by American Heretic ©
I was only 12 years old when mom and dad split up. Dad had found a new group of friends with the success of his business. New, younger, more vibrant. And a group that, in Dad's opinion, Mom just did not fit in to.
Mom was not an unattractive woman. She was 5'6" tall, and weighed a well-distributed 140 pounds. Her face was still very pretty, though with the lines of 53 years of life. I thought dad was nuts to leave her for his younger, more attractive friends.
Mom was an old-fashioned kind of wife. Having been raised in the country, she took the traditional role stayed at home, cooked, kept house, and raised the family. I was the youngest child of 5, and was somewhat of an accident. My older siblings referred to me as "Boo-Boo", and it was years before I caught on that they were not making reference to Yogi Bear's little friend. Anyway, Mom was 40 when I was born.
13 years later, Dad was gone, and it was just she and I.
For years after the divorce was final, Mom basically just moped around the house. She found a job as a cashier at a cafeteria (she wasn't qualified for much else), and I picked up the slack as best I could. I would clean up, and do laundry, and do some cooking, and Mom would get home from work, have a small bite, then retire to her bedroom to cry herself to sleep. Often I would stand outside her room and listen, and as she cried, my contempt for what my father had done to her grew into an almost venomous hatred.
I had no social life. I felt it my duty to be around the house, to be there when and if mom needed me.
I was in my senior year in high school, I had been a chubby child, but as I matured, my girth exchanged itself for height. On my 18th birthday, I was 6'1" tall and weighed a trim 175 pounds and I worked a part time job to help ends meet. Mom had finally come out of her shell, and she had been promoted at work, to assistant manager. With her renewed self esteem, she had begun to take some pride in her personal appearance again dressing in a way that showed off her physical assets, and at 58 was still very attractive, even though she was about 20 pounds heavier. Between school and work, I still had little time for a social life. I dated occasionally, nothing serious. At 18 I was still a virgin, but I was the most sought after virgin at school by the ladies. They though I was just aloof. Truth was, I didn't have time for them.
One afternoon, after viewing some pretty extreme hardcore porn over at a buddy of mine's house, I arrived home and immediately went to my room. I shed my clothes quickly, lay back on my bed, and began stroking my semi-erect cock. Puberty had also been kind to my sexual development. It quickly swelled to its full 9 1/2 inches in length, and the tip was wet with precum. As I caressed my large dick, stroking it with a feathery soft touch, I became oblivious to my surroundings. All I was aware of was the pleasure, the slow build of the tension in my balls, as they built up to critical mass, when they would explode.
I don't know how long I had been laying there pleasuring myself when I heard a knock, and felt the air displace as my door opened. My eyes flashed open, and standing there staring at me was Mom. Still in her smock from work, she stood there, her lips slightly parted, a look of shocked embarrassment on her face. Instantly, I grabbed my blanket and covered my nakedness, my embarrassment as apparent.
"Mom!" I cried out, half in anger, half in shock. She had never had a great deal of respect for my privacy, and I usually kept my door locked when I was masturbating. Quickly she withdrew, apologizing all the way.
"Oh, honey, I'm, oh, so sorry," she said with a quivering voice. She pulled the door closed, and I heard her walk quickly away.
I got up and dressed, and made my way out to the living room. Mom was sitting there, a look of absolute mortification on her face. She looked up at me, quickly looked away. "Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to walk in on you like that. I thought you might be taking a nap, and wanted to let you know I had brought home dinner." Her eyes were damp with tears, I could see how upset she was. My anger faded quickly at her shocked embarrassment, and I spoke to comfort her.
"It's OK, Ma, I should have locked my door." She glanced up at me hopefully, glad to see I wasn't really angry at her. She got up, removed her smock, and headed to the kitchen to get plates for the pizza she had picked up. Neither of us said another word said about the incident that evening.
Two months passed, and it was another dateless Friday night. I had to work. Stocking the shelves at the supermarket wasn't a glamorous job, but it was honest, and Mr. Davis was a very good boss. He paid me well, and allowed me weekends off so I would have some semblance of a personal life, for all the good it did. I still tended to spend most of my free time at home.
Around 10, Mr. Davis got on the intercom and announced, "Kenny, why don't you go ahead and knock off for the night, maybe you can go have a little Friday night fun for a change." It had been a long night, and he didn't have to offer twice.
