Like Father, Like Sonbybumblegrum©
My father had never, to my memory, been a healthy man, and he had long been quite sick before he died when I was sixteen. Mum had been a nurse when she met dad; he had been hospitalised for a minor operation, and I believe it was one of those fictional "nurse/patient" relationships. There's no doubt that dad was a good looking guy before his final illness set in, and Mum had told me he could be quite charming and sometimes downright irresistible.
I had never had a mature relationship with Dad; his illness prevented that, but he was always kind and supportive towards me. So was Mum, although in my early adolescence, the needs of my father tended to take precedence over mine. In my own selfish way I resented this, even when I realised that my father's condition was terminal. I never reproached Mum over this, and I was later grateful to myself that it didn't sour our relationship.
Mum had nursed Dad through his final illness and I can remember his funeral well. Mum had mourned him but not to the extent that some people thought right. Mum told me later that her mourning had started well before Dad's actual death, knowing that this was inevitable. She told me that her feelings were a mixture of sadness and relief, relief that he was finally released from his pain and suffering.
Fast forward nine years. My exams were complete, my thesis had been accepted and I was now a fully fledged psychologist after 6 years of study. Still very wet behind the ears but full of ideas and enthusiasm. My personal life was a quite different kettle of fish. At 25, not still a virgin, my experiences with women had been limited. It seemed that they were either party girls who wanted no more than a good time and who thought I was dull and boring, or ultra serious young women who wanted to talk about deep and meaningful social issues, with sex way down on the priority list. I had one or two positive outcomes, but nothing at all lasting.
So here I was, still living at home with my mother, wondering where to take my personal life next.
Let me tell you a little bit about Mum. At 45, she was still, to my biased view, stunningly beautiful. She had kept herself very fit, initially to give herself the strength and endurance to nurse Dad through his illness, then as a deliberate strategy to keep herself fit. She told me that it was the ideal antidote to gloom and depression following his death, and I knew that she worked out regularly at the local gym. Dad had a couple of longstanding insurance policies that left her reasonably well provided for, and she had a part time job that gave her a small income and paid some of the bills.
Mum was quite tall, around 5'9" with a beautifully proportioned body. I know she had a 38C bust—in my adolescent fantasies, I'd searched through her underwear drawer. Her hair was what is usually called "dirty blonde", a rather demeaning description, I've always thought. Really, a blend of blonde and light brown, she kept it scrupulously clean and it fell softly past her shoulders. She had deep blue eyes that were usually soft and warm, but could, as I knew to my cost, turn steel hard when I'd messed up. Her face was not wholly dissimilar to that of the US actor, Jenna Elfman; she wore clothes well, but usually preferred jeans, tees and flatties at home.
Mum had supported, encouraged, and occasionally bullied me, but generally been my biggest fan as I worked through my university studies. When I told her that I had been successful, she crowed with delight and gave me the biggest hug ever, and rather more surprising, a big sloppy wet kiss on my mouth.
"Stevie, I am SO proud of you and what you have achieved. I want to take you out for dinner at a big city restaurant. Name the place and the time and it's my treat."
"Thanks, Mum, that would be lovely. If money is no object, I suggest we make it the Excelsior on a Saturday evening. Soon."
"Okay, Stevie, leave it all to me."
We settled on a date and time, and I dressed up – suit, tie, decent shirt, and even polished my shoes. Then Mum came into the lounge, and it was almost a case of "cometh the hour, cometh the man". I was bowled over by how beautiful she looked. Mum had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble with her makeup, had clearly had a manicure and was dressed in a figure hugging creation in a rich, deep burgundy. Working upwards, she was in black patent pumps with a 3" heel, stockings and a hemline just above the knee. The top was cut in a crossover style, emphasising a deep, mouth watering cleavage, and she wore an uplift bra that called even more attention to her gorgeous breasts.
"Wow, Mum, you look absolutely stunning. Is this all for me?"
"Well, you don't think I'd dress like an old bag lady to take my favourite guy out for dinner, do you?" she laughed.
"I cannot imagine anyone looking less like an old bag lady. I am so privileged to be seen with you. Yum yum."
"I can see I'm going to have to be very careful with you, young man," she pretended to chide me, but I could tell that she found the attention pleasing.
At that moment the taxi arrived; "Just in case we want to have a drink or two," and we set off for the Excelsior.
