it was even coming from inside. I lifted my head slowly and looked around. Sitting across the room, in an easy chair that had been my father's when my parents' were married, was my mother. She was dressed, but not very well. Her sundress was up around her waist, and one of her breasts was hanging out. All of this I saw out of my peripheral vision, though, because what I was concentrating on was that squishing noise. My mother had that monster cock sliding in and out of her. I propped myself up on my elbows, and right as I did, she looked me dead in the eyes and came. Hard. She dropped the dildo to the floor and started shaking violently, pulling on her clit with one hand and the nipple of her left breast with another. She threw her head back and let out a guttural moan that sent a shock right through me. I was instantly hard.
I kept still, just staring at her, and as she finished, she took a couple deep breaths and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was looking right into mine again. She got up and started to walk over to the bed, pulling her sundress over her head as she did so. She climbed up into the bed with me, on all fours, and said, "I saw that you shot your cum across the story about the mother and son fucking. Matthew, I wrote that story." She climbed up to me and started to lick me from my belly button all the way up to my chin. Then she stuck her tongue into my mouth. We kissed passionately for what seemed like hours, with me fondling her breasts, and her dragging her nails up and down my chest, occasionally tweaking my nipples. Between kisses, she told me that she had begun feeling aroused around me about a year and a half ago. She had come home early from work one day and was going to surprise me, but when she got to my room she peaked through the door and saw me with my eyes shut jerking off. She had stood there for a while, rubbing her clit through her clothes and had to run back to her room to finish the job.
Since then, I have been the focal point of all her fantasies. She had written the letter to the magazine after a very erotic dream she had about me. She told me that she could never be with another guy because she found that while they were having sex, she was thinking only of me. Even her relationship with her last boyfriend Phillip ended because of me. When I asked her about the cable guy, she told me she made that up. The truth of the matter was that, on their one-year anniversary, Phillip proposed to her, and she said yes, but that twice that night, while they were making love, she called out my name. The first time, he had ignored it; the second time he asked her about it, and she broke down and told him that she had been watching me masturbate for so long that she had built up a fantasy about fucking me. He kicked her out and they have never spoken since.
All of this she told me while we were kissing. Then she brought herself up so that her mouth was next to my ear, and she stuck in her tongue. When she pulled it back out, she said, "Enough talk, tonight, I want those fantasies to come true." And she crawled back down my body, leaving a trail of kisses as she went. She licked the insides of my thighs and tickled by balls with her fingernails, all the while, staring up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. When she finally touched my cock with her mouth, I exploded, all over her face. I apologized for cumming so soon, and she told me not to worry, that we had all night. In fact, she said, we had all week. She told me that when she got home and saw me on the bed, in the state I was in, she knew that the time had come to make me her man. So she called in to work and told them that she was going to take the whole week off.
I flipped my mother onto her back and gave her thighs the same treatment she had just given me. I moved to her pussy and pulled her lips apart, sticking my tongue in as far as I could. I gave her the best tongue fucking I could (I had some practice at this...just because I was a virgin that doesn't mean that I didn't have some experience...and every time I did this to one of my girlfriends, they always came and came and came). As soon as I started, my mother, moaning in approval, told me that she had always hoped that I would be good at eating her out. Apparently my father wasn't too fond of oral sex, and she had gone without for a long, long time.
Finally, when I was hard again, I positioned myself over her, and entered her. Having only had a handful of blowjobs and handjobs in my time, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. My mother's pussy felt as soft as velvet, and oh, so tight. It didn't take me too long before I felt another load about to blow, and my mother, far more adept at sensing when to slow things down, decided to take control. She flipped me onto my back and rode me, slowly grinding her cunt against me. I met her on each thrust, and each thrust was met with a short grunt from her. I had always wondered if my mother was a vocal love maker, and I was finding out first hand that indeed she was.
I told her that I was getting close again, and she asked if I minded switching positions again. Was she crazy? This time, she got onto all fours and presented her lovely ass to me. I wasn't sure if she wanted it doggie style or anally, and so I decided to play it safe and fuck her pussy. After a few good, hard thrusts, she breathlessly asked me to stick a finger into her ass. Then two. Then three. Hearing my mother say these words, things like, "Come on baby, stick another finger in my ass," and "Oh god, harder...make your mother moan, baby!" were having their effect on me, and I pulled out and came all over my mother's back and ass.
"I wish you'd told me, I wanted that load on my tits." As she said this, we both started laughing and fell into each other's arms.
We fucked a few more times that night, and then over breakfast we had a long talk about what was to come. We agreed that we could "date" each other and that I could live in the house with her for as long as I wanted. She asked me what my plans were for the rest of the year now, specifically about the camping trip with my dad, and I said, "Fuck him."
She responded with, "No thanks, honey, I'd much rather fuck his son!"