For Mom, The Son Also Rises

Brad had experienced numerous affairs and had a number of steady girl friends, as all young men in their twenties do. But it wasn't until Brad was twenty-five years old that a whole new and mysterious world had opened up to him. It was in his twenty-fifth year that Brad made love not to another feckless young girl in her twenties, but with a mature, vibrant, and sensual woman in her early forties. It was Brad's Mother who initiated him to the power Eros, as only a real woman can.

Nothing in their past seemed to lead to this special initiation of young man to Eros by the woman who gave him life twenty-five years before. True, ever since he was a child, Brad had cared very deeply about his mother in an especially intense way. Both shared a love of the written word, the lyrical melody, and the out-of-time and in-mind sensibilities they found in the arts and in the city in which they lived. But Brad's father, Jim, never really did. His was a world of taking money, insulating commerce, and insinuating "friends."

Brad's mother, Karin, had wanted at least a brother or sister for her son, perhaps in the hopes of providing Brad the love and sense of family his father couldn't—or wouldn't provide him. It was not to be. Instead, of family, love, or even the comfort of passion, Jim "moved his family" up, in his words, which really meant wrenching his too young wife and their sensitive son from the nurturing city to a barren suburb of relentless privilege and paltry pleasures.

Thus exiled, Karin and Brad would come to develop an even closer, deeper, more intimate bond to keep a family starved of any nurture alive and to keep love in the cold climate of the ready-made upper classes warm and vibrant. But this close relationship was utterly platonic, an exemplar of the bonds between parent and child.

It is true, however, that after Brad's eighteenth birthday in the summer after he graduated high school and was preparing to attend college, he did begin to notice and think of his mother. He began to see his mother as he never previously had, but perhaps as all young men of eighteen or nineteen have, do, and always at some point will.

Brad's father, Jim, had married Karin as his trophy wife when she was but in her early twenties. Lithe, tall, long-legged, and perhaps a bit sinewy in her youth, Karin aged gracefully into a strikingly beautiful young woman by the time Brad had become a teen. Her hips filled out, rounded but firm. Her legs were still taut and long. Her dark complexion complemented her large breasts. Still very firm but now with just the tiniest hint of a sag, Karin's breasts completed the body of a real woman, young and beautiful enough to keep the company of her younger rivals, but savvy and sensual enough to slay the competition.

It was in that summer after his eighteenth birthday that Brad caught a glimpse of his mother in her brassiere. As in all families, the son had glimpsed his mother this way before in the normal course of the morning or evening hustle and bustle of preparing for work or bed. And of course, Brad never thought anything of it.

But now as a college-bound, adult and young man, something changed. This time, the image stayed with him, insinuating, whispering, haunting, and heating dormant desires. He sought and found release over page and video from his father's Playboy collection. Spent over the image of his favourite Playmate, Brad would no longer have to think about how she looked not unlike his very own mother, or so he thought.

But whenever such a connection, such an inclination, or inkling would seem a distant, foreign disturbance or brooding storm passed, light coincidences would conspire to trigger his darker contemplations. A few weeks after seeing his mother in a brassiere, Brad saw her in a skimpy black bra and matching panties as she was preparing for bed. She was tall and firm, but just a hint of handles on her tummy. Her legs were smooth , shiny, and impossibly long. Her tits were fleshy but firm, strained to escape the tight black bra, as did her round, big and firm ass her panties. There was no doubt about it. Mom's tan and tall body stood out in all the more contrast to her tiny black panties and bra.

That night, pages of his favourite Playmate were made sticky upon the shudders of Brad's naked body.

On another night, he was suddenly was aware that he was on top of a long, tall, and dark woman. His cock disappeared into a hot buttery tunnel that pulsed and massaged the length of his manhood as it engulfed it in sweltering sweetness. His face was between two fleshy, pillowy mounds that tasted of cream and almonds; his mouth suckling on a long, rose coloured candy of a nub that arose from the heaving tit. His ass was pumping up and down, and the succulent tunnel into which his dick slid in and out rose up to engulf his masculinity.

It felt hotter and tighter with every thrust. He felt a buzzing, boiling commotion in his balls. That turned into a fiery thick magma that moved thickly into his cock and burned its way up in searing sweet rise. Everything was in a soft blur.

But not the rush of liquid fire up his cock. It became unbearable and blissful. And then his cock was twitching hard, shooting a lava of creamy white goo deep into the sweltering pussy in which his spurting penis was buried. Oh, it felt so incredible. He opened his eyes and struggled to see the face of this amazing woman between the two fleshy tits upon which his chin rested. He heard a woman's cry: "OH, BRAD, YES!!" Just then, the face came into view. It was his mother.

Suddenly, Brad was back in his bedroom, in the dark, and his eyes opened in shock. It had all been a dream, a strange, frightening dream. But something happened. He felt a wet, warm, sticky cream all over his tummy. He had cum in his sleep. The dream was frightening, but also all so real and yet otherworldly. Everything was engraved into his mind's eye, but for the face of the mystery woman into whom he had emptied his young man's lust. But somewhere Brad knew. The voice, her face: it was Mom. Wiping himself clean, he felt vaguely dirty. The woman's face and her voice. They were...no, it couldn't be.

Disturbed, he pulled out the Playboy magazine from under his mattress. He reached for the one in which that Playmate was wearing but tiny black panties and bra, topped off with long black stockings. THat was the edition in which, as he turned th pages, that very same Playmate stripped off her bra, then the stockings. And then finally, that Playmate stripped off her panties. In no time he was spraying the image of that Playmate's pussy with his potent, youthful juices.

Now he could sleep. That's who the face was in his dream, he thought to himself; it was his favourite Playmate. As he drifted off to sleep, a last thought flashed before his eyes, to be forgotten in the morning: his favourite Playmate looked a lot like his mother, Karin.

In time, Brad moved back to the city to attend college, graduate, and make his way. The love that could not speak its name of "mother" seemed to recede, as it might for a select few young men. And so this might have remained so, had Brad's three-year relationship not broken up shortly before his twenty-fifth birthday. In the aftermath of the breakup, Brad seemed to withdraw from all socializing.

He seemed disconsolate and taciturn in telephone his conversations with his mother, so much so that Karin began to worry for her boy. She decided that the next social event her husband dragged her to, she would insist on bringing her son, not only for the welcome company but for his well being as well.

It wasn't much longer after Karin decided upon her strategy that one of Jim's clients had invited him and Karin to a soirée. Normally, Karin dreaded these events, as so many of the men would leer at her, and her husband would get offensively drunk to offend the other wives by leering at them. But with her son coming along, Karin would help him re-enter the social world and have some charming company as well. It was decided. Karin, her husband, and her son would attend.

Upon Karin's considerable prompting, Jim accompanied her to stop in on their son's apartment and convince him to go with them to the client's party. Karin seemed especially pleased to see her son, and complimented him on his brooding good looks and sensitive demeanor. Jim made snide remarks about Brad's increased drinking as of late, without offering any insight to or comfort for his son's grieving. But even the old man had to admit to himself that his son had cut a fairly fine figure.

The party annoyed Brad. But he tried his best to make great strides in small talk with his father and his cronies. Brad soon began pouring the drinks in the hopes of making the women look better to him, most of whom were his mother's age, but nowhere near as attractive. It didn't really matter tonight, though. Brad was feeling his buzz, feeling more than a little lonely, and a little like indulging his sudden fantasy of spiriting one of these women away from her drunk husband, taking her upstairs, and fucking her senseless.

As Brad hungrily scanned the room, he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a striking woman with very big, firm tits–––for this was the frame of mind Brad was in––-standing across the room from him. He continued to eye her tits. She was vaguely familiar. She crossed her long, black-stockinged legs, and he caught a glimpse of her tan and taut thigh. Brad's penis was suddenly erect and very hard. He shifted his position from where he sat in the wan hope of disguising his sudden hope. The striking woman turned to face Brad. Their eyes met. Brad was stung with a sudden sobriety. The woman for whom his penis was pulsing gave Brad anther jolt.

The mystery woman was his own mother.

Jim came into the room and went to Karin. Jim was starting up again, saying something dismissive and cruel, as was his wont to do when had a few to drink, or even none at all. Karin was having none of what he was dishing out tonight. But her words neither tempered nor admonished him; he seemed to become belligerent, and began a too-loud whisper, sneeringly telling Karin what she ought or could not do, in so many words.

As in so many instances before, Brad decided to intervene to deter his father from being any more abusive to Mom than he normally might be. The rest of the party guests were preoccupied with themselves, their drink, and their fatuous flatteries to do anything but provide background noise to an unpleasant scene escalating into a nasty one. Brad staggered over and good-naturedly asked to cut in, taking his Mom for a quick and casual dance and out of the line of fire. This time was different. Karin was angered and hurt, and she asked her son to take her home, and right away. Turning her back to her husband's muttered curses and loud "good riddance and good luck," Karin grabbed her coat and her son's hand and left.

Evidently, Jim was going to stay and have one too many more a drink and "chat" with his "friends," which really meant one of the wives with whom he was carrying on an affair.

When they got outside, the cool air was bracing enough, but not enough for Karin to believe that her son was sober enough to drive. She volunteered to take Brad back to his apartment, and he was fine with it. Upon arriving, Brad asked his mother to come in and unwind for a bit, and let him know what the new escalation of tension between her and his dad was really all about. She agreed.

An hour later at two o'clock in the morning, Mom and son had ended up sitting on the love seat, talking. Brad was still buzzing on that night's drinks, and Karin was not a little emotional when recounting her dissatisfactions with her wayward husband.

Brad poured Karin some red wine, which mellowed her somewhat, especially in light of the fact that she had had a few drinks at the party as well. It was with the first warm blush of the wine that Karin began to tear up, recounting the drink and women that were distracting her already sufficiently distracted husband. Her talking trailed off and she began to cry. As his mother stuttered between words and tears, Brad reached for her and put his arms around her to snuggle her in a son's loving embrace.

He rocked and snuggled her, holding her close. She closed her eyes and gave herself to his tender, yet strong and commanding embrace. As Brad snuggled her tightly, he became aware of her big, fleshy tits pressed squarely his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Brad began to focus—and focus yet again––on the way her short, black dress had crept up to the tops of her black stockings.

She looked rather sexy, rather like some of those Playmates in Dad's magazine and video collection. But then again, maybe those Playmates looked like Karin. Mother or not, Karin definitely looked very sexy, indeed. Karin giggled a bit, which only further focused Brad's new curiosity. She told her son that if he kept holding her as tightly as he did, her new dress would probably be the worse for the wear. Brad insisted that she needed to be held, and his mother agreed. "Oh, son, this is nice, really nice, but I can't keep on holding you and wearing this dress. It's going to be a wrinkled heap in no time."

Brad, half-facetiously and half-seriously, suggested that she take off her dress. His mother agreed, somewhat to his surprise. She turned her back to him for him to unzip her. Such was the trust between mother and son that she nestled back into his arms, resting her head on his chest, her long dark hair tickling his chin.

It took a Moment or two for Brad to take in that while his mother was wrapped fully around him in his arms, she, on the other hand, was wrapped in only tiny black laced panties and matching bra, garter belt and black stockings. She felt warm. She smelled of a light dust of talcum and wine, and the faint fragrance of a cool skin cream and fervid perfume, all swirled lightly and deliciously together.

Brad felt a sudden warmth, not all of it from his lovely mother, but rather within himself.

Now Brad became aware of how sexy his Mom's long legs were, especially in her black stockings and garter belt. Her black-laced brassiere pressed her tits tightly together and up, accenting a deep cleavage that rose and fell gently like the Queen Mary at sea. Brad became aware of something else, as well. Maybe it was his Mom's sweet smell or her soft skin; maybe it was her long, shapely legs; or it could have been that she was in but a tiny black lace bikini underwear; or maybe it was even her big, firm tits. Any single one of those sexy things or anything about his beautiful, sexy mother should never have made the blood rush and make his manhood stir, but stir it did. His cock was hard, very hard, and throbbing, too.

Brad tried to deny it. Then he tried to hide it. Then he tried not to do anything about it. Then he tried not to be too obvious as he was failing all of the other tests. Try as he might, Brad could not help but stroke his mother's back. His fingertips gently skimmed and brushed her ribcage. Her skin was silky smooth and warm.

