My Beautiful Hippie Mom

My mom was up on a ladder with a watering can, replacing the sugar water in the hummingbird feeders hanging from the banyan tree in our backyard. I was stabilizing the ladder from below.

I was 18, a high school senior, and my mom, who had me when she was my age, was a young-looking 36. She owned a successful yoga studio, and her years-long practice of yoga had molded her body into a harmony of supple curves. We both had jet black hair and blue eyes, from our "Black Irish" heritage, and strangers sometimes thought she was my older sister.

Being raised by my single hippie mom had not been so bad. An overload of tofu and brown rice, and a prohibition of football and "violent sports," but we were true friends; we could talk about anything. A couple weeks ago, I brought up the topic of sex. I would never admit it to my buddies, but I confessed to my mom that I was still a virgin, and I was anxious about my first time - if ever that would finally happen - because I wouldn't know what to do with a girl's body.

With no dad in the picture, my unabashed mom took it upon herself to tell me everything I needed to know about a woman's sexual anatomy, going online to show me anatomical diagrams, making sure I was not ignorant of "the wonderful clitoris," the magical G-spot, the mysterious A-spot, and other important stuff. She went so far as to draw me a map of 14 erogenous zones. It was a needed education; I hadn't even known the word "erogenous" before my crash course in how to satisfy a woman. Okay, I could have guessed lips and nipples and inner thighs, but inner wrists? Behind the knees? Earlobes? Scalp? Armpits? I was amazed.

She also told me about the P-spot, the prostate gland in men, which was news to me.

"But if it's that deep inside the body, how do you massage it?" I asked.

She gave me a look and smiled.

"What?" I wasn't picturing it.

"Through the anterior wall of the rectum."

"Oh." I said, and blushed. "You have to be gay. Wait... You know I'm not gay. Right?"

"I would love you the same if you were. But no, you don't have to be 'gay.' Don't worry about putting labels on anything that brings you joy. Labels just limit. As long as it doesn't harm you or anyone else, 'If it feels good, do it.'"

I couldn't wait for an opportunity to put into practice my newfound knowledge. I frequently looked over the map of the erogenous zones my mother had charted, and I was finding myself feeling way hornier than usual - which was saying a lot.

Last year, my mom appeared on the cover of Yoga Journal. Soon afterward, a photographer had approached her to be the principal model for a coffee-table book, Nude Yoga: The Body As Temple. The book had just been published last week. And though my mom saw herself as an "Earth Goddess" - a celebrant of nature and the human body and sex - she deemed it inappropriate for her teenage son to view the photos, so she kept the book locked in a decorative silver box sitting beside the toolbox-sized quartz crystal on the altar in her meditation room.

That box seemed to me like a treasure chest, hiding secrets of The Feminine that I badly wanted revealed. I loved my mom. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I wanted to see her in all her glory. The lock was a cheap little thing, and on my first try I was able to pick it with a hairpin.

I gawked at the large-format photos of my young mother, completely naked, doing poses like Dancer and Downward-Facing Dog. Her skin was smooth and bronzed, without suntan lines. She had a small scar on the back of her left thigh where it met her butt cheek; I had seen it before when she sunbathed in a thong. A nickel-sized purplish birthmark spotted the inside of her right thigh, near her pussy. I'd not known about that birthmark; it seemed a most intimate discovery.

I found the photos indescribably beautiful, as I knew I would. What I had not been prepared for was the insistent erection that nosed upward in my boxer briefs. One pose, in particular, shocked me with a jolt of sexual arousal. The photographer obviously appreciated the photo's power, because it was the centerfold of the large book, covering two pages. She was lying on her back, folded in half with her lower legs locked behind her head. Her heart-shaped pussy, framed by dark pubic hair, was openly displayed like a centerpiece of artwork. I stared at the photo for minutes, loving the contours of her womanhood. That's where life comes from, I told myself with awe. Life is a miracle. But my spiritual epiphany was accompanied by a terrible lust, and I retreated to my bedroom to take care of my heavy need.

That happened just yesterday. Now I was standing at the base of the ladder. My mom was wearing a tie-dye minidress, and just by looking up, I was gazing straight at her pink lace bikini panties. Black pubes peeked out from the edges of the leg holes. My cock stiffened in my bluejeans; even my belly felt hard.

