In My Beginning Is My End

"What a fucking body you have Mom," I said.

"You like?"

"No, I think you are a skank. Of course, I like."

"You haven't even fucked me yet and you are already too big for your britches."

Mom's blue Volvo, sun roof open, the latest in Swedish automotive technology with its supercharged, finely tuned motor, individually heated bucket seats and state of the art global positioning system was suddenly on the front line of the sexual frontier. I was a newly drafted soldier huddling in a foxhole waiting for anything and everything to happen under my mother's auspicious tutelage.

Mom, her mouth moving up and down over my cock, paused, pushed several fingers into her twat. I could hear her stilettos scraping on the floor mat, her ankles rubbing one another.

For a moment she released me from her busy mouth.

"Oh, baby, your cock is huge. I love sucking it."

She smiled her beatific smile, the same innocent grin I remembered so fondly from my days in the first grade when I stepped into the house with a finger painting or a silver pine cone for the Christmas tree. In her movies she looked so noble, so honest sucking every legendary cock in the pornographic cosmos and it thrilled me to see the same decency, the same honest approach applied to me she applied to her craft.

This dame whose conversational voice was a pleasant sounding contralto now used the same urgent tones of intimacy on me.

She went back to the business of sucking.

Another pause:

"Come in my mouth honey; shoot that hot stuff on my tank top, spoil me with that nasty shit. I am your slut now and forever."

My semen erupted into Mom's mouth, spilled over her lips and stained her tank top.

"Now, we go to the house, do some proper fucking in my bed."

Me, 18 years old, a fucking machine under lifetime warranty, the Energizer Cock guaranteed to go and go and go. Wind me up, watch my prick whirl, spin and chug right into my dear mother's womb.

Don, my faithful dog raised from a pup, still sprawled under the propane tank, watched, wagged his tail. Did Don smell our heat, detect Mom's musky aroma?

Mom fired up the car, turned the ignition key too sharply back, the beast complained with a grinding racket. Her right hand, the same hand used so dexterously to fiddle her twat while sucking me off, moved down to the console between the bucket seats, reversed the car. She jammed her foot down on the accelerator, stomped it, the car leaped backwards, stopped next to the house's front porch. Silence enveloped the car; birds sang in the nearby trees and all around us a vista of growing corn basking in the July sun.

Stowing my cock away, I watched Mom open her car door, slide out, face away from the car, stand teetering on those stilettos. She leaned down, touched her red painted toes, the skirt lifted way up in the back. No thong, no tan lines. A quick glimpse of her ass, then she was standing straight once more, the skirt dropping back down. She pivoted to her right, nearly ran toward the house.

She clattered up the porch stairs, passed under a brass plate tacked above the porch, a motto of sorts:NON NOBIS DOMINE NON NOBIS—Praise us not, O Lord.

Yes, my sentiments too. I stumbled from the car, jogged toward the house and climbed the wraparound porch trying to catch Mom before she made it through the screen door.

Inside the porch's perimeter, yellow gliders and white rockers were grouped near numerous free standing potted plants, wicker tables meant to hold lemonade and iced tea in frosty glasses. Mom often sat in one of the rockers, reading a book, wearing sunglasses, barefoot, naked under a soiled white trash shift with plunging décolletage.

After we fucked that first time, I sometimes sat in one of the rockers, sipping iced tea and stroking my cock while she wore that shift, got it soaking wet washing the car. Soap suds pooling in the gravel, her blond hair drenched, water and soap dripping down her legs, she'd pose, lift her bare feet beguilingly and using the green hose squirt water over her breasts to make them stand out under the translucent fabric.

An antique triangle used long ago to call in farmhands to dinner hung on a chain near the front door.

Mom giggled. She bounded through the door, I nearly caught her skirt, hoped one of those five inch stilettos hung up on a porch step and I'd grab her before she fell.

Bury my cock in her on the porch steps. Fuck there.

That was not to be. She ran in her bare feet, possibly the sexiest bare feet in Christendom.