I noticed that Mum drew admiring glances as we walked through the restaurant, and I had no doubt that she looked at least ten years younger than her forty-five years. The meal was delicious and a great success, accompanied by two bottles of first class wine. The alcohol had the effect of making us both more talkative than usual, particularly Mum.
"I've often wondered, Mum, why you haven't gone into another relationship after Dad's death?" I asked her.
"Oh, I don't know, sweetie, I've had a few offers and been out on a few dates, but no-one that really appealed. Most of the guys of my generation are either married and looking for a fling on the side, are hopeless losers who only want to talk about the shortcomings of their ex, or alcoholics. I've had one or two approaches from younger guys, but they frighten me. Oh, and by the way, Stevie, what is a MILF?"
"Um, err, well ... I really don't know ..."
"I see—now just why are you stalling, young man? I don't believe you don't know, so tell me."
"Okay, Mum, you asked for it, it stands for Mother I'd Like to ... ," and then my nerve deserted me.
"So what does the 'F' stand for?"
I blushed a deep red while Mum looked closely at me, and then the penny dropped. "Oh, I see—you are trying to spare my blushes, although I have heard the word, 'fuck' before." Mum grinned at my discomfort.
"How come you want to know about MILFs, Mum?"
"Oh," she replied airily, "I heard a couple of young guys using the expression."
"While looking at you and drooling no doubt. Still, they had excellent taste."
Now it was Mum's turn to blush, and I decided to press forward and be a bit more inquisitive. "Don't you miss the physical contact with someone else, though, Mum, being close, touching, maybe kissing? In my sort of circles, that's called 'skin hunger'."
"Stevie, I'm not sure that this is the sort of conversation for a mother to have with her son, no matter how much she loves him."
"Oho, I see—but you don't mind quizzing me about my girlfriends. I specifically remember you asking me if Barb was a good kisser, and commenting on the size of Suzie's boobs."
I managed to make Mum blush again, but she tried to save herself by saying, "That's different—I was just showing concern for my son's wellbeing."
"Hmm, maybe, but I suspect you were just trying to find out about my sex life."
"Honey, you are a very handsome, very attractive young man, and I'd be surprised if you didn't have young ladies fighting over you."
I wasn't about to lose the initiative in this discussion, "Not really, Mum, but anyway, I thought it was my turn to give you the third degree?"
"Well," she conceded with a wide grin on her face, "I think I may have found a boyfriend. His name's Eddie and he's a friend of one of my work colleagues; she introduced us a couple of days ago and he seems like a nice guy. He's a financial adviser, about my age," she finished.
"Wow, Mum, that's fantastic. So when's the first date?" I enthused, although feeling just the tiniest pang of jealousy.
"He said he'd ring me during the week, and he seemed genuine about doing that—now I'm starting to feel like a schoolgirl on her first ever date," she smiled.
I looked closely at Mum and I could see that she was happy and more relaxed than I'd seen her for a while. I hoped that it might be, at least in part, due to the enjoyable meal that we'd shared, but I also realised that Eddie had made a big impression.
We were home by midnight, and Mum gave me a generous hug. "Thank you for a really enjoyable evening, Stevie. It's very good for a girl's self-esteem to be seen with a handsome hunk—even if he is her son," she laughed.
"Thanks Mum. It's very good for a guy to be seen with a beautiful MILF, even if it is his Mum," and I winked at her as she blushed a deep red and headed for bed.
A few days later, as I returned home, I was greeted by Mum at her enthusiastic best. "Oh, honey, I'm so happy. Eddie has asked me out to dinner on Friday, and of course I agreed. Now I just have to work out what to wear."
This was a topic of conversation for the next couple of days. At the appointed time, Mum looked stunning in a sheath dress in a beautiful cobalt blue that set off her hair and eyes to perfection, with the clingy material providing a tasteful idea of her curves.
"Mum, you look stunning. Eddie is a really lucky guy," I told her. "He'd have to be blind not to appreciate how gorgeous you look."
"Thank you, honey, I do feel quite nervous—this is the first date I've been on since I met your father. I don't count you, of course," she smiled, "you're special."
The doorbell rang; Eddie had brought flowers and expressed his appreciation for how Mum looked, then she introduced him to me. He was a little shorter than me, stocky with broad shoulders but starting to develop a gut. He didn't look in the peak of physical condition, but he seemed pleasant enough, and he was most attentive to Mum.