I knew that just beyond the thin cotton stretched over her bubble ass, her pussy was exactly there. l badly wanted to reach up and touch what I had studied for long minutes in the centerfold. My cock was lightly pulsing.

"Coming down," my mom said. She moved down past me, faintly smelling of sandalwood oil. "Move the ladder, hon. Next feeder."

We moved over to another spot beneath a hanging limb. Up she went. I put my hand on her butt to help her up. Her ass muscles rolled under my hand. My cock pulsed. My hand returned to the ladder rail. She poured sugar water into the feeder that sprouted bright red plastic flowers.

She climbed down. "Nine to go. You okay? Your face is a little flushed."

I didn't say a word, just moved the ladder to the next spot. My hand went back on her ass cheek - her skin was so warm! I gave a squeeze as she climbed.

She froze. I didn't take my hand away.

"Jackson." That's all she said, just my name. I was called Jack until I did something wrong, or she wanted me to carefully listen to her, then I was Jackson.

My hand was on her warm, muscular ass. I didn't move my hand and she didn't move away. My breathing quickened.

"I'd better get down."

"No. Stay there. The hummingbirds need food."

She climbed another two rungs to escape my touch, but I stood on tiptoes and my hand stayed glued to her pretty ass. She filled the hummingbird feeder with sugar water.

She descended the ladder, but wouldn't meet my eyes. I moved the ladder to the next feeder, and up she went.

This time, I placed my hand lower, so that my palm cupped the left globe of her ass and my fingers rested at the lacy edge of her panties. The skin there felt even warmer.

"Jackson," she said. Her voice sounded shaky. I didn't move my hand. She filled the feeder bottle and came down. She kept her eyes on the can of sugar water as I moved the ladder to another feeder.

She climbed the rungs, and I grabbed high on her left inner thigh with a strong squeeze.

She made a little gasp. "Son, stop." Even as she said it, a wet spot appeared at the center of her pink panties.

"No," I said. "We don't stop. We feed the hummingbirds."

She sighed shakily and poured sugar water into the bottle.

"Five feeders to go," I said, and I moved the ladder.

Up she climbed. I reached my fingertips and lightly touched the wet spot. She gasped, but didn't say a word or dodge away. I began lazily stroking up and down the cleft of her pussy lips through the cotton, tracing the ravine all the way forward and up to "the wonderful clitoris" she had lovingly charted for me, and back down to the growing wet spot, which now oozed, liquidy, through the cotton. My mom filled the feeder bottle.

She wouldn't meet my eyes. But up she went again. This time my fingers slipped underneath the lace at the left leg hole and rested there, touching just the outer lips of her pussy. She made the sexiest moan and the wet spot leaked in a little gush. My mom was so lovable! I could smell her, which drove me crazy with desire.

She filled the plastic feeder. I moved the ladder. She climbed.

My whole hand slipped through the leg hole of her panties and I cupped her sopping wet pussy, three fingertips sunk into the hot oily well. We both stopped moving, like statues made of flesh, caught in such excitement the world stood still. The only movement was our heartbeats that throbbed in her swollen pussy and in my achingly hard cock. I slid my three fingers deeper inside her and my mother mewled like a kitten.

"Oh Jackson. Son. No."

I kept my fingers inside her pussy. "Sugar water," I said. "Two feeders left."

She filled the hummingbird feeder and came down.

"Look at me, Mom." But she kept her eyes on her bare feet, breathing fast.

I moved the ladder. "Up you go."

When she climbed above me, I suddenly felt enraged at the pretty lace panties. Minutes before they had turned me on terribly, but now they were a barrier between me and paradise. I reached up and violently yanked her panties down.

"No!" she cried. But when I pulled her panties down to her ankles, she compliantly stepped out of them.

I climbed onto the ladder behind her.

"No, son. I'm your mother."

"Mom, you're a goddess!" I plunged three fingers into her slimy wetness and reamed her open wide with strong circular motions. She came within seconds, her loud squeals sounding like an alley cat in heat. Her pussy fluttered, gripping my fingers in spasms. She kept on coming, so I kept on stretching open her beautiful pussy, adding a fourth digit to my fingering. Her orgasm went on for what seemed like a minute.

She clutched the pitcher of sugar water in one hand and never dropped it. And when she finally settled down, she filled the plastic feeder.

"Good job," I said. "One last feeder."