In the interregnum between her fleeting departure from the car, her sound breaking arrival at the porch, Mom had removed her stiletto heels, clutched them by their narrow straps in her left hand. I had not seen this, attributed my blindness to my fevered state, being young, full of cum and not in full control of my senses.

Mom was in the house now. To the left the conservatively appointed living room awash in natural light, to the right the dining room with a long trestle table, polished to a high gloss, high backed wooden chairs tooled by Amish craftsmen, an antique sideboard filled with white china plates and cups. This space also sparkled in sunshine. Balanced in between was the entryway, the staircase leading upstairs. On the two lowest steps I had once deposited a great snapping turtle retrieved from a corn field when I was a young boy.

Mom flew up the steps, several at a time, reached the second floor where the bedrooms were numerous, lively most any night. Her bedroom looking out on the backyard was the liveliest outpost.

Actually a suite of snug and comfortable rooms, the master bedroom was painted a brick red color, finished in pale red and creamy white accents and furnished in ornate, rich wood antiques. It was the domain of a storybook princess, a place suitable for Barbie and Ken to fuck in.

On the nightstand next to the grandly carved four poster bed, a book containing the complete poems and plays of T.S. Eliot and Arthur Schlesinger's bookThe Age of Jackson, Mom's recent bedtime reading. Mom, the bookworm, the lady with the keen intellect was the vixen who perched tomes on the shelf of her breasts when she in her bed at night.

Crossing the bedroom's threshold, sweating from the July heat, my forehead sunburned, I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. Mom, who loved fucking in this room or anywhere else was naked, flat on her back in the center of the bed's red comforter. Smiling, I do not think I had ever truly realized how white and perfect her capped teeth were, the enormity of her mountainous breasts, how sexy her legs truly were or the flawlessness of her skin. My mother was the template for all centerfolds, the fantasy figuring in so many men's minds as they stroked their cocks and in moments, I was too would fuck her and be fucked by her.

Her long fingers extended into talons were busily flying solo in the vault of her twat.

"Baby, get those pants off, get naked and get to fucking me."

My trousers, my shirt, the Pumas cast off, piled in the middle of the white carpet. Still the lanky young man with blond hair, a rowdy cow lick, a jock with flat abs, not so gawky now. Peach fuzz hair on my face, a ball of blond hair in my crotch, my cock jutting straight out, eager to lose my virgin status in this room, in this bed, in this woman now.

"God damn honey, get that prick in me. Momma's going to deflower her baby boy. First, fist your cock, stroke it. I love anticipation. You will not be disappointed."

To the left of the bed, Pound and Schlesinger were on the nightstand. To the right, across the vast bed where Mom, naked, luscious, lubricious, tended herself and watched me, was more bedroom to fuck in. I did as she requested. I stroked myself, stared into her blue eyes, pined to fuck her as my father fucked her, as granddad did, her brothers and the long line of lovers and co-stars so often did.

My father might be watching this, our first communion, as lovers and I wished to do him proud.

Birds sang in the trees, a tractor rumbled in a field, a chainsaw chattered and sunlight glowed in Mom's golden hair and I was afraid of premature ejaculation.

"Don't you come though. If you do, I'll have to call in Burley from his tractor to fuck me. I need it bad darling."

Mom, pleasuring herself with her pliant fingers, rolled about in the bed. Behind the glass bubble of a bay window, its frothy white lace curtains drawn tightly back and tied off with red ribbons, I could hear a buzzing bee. To my sensitive ears it sounded like sizzling bacon. Mom's fingers continued trolling through her cunt. Standing there bouncing on my heels, I was afraid I might fire my first round over my fist. Mom would grimace, laugh at my ineptitude and I'd have to stand there like a dunce and watch Burley fuck her in my stead.

What of love in this hothouse of lust? God, yes, I loved Bethany AKA Wanda AKA Mom and all the great notions it supposed. Fulfilling my lust, making love in the temple of her body all good but the passkey hanging between my muscular thighs, zeroed into her center was madly in love as was all my other disparate parts. Maybe my love was a bit crazy, canted too far to the weird side but no one could doubt my passionate love for my dear mother. I was no freaking oddball who was quickly on a road to perdition. Love is action and all my actions were in consideration of her happiness, the joys inherent in our commingling. Her motherly intuitions were just as finely tuned to my sensitive nature. She wished for this to be all it could be. In our lovemaking we'd bond as only a mother and son is capable.

