The Prodigal Son

[ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18. Author's Note: many elements of this story are true. With that, the story sometimes meanders. Forgive my indulgences. In addition, the main female character vaguely resembles the lovely adult actress Harley Raine, as I'll explain throughout the story. If you are not familiar with Ms. Raine, I recommend you look her up. This will help in visualizing certain scenes...I'll wait.]

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My parents divorced a long time ago. Since my father was basically just a sperm donor to his three offspring, nothing really changed after he left. My older brother was the golden boy. After graduating high school, he joined the Marines. I'm proud to say he's still a member of the Corps. My sister was the nerd. Graduating valedictorian, she received a scholarship to an Ivy League college.

That left the role of fuck-up for me. A role I excelled too well at. At age 14, the State had to step in and off I went to what is now called DFY -- the Division for Youth, informally known as 'Reform School'. Having experienced this wonderland, there wasn't any reforming happening and the only schooling was how to commit better scams, hustles, and crimes. The guards claimed, "It teaches you what to expect for your eventual entry into adult prisons."

After surviving 30 months of a 48-month sentence, I was released due to 'good behavior' [this meant I refrained from getting caught assaulting anyone for 60 days straight]. During my sojourn, I learned to become a Lone Wolf. The irony being that as a kid, I got nicknamed Dinkleberry for constantly tagging along with the older, less-than-honorable kids of my neighborhood. Eventually, my nickname was shortened to just Dink.

Upon my release, my isolation continued. At home, my brother and sister were gone. In the neighborhood, most kids either avoided me or were assholes.

"How'd it feel to get butt-fucked?" or "How'd you like getting gang-raped?" they'd ask, as if this was the funniest joke they ever told. In a flash, I'd spit a razor into my hand, a trick reform school had taught me. I'd shut them by probing, "How'd you like to taste my steel?"

To this fun was the fact that part of my release conditions was a 7pm curfew. Supposedly, it was to help keep me stay on the straight and narrow. But honestly, I viewed it as a trap -- that they hoped I'd eventually get frustrated and say, "Fuck it." Then bang, I would be violated.

Being 16 my reward for violating would be a 1-way trip to an adult state prison. If this sounds a bit paranoid, then accept the fact that upon first meeting my probation officer she offered to make a wager on how long I'd last until she, "had the pleasure of locking me up." She picked the date of my 17th birthday, which was 8 months away -- fucking cunt! I fuckin' hated her.

Besides remaining an anal virgin, my biggest accomplishment at DFY was receiving my GED. This proved handy since after my release my high school wanted nothing to do with me; nor did any college or university.

Knowing that to succeed I needed more schooling, I enrolled at the local community college. They didn't seem too thrilled at having to accept me, but their open enrollment policy forced them to. Am I being paranoid? Since I was 16 and applying, the admissions counselor demanded to see my GED. Upon presenting a document that proudly announces, "awarded through the auspices of the Division for Youth", this sent her scurrying to her supervisor's office. As I watched, more people were called into the supervisor's office, until six people were huddled in there. It was both frustrating and belittling.

Eventually, she returned asking if I was willing to meet with the Dean of Admissions. I readily agreed and I gotta admit, the Dean was a straight-up class act. I explained to him my role in robbing multiple pharmacies for their narcotics; how we got caught and that now I'm trying to move on. In time, the Dean became my rabbi at school.

Having a GED, I discovered did not mean I was college ready. I had to begin by taking a bunch of prep classes before I could even start the entry-level courses. Usually, I was the youngest student in these classes by 20 years. Most of the students were adults returning to school after a long time. And if you think, "Oh cool, maybe some of the moms took him under the wing and taught him the ropes" -- fat chance! They treated me as a leper to be avoided, or a wolf in the sheep pasture to be wary of. The men were even worse, as they'd puff up their chests and tried to act tough. Give me a break! I just simply focused on my studies.

Mom was surprisingly supportive of my efforts. She pushed me not to let the barriers thrown in front of me discourage me. Before my sojourn, my relationship with mom could be described, at best, as distant. Now an adult in the eyes of the law and in maturity, mom and I began to develop a bond. Until I got my driver's license, she would drive me to or from school as our schedules allowed. Mom would help me with my homework, and I realized she was pretty damn smart. (Being the head of the accounting department of a regional supermarket, she should be. Yet as kids, do we ever think are parents are anything but idiots?) Besides running circles around me in math, mom gladly volunteered to help with my other subjects too.