She came down the ladder, smelling like the Earth Mother she was, like rich garden soil after a downpour. I moved the ladder and she followed, but she wouldn't meet my eyes. I set the ladder beneath the last hummingbird feeder.

She stood without moving. "Enough," she said.

I took her chin and lifted her face to make her look at me. Her blue eyes shone with tears.

"It's like you said, Mom, 'If no one gets hurt, do whatever feels good."

"If no one gets hurt."

"Were those cries of pain I heard?"

She tried to look away, but I took her face in both my hands. "You said, 'If it feels good, do it!' How 'bout if it's the very best feeling I've ever known?"

"Jackson, listen to me. We stop now. And we don't do this again. Ever."

"One last feeder. Then we'll stop." I let go of her head and nodded at the ladder behind her. "Go up."

She shook her head. "No. I think we'd better-"

"-Get up that ladder!" I spun her around and lifted her by her bare ass up the first two rungs. Then I spanked her ass cheeks hard and fast, driving her higher. "Get up! Get up! Get up! Go! Go! Go! Go!"

Each spank brought out a loud cry. Ow! Ow! Ow! When she had climbed to the higher rungs, I kicked off my sandals, unbuttoned my Levis and tugged off my underwear and jeans, stepping out of them on the ground. My cock sprung free, long and thick and veiny, visibly throbbing with my thudding heartbeat. I mounted the ladder looking up at her ass, marked with cherry red handprints from my hard slaps.

"Jackson. Stop."

I buried my whole face in her sopping pussy, and she trembled. Her flavor and scent washed over my mind like a wave. I was as drunk as a hummingbird on sugar water.

"Ja-ack-son. Sto-op." Her voice was quaking along with her trembling body.

I licked and licked while twiddling her clit with my fingers, soothingly gentle at first -- as she had tutored me -- then squeezing vigorously to let her really know I was here. At the same time, I found her G-spot and massaged it with strong fingers. She rocked her pelvis onto my hand, grinding hard.

"Ja-ack-son. Sto-" Her voice broke into a long, loud moan as her orgasm struck. Her whole body shuddered violently and her fragrant fluid splashed my face. "Oh! You're killing me! You're killing me! I'm coming so hard! Don't stop! Don't you dare stop! Oh my fucking god, please don't stop!"

The instant her climax subsided, I leapt up two rungs, till my cock snuggled in the crack of her firm ass. "Don't stop means 'Go!'" I roared, and plunged my manhood full length into my mother's welcoming cunt. I pressed deep inside her with all my might, wanting to penetrate her core, mashing myself back into her womb. My cock ground hard against her A-spot and she went into an eerily quiet climax, no babbling - she was beyond words - making only whimpers, but thrashing and bucking as in a fit. She dropped the can of sugar water. Within seconds of the start of her orgasm a tidal wave of bliss flooded upward from my balls to belly to brain, and I bellowed like a bull and shot a huge load of cum inside her pussy, spurt after spurt after spurt.

When we got down from the ladder, we were both weak in the knees. I picked up the can. Not all the sugar water had spilled, so I climbed back up the ladder and poured the sugar water into the feeder. Hummingbirds have to eat, too.

Strands of sweaty black hair clung to my mother's face. Her inner thighs were slick with pussy juice down to her knees. She smelled like the ocean at low tide. "We both know this can never happen again," she said.

"I know that Mom. I know. That's why it's not over yet, because this is our only chance."

I climbed backwards up a few rungs, facing outward, away from the ladder, until my cock, already growing erect again, was at the level of her mouth.

Her eyes got bigger. "Jackson. No." She shook her head, but her nipples hardened and I read in her face that she was aroused.

"Mom, show me the P-spot."

"Oh, Jackson."

"Do it. This is our one time to be...to be lovers. You're the most beautiful woman in the world. I'll never find a lover as good as you."

I detected a hidden smile. She sighed and took my fat stiff cock into her mouth.

My prediction was not entirely false. I have had a dozen girlfriends since then, but I never have received fellatio as skillful as what I was granted that afternoon, standing on the ladder, with my mother clutching both my ass cheeks in her strong hands.

For long minutes, she expertly kept me a hair's breadth away from orgasm, teetering right at the very precipice of coming. I was loudly grunting with pleasure. I began pumping my pelvis and my mother tugged my hips toward her in rhythm with my thrusts, my hard cock shoving into her soft mouth over and over. I was swooning, deep in ecