Mom and Me Ch. 01

A lot of stuff happened on my 18th birthday. You could call it life-changing and I wouldn't argue with you.

I grew up in Denver, Colorado, raised by a single mom. Like any other boy in that situation, I knew a lot about mom. It had been clear, for example, that she enjoyed men. I mean, how many times can you wake up and find another man leaving before you get the picture. I even understood about sex and had, more than once, walked into mom's bedroom only to find her asleep - or passed out - with a towel folded up between her legs.

All of that was kind of peripheral in my life though. You know, just background noise. Like any other boy who hits puberty, I was fascinated by the interesting changes in girls in my classes. With my first date when I was in 7th grade - roller skating at Mammoth Gardens on Colfax if it matters (revealing something about my age here) - girls achieved obsession status in my mind. I got my first real kiss at 14 and shed my virginity the next year.

As an aside, I have always found it interesting when we talk about "losing" our virginity. How in the world do you "lose" something you've been working so damn hard to get rid of?

Over the next three years, I dated, with my goal always to get the girl out of her panties. I've always been a pretty simple-minded guy.

But then came my 18th birthday.

My best friend, Greg, who I had known since third grade, had promised to get me drunk and I was looking forward to it. Oh, I had had drinks before. Mom was an alcoholic and, as I've said, a bit of a party girl, and there was always alcohol around and I'm a curious kind of guy. But I had never set out to get drunk before and I was anxious to try it.

We took the day off of school - my birthday happened to fall on a Friday that year. I went down and registered for the draft, we took a ride up into the mountains, making that trip from Central City to Idaho Springs down the old Butterfield Stage Road that always scared the shit out of me when Greg was driving. Then it was back to his house where his mom had said it was okay, as long as we didn't try to go out drunk. She was home, and I drug my eyes away from the cleavage she showed. His sister, Jeanette, my first crush was home too. I waved and she ignored me.

He had a new guitar, a Fender Stratocaster, and was showing me how to properly form a C chord when we heard a shriek, that's the only word for it, from his sister. A loud "NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo" followed by a door slamming.

He rolled his eyes, said, "fucking Jeanette," and went back to showing my fumble fingers which string to press. I eventually got the chord to ring out, grinning, and took another drink from my Coors beer, saluting him in triumph.

Then the shit hit the fan.

A door slammed, and another loud "NOOOOOoooooooo" followed, accompanied by loud footsteps and then a crashing sound.

"What the fuck?" Greg and I said in unison.

I set his guitar on the bed and we headed downstairs.

On the living room floor, Greg's mom was kneeling over his sister who was laying, thinking back I think the word "theatrically" applies here, theatrically sprawled, blood coming from the shallow cuts across each wrist.

"Go home, David," his mom said.

So I went.

I didn't have my car since we only lived about two blocks apart and I had been planning on drinking.

So I walked home, my head spinning a bit. Looking back, I realize that was just Jeanette's attention-seeking although I suppose she WAS hurt when her boyfriend broke up with her. But at that time I was pretty shaken up.

At home, I opened the door quietly. I didn't see any strange cars in the driveway, but I knew mom well enough to know that it wouldn't be surprising to find her half undressed in the front room with that night's conquest.

None of which prepared me for what I DID walk in on.

Our house was laid out with a small hallway, not a true mudroom, but a hallway where coats or shoes could be left.

As I walked in and quietly closed the door behind me I heard a very distinct SMACK sound and then my cousin's wife, Lee's, voice say, "twenty-nine."

I held still, my mouth open so even my breathing would be silent, a trick my one-time step-father had taught me on my one hunting trip, and waited.

It was a long count, long enough that I was beginning to wonder if I had really heard it when - - SMACK - - "thirty."

As I write this I am one year short of three-quarters of a century old. I have been married three times and bedded, well, let's just say "several" women in a life that includes few regrets. But in all my years there has been nothing to rival the pure sex of what I saw when I carefully peeked around the corner of that short hall.

Lee was sitting in one of the sturdy kitchen chairs that was in the middle of the living room. She was a redhead, one of those thin, almost angular women who seem to manage to burn every fat cell they consume. Her arms and legs were thin, something I had glimpses of from time to time in a small house with only two bedrooms, but strong, something I had learned from our occasional roughhouse play. She had on jeans and one of the long-sleeve blue chambray work shirts she favored. The light blue was a good color for her and she knew it.