"Don't keep her out too late, now, Eddie. She needs to be home by her curfew," I called out as they left, and was rewarded with a laugh from both of them. I eventually went to bed, and vaguely heard the front door close at some time just after midnight.
Next day I interrogated Mum, and she reported having had, "a wonderful time; Eddie was so attentive." I felt that pang of jealousy again, but said nothing.
Over the next two or three weeks, Mum was out with Eddie on at least four occasions. Then, all hell broke loose and my life changed for ever. It was a Saturday evening; I had gone out with some friends, and Mum was again out with Eddie. I arrived home rather earlier than I expected; the wife of one of my friends was feeling unwell, so we broke up early. Eddie's car was in the drive, and I walked in quietly, not wanting to disturb anything, when I heard a scream that made my blood first run cold, and then boil. Mum was screaming at Eddie, "No, Eddie, no, please don't, please don't hurt me. No, Eddie, I don't want you like this, just leave me alone and go, please." This was interspersed with screams of fear from Mum as I burst into the lounge room.
Mum was cowering away from Eddie, trapped against the wall, as he attempted to rip her clothes off, shouting at her, "Come on you whore, you know you want it, now if you're not prepared to give me what I want, I'll take it anyway. I'm going to fuck you whether you want it or not. You've been playing me along for weeks, now I'm going to get my reward."
All of a sudden I felt totally in control, in spite of the cold rage building inside me. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Eddie, you fucking pig[.] [?]"
He spun round and faced me. "Mind your own fucking business, little boy; this is between your cock-teasing slut of a mother and me."
I had hung with one or two rather tough guys early in my time at university, and one of them had told me, "In street fighting, anything goes. There ain't no rules; just get in and floor your opponent before he does it to you, and it don't matter how you do it." I remembered this advice, took a step closer to Eddie—and spat in his face. That produced the intended result, as both hands came up to wipe the muck out of his eyes, accompanied by a few choice descriptions of me. As his hands came up, his groin was unprotected, and my right foot made contact with considerable force. He howled in agony, now moving his hands down to protect the family jewels from further depredation, uncovering his face and allowing me the luxury of a powerful short-arm jab across the bridge of his nose. The red gusher was accompanied by a satisfying crunch as his nose broke and he collapsed on the floor, bleeding and howling.
I turned to Mum who was staring in a mixture of horror and fear, tinged, I thought, with admiration. "Mum, are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance? Shall I call the cops?"
"'No' to all those questions, honey, just get that heap of garbage out of here."
"My pleasure, Mum," and I grabbed Eddie by the collar and yanked him to his feet, propelling him towards the door. "Now get out of here, Eddie, and if I as much as hear a rumour that you've been anywhere near my mother, I'll give you a beating that makes this episode feel like a tickle. Capiche?"
"Fuck you," he tried to inject some bravado, but when he saw the look in my eyes, he hurried to the door. "She wasn't much of a catch, anyway," he tried to salvage his own macho image, but I opened the door and as I shoved him through, planted my foot on his backside and propelled him rapidly out, causing him to fall flat on his face on the gravel drive. "Bye bye, fuckwit," I called and walked inside, slamming the door.
Mum was sitting in a chair with tears streaming down her face. She was holding the rags of her dress close to her and was obviously highly distraught. I sat on the arm of the chair and put my arm round her shoulders, just making soothing noises and letting her know she was safe. Her tears eventually eased and she looked t me through red, swollen eyes. "Oh Stevie, what would have happened if you hadn't come home when you did?" she asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.
"Doesn't matter, Mum, the fact is I did, and I'm so relieved that I did, otherwise I might've gone after him and killed him." Mum looked at me with the faintest of smiles. "My knight in shining armour," she whispered, and the tears started to fall again.
"Hmm," I thought, and went quickly to Mum's room and got her dressing gown. Returning to the lounge, I told her, "I promise to shut my eyes if you'd like to get out of the remains of your dress so you can relax."
"Thank you Stevie," she said, and a few moments later told me, "Okay honey, I'm decent."