Not to mention I'd do it for dear old Dad. Knowing my father as I did, being a chip off the old block, I had little doubt he was guiding me home at this very moment.

Burley stayed outside on his tractor. I managed with a great deal of difficulty not to expend myself on my hand.

"I am taking you to paradise darling, but we better be quick, your Momma's fingers are worn out. First, I'll show how to fuck me, then how your mother likes to be eaten."

Eager to please, subservient, I was every bit the mesmerized, star struck teenager. My submission to her allures was absolute; my slave status in the dominion of her body was complete, without moderation. I went down on the bed in a position of supremacy, kissing her. She was so sinuous, firm in all the right places. Sensitive to my caresses, inquisitive about where I was going, slowing me down here, speeding me up there and not once did she lose sight of the details or let my attention waiver. She the pro teaching the new kid on the team how to hit, how to field, the importance of achievement, the merits of patience and sure footwork in getting home runs.

Having no knowledge of Mom's muscular control, I nearly swooned as my bat went in and she tightened around me. My legs were draped outside hers. My smooth, flat chest pressed against her mountain sized breasts, her nipples flattened under me. All that unremitting pressure pleasured me to the point of release. Then she freed me. Just enough to retain control but not nearly enough to allow me to shoot my sperm into the pocket between her legs. Not yet did she want me firing.

"Stud, push in deep."

I did.

"That's it, move up and down and bounce around a bit. Oh, yes. Fuck me, keep fucking me."

I rose and pounded deeper into her, established a steady rhythm.

"Honey, that magnificent cock of yours is the same caliber as your father's."

Her language was such a turn on.

Bethany-Wanda-Mother had learned her craft well. As my teacher, the woman fate and familiarity had deemed to deflower me, she was well worth the fortune heaped upon her by the adult film industry, the business and political titans afforded her services.

This is how I remembered our first time: mother flat on her back, her smooth legs rubbing against mine, blond hair, hers, undone and streaming across the pillows, my hair the same color brushing her forehead. Her blue eyes at once icy cool and fiery hot. My tongue inside her mouth getting beaten to death against the white enamel of her capped teeth.

Sliding across her, stroking her breasts, sucking each nipple, my cock squeezed into her too near release.

I had emerged from the vent between her legs 18 years earlier. She said I was all cock at my birth and my proud papa had taken dozens of photographs to prove the point to his friends.

"Now, it's bigger and better," she said as I went in and out of her. "It's a monster, doll baby. Am I tight enough for you?"

"Oh, yes," I said.

My objective: make my oversexed mother proud of my talents; make my long dead father equally impressed by my accomplishments in the sack.

I backed out, thought of anything and everything to stay my execution of an orgasm, to get a temporary reprieve for my erection. No way did I wish to ejaculate yet. Real or imagined memories of my sad eyed Shetland pony, wrestling nasty smelling Henry Sloan, being flattened under a fat, old woman built like the liberty bell and named Mildred.

God, just let little old me keep banging away at her for another second, another minute.

"Slam it in baby, fuck me."

Mom tightened around me, her breasts against my chest, our loins pressed together. My legs braced hers; I sucked her nipples, kissed her, paused and pushed in deeper. The firmness of her pubic ridge, the eager onslaught of her muscles bearing down on my member did me in. For a good 20 minutes I seemed to expend myself into her cunt. Well, it was not truly 20 minutes but it seemed so.

After that first fuck, the one always remembered best, we two wicked lovers lay there letting our bodies calm down. Mom next to me, her breasts resting comfortably on my damp chest, her right leg, equally damp, crossed over me. During this post coital phase, this exhalation of sated lust, she reached out time and again, gently stroked my cock under the sheets, brushed her soft, motherly hand across my abdomen, kissed my pink cheek and nibbled my ear lobe.

Then we began again.