Across her lap was my mother.

Mom was naked, obviously crying, her heavy breasts hanging free over one side of Lee's lap while her legs kicked weakly. Thick strings of snot and drool hung from her nose and mouth. I could hear her soft moans.

I came erect INSTANTLY. This was far beyond any boner or hardon I had ever had. It was painful as my cock tried to push THROUGH my pants.

Lee's left hand lay casually between mom's shoulder blades, her right hand was caressing mom's ass.

As I watched, the tension left mom's body, she relaxed, almost limp, and Lee lifted her right hand.

From across the room, I could see the sudden tension as mom clenched her ass, protecting herself.

That tableau held for a long five count.

Mom relaxed.

SMACK!

"Thirty-one."

Her entire body flinched, her back arched, and she made a soft, moaning sound.

Then she relaxed, hanging limp as Lee's hand began caressing her ass again. I could see how red it was from across the room. I wondered if it felt hot.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I watched through "thirty-two," "thirty-three," and "thirty-four."

Mom was sobbing and Lee was talking to her too softly for me to hear.

At some point, I had moved enough to stand and watch. Mom's focus was on the floor, evidently on the puddle of snot and drool she was leaving on the floor, and Lee was looking at mom's ass and back.

Suddenly mom turned her head, shaking a thick string of snot loose, and our eyes met.

"LEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!" she yelled, "STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!"

Lee laughed, a hard sound, and smacked mom's ass again, making her scream.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!" mom yelled, "LEEEEEEE, STOPPPPPPPP!!"

Lee laughed again, and started spanking mom, hard, none of those rests in between.

SMACK!

"LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"

SMACK!

"LEEEEEEE, JESUS, LEEEEE, DAVEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

SMACK!

I couldn't look away.

Not that I wanted to.

Mom's eyes were locked on mine and with each successive slap on the ass she would yell, "Lee," or, "stop," or, my name.

I didn't try to count, I was frozen in place.

Eventually, I guess what she was yelling got through to Lee and she looked up and saw me there.

"Predatory," is the only right word to describe her grin when she met my eyes.

"Oops," she said, mocking the situation.

"Hold still, bitch," Lee said, smacking mom's ass again and reaching up and entwining her fingers in mom's hair, twisting, drawing a cry.

We held that tableau for some measurable fraction of eternity, me standing, staring, mom weeping and looking at me, Lee grinning and holding my eyes with hers.

Finally, Lee broke the tension, well, she broke the frozen poses.

"Stand up, bitch," she said, slapping mom's ass again, "and show young David the goodies."

"Lee," mom said, and the whining tone in her voice shocked me more than anything else of this shocking evening, "please."

Lee twisted her fingers in mom's hair, jerking her head back, making her groan, and said, "stand. the. fuck. up."

"Please," mom said, her voice that of a lost soul, but she moved around to stand.

My mother was a pretty woman. Her hair was very black, attesting to the family legend that a few generations back a French trapper had taken a Sioux squaw, with a few strands of silver making her, not salt and pepper but pepper with a few grains of salt. It was a striking look. Blue eyes made a stark contrast to her hair, as did very pale skin.

When she stood, her breasts were heavy and sagged, her nipples pale, almost invisible against the pale flesh of her skin, a tracery of blue veins adding to the image of exposure and helplessness somehow. Her areolas were wrinkled cones, supporting her nipples, and those nipples were little dots in the middle of those cones. She lacked the wasp waist and flaring hips to be a true hourglass, but there was no doubt at all that she was a woman. Her pubic hair was very black, very coarse, and very sparse, laying flat against her mons veneris, that beautiful Mound of Venus of her sex. Full nether lips and dangling inner lips were shiny, and a silvery string of her natural honey hung before running thickly down her thigh.

Her hands were crossed, covering her breasts. Her eyes were downcast. Her body shook gently as she cried.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Lee said, slapping mom's ass again, "Put your fucking hands down."

Mom moaned softly and let her hands fall to her side.

"Come here, Davey," Lee said and I felt my feet start to move, almost without my intention behind what I was doing.

She smiled at me when I got close, an almost tender smile.

"So now you know," she said, and kissed me, a very soft, gentle kiss.

