England 2 Germany 0

Date and time... June twenty-ninth 2021 sixteen forty-four.

"Tea Mum? Or?"

"Bottle of Riesling in the fridge please."

I found the bottle and corkscrew, joined the two together and pulled the lever over, 'pwomp' it went. I grabbed one of the big glasses with the red, black and gold stem and filled it way past the 175ml mark.

Next I pulled the pint glass from the back of the cupboard where it's lived for the last twenty-five years, and filled it from the 'Fosters' can and lifted it to my mouth to take the top off before it overflowed and ran down the side then kissed the white square with the red cross and read out loud "Euro ninety-six, my lucky glass."

After putting the wine back in the fridge I carried both glasses to the lounge where Mum was shouting insults at the pre-match waffle.

"Fancy a bet then Mum."

"Why not?"

We each wrote our winnings on a 'post-it', folded it over so the sticky bit formed it into an envelope and I wrote England on mine, Mum wrote Deutschland on hers and, as always, we each slipped ours into each edge of the wedding photograph mirror on the wall.

We both criticised the presenters on the pre-match warm up in the last few minutes until the game was about to start.

Dear reader. You may have already realised we are a dual nationality family, in truth we were tri national before the divorce as Mum is German and Dad is Welsh, they met in a pub after a match between Germany and Wales in the ninety-two Euros. They married two years later and moved to Milton Keynes for work, I was born the following year and have always classed myself as being English, they divorced eleven years ago.

We get on really well, have a number of mutual friends so socialise together quite regularly and generally have a lot of fun, I have a brother born six years after me and a sister a year later, they are both at University and somehow after finishing my own university studies and getting a job at Bletchley Park just a few miles down the road there has never been any sort of thoughts about me moving out. To be honest I don't think we as a family can afford for me to move out just yet.

So the bet? It started many years ago, I remember Mum and Dad doing it and the winnings were always little things like a kiss or a chore, since the divorce I have continued the ritual and I won the first with a special dinner; chile con carne with black pudding, fried egg, smoked haddock and chips which represented some of my favourite foods as a thirteen or fourteen year old. The meal was duly served the following day and ever since we've tended to come up with sillier things.

So the bet? It's simple England versus Germany or Me versus Mum. If Germany wins, she wins whatever is on her betting slip and in the unlikely event England wins, huh! some hopes there, then I win what I have written on my slip. Yeah simple!

The match? Euro 2020/21 round of sixteen and England have not beaten Germany in a big match for many years; I thought I stood no chance whatsoever of winning the bet so went big in the certain knowledge it would never be seen. Part of the ritual is burning the loser's paper without it being read. Even in the event of a draw both are destroyed.

The match? We sat there with wine and beer, actually quite an amount of both. We shouted abuse at the referee, we shouted encouragement at the players, we shouted abuse at the players, heck we shouted at all and sundry on the television, we cried, we laughed but bugger all happened to the score.

At half time there was no score but we had to admit there'd been some good moves and some good saves but the chance to go to the toilet without missing anything was welcome. The first bottle of wine was drained and finished during half time, I finished the fourth can of beer during half time and by the time the match restarted I had my fifth can and Mum started her second bottle.

For half an hour we cursed and swore unheard by the butt of our verbal diarrhoea and then the ball and the net became intimately connected, my first reaction of standing up and charging round the room like a demented mule trying to rid himself of his bulky load felt good until I remembered the little slip of orange paper in the mirror. I sat and prayed as the repeated replays dissected the action on the pitch in clinical detail until the confirmation of one nil to England.

Internally I was panicking and found myself cheering on the opposition, so much so Mum prepared the next round of drinks and returned to the lounge just in time to see the ball hit the back of the England net for a second time. Remembering the bet, my celebration was very subdued compared to the first and the final ten minutes I was far from motivated to cheer on my team. To put it bluntly I was shitting my pants and planned how I was going to burn my bet and pretend it was by mistake.

Full time score of two to nil didn't change in stoppage time and as soon as the final whistle blew I jumped up from the seat, grabbed the post-it and headed for the kitchen to use the candle lighter.

"No. No. No. Terrasse you have the wrong one." Mum was right there with me and snatched the orange paper from me and extinguishing the flames with her hands continued; "Look here Terrasse it shows England nicht Deutschland." As she spoke I saw the stuck side being peeled open.

"No Mum! Please don't open it. No Don't. Not this time." It was no good, my pleading went unheeded and each time I tried to grab the paper she was too quick to move it away from me and bit by bit the stuck side was undone and the folds opened.

"What is 'cowgirl'?"

"Mum I'm sorry I didn't think I had a chance of winning today and I'm sorry I wrote some shitty crap."

"Fuck me cowgirl style. I understand fuck me but what is cowgirl style."

"Can we drop this one Mama and open yours instead?" This was the worst 'I wish the floor would open and swallow me' moment of my life, I totally didn't think there was a snowballs chance in hell the words in my handwriting would ever in a month of Sundays see daylight again but as much as I wanted my team to win and go through to the Quarter finals I truly wished they hadn't.

Mum looked livid, her eyes looked the size of tennis balls and all bulging, and her speech had gone up an octave and a decibel or two. "So tell me what it does this mean."

