Cotton Pickings

At the informal meeting of lawyers, mom's female attorney glared and presented the devastating evidence to the other side.

His attorney, who was friends with our attorney, advised him to 'cut and run' and accept anything we offered.

We offered to keep everything but his effects, his pickup, and 25% of the common estate.

He agreed. Mom signed the divorce decree as he signed the quitclaim on the home.

I told her to check the box about returning to her maiden name.

As he had squandered much of the million dollar 'silver parachute' on wine, women, and song, we did not have that much in the end. Living together as man and wife, trying to catch up for lost time, now was a priority. So, we accepted a fair offer on the farm (to be developed into homes, now that Birmingham suburbs were just now reaching our property limits.) We packed up everything into a full-sized van and headed out to our new life in the hills of New Mexico. There we had lined up a small modest home where we could just get by until one of us lined up a job in the local small town.

Settled into our new digs, we waited two months until the dust had settled. Then we took my New Mexico driver's license, and mom's new one, showing the court mandated maiden name, and applied for a marriage license. We both winced, waiting for a lecture from the nerdy clerk about incest and evil. Well, to our relief, he stamped the check, stamped and notarized the form, and gave us the carbon. With tears dripping, we took it and left that office. We stopped just outside in an alcove, overcome by emotion. I kissed my new wife; we kissed for what must have been three minutes.

We zoomed home, home being some 45 miles outside town in an unincorporated area. As usual, I reached into the mailbox, which was on the street, some 200 yards away from the home. As I put the van in the carport, mom tore open a letter. After I turned the van off, I sensed that that letter was one of great moment.

Mom told me to hush up. She read, "We are the law firm that opposed you during the legal proceeding regarding your marriage to Malcolm. We have the sad duty to inform you that due to a temporary loss of judgement engendered by pills and/or alcohol, Malcolm was engaged in a minor traffic mishap with a highway patrolman. Due to his incapacity at the moment, Malcolm did not heed the trooper and was stopped only after they deployed a spike-strip to stop his vehicle. Unfortunately, he was not seat belted at the time, and the resulting rollover by his truck proved mortal. We know your grief will not in any way be lessened by the fact that his buyout clause from the previous corporate takeover had given him a million dollar life insurance policy. That one million, less our fees, and some government charges, will be remitted to you, some $818,695. Sincerely yours, the law firm."

We were stunned. Neither of us wanted things to conclude that definitively. We grieved, for a few moments, and said a prayer. I got out of the truck and went around getting my new bride. I picked her up to carry her across the threshold.

We kissed and, yes, cried, as I did so. I got on our simple bed and waited for my new bride to come into my arms. This was important to mom, and she dug deep into the packed clothes to find her pink peignoir she had worn on her 1st wedding night.

She came out in it, worrying that the 18 years since she had last worn it would be visible. I told mom she looked fantastic. I held my arms out to welcome her.

We sat in the middle of the bed, on our knees. I kissed the soft nape of her neck, then went to her ear which I cleaned with my tongue and blew into. This made her literally leap a few inches. I knew that if her prior lover had taken two minutes to do everything, he never took the time to love his beautiful wife. I took her hand and looked at it lovingly. We held hands and mom's New York roots returned.

She started to say something from "West Side Story" and I beat her to it! I said, "One hand, one heart." More kissing, and a few sobs of emotion, not sorrow.

Now it was a contest between Chanel number five and Davidoff's Cool Water. Like two passionate wrestlers, we broke down into a morass of touching, feeling, kissing, and well just about everything. To use the crass term of going 'around the world' would be a terrible way to phrase separate small acts of love, but that did describe what we did. When mom 'serviced' me, I had to pull her off me at the crucial moment. I told her I had better use of my 'guys' than to waste them down the hatch.

Getting up on my knees again, I lifted my beautiful mother, my new bride, in my arms and placed her on the pillows nearest the bedpost. Getting between her shapely legs, I gently put them on my broad shoulders, her lovely smooth feet at either side of my head. I had her put my now fully ten inch cock inside her fertile vagina. She used the engorged head of the mammoth babymaker like a sextoy, dragging its uncut ending up and down, side to side, across her slavering pussy lips. She held that sextoy in her determined hand and pushed it in, seeking out her g-spot. She lifted her hips in a desperate attempt to have my cock pole touch her there, to no avail. Giving up, she placed the end of that ten inch plunger against the vaginal wall, prompting me with her deft hands to my rock hard butt that she wanted powerful pile-driving to start. I didn't need a candy-gram to get THAT message.