Tracing over, around, and on her bra strap, Brad's fingers began to tremble. But as if possessed of a will of their own, they continued. He didn't want to stop them. He couldn't, even if he did. Again and again his fingers traced and touched his mother's soft skin. Then they somehow slipped under the clasp at the back of his mother's brassiere.

Karin seemed content. She sighed warmly, gently wrapping her arm up over her son's neck, nuzzling her face into his chest, and gently closing her eyes, purring softly, "Ummmm…my sweet, sweet boy; I love so much, you know that?"

Brad murmured back lovingly, "Umm-hmmm; I love you, too, Mom," and he tenderly kissed her once on her ear, once on her nose, and once on the bangs that fell gently upon her temple. His mother cooed happily, nestling still tighter unto his chest. She didn't even notice that his fingers once again slipped under the back of her brassier and traced lightly over her skin toward her ribs. His fingertips continued, overshooting her ribs but brushing up right against the warm, fleshy swell of her breast. Brad quickly but quietly pulled his fingers away.

Mom continued to nestle and didn't seem to notice, or at least not let on that she did. In fact, her close nestling seemed to expose more of the swell of her breast, at least it seemed that way to Brad. And she didn't move when her son's hand once again drifted up toward and upon the base of her smooth, fleshy breast. As it happened, his fingers "misjudged" again–––that would be Brad's excuse, anyway, if she reacted angrily–––for they slipped up to within an inch of his Mom's nipple. Of course Brad caught himself and pulled his fingers away. He just misjudged his "hug," or so Brad made excuses for himself.

Still, his Mom seemed very happy and peaceful, almost like a lightly napping cat. She turned her face slightly into his chest, almost as if she was kissing or nipping Brad through his shirt. For some strange reason, Brad felt his heart starting to beat harder, and he could swear he heard it pounding in his brain. His mouth felt dry as bone, but his breath as hot and moist as a New York summer's day.

Brad brushed his lips lightly over his Mom's eyes, and he could feel her sigh. That was interesting. So, he then brushed his lips over nose. She turned her face up toward him, which was even more interesting. His heart was beating faster. Her graceful but sudden turn brought their lips brushing together. Karin's lips opened lightly and she kissed her son softly and squarely on his lips. This happened just when his fingers brushed up against her nipple. Karin's gave her son another light kiss.

But this second kiss lingered. A sweet, soft sound passed between her open lips and a sigh of surprise stayed in her throat. Brad's fingers lingered over her nipple the way her lips lingered on his. Her eyes were now open. And Brad was trying to keep track of this, but for one distraction. His fingers were still on her nipple. He had wanted to put them there. He had a new reason to keep them there: His mother's nipple was stiffening into a hard, veiny, and rubbery bud between his finger and thumb.

He felt his wrist quickly grasped by Karin's hand, and he just knew she was going to pull his fingers away and slap his hands. To his surprise, that didn't happen. Instead, her hand just stayed on his wrist. It almost felt like it was trembling. Brad's heart started beating faster. He felt a sudden heat rising to his temple.

The sudden warmth shouldn't have been a surprise; his fingers were now gently but firmly pinching, pulling, and stroking at her long nipple. It was getting very hard to his touch. His Mom was breathing deeper and harder, too. That wasn't all, either. Brad's cock was getting hard, very hard. Brad did not know what to make of the situation. His cock was not only hard, but it was also throbbing. He could feel it pulsing. The tip of his cock felt hot. So hot that Brad began to feel as if though it was spouting something.

Brad realized then that pre-cum was starting to ooze out of his throbbing cockhead, making his tight black underwear sticky. This only happened when he stripped when looking at those Playboy Magazines of Dad's---or when he would make love to his now ex-girlfriend. This was a bit shocking. His penis was pulsing harder than it ever did when he masturbated over sexy magazine pictures, and it certainly was pulsing harder than when he was with any of his now former girlfriends.

The realization shocked him. It also excited him further: Mom was in his arms, nearly naked. Brad's cock pulsing and oozing pre-cum in preparation for the act of love, but this time it was for his own, nearly naked mother.