I looked deeply into Mum's troubled eyes. "I guess you don't want to talk about it now, Mum, but whenever you do, I'll be here to listen,"
"Thank you, honey, I might just take you up on that. But do you know the irony of all this? This evening, for the first time, I was ready to give him what he wanted. If he'd just been a little more patient and just a bit of a gentleman, I would have jumped into bed with him without a second thought. Eddie just wanted too much too quickly, and you saw the result. Thank god," Mum finished, piously.
"Mum, it's getting late, and I can see how exhausted you are. Why not take a nice hot shower and get to bed, and we can talk in the morning?"
"Mmm, yes, Stevie, that sounds like a good prescription to me. I'm sorry about all the mess, leave it until tomorrow if you like, and ..."
"Just get yourself off to bed," I jumped in, "and leave the clearing up to me."
Mum departed and I cleared up; in any event, it didn't take too long, and I could hear the soft sound of Mum's breathing as I took myself to bed.
I was woken in the early hours by someone calling my name. As I established that this was not a dream, I realised that Mum was in my room, calling softly to me. I woke and switched on my bedside light. "Hi, Mum, what's up?"
"Oh Stevie, I'm sorry to wake you, but I'm feeling so scared. Would you think I'm a dreadful woman if I asked you if I could sleep with you?"
"Mum you are certainly not dreadful, and I would regard it as a privilege if you were to sleep with me. Come on, hop in," and so saying I threw back the cover.
She climbed into my king size single bed; it was a bit squashy, so she needed to snuggle close to me, a situation that I didn't object to in the slightest. Mum was wearing a matching lilac coloured baby doll nightdress and panties that did nothing to hide her undoubted charms.
"Stevie, please hold me and keep me safe from the boogie men," she begged.
"No boogie men here, Mum, except the one who's holding you in his arms."
"Oh him," Mum giggled, and I caught the faintest whiff of brandy on her breath. She had probably tried to get herself to sleep with a drink but not succeeded. "Oh him," she repeated. "He's no problem—he keeps me safe."
"Is that so," I laughed back.
"Mmm", she replied and then, unexpectedly, kissed me full on my lips, stroking her tongue into my mouth and holding my head in her hands. I rationalised that I really had no option but to reply in kind, and we were soon caught in a passionate, warm, wet embrace, mouths moving hungrily against each other.
"Oh Stevie, I know this is wrong—mothers and sons aren't supposed to do this sort of thing, but I so need your love and protection and I want to show you how grateful I am for what you did."
"Mum, you don't have to go this far ...," but she put her finger against my lips and whispered "Ssh, tonight is different. I need to be in your arms so I can hide away from the nasties of earlier on, knowing that I'm with someone I can trust absolutely. Stevie, I love you so much. Please, my darling son, please show me what it's like to be with someone who really cares."
How could I resist such a plea? I leant over and kissed her, gently at first, and she replied with a hot, wet kiss, her tongue searching for mine. I propped on one elbow and gazed into her eyes. "Penny McLaren, I love you so much. You are so beautiful, and I feel as if I've died and gone to heaven."
Somewhat to her surprise, I had used her given name for the first time, but Mum gazed into my eyes, saying, "It feels so right for you to use my real name when we're like this. Please keep calling me Penny. I love it."
I kissed down her neck, then told her, "Penny, I think we have a small problem here."
"Mmm?" she murmured.
"Yes, you've got far too much clothing on. Let's get rid of that suit of armour for a start."
She giggled again. "This wouldn't stop a whisper, let alone a great big rampaging man, ready to make love to me at any moment—I hope." So saying, she drew the flimsy nightdress over her head and snuggled into my arms.
Mum clung to me, covering my face with kisses and whispering seductive and downright lusty demands about what I should do to her. I stroked my hands down her arm, then up her side, caressing and gently squeezing her breast, and she moaned gently in response.
"Mum," I started, "Are you really sure you want this, or would you rather just snuggle up and go to sleep?"
She didn't answer immediately, but then I felt her soft, warm hand move between my legs and caress my balls, moving them gently around and transmuting my cock into a steel bar. "Does that answer your question, sweetie?" she asked in a husky voice and I found myself forced to agree.
I rolled her gently onto her back and returned to focussing on her breast. I kissed upwards along the soft underside of each tit, then round with a circle of little kisses, avoiding, for the time being, her areolas and nipples. Mum whimpered and tried to roll her nipples into my mouth, but I kept up the teasing, causing her to grab my head and pull me down so that I couldn't avoid the tempting rigid morsels.