"No it was wrong and I won't say." I managed to snatch it as she waved it under my nose and screwed it into a tiny ball. I hate to say this but I turned my back on my mother and left the room ignoring the words I refused to hear.

I'm Terry, actually it's Terrasse which I'm assured is the German version, it's only my mother who ever uses the proper name and then it's usually only when she's upset or angry, she will also revert to German words and sometimes use English words in the wrong order when she is upset such as I mentioned earlier. I'm twenty-six, six feet two and fourteen stone (about 200lbs). I try to keep in shape by running the five miles home most nights. Born in Wales but we moved to Milton Keynes when I was about three for Dads job, Mum soon got a job in catering there too so we were doing quite well. My brother and sister were born here.

Mum is forty-seven and comes from Dortmund in Germany, she is five foot nine and weighs thirteen stone (180lbs) and has typical Germanic looks, she came here for her studies and being a football fan went to the Wales game in ninety-two where she met Dad. She always moans about being too heavy but never tries to do much about it other than a crash diet whenever she thinks there is a chance of being seen in a swim suit; truthfully she doesn't have a terrible shape. A smaller waist and tummy would be good but her hips, legs, arse and bust are fine, actually she is better than fine and I always thing she looks good, especially when dressed up to socialise she often wears clothes displaying a classy cleavage. Her hair was brown, a nice even chestnut brown colour, the style is sort of straight to neck level then it spreads in big natural waves down to bust level and is usually all hanging in front of her right shoulder and breast. It hasn't changed for as long as I remember other than it is starting to fade a little. For that think the odd grey hair or two.

Would I fuck her? Bloody right I would, she has filled my fantasy thoughts for as long as I have been getting erections. Have I smelt her dirty underwear? No it never occurred to me until I started reading Literotica however I still haven't done that. Have I worn her underwear? That's a different story, I have tried on a bra a few times which has always given me a terrific erection and wonderful wank session but I've never left a deposit on it.

After tuning my back on her in the kitchen I went to the bathroom along the hall to lose a great quantity of the six cans of Fosters lager. It didn't feel like it but I suspect the line I walked was far from straight or stable. I didn't expect Mum to be standing outside the bathroom door when I opened it.

The words sounded very abrupt; "Is this what your note means?" the phone was held up in front of my face with a picture of a pretty girl kneeling astride an older man. She started prodding her finger into my chest and I started backing away with each prod.

"Errrrrhh, well yes but as I said I did not ever expect it to be seen Mum."

"And..." the prodding continued, is that what you want me to do?"

"I errrrrhh, well..."

"Well," the annoying chest prodding continued, "Is it?"

I felt a door frame against the back of my arm as the tiny steps progressed, then I saw the door frame getting further away. There was little light in the room, only what was spilling in from the light at the far end of the hall. The questions and prodding continued but I had no answers, the last thing I could do was admit I fancied my own mother, especially to her and I fell over backwards.

It didn't immediately register in my mind I was in my mothers bedroom and lying on her bed, it also didn't register the prodding had stopped or that she was still in front of me. The bit that didn't register was her being in front of me meant she was on top of me, she was holding onto my arms above my head with her face about a foot from mine and gradually it dawned on me the words I heard were being repeated time and time again; "Möchtest du ficken wir?"

My reaction? I blurted out "Ja. Err. Yes."

"Go shower. Jetzt. Go"

This was so surreal and I had loads of beer in me that I hadn't noticed Mum was no longer on top of me and she was standing beside me, beside the bed.

"Go shower." And then she had disappeared.

I stood and waited for the room to stop spinning before I headed back to the bathroom and without really knowing why I stripped and showered. Having a wank in the shower was quite a normal thing for me to do and I nearly did that too but a little voice in my head said not to. I did of course have a piss and made sure the old todger was spotlessly clean before turning the water off. I didn't quite grasp the notion of an automatic towel, that is a towel magically suspended in mid air just outside the shower door and wrapped itself around me as I stepped out. The towel felt good, like a cuddle from a loved one and then it just felt like a towel.

It didn't make sense the way it felt so different at the start but I dried myself with the magic towel, paying particular attention to my todger and arse and under my arm pits.

I hung the towel on the hook, well I thought I had but there was a sort of thwump sound which I'd find later is a pile of soggy dark blue towel on the floor. In the mean time I headed for the door and a voice called me, I followed it all the way to the recently vacated bedroom where I felt a shove and the mattress smacked into my back followed by the light fading as the door closed and something fumbling against my naked legs. Then. Then the unmistakeable soft warm enclosure around my hard todger.

The unmistakeable feeling of pussy "Oh yes that is wonderful and I love it."

"Wunderbar."

Talk about sobering me up, the sound of my mothers voice while having sex had happened a few times and it usually resulted in things coming to a premature stop, however this didn't feel as tight as I'm accustomed to and when it started sliding up and down it was rather less restrictive than usual.

"Oh Mum, do you know how long I've dreamt of doing this with you?"

"Shut up and enjoy before I sober up. In the morning we will regret this."

"Can we have the light on?"

"No."

Thank you for reading, to be continued assuming we win the next match.