With the precision and power of a Ferrari V12 racing motor, I began pistoning in and out, my cock being dragged along every square inch of her insides, making her literally spring off the bed as it brushed up against parts of her never before blessed by the touch of man.

She stopped the proceedings cold after 15 minutes. She looked into my eyes. She said, "Jim, you've been quite the sensitive lover that I or any woman would adore. But I need you to go into a different gear. As you know, I am not getting any younger. I am fertile now, as we speak, and would very much like to grace you with a child...our child. Please stop making 'love' to me, as much as I cherish it. We have a lifetime for that. (We kissed) I want you now to dig deep, grab your balls, and breed me like you were fucking the cheapest whore from Times Square. Fuck my brains out, get me pregnant. Your mom...sorry, your wife...wants to have your baby...to do that, I need your wonderful, precious sperm, but in a spot deep inside me. Please, husband, Jimmy make mommy pregnant. Now!!"

Feeling like I had been challenged, I got back up on my knees and flexed my farm boy bulging biceps. Feeling renewed virility and re-asserting the fact that I was the man of the house, I re-entered mom, now determined to get her pregnant. Putting my lengthy cock right at the entrance to her pussy, then pushing it firmly all the way in, I did this with a measured increase of force and speed. Mom's insides were rubbed raw by my uncut cockhead, and she loved it. Mom had at least two more orgasms before we stopped, dead in our tracks. I bore into her eyes, dead silence. I swooned and kissed her lips, waiting, waiting. There, mom screamed a muffled scream into my lips of orgasmic relief...I was holding back and let loose an enormous ejaculation of pent up seed. If you remember your old squirt gun days, it was exactly like that in force, volume, and frequency. Splash, squirt, drip, drip, splash, squirt. I came in ten separate waves, each time my mighty cock like a catapult, releasing its potent seed at the end of the arc. Mom's fertile womb was given 'all it could swallow' and a lot more.

Mom had me lay still, inside of her, for 30 minutes, my erect cock still oozing out babymaking sperm, but more importantly, plugging the hole, keeping the 'swimmers in the pool'. She ordered me to put her smallest pillow under her lovely behind to help the 'guys' find their prize.

We made love four more times that night. Every moment was an act of love. We ended the evening with my cock, still erect, still shooting lightly, re-positioned inside her fertile vagina. At 4 am, mom moved a few inches in her sleep, having one last dream of breeding with me like the old days, the field filled with our progeny. She wiggled closer to me, my erect cock locking us securely in place until morning. Unknown to either of us, at 4:38 am that same night, mom conceived.

The next morning, I was up before mom at 7:15am. I literally was dizzy. For a moment, I mused on the fates. Just a while ago, I was an unpaid worker on a farm, toiling in the sun till my skin was bronzed, my muscles overworked till they throbbed in pain, as they grew to enormous size. My mom was a neglected middle aged soccer mom, but without the joy of having those youth soccer league children. Mom's 'little Annie Fanny' figure was unappreciated, unused, untouched in that loveless home. All of that, plus, we were burdened with an abusive 'old man' who very rapidly was falling apart, and taking us with him.

Now, we had over $1million (with that insurance check) to start a new life. I had a gorgeous wife, my own beautiful mother. I was sure that we could get mom pregnant (as it turned out, of course, we'd already done that), and hopefully we could do that again, and again, and again. I read that having a baby for an older woman can often push back the 'change of life'. I was hoping that was the case. Mom's ob-gyn had a better idea that was not officially sanctioned by the AMA.

If a woman could ovulate but was close to the end of that part of her life, she could have the monthly embryo conserved instead of making, say, one last child. Then, after the change of life (ironically), she could bring back the now fertilized embryos and carry them to term, giving birth at a time of life when she could no longer provide the sinews of life herself. The ultimate irony; we had run out of time; now, after it was 'too late', mom had twins and a last child, bringing our family to a perfect four. Each birth was a blessed event, and I cherished each new child, and the woman who brought them, and me, to this world...