From this, we began having many insightful conservations, with topics such as: politics, world events, economic policies, and the role of religion. Mom taught me that to 'question authority' didn't mean to be a blockhead; instead it meant don't just accept the dogma of the main stream. I began reading about libertarianism for fun; about the differences between socialism, capitalism, and other economics systems. Although I no longer partook in it, I began studying about the legalization movement and started supporting it. Not as a reason to get high, but as a human and civil rights issue.

As time went by, mom and I got to really know each other. I wouldn't say we became friends, but we certainly became comfortable with each other. As nerdy as this may sound, for my 18th birthday we attended a political rally for a libertarian presidential hopeful.

After two and half years at the community college, I graduated. With the Dean of Admissions help, I was able to transfer to the nearby State University, pursuing my Bachelor's degree.

Trapped at home every night, first by a curfew, then my course load, I noticed mom almost never went out on a date. Seriously, I think she went on two dates in 3 years. Yet I also realized that mom was hot. Not hot for a 46-year-old woman but just simply hot.

And so one seemingly ordinary evening, I sat on mom's bed as she spoke about her day. This had become a somewhat regular routine, where she would babble on about work as she got ready to take a shower. Tonight, her rambling was about how a sale for one product was not producing the results expected; and a concern about the raising prices for fresh vegetables, and if it could be offset somewhere else. Really exciting stuff, huh?

As mom was discussing these things, she stood before her dresser, getting ready to change from her work attire and take a shower. I always admired how nice she dressed and longed to watch her shed her clothes. First to come off was her dark charcoal blazer, with white lace trim along the collar. Beneath that mom wore a thin white satin blouse that was pinstriped and semi-sheer. Sitting about five feet behind her, I could just see traces of her white bra. Mom pulled her blouse from her skirt and began unbuttoning it.

As she removed her blouse, mom casually talked to me about different sales options they might try. Do you think I paid attention to that? I was busy drinking in the sight on the mirror of her ponderous boobs. Could Mom be completely unaware that I was drinking in the sight of her tremendous 38D boobs? I had wondered this many times, as she had tormented my inflamed cock with her seemingly oblivious undressing before me.

My cock throbbed seeing mom in a white bra that was attractive but reveled nothing. It was layered with rows of small white clamshell lace, each row building upon the former row. In the middle of the two large cups was a white triangle with a quilted white flower embroidered onto it. My eagle eye vision also noted that the middle hovered about a half inch from her breastbone. Her magnificent globes were too proud to be held back, bulging from their container. I noticed how her bra had wide shoulder pads at the top, and squeezed in her body around her sides. 'Oh, if I could be that bra!' I dreamed.

"Davis, can you unzip me?" Entranced as I was, it took me a moment to realize that mom called to me asking for me to unzip her matching charcoal shirt. I walked up behind her, and had to quickly, subtly shift my raging boner. I was pitching a tent that pushed out from my loose gym shorts about three inches. I couldn't have bumping up against that, could I?

Timorously, I reached for the buttoned flap that covered the top of the skirt's zipper. This was because it lay on the top of the upswell of mom's rump, and mom's bare back flesh was right there! Of course, the button fought me. I placed my other hand on mom's hip, ultra-conscious of how perfectly her hip fit within my grasp. Tugging, I got that button to release but not before I got to watch mom sway with my tugs.

The zipper was more accommodating, it simply unzipped its few inches without any protest, V'ing open about four inches at the top. Reveled was the top of mom's sheer black pantyhose. Now open, mom's skirt seemed to defy gravity as it remained in place, this was because of the sweet swell of mom's hips. Still, I stared at this feat.

"Would you?" she asked. From previous experience, I knew she meant for me push down her skirt. She seemed blissfully naïve of my rampant, raging lust. I placed my other hand on her hip, and in an easy motion her skirt slipped off the smooth nylon material. She squatted down and stepped out of her skirt, still wearing her tall black pumps. Lying when she claimed to be 5' 4", mom always wore heels. Tonight, her heels were tall, thin spikes that seemed four inches long.

Mom stood back up and I marveled at the sight she presented me.