As I headed home, I thought about heading to the local hangout. It had been some time since I had been out with the guys on a Friday night. As I drove however, I realized that they would all be busy with their Friday night action with their girlfriends, and I just wasn't in the mood to play "Third Wheel". I headed my car home.
As I pulled in the driveway, I noticed all the lights were out. That was odd. Mom rarely went to bed before I got home, it was our only chance to talk during the day. I walked in the front door, and heard the old familiar strains of my mom's sobs. Strange, I thought, she hasn't done this in almost a year. As I went by her room, I saw the door was open. She was sitting on the foot of her bed, he face a mass of grief and tears, a newspaper crumpled in her hands.
"Mom?", I announced, concerned about her sadness. That's all it took for a new wave of sobs to wrack her body. She held out the paper for me to take.
As I took it, I noticed it was folded to the society section. Looking quickly at the date, I noticed it was from the previous Sunday.
There, in living color, was a photo of my father and some nubile young thing...announcing their marriage.
Ahhh...that was it.
Mom had held out this insane hope that one day, she and the old man would get back together. While I KNEW this would never happen, I would always be supportive while she would discuss it.
I sat down next to her on her bed and put my arm around her shoulder. As I did, she turned toward me, buried her face in my chest, and began sobbing even harder. I wrapped her up in my arms and held her tight, rocking her gently, letting her cry it out. She sobbed and sobbed, and I just held her. She needed the release.
After what seemed like hours, her crying finally subsided, punctuated with an occasional hard sniffle. I released my embrace, pulled her face up, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back in a second, Ma", I said as I got up. I went to the bathroom and got her a warm wet washcloth to wash her face with. I went back to her room and handed it to her, she took it gratefully, and washed her tear stained face. She looked back at me with gratitude, then looked back down again.
A wistful look passed across her face. "I guess you think I'm pretty silly, still holding on to hope after all this time", she said. I sat down and again put my arm around her back, pulling her to lean against me. I again kissed her on the top of her head. "After all", she continued, with defeat in her voice, "why would he want an old bag like me when he can have THAT!", kicking at the newspaper on the floor.
I rubbed my hand slowly up and down her back. "Are you kidding, Ma?" I asked with incredulity. "You are still an incredibly vivacious woman. There's nothing wrong with you. There's something wrong with HIM."
She snuggled a little closer to me, and then sat up, grinned with real mirth, and said delightedly, "Liar! And I love you for it". With that, she kissed me on the cheek, and went to her bathroom. I heard her turn on the shower, then got up to go to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat. as I turned, though, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Mom hadn't bothered shutting the door, and as I watched, she unbuttoned and removed her blouse, and let it fall to the floor.
I had never seen my mother in any state of undress before. I respected her privacy too well to peek or spy as so many young men do on their mothers. But, there she was, standing in just her bra and slacks.
And whoops, there went the slacks.
Standing there in just her bra and panties, I first noticed that the extra pounds on her body were well distributed. She had a round belly, and a round, smooth ass, and just a slight bulge in the midriff, and large, full breasts, or as well as I could see through her undies. For the very first time, I was noticing just what a sexually attractive woman my mother actually was.
This shocked me to my toes. I had never thought of my mother as being a sexual being at all.
My mind was telling me to make a quick exit, to save myself embarrassment, and to save my mother any further grief. Her day had been rough enough as it was. But my body wouldn't cooperate. It was just too curious how long it would take, and how naked she would get, before she noticed she was visible, or before I finally showed the good sense to flee.
After what seemed to be an eternity, she reached back behind her, unhooked her bra, and allowed it to fall away. Her breasts were glorious. Large, round, with just a small amount of sag, and nipples that were large and dark.
And as I stared, I realized that I was getting a raging hard-on.
This isn't possible, I thought to myself. This is my mother, for Christ's sake. I couldn't be getting turned on by my mother. But again, my body disagreed, and I felt a stirring in my groin, a shortening of my breath, as my cock tented out the front of my jeans, desperate to be released. Finally, as if coming out of a trance, I began to move, slowly, silently, one step at a time, my eyes never leaving my mother's nearly naked glorious body...
...and walked right into my mother's dressing table chair.
I tumbled clumsily over it, and down I went, smashing into the table and the wall simultaneously. Perfume bottles rattled, framed photos fell off the wall, and I let out a pronounced groan as I came down.
