My Summer with Mom


That was enough to replace my fear with a confidence I had never known. However, when I passed a recently crossed boundary and approached another the uncertainty returned with a vengeance rendering me more nervous than ever, possibly because each transgression of normal son-mother interaction was increasingly forbidden.

Thus, my progression higher up Mom's leg proceeded at a snail's pace and I barely managed an extra inch each day or two. It was four days before I got to the thicker part of her leg and my fingers couldn't reach the bottom of her thigh even when fully extended. To reach the full height of her thigh I needed to move my palm up and down her leg but I had never actually moved my hand, leaving my fingers do the stroking.

It was a major hurdle and I was nervous about crossing it, very, very nervous. However, like the breaking of previous barriers, it was anticlimactic when it was done. In a way I knew it would be but I was still scared. As it turned out, Mom seemed to like the way my palm pressed into the softness of her flesh as my fingers stretched out to stroke the underside of her thigh. At least, she sighed whenever I did it.

Two days later my hand was so far up her leg it couldn't go any farther without the edge of my hand bumping the hem of her skirt higher. I was having difficulty breathing as I approached this newest boundary—actually manipulating her clothing for improved access to her flesh—with great trepidation and yet eagerness too. It was hard to work up the courage to push the skirt higher but the moment came when I took a deep breath and held it, then edged my hand against the hem.

Nothing happened and Mom's eyes remained closed. The material had simply crinkled without giving ground. I rubbed the inside of Mom's left leg and pulled it toward me. When her legs opened wider the skirt fell away and I stared, my hand frozen in place. A pair of white panties gawked back at me.

They were magnificent. They were so bright I squinted but of course that was impossible in the darkened room. I strained my eyes to investigate the contoured landscape which puffed dramatically up and away from the surrounding flesh of Mom's thighs. My cock, which was usually swollen during our movie sessions, stiffened and pressed hard against the denim of my jeans.

I glanced at Mom's face to make sure her eyes weren't open. Relieved, I rubbed the inside of her thigh but my complete attention was focused on those white panties and the way they moved in response to the push and pull of my hand on her flesh. Mom didn't sigh like I expected but the tenor of her breathing was different.

For days I worked my way up to rubbing the inside of Mom's thigh close to the white panties. I became quite cavalier about pushing the skirt out of the way to obtain an unobstructed view. They were always white. But I didn't know what to do next. Mom hadn't said anything for almost a week so I was startled when she lifted her head to speak.

"You're becoming quite adept," she said in a soft voice.

Stifling my panic, I answered as calmly and confidently as I could, trying to mimic my long absent role model, Jerry.

"I guess," I said.

"But you seem to be stuck."

I nodded, not trusting myself to maintain the charade of coolness.

"Are you wondering what Jerry's next move was?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, admitting my lack of cool.

"So what do you think it was?"

"I don't know."

I knew what I wanted it to be. I knew what I wanted to do, to press my hand over those beautiful panties and squeeze, but I knew that would be wrong.

"The obvious thing…" Mom started.

"He wouldn't do the obvious thing."

"You're right."

"And I couldn't practice that."

"Probably not," Mom confirmed.

Was it my imagination or was she a little short of breath? Did she remember her anticipation after so many years?

"So he…" I prompted.


I saw it clearly then. His hand moved, feigning a leap to the honey pot but swerved instead up to cup her breast, confidently, testing its firmness without apology. Mom's eyes closed. Was she inviting me to do the same? I tried to move my hand, to force it along the path of my imagination, but it remained frozen to the inside of her thigh.

"…kissed me," she sighed. "Really deep and for a long time." She sighed again.

I stared at her face, her eyes closed and skin relaxed. Was she waiting? Could I really kiss my mother the way she said Jerry had done it? Did she really want me to, as practice for me or to reminisce for herself? Either way, how far could I push it?

"Girls like to be kissed," she whispered.

I leaned toward her and felt my muscles complain. How many days had I maintained this position, for hours at a time? I pushed forward and hung my head over hers, slowly moving closer until our lips were a fraction of an inch apart. She had to know I was hovering over her face—my breath would give me away—yet she gave no indication of rejection or acceptance. The only invitation was her soft, pouting lips.