"Sit, honey," she said in that same soft voice.

I sat.

I watched as she kissed mom, very softly, and then stepped back and said, in that soft voice, "assume the position, Mary."

Mom moaned, very softly, deep in her throat. I had seen the word "keening" before, and that's what I heard.

But she didn't resist. She took the two small steps to stand on my right and then slowly bent forward until she was across my lap, her breasts hanging free across my left thigh, my right hand falling naturally to cover her ass.

"I love your mom," Lee said, "but this is something she needs."

Mom said nothing, just laid, limp, sort of whimpering.

Lee laid her palms on my cheeks and held my eyes, one of those deep looks that two people share sometimes.

"David," she said, surprising me by using my full name, not Dave or Davey, "this isn't punishment. Honey, it's giving her something she has to have."

She was still holding my eyes.

"Do you love your mom?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Then help her, honey," she said, "she needs it. She had a very bad week."

"What do I do?" I asked, really not sure what this was all about.

She smiled.

"Your left hand here," she said, taking my hand and laying it between mom's shoulder blades.

I felt the warmth of her skin and the firm little bumps of her spine under my palm.

"Your right hand does the work," Lee said, taking my hand where it had fallen naturally to mom's ass, and moving it around, my palm caressing the roundness of my mother's ass.

I felt the tension leave mom's body, a sudden relaxation, and a very soft sigh.

She made a low humming sound.

And I liked it. I liked the feel of her skin, the roundness of her ass, the warmth where she was already red.

And I liked her womanscent, that pheromone-laden signal of her readiness given by a few million years of evolution.

"Now lift your hand," Lee said and I did.

The tension was back, greater than ever. Mom's whole body seemed to get tense and her ass visibly clenched in an effort to protect herself.

"Now wait," she said, her voice very soft, her breath warm in my ear, "you'll know when it's time."

I waited, the tension across my knees and in her clenched ass obvious.

When she relaxed I struck where she was red and warm.

"Count," Lee said.

I thought back to what I'd heard before and said, "Thirty-five."

"Davey," Lee said, "it's a spanking. It has to hurt. You can't hold back or I'll have to take over."

I realized I did not want her to, as she had put it, "take over."

I was enjoying the feeling of my mother's weight across my thighs, the warmth of the bottom of her breast against my skin, the gentle trembling of her body as she cried, the warmth of her ass where my hand fit so perfectly against its curve.

No, I definitely did NOT want Lee to "take over."

I caressed her ass, almost hot from what I was doing to it, and waited for her to relax.

When she did and I lifted my hand she clenched, in that instant, seeing the sudden tension of those big muscles under that red skin, I was addicted.

I waited and when she relaxed, this time I hit hard. The sound of hand on flesh was loud, the way she flinched and groaned was almost musical. The sting in my palm and the warmth where I laid it felt perfect.

"Thirty-six," I said.

She was shuddering under my left hand and squirming under my right where my palm lightly brushed where she was hot and red.

"That's better," Lee said, smiling. "Bring her to bed when she's done," she added and left the room.

Looking back, I suppose I should have caught her use of the word "bring" rather than "take," but I hope you'll forgive me for being a little distracted just then.

The spanking went on like that. The stroke and the count, the soft caress, the relaxation, the lift of hand, and sudden clenching of muscles.

My mind ran through about a zillion different emotions. I was in love. I wanted to hurt. I was ashamed. I was proud. All of that and more but one thing was clear. I had no intention of stopping.

It wasn't until "eighty-nine" that she exploded.

Her orgasm was spectacular. She cried out, a wordless, "aaaauuuugggghhhhnnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," the sound running higher and higher as she breathed out.

She didn't "squirt." She sprayed, her milky thick discharge pumping several feet for the first few seconds of her release, and then she kept pumping, soaking the leg of my jeans and spattering on the hardwood floor.

She kept going like that through "ninety-four" and then she just collapsed.

The only movement was the soft jerking of her sobs as she lay limp, draped across my thighs, whimpering deep in her throat.

And it hit me, this was what Lee had meant by, "done."

I held her there, caressing where she was SO hot under my hand, my left hand lightly rubbing her back, while she cried herself out.

Finally, some measurable fraction of eternity it seemed to me, the soft shudders of crying subsided and stopped.

"Let's get you to bed," I said, as softly as I could.

She seemed to be exhausted. She struggled to stand. I held her hand and then stood, steadying her.

And I looked at her.

She was a mess.

No, that's too gentle a word.

She was a wreck, a bad trainwreck with multiple casualties, a bad trainwreck with multiple casualties onto which a passenger jet had crashed.

And she was beautiful.

Her eyes were red, and black mascara streaks ran down her cheeks. Her nose was red and swollen and running, thick clear snot running down her chin and hanging in thick strings onto her breasts which were shiny. Her mouth was open slightly, and a thick, mucus-laden drool joined the mucus from her nose running down onto her breasts, shiny with it. Looking down I saw her thighs shiny too, with her natural nectar and the result of her sudden and spectacular release. I noticed that the tops of her feet were even slick with it.

But she looked happy too, her eyes, meeting mine, were full of love and desire.

I kissed her, a sloppy, slick, salty kiss.

"Come on," I said, and took her hand, leading her into her bedroom.

"Bathroom," she said and I chuckled and made the turn to lead her into the bathroom.

She sat and peed and it felt natural to just stay there and watch.

Her eyes got suddenly big and she got off of the toilet, onto her knees, and threw up, violently.

It seemed natural to pull her hair out of the way and rub her back while she was sick.

When she was finished I rubbed her back while she gasped for breath and then again as she rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth.

"Thank you," she said, almost whispering.

I led her into the bedroom and suddenly understood why Lee had used the word "bring."

She was in bed, waiting, smiling.

She tossed the covers back and patted the mattress.

I helped mom into bed and watched as she laid her head on her pillow and went to sleep, just that quickly.

Lee was smiling.

"Come on, honey," she said, "take off your clothes and crawl in."

She was the precise, mathematical opposite of mom. Where mom was soft and round, Lee was hard and angular. Where mom's hair was so black it was almost blue, Lee's was so red it almost flamed. Where mom's heavy breasts sagged and pale nipples were hard to see, Lee's small breasts stood straight out and very dark, almost red, nipples were hard on top of puckered cones of areolas with big love bumps on them. Where mom had that black, wiry, sparse pubic hair, Lee was perfectly smooth.

And she was beckoning me with open arms.

I peeled my T-shirt off, the one they had given me earlier announcing "18 Today - Kiss Me, I'm Legal," and fumbled my belt loose, the button of my jeans open, and my zipper down. I kicked off my shoes, shoved down my jeans, and damn near fell on my face.

Years later, hell, decades later, when I heard that Blake Shelton song, "Cotton Pickin' Time," I would laugh, drawing a look from anyone nearby, whenever I heard that line - "I fell down, tryin' to kick off my jeans."

I crawled up onto the bed and tried to get my knees between hers but she blocked me by swinging her hip and turning away from me.

"Nuh-uh," she said, giggling and wagging her finger at me. "I'm not one of your high school girls, Davey, if you want me you do it right."

I was still, well, "shock" is probably too strong a word but I was kind of frozen, not sure still what had happened.

"What?" I managed and she giggled.

"Take your time, Davey," she said and reached down and gently patted where I was hard, "there's more to sex than just getting your nut. A woman has her needs too."

"Now kiss me," she said, smiling, "and take your time with it."

So I kissed her and learned, quickly how little I knew.

She spent the next few minutes coaching me on the proper way to kiss a woman. I like to think I'm a fast learner and by the time that lesson was over, I think I was getting pretty good.

She worked her way around her body, teaching me how she liked her breasts played with and sucked, showing me special spots I had never suspected, how sensitive that skin right at the bottom of her armpit was, the special place on the inside of her upper arm, the way she liked fingers to press on her spine all the way down, things like that.

It was between her legs, though, that she really took me to school.

She showed me how she liked her clitoris manipulated, how to roll it around with my finger, and how to change the tempo and the pressure. During that lesson I brought a woman to orgasm for the first time and when her back arched and her mouth opened in that silent scream of her release, when her entire body shuddered and her legs scissored I realized how inadequate I had been in the past.

Once she had her breathing under control she had me straighten up, my knees between hers, while she showed me more of her. As I watched she opened herself up, using her fingertips to pull her labia, her full outer lips apart showing me those folds of her inner lips, pink and shiny with her nectar.