"What the hell?!" I heard my mother's voice came from the bathroom, and she dashed out, seeing her son in a heap on the floor. She rushed to me, knelt beside me, put her arms out. "Are you OK? What happened??" So concerned about me she was that she was oblivious to the fact that she was dressed only in her panties.
I stared at her wide eyed, not believing the vision just inches before my eyes. "Yeah, mom, I'm OK" I said, my view not leaving the incredible view of my mother's tits. "I was just distracted and tripped."
She helped me up and hugged me tight. "Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're not hurt. What distracted you?"
Suddenly, she became very still. She slowly released her embrace, and as though she couldn't trust herself, she stepped back. Looking in my eyes, she followed their gaze and noted they were focused on her tits. Then her gaze dropped, and there was little if any doubt what it was she was staring at. She was staring at the bulge she felt pressing into her. The slightly throbbing bulge that had prompted her to stop and step back.
Realization flashed across her face, and she looked down at herself, noticing seemingly for the first time that she was all but completely naked. For this the most fleeting of moments, shame and a little embarrassment shadowed her features, but it quickly disappeared, to be replaced with an expression half of apprehension, half of desire.
She took another step back, spread her legs slightly, put her hands on her hips, and slightly thrust her chest out, making her large breasts seem even more impressive. Cocking her head, she asked "Do you really think your father was a fool for letting me go?", just a hint of sultry in her voice.
A thousand different responses ran through my mind. Do I answer her lightly? Jokingly? Like a good son? Or do I say exactly what was on my mind? I knew I was standing at a cusp. If she was just being curious about my opinion, and I came off like a horny teenager, I might hurt the great relationship we have. If she was looking for honesty, and I lied to her to avoid the situation, she would know...I had never been able to lie to her, she could always see it in my face and hear in it my voice. And if I told her the truth, it would change the very nature of our relationship forever, in a way that I didn't know if I would be able to take.
And as I stood there staring at her gorgeous body, as I saw the look of what I translated as desire in her face as she waited for an answer, I surrendered myself to the fact. I wanted her. Mother or not, I wanted to make love to her.
I took a deep breath, and removing my eyes from her tits and looking deep into her clear gray eyes, I said, "I think you are incredibly sexy, and I think he was an idiot for letting you go". then, lowering my voice a little, I softly added, "I never would have." I then dropped my eyes again, this time to the floor, in an attempt not to allow her to see the lust I knew was in my eyes.
She stood there silently for a moment, then stepped foreword and took my chin in the palm of her hand. Pulling my face up, I met her gaze. With a soft urgency, she slowly said, "Your father didn't touch me for the last 10 years we were together. it's been 15 years since I've been with a man. Can you understand that, right now, I really need someone to make me feel like a woman again? To make me feel like I'm still desirable? To know that I can still excite a man?" Her hand ran up my cheek, brushed the hair away from my face as it had done innocently so many time before, over the last many years, but this time with a tenderness, a caressing quality, that had never been there before.
I reached out my arms, put my hands on her soft but ample hips, and she pulled herself closer to me, lifting her face, and softly brushing my lips with hers. I responded to her kiss, and she parted her lips, the tip of her tongue lightly brushing against mine. I parted my lips and met her probing tongue, the beginning of a long, passionate kiss. Our tongues played little games with each others, me sucking hers into my mouth, her sucking mine into hers. We ground our mouths into each others harder and harder, our hands rubbing all over each others backs and torsos.
After an eternity, we broke the kiss as she pulled my shirt up over my head, then she was back upon me, grinding her now erect and hard nipples into my naked chest, kissing and sucking on my mouth, cheeks, and neck, as I nibbled at her ears and lips. For long minutes this continued, our hands still exploring each others bodies. Finally, taking some initiative, I turned from her, took her hand, and lead her to her bed. She sat down on the edge, then, with her face filled with wanton and unabashed lust, she reached out and unbuckled my belt, opened my fly, and pulled them and my underwear quickly to the ground. My hot, ready cock, all 9 and a half inches, and harder than I had ever witnessed it, bobbed before her in all its glory. She stared, like she had never seen a dick before. She reached out, tentatively, like it might burn her, and took it in her hand. Using her fingertip, she rubbed the pee slit, and slowly massaged the ample precum into its enormous mushroom shaped purplish head. I almost shot my load right then and there. "You must have gotten this from my gene pool", she said, her gaze never leaving it. "Your father certainly wasn't this big".
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