Four years later, nearly a graduate of an Ivy League university, Phi Beta Kappa, bound for law school and after hiking across the country, I am here to renew my vows to her. On this last Halloween we come together before the meteor kills us.

Stetson hat screwed down on his head, Major Kong, the hard-charging B-52 pilot in Dr. Strangelove was right. Ride that hydrogen bomb out of the airplane's bomb bay, just another bronco bucking under his thighs, scream all the way down; be blown to smithereens when hellfire ignites. That was the only sensible way in a world gone mad.

Come Halloween, the last one, we trick or treat in her place. No costumes or fright masks between us, no candied apples, no candy treats, bobbing for apples or worrying about ghouls and goblins, little Trick or Treaters knocking on the door and yelling, "Boo". Just bare naked, busty Mom pinned under my cock, her delicious pussy wrapped round my prick. Clutching one another, the two of us cavort one last time in this warm bed under the monkey poster. Never have we felt so alive to sensation, so in tune with our bodies, so in love as we do during these last fulfilling moments of pleasure. Wanda Goodwill, already happily sated, gets one last go sandwiched in silk sheets. Jason, proud and protective son of Wanda Goodwill, reeling from expressing sperm into her orifices multiple times, pounds her one last time.

The Black Death, Tokyo and Dresden's fire bombing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki's mushroom clouds, Hitler and Stalin, the greatest blood drenched ghouls in history non-events compared to nature's immeasurable power.

We will die, evaporated in the meteor's first hammer blow. The only good and proper way for us to perish don't you know. Her last words: "fuck me" uttered in a scream, my final crescendo of semen spurting in spasm after spasm into her twat, a great last Halloween, a grand finale to us, to the human race.

"Wake up darling. It's Halloween. How can you sleep with all these tikes pounding on your door wanting their treats? It's also your eighteenth birthday and I bet you thought your Momma forgot."

I opened my eyes. My mother stood next to my bed.

A long, square box covered in white tissue paper, tied with a red ribbon, my birthday gift, and a beige trench coat, one Lieutenant Colombo might be comfortable in, lay on the black-leather chair near the window. Apparently, Mom had worn the coat over the costume. She had also turned on my bedside lamp to give me the full effect of this minimalist costume.

She is wearing or more accurately not wearing black lace up boots with soles of such thickness they might be corrective footwear or Frankenstein's monster shoes, holey black hose with numerous runs clipped to a garter belt hidden under tiny crotchless lace black panties, a black bra decorated with a pattern of white skull and cross bones from which her breasts overflowed. Her nipples painted black protruded through strategically placed holes in the brassiere. Black eye shadow, glossy black lipstick painted on her lips, lustrous black hair parted in the center of her head reminded me of Morticia inThe Adams Familyor Elvira. On this Halloween night my sexy mother costumed as a gothic sexpot. Mom as a biker bitch feasted on by troop of blood crazed Harley riding vampires, Ava Goodwill, Vlad the Impaler's sexy and sultry vixen run through by his lance.

It suddenly hit me. The meteor, the cross country trip, all of it packaged into a neat and exceptionally vivid nightmare. No, it was precariously close to being wet dream not a nightmare.

I wasn't nearing graduation from Yale but I had been accepted by this august institution. In reality, I had just turned 18. On Halloween.

In reality, Ava Goodwill, premier porno star, Bethany Johnson, daughter of Josiah Johnson and my buxom mother stood next to my bed playing with her pussy.

Or was she? Was this merely another dreamscape? Was my mother actually a short, frumpy and morose looking woman with sagging tits and varicose veins? Please, God, say it isn't so.

No, this had to be real.

"Do you like?"

"Yes, I like very much," I said.

"The costume sweetheart, not me playing with my pussy."

"Both."

Mom drew back the sheets covering my naked body.

"Looks like you have been thinking about someone. Was my nasty boy thinking of fucking his Momma?"

More Trick or Treaters knocked on the door seeking a handout; Mom dropped to her knees, took me in her mouth. I did not really care if this was a dream or the real thing. I wanted more of whatever it was. I wanted to fuck it and keep fucking it.