On my own, I pressed my lips to hers.

They clashed, like two sponges meeting. My lips were immobilized. I was waiting for hers to move to imply acceptance but they didn't. Mine trembled, not intentionally, but from nervousness. Nevertheless, Mom's reacted so I wiggled them on purpose. Soon, I was kissing Mom and we were necking.

The next day I cheated with the lumber, moving some from the back of the pile to the front, to make my morning's work look more substantial. We had an early lunch and started the movies as soon as we were finished. Mom was already wearing a skirt and didn't need to get changed.

I didn't rush it. I progressed through the stages more quickly but not too fast. When my lips pressed upon hers there was only the briefest hesitation before my mouth moved and manipulated hers. They parted and for the first time the tip of my tongue slipped between. I froze, my typical reaction whenever I crossed a new boundary, but soon pushed my tongue past her teeth and into her mouth. The kissing was intense that afternoon. We necked for hours, unable to stop. My hunger for her lips and tongue, the desire to explore every inch inside her mouth, was ravenous.

Three days later, when my tongue had been exploring her mouth for almost an hour, my hand slipped of its own accord onto Mom's panties. Again, my whole body froze, waiting for her reaction. After a long time I was convinced there would be none and that permission had been granted. But then, her face pulled away.

"You probably shouldn't do that," she whispered.

I whispered back, "I know. It was an accident."

I meant to pull my hand away but I kissed her first and somehow, while our mouths were engaged, I forgot and she neglected to remind me. My hand remained on the white panties, quite still, lest she be reminded of its presence. The next day, when I moved my hand onto her panties after only a half hour of kissing, Mom admonished me again.

"You shouldn't do that."

"I know." A moment later I said, "Jerry did."

We renewed our kissing and I didn't remove or move my hand. After ten minutes or so of stillness, my hand constricted and I whispered a single word.


It was more a press than a movement but enough to squeeze the soft puffiness of her panties, enough to feel the warmth and topography of her mound, and enough to trigger a muffled moan deep within Mom's throat.

Several days later my hand didn't just press and squeeze, it moved, and the whispered 'Jerry' was quite faint. The day after that I rubbed Mom's panties with great liberty without whispering his name though, as always, I had to start with barely a quiver of a touch. She openly moaned when my lips parted from hers and her loins were very responsive to my touch, often pushing hard against my hand. She never tried to close her legs except for the occasions when her thighs suddenly clamped hard around my hand, then quickly released.

It was about two weeks later, more than a week after I realized her contracting muscles meant she was coming, as I had been doing in my pants, that I reached a barrier I could not cross. I had slipped my hand farther upward, palm first, onto Mom's bare tummy and then tried to slide it back underneath her panties. Mom grabbed my wrist and spoke in a firm voice.


I kept my hand still, adopting my usual frozen demeanor, but tried to slip my fingers inside her panties again a few minutes later, whispering, "Jerry."

"No," she repeated, more firmly than before.

I didn't try a third time. I put my hand back on her mound, outside her panties, and she sought my lips with hers. Strangely, she came very hard that time, and sooner. As usual, we went upstairs to our respective bedrooms to clean up and met downstairs in the kitchen for a cup of tea. We never talked about what happened in the living room, or even about dating. Afterward, I returned to work on the barn until Dad came home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning, Mom asked Dad if it was okay if I helped her pick berries instead of working on the barn for a few days.

"Do you need him? He's doing so well and I have several people wanting to buy lumber."

"I do," Mom replied.

"For how long?"

"Two or three days."


"Do you want blackberry jam this winter?"

Dad grumbled but gave his blessing.

That morning, I helped Mom pick a pile of blackberries. We had a picnic lunch on the small hilltop behind our house. Mom finished eating before me and lay back on the blanket, one armed crooked behind her for a pillow and the other bent on her forehead to cover her eyes. She looked beautiful, with strands of her thin, wispy hair straying across her freckled face and her legs outlined by the loose summer dress. I could even see the bumps that marked the location of her smallish breasts, pulled high and taut by her outstretched arms.

"How should a guy go about touching a girl's breasts?" I blurted out.

Mom frowned and I immediately regretted what I'd said. I had ruined this pleasant time where we were acting like a normal mother and son.

"I shouldn't have asked," I said. "Forget it."

Mom smiled. "It's okay. I know you're curious."

Still, she didn't say anything and I decided to let it drop.

"I can't really tell you. I don't have much experience in that line."

"Why? Isn't Dad a breast man?"

Mom laughed but not pleasantly. "Yes, but mine are too small to warrant his attention."

"What about Jerry?" I ventured.

I had a sudden, enormous desire to see and fondle her breasts. They were small, I knew, but I bet they were sexy like the rest of her.

"He's like your father in that regard, I'm afraid."

I dropped the subject and sat in silence. I gazed down the hill, surveying our house, the barn and other outbuildings, the garden, and the field between us and them. I put my hand on Mom's bare foot and idly began stroking her ankle. Soon, I was rubbing her leg from foot to above her knee. Something stirred in my loins and I turned to lie beside her, on my side. I leaned over to kiss her and we were soon necking. My hand lifted the hem of the dress onto her tummy and she opened her legs to welcome my hand on her panties.

As if it was expected I tried to slip my fingers inside Mom's panties. She stopped me, of course, but without the firm reprimand. A simple, firm grip on my wrist was enough. I returned to her panties and soon tried to slip a finger through the legging. Mom chuckled but her hand gripped my wrist. I tried twice more and then pulled my hand away.

I sat up and looked at her. Her eyes were and closed she looked like she was waiting, confident I would return. I also knew I would but held off, admiring her face which was flush with excitement from our kissing and petting. The dress was piled on her tummy yet Mom made no effort to cover herself or to even close her legs. The panties where swollen and there were two sharp points pricking into the dress where her small breasts should be, as excited as the rest of her body.

The dress buttoned down the front. I started to unbutton the top one and Mom's hands latched onto mine but gently, without the firmness used to prevent the invasion of her panties. My fingers persisted and Mom's hands fell away. Excitement surged within me and I fumbled several times in my attempts to undo the remaining buttons but eventually they were all undone.

I hadn't pulled the dress apart as the buttons were removed. Now, I gently put my fingers between the two halves and separated them, pulling them apart in one swoop to reveal my mother's breasts.

They were divine. Small, yes, but the nipples stabbed upward, shamelessly. She had awesome little tits!

"They're fools," I announced.

Mom knew who I was talking about and smiled.

"Fools," I repeated.

The hand across Mom's forehead abandoned her eyes to the sun and joined the other to form a better pillow under her head. Her breasts awaited.

I leaned over and kissed her gently instead of going straight for her tits. I smiled because I knew I had surprised her and she smiled back. I kissed her several more times and then lowered my head, kissing her chin, then her throat and clavicle before pressing my lips onto the upper swells of her breasts. A minute later, I sucked a nipple into my mouth.

It took a while before I learned how she liked to have her tits suckled but I will never forget the reaction to that first suck. Mom arched her back and shoved her whole tit into my mouth. Her breasts were very sensitive. Like her mound, they loved to be touched. Not mauled, but touched, and kissed, definitely kissed.

I alternated between Mom's mouth and her breasts. Her hands unwound from beneath her head and clutched mine, following but never leading it on its journey from one location to the other.

My hand returned to Mom's panties and rubbed more vigorously than before. Her body writhed on the blanket and I sensed she was turned on more than she'd ever been before, at least with me. I felt I could do anything with her. When I look back, I realize that was a major part of why Mom was so exciting. She let me know how much I excited her and that really turned me on.

My fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties. I hadn't meant to try again; it was simply automatic. Mom's hand gripped my wrist and I stopped. I was about to apologize when her grip loosened and her hand fell away. I remained still, breathing heavily, until her hand pressed on the back of my head, forcing my mouth onto her nipple. My fingers pushed lower and climbed onto her mound, splaying to either side of her slit to caress her lower lips. Mom moaned and after a few rubs my finger slipped into her cleft.

She arched her back, forcing her tit deep into my mouth. I sucked hard and pushed my finger into her cunt. Mom pulled me onto her and wrapped her legs around mine making it difficult to keep my finger inside her but I managed. Now that I was in there I wasn't going to be easily dislodged.

Mom's arms kept my head on her chest and her hips bumped and writhed against me as she fucked my finger. It was like I had let a caged panther loose. My bulge thrust and rubbed against the bony front of her left hip. She was moaning like crazy, or so I thought until I realized at least half of them, the louder ones, were mine. It was incredibly intense.

Mom became even more vocal and so did I. The writhing became frenetic and I knew we were both coming hard. I collapsed on her side, my chest heaving in time with hers. I fell off onto my back and listened to her gasping lungs, almost as desperate to be filled as my own. We recovered slowly until our breathing was regular, lying side by side on our backs.

Eventually, I sat up. Mom's eyes were closed and her dress was still wide open, displaying her complete nakedness except for the panties. Her body looked relaxed but there was still a slight sheen on her skin from the sweat of our exertions. Her breasts were rosy and the nipples still distended. My gaze lowered to the white panties which were pulled halfway down, leaving her pussy partially exposed, a tuft of wispy brown hair and part of her cleft emerging above the waistband. I loved the way she didn't try to cover up. She just lay there, wanton and gorgeous.

The sun's heat felt divine. I pushed Mom's legs further apart and she smiled. I picked up a blackberry and put it to her lips. They opened and she sucked it into her mouth. I offered another and it disappeared in the same way but a third was rejected by sealed lips.

I pushed the blackberry, bottom down, against Mom's left nipple, as if trying to fit it with a juicy toque. It didn't fit, of course, and disintegrated on her areole, staining it dark purple. Mom laughed and I adorned her right nipple with another blackberry. Two more followed for each one and then I scooped up a handful of berries. Mom's eyes were open now and she watched but didn't try to stop me.

Her eyes followed my hand as it moved from breast to breast, hovering, then broke away and stopped above her panties. I used my free hand to tug the panties down until her whole pussy was exposed. Mom lifted her head and craned her neck to watch. I squeezed my hand. Juice dribbled out and dripped onto her pussy. I moved, trailing the stream of freshly squeezed blackberry juice around her mound and then down through her cleft. I grabbed another handful and squeezed it until the cleft briefly filled, then mysteriously drained away.

Mom's neck was straining with the effort to keep her head up and I cupped the back of her head with a hand to help. I lowered my own to examine the disappearing juice, got very close, then dropped the last few inches and kissed her mound.

"Ohhhhhhh, Jeez."

I looked at her and kissed her pussy again.

"You shouldn't do that," she gasped.

"I know," I said, and lowered my mouth, stretching out my tongue until it fit between her nether lips.

"Ohhhh, God."

I wiggled my tongue, sliding it sideways up and down through Mom's slit. She moaned when I tried to cover her whole pussy with my mouth. I sucked her lips and kissed them, licked all over, and pushed my tongue deep. My finger found her hole and pushed inside. For a long time, I finger fucked Mom and ate her at the same time. My free hand found my buckle and loosened my belt, then unsnapped my jeans.

"No," Mom said.

"I won't," I responded.

"I mean it."

"I know."

I jacked my cock and fingered and licked Mom. Several minutes later Mom pulled my hand off my cock and put it on her left tit. My thumb and fingers encircled it and started tugging and pinching her long, stiff nipple. Her hand found my cock and her fingers wrapped around it. She stroked it slowly but when I moaned she jerked it faster and faster.

Our moans intermingled. Hunched over her, I fingered and sucked and humped my cock toward her body. Mom gasped and moaned and said something I couldn't make out. I tried hard to listen but couldn't until one phrase came through clear as a bell.

"Come on me," she gasped.

And then I was. It was like her command released a huge load of sperm built up inside me. I blasted a jet of hot, white jism onto her side and across her stomach. The next rope landed on her tits and the next higher, almost up to her throat. I steered the last two gasps much lower, onto her pussy, and immediately felt that was a stupid thing to do.

"Oh baby, oh Jerry," Mom moaned, her hips lifting off the blanket as her heels dug in and her legs and torso writhed frantically, thighs closing, then opening and snapping closed again and again.

Still holding my cock, she aimed it between her legs but I had nothing left to give. Man, that Jerry was a lucky guy. He must have taken Mom's cherry and fucked her a lot; else why would she get so horny just thinking about him? I bet she would have done anything for him. I was jealous, really jealous.

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