"Mom, how come you never seem to date?" I curiously wondered as I reached around mom's waist, and loosely hugged her. As I did this, mom's eyes dropped to my hands.

"Sweetie, who wants an old hag like me?" Mom divisively replied.

"Don't say that, mom, you're beautiful." I earnestly corrected.

"That's really sweet, but I know the truth." She countered.

Pulling mom a little closer, I asked, "Really?"

With my head over her shoulder and looking at mom's reflection in the mirror, I said, 'Look at yourself mom," and grudgingly she lifted her eyes to see herself in the mirror.

"You have this beautiful black hair, that's still all natural. You don't have to do anything and it looks great. Women would kill to have your hair." It was true, even at 46, mom still didn't have a grey hair [even with me and Jimmy as sons]. She was delighted by this, and proud of her hair in general. Today she'd worn it loose and parted slightly in the middle; it started in the middle and gently angled to the left. From there, mom's raven dark locks hung straight down, framing her face before cascading down to the middle of her back. I could smell the scent of the lavender and lilac scented shampoo she used. If I smelled that scent in a supermarket, it would create longings in my pants.

"And tell me you don't have the most beautiful eyes..." making eye contact with her in the mirror, I continued, "...you know that's true. You know you can paralyze someone with a look." Mom knowingly smirked. This was because she has piercing ice blue eyes. They are so pale a blue, that in bright sun they sometimes seem white. With her dark hair and fair skin, mom's eyes stood out. They were startling and an attention grabber. When she wanted to, mom could use those eyes to her advantage. Even after seeing her do it, I still hadn't learned the trick. [Thankfully, mom had blessed me with both those eyes and hair.]

"You have beautiful, clear skin..." I watched myself as I reached up and with just the bare tips of my fore and middle finger tips stroked mom's cheek, "...and such soft cheeks."

Then placing my thumb and forefinger on her jaw, I squeezed them together, running them along her jaw to meet on her chin. I've always loved that mom has a petite chin that somehow seemed separate from her jaw, as if attached later. This was because she has a u shaped line that defines her chin.

My penis ached, I was so damn hard. It seemed as if my cock threatened to tear through its skin.

"Yeah, but what about the rest?" mom inquired. For reasons beyond me, mom was hypercritical of herself. Her weight would hover between 130 and 140 pounds. When it was closer to 130, she was happy. If it crept towards 140, she became neurotic. Mom worked out at an all-women's gym that supposedly celebrated a women's curves. Yet mom thought she should be a twig. I couldn't understand it.

"Mom, lift your chin." When she did, I asked, "Do you see a turkey neck?" and mom laughed. In the past, we had maliciously laughed at the turkey necks some of her friends had developed. Mom's neck was mostly smooth, with her neck muscles just barely hinting at her throat.

Then as I watched, I even shocked myself. My arms wrapped around mom's ribs. My hands reached out and cupped my mom's boobs. Gently holding each, they were both more than a handful. I jiggled them in my hands; lifted them and felt their heavy mass; caressed them and felt their softness.

"What man wouldn't love to have these in his hands? To worship, to caress, to love, to take into his mouth, he would be in heaven" Again, mom had a bizarre attitude towards her breasts. She felt they were too big; that they made her top-heavy. She'd complain about how she sometimes had to get her blouses tailored so that the middle didn't pucker open after she buttoned it. [Did mom realize the boner she gave her horny son talking about her tits?] Mom would complain about how at the gym she had to work extra hard on her chest muscles to "prevent my boobs from sagging." I almost came hearing that and would've loved to spot her as she worked out. She told me about how she rubbed lotion every night so that she didn't get stretch marks and I wanted to volunteer for that duty. I knew she didn't like to call them tits saying, "When they're this big, they're boobs."

Now I was holding them and to me they were perfect. "Mom you don't realize it, your breasts are perfect. I know you don't believe me, but your boobs are beyond incredible."

If mom had leaned back a quarter inch, she would've felt my stiff as steel cock and known how honest I was being. Instead, she just looked at me in the mirror, holding her breasts. I squeezed them together, and they surged upwards filling her whole chest.

Letting them back down, mom reached up and covered my hands with hers. We stood there like that for a moment; my hands cupping her breasts, her hands cupping mine.. One of my hands escaped from her hold and began to trace lines across her stomach. With just the tips of my ring and middle finger, I barely touched her skin. Still the feeling was delightful. I drew zigzags and felt electricity pass from her skin to my fingers.

"Your skin is so smooth," I whispered into her ear.

"So soft," I softly said as my finger made another pass

"So delightful," I breathed on her neck as I drew another line with my fingertip.

"So delicious," I crooned as my finger delighted on her bare skin.

Then keeping my fingers in contact with her skin, I let them drop down until they rode over the edge of her pantyhose. Feeling that silky, satin nylon materiel was ecstatic. Pausing at the point where the thigh connects to her hip, I drew circles and then ovals on the front of her thigh.

"Mom you know you have great legs," she would've argued with me but said nothing. "Instead of twigs, they have shape and form. They are divine. Why else do you always wear skirts?" Which was true. The one body part mom like of herself was her calves. From years of heels, they were developed and well shaped, flaring out from her thin ankles. She'd laugh and say, "Thank god, no cankles!"

Now she was quiet, just allowing my fingertips explore her body. My fingertips had left her thigh and began petting that soft paunch beneath her stomach. My fingertips drew swirls along her pantyhose as I watched in amazement.

"Mom, any man would be lucky to have someone as great as you, to have someone as wonderful as you, as beautiful as you. Any man dreams of that," I whispered into her ear. By now, mom's ass had bumped into my steel rod a few times, the last time it stayed against it. My fingertips, on their own, slipped underneath the elastic band. My fingertips continued their swirls.

"Mom, I wish I could find someone as great as you. If I could find someone as beautiful as you. Oh mom, that would be wonderful." While saying these words my hand had slowly slipped lower. Then my ring finger brushed against her pubic hair. On the second swirl, both my ring and middle finger touched her fur. "Mom, I wish I could find someone as perfect as..."

Mom jumped and spun around. Pushing me back, my mother screamed: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I'm Your Mother! Goto Your Room and think about what you've done."

Faster than the Flash, I fled my mother's room and bolted into mine.

In my room, how could I not think about what just happened? It replayed over and over again. My fingertips continued to tingle as if I could still feel mom's fuzz. I was still hard; my balls throbbed; my lust cried out for me to masturbate, to squeeze one out, to choke the chicken and bust a nut. But my guilt prevented me.

I lay on my bed and tried to sleep. My mind wasn't having that, instead the scene played again, and again. Two thoughts ran through my skull. The first was, "What have I done?" The second was more analytical, looking for where I made my mistake. I must've eventually fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes it was dark outside.

Opening my bedroom door, I sensed the house was empty -- that mom was in her room behind the closed door. Quietly, I scurried to the kitchen. Using only the light over the stove, I made a couple of sandwiches, grabbed a can of soda and the half bag of chips. Before leaving I realized I better stock up. Filling a thermos with milk, I grabbed a plastic bag and filled it with my sandwiches, the potato chips, a bag of cookies, some power bars and two sodas. Stealthily returning to my bedroom, I figured I had enough provisions to hide from my mother for a while. I ate. Then watching TV in the dark, I crawled into my bed. As I lay there, in just pajama bottoms, I realized how alone I was and...

...that my balls ached so bad it reached up into my stomach.

Page II

Many hours later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. I ignored it, hoping the person knocking would go away

There was another knock on my door. I didn't answer. Mom opened my door anyway and cautiously asked, "Davis, can we talk?"

Having been busted for feeling up my own mother, I didn't say anything. With my back to the door, I just hoped she would leave. Instead, she continued into my room. If my shame wasn't enough already, I couldn't help but notice that mom smelled amazing! As I pleaded with god for me to be anywhere but here, mom's perfume invaded my nostrils and tickled my fancy. My body rebelled against my mind and started to become excited. I cursed myself for being the Ultimate Perv

Mom continued into my room and then came around my side of the bed. Reaching about halfway, mom sat down on my bed -- right against my hip! I rolled from my side onto my back, and looked at mom for the first time since this afternoon. The expression she had was oddly a mix of nervousness and determination. Being the Ultimate Perv, I also noticed mom may have had make-up on or just lip-gloss as they shined from the glow of the TV. I noted that mom wore one of her nightgowns that was whitish and semi-sheer. From the bluish light cast by the TV, I thought I could see the swell of mom's breasts and the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra.