Waltz Time

That stirred up the hormones and I found myself having a love-hate relationship with them. I went to bed that night and had to play my solo horn again, wishing it was a concerto with mother as the orchestra.

********************

Over the following weeks we had many dance evenings, and I even got to learn the tango. That proved to be less sexy than I'd expected because I found I had to concentrate so hard on the movements.

Each time we seemed to end the evening with at least one waltz and it was always the case that we clung together, hardly moving, our pelvises glued to one another, and mother's head on my shoulder. This had the same arousing effect on me each time, and I finally had to face the fact that I was in love with my own mother.

If the goddess image had gone, it had been replaced with what had become for me the world's most desirable woman. I suppose that was also as unrealistic as the goddess image.

I made no overt sexual attempt on mother, the memory of my experience with Mercy still lingered and I was not going to risk another embarrassing rejection – a rejection that I had convinced myself I would get from mother if I overstepped the boundary of filial love.

Mother's enthusiasm for our dance sessions reached the point where she bought CD reissues of the old dance tunes and after that we were able to dispense with the gramophone and have the benefit of our modern sound system. That was just as well because the needles were wearing out and I'd discovered you couldn't buy them any more.

Nevertheless the old gramophone remained along with the records on the table where we had first placed it. They seemed to symbolise the change in the relationship between mother and me.

I had summoned up the courage to tell mother on a few occasions that I loved her, but I did not speak of the manner in which I loved her; but then I didn't need to tell her because she had been aware of that from the first time we had danced together and she'd felt my erection.

********************

One Saturday mother was having another of her clearing out sessions, a mini one this time, concentrating on her wardrobe. It took a long time for her to decide what was to stay and what went to the Red Cross Charity Shop. I was working in my study and when she had finally packed up what was to go mother disappeared into her study.

We only emerged for a cup of tea or coffee and for lunch, and mother seemed to be rather excited. As I helped with the clearing up, and apropos of nothing, or so it seemed, mother suddenly kissed me on the lips and said, "You do know I love you, don't you?"

I started to say something like, "Yes, I know...," but she fled from the room, leaving me, as so often she did in those days, with an inflamed sex organ.

All afternoon she stayed in her study so I resorted first to my bedroom to try and rid myself of the awkward projection that was trying to burst out of my jeans, and from there to my study, although admittedly not to work. I lay back on the couch and read a novel for an hour and then feeling restless I went for a walk.

By the time I returned mother was busy preparing the evening meal and still had a look of repressed excitement. If we were not going out somewhere Saturday evenings they had become almost exclusively dance times. The abandoned television set that also lived in the lounge seemed to sit in its corner glowering angrily at us because of our neglect.

I think because Saturday nights had been the time that mother and father had gone ball room dancing mother and I had an extended dance time on those evenings. It was odd that although there were a few places that still held ballroom dances, neither of us ever suggested going to one of them; we seemed sufficient unto ourselves.

The pattern was that I took my shower first, dressed and then went to the lounge to prepare it for the upcoming gyrations. After that mother showered and dressed for the evening.

I had finished the furniture rearrangement and rolled up the carpet, and as mother had not appeared I lay back on the divan that ran along one wall and wondered what was keeping her so long.

When she did arrive she seemed to burst into the room saying, "Look what I found."

I looked and stayed looking.

"I found these right at the back of the wardrobe," she said, "It's what I used to wear when your father and I used to go dancing, I'd forgotten all about them."

I don't know why, but I'd always imaged mother wearing a long flowing dress on those occasions; what she was wearing was not a long flowing dress, far from it.

It was in two main parts: a sort of blouse that left bare her shoulders and exposed the top of her breasts and part of her cleavage, and it was clear that her breasts were unsupported since they jiggled voluptuously with her every movement.

The white mid-thigh skirt hung in pleats and seemed to emphasise her high tight buttocks as, like her breasts the pleats rippled and swung as she moved. In addition she was wearing dark green stockings and high heel shoes – normally mother was a low heel lady.

"What do you think?" she asked anxiously.

I thought, "My God, no wonder I got into her womb before they were married, but I said, "You look terrific mum, se... lovely."

"You really think so?"

"Yes...yes I do," I reassured her.

"Not too old fashioned?"

"No, not at all they make you look years younger."

She gave a funny quavering sort of laugh and said, "Then let's dance."

She set a CD going and we came into each other's arms.

I knew this was going to be a very hard evening, in at least two senses of that word.

Since we now didn't need to keep turning a record over every few minutes, we kept on dancing and as we did I could feel mother trembling in my arms.

For much of the time I seemed to be lost in her fragrance and the feel of her body close to mine. The band went into a series of waltzes and that was always the worst time as far as my erections were concerned.

Mother, jacked up on her high heels, instead of resting her head on my shoulder had it right beside my head.

She whispered, "We go beautifully together, don't we?"

My dancing had certainly improved so I said, "Yes we do."

I felt her trembling even more violently as she went on, "Then I think its tonight, don't you?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, let's sit this one out, shall we?"

She guided me over to the divan and we sat.

There was a few seconds pause, and then suddenly she kissed me. Her tongue flickered over my lips and then pushed them apart. I felt her tongue exploring my mouth, not in the Mercy throat stabbing way, but slowly, deliciously, as her hand rested on my penis.

She stopped kissing me and said, "You've never been with a woman, have you?"

I gave the Mercy incident a miss and stammered, "Ner-no."

"Then I think it's time you did," she murmured as she unzipped my trousers. "We've waited long enough darling, but I had to be sure."

"Ser-sure?"

"That it was me you really wanted."

"But you m-must h-have known...must have felt..."

She drew out my penis and started to stroke its foreskin over the head. "I've taught you how to dance; now I'm going to teach you how to love. Lie back darling, it's the mating season and this one is all for you."

She pushed me back gently onto the divan and undid my belt and then drew off my trousers. She stroked my penis for a little longer saying, "I didn't realise you were so big, darling." I didn't know either because I'd never been in a position to make comparisons.

She pulled up her skirt and I saw she was not wearing panties so this is what she must have intended all along. As she sat astride me saying, "Just lie there my love and leave it all to me," I saw the little clump of pubic hair and the groove of her vulva.

The memory of my narrow escape with Mercy flashed across my mind so I started to say, "I won't make you...you won't get pre..."

She smiled down at me and said, "Yes, I might get pregnant, I still can, and that makes it all the more exciting. You'd like to make me pregnant, wouldn't you?"

She gave me no chance to reply. She lowered herself onto me and I felt my penis enter its first vagina.

Nothing I had read or the erotic pictures and videos I had seen on the computer had prepared me for the real experience.

The softness, warmth, the wetness and the clenching of her vagina round my length made me feel as if I was entering paradise.

I watched with a sense of awe as my length came almost out of her and then slid into her depths again.

"Does that feel good, darling?"

"Yes...yes...my God yes."

Her long slow movements gave way to rapid, short sharp thrusts as she leaned over me, her hair brushing against my face.

The first warning tingles that grew in intensity, the release of sperm; "Mother...oh mum...oh..."

"Let it go darling...let it all go..."

I had yet to learn the art of withholding the moment of ejaculation; I felt the sperm surge up my shaft and then that first triumphant moment, the ejection of semen it into the vagina of the beloved; what in all of life can compare with that moment of ecstasy?

"I love you...I love you..." I didn't care if I made her pregnant a thousand times over.

The image of tiny sperms striving to reach the goal, struggling in the eternal race to fertilise and begin new life within the womb of the loved one; this is surely one of life's supreme experiences.

I longed for it to go on for ever, but inevitably comes the end; the last globules of semen, and then the peace as you lie in each others arms recovering from that wonderful and supreme gift of the gods, the act of procreation.

"Did you like that darling?"

There are no words that can ultimately describe the experience and I could only gasp, "It was beautiful...beautiful...I love you so much."

Still overwhelmed by the experience I asked hesitantly, "Was it good for you?"

"Yes darling, but there's going to be so much more...so much I want to teach you."

As I lay there, my penis still in her vagina, I wondered for a moment how my father, who'd had all this, could have taken the path he did. The moment passed as mother started to withdraw from me. As the head of my penis came out I gave a gasp as the still sensitive nerves sent pleasurable and painful little shocks through me.

Mother bent over and kissed me saying, "I think it's time for bed, don't you?"

Not sure what she meant I started to say, "Must we, so soon...?"

She laughed and said, "My bed of course." Then as she started to stroke my penis she said seductively, "You don't think you're going to get away from me that easily, do you?"

As I started to get another erection she looked thoughtfully at my penis, and then began to massage it more fiercely. I felt myself about to come and I clutched at her and she stopped.

"There, aren't I cruel?" she said smiling wickedly, "You were going to spurt that lovely sperm weren't you? Now that was to teach you a lesson; from now on it all belongs in me. Now let's have a shower, and afterwards, if you're good boy, I might let you come in me."

********************

The shower was a mixture of heaven and hell. She made me insert my fingers into her vagina and wash out my semen as she washed my penis. Already made hard by her previous manipulation, it was now throbbing, its normally purple head now almost red as it became distended with blood.

Mother, in contradiction of her previous words said, "Mmm, I think you've got more stamina than I expected and I want our next penetration to take a long time, so perhaps I'll take pity on you."

She started to masturbate me, slowly at first and then speeding up as I prepared to ejaculate. The sperm shot out of my urethra splashing against the shower screen.

As I finished I clung on to her and she laughed and said, "A waste really, but it means you'll hang on a lot longer next time."

In the bedroom she continued to be in command of the situation and I felt as if I was a student being mentored.

I was commanded to lie on the bed on my back. Of course I knew quite a bit of theory concerning sex but after the Mercy experience I wasn't bold enough to put theory into practise. It was mother who took the initiative.

She began by deep kissing me and as she placed one of my hands on her breast she pressed my fingers over the soft yielding flesh.

"Just press my nipple a little," she said. It felt like a small firm raspberry. I squeezed gently and she said, "Harder darling, hurt me a little."

I obeyed and I heard her give a gasp; "Again...do it again," she sighed." I continued to alternately stroke her breast and press its nipple.

After a while she took my hand from her breast; she put her hand under it and leaned over me, brushing her nipple against my lips.

"Suck me darling," she said.

I took the sweet pink morsel into my mouth and suckled her. She took my hand and drew it down to her groin, and pressed it against her vulva, I felt its warm moistness and even managed to slip a finger into her tunnel, but she guided my hand to her clitoris.

I could feel the little nub and she said, "Just a little tickle there, darling."

I began to stimulate her clitoris as I continued to suck her nipple.

There now ensued what for a novice in the game of sexual love was a time of confusion. I'd read about the female orgasm and even seen on computer videos some women allegedly having them, but when mother started to orgasm it came as a bit of a shock.

She began quietly, "Oh no...no...you're making me come...no...no...I don't want to... don't make me..."

Startled I stopped suckling her and began to withdraw my hand for her genitals.

She clutched my head to her breast and grabbing my hand made me continue to stimulate her moaning, "Don't stop...don't stop...for God's sake don't stop."

I felt her whole body starting to shake and she cried out, "More....more...oh God...I'm coming...oha...oha...aaaah."

Her whole body was writhing and my hand was becoming soaked with her fluid. She started to make little weepy mewling sounds.

Suddenly she sat astride me, her vulva poised over my mouth; she used her fingers to open the outer lips; for a moment I saw the pink inner lips and a hint of the dark tunnel beyond, and saying, "Lick me...suck me there," I felt my lower face enveloped in a warm wetness as she writhed her cunt over it.

For the first time I smelt and tasted a woman as she completed her orgasm, and as it subsided she made little whimpering sounds, "Oh...oh...lovely...oh darling...ah...oh..."

When she had finished she moved away from me briefly, and then started to kiss her way down my body, her lips lingering on my nipples and navel, until finally she grasped my penis, looked at it for a few moments, and then took it into her mouth.

She sucked and licked along it, occasionally giving little bites, until she sensed I was about to ejaculate. Then she sat astride me and lowered herself onto my shaft.

As she rode me she cried out, "Make me come again...make me come..."

I fear I disappointed her. I couldn't hold back; sperm pumped up my shaft and burst into her. She screamed out as she felt it entering her, "Oh yes...yes...deep...in deep..."

She pressed down hard on me with each new spurt of my semen and when I had finished she drooped over me and oddly, she used my own simile when she said softly, "Yes, I think we'll make beautiful music together."

Then she smiled and said, "Sunday tomorrow, we can stay in bed all day."

It's a strange thing, but we can repress some aspects of our bodily and emotional needs for a long time, but then some event unleashes what has been lurking in us. Over the following days I was to learn, not only what had been lurking in me, but what had been lying low in mother.

A seemingly insatiable rapacious monster seemed to have been unleashed. We barely got any sleep that night, and throughout Sunday she was constant in her demands for me to satisfy her. It was easy at first since our lovemaking was making love, but I have to confess she eventually wore me out.

Even then she begged me to use my fingers and tongue to bring her to seemingly non-stop orgasms.

By Monday she had run me ragged and even she seemed to have finally exhausted her libido.

How we both got through Monday I don't know. I certainly felt physically frail, but mentally and emotionally I felt elated, and by Monday evening we both seemed to have recovered sufficiently to, as mother had said, "Make beautiful music together," and I don't mean for dancing.

Fortunately that first outburst of passion had subsided. I suppose we had both been like starving people suddenly confronted by a rich banquet and we'd over eaten.

Gradually I learned to hold back my ejaculations, and one of our favourite positions was to lie facing each other unmoving, with my penis in her vagina; it still is a great favourite with us. I think it is simply there physical union we enjoy, and even after we've both orgasmed we still stay united until sleep comes.

Of course, the inevitable happened and mother did become pregnant. She gave birth to a baby girl, but perhaps that is another story.

To some extent the goddess image has returned, mother is a sacred being again, her breasts and vagina the holy of holies. I still engage in frequent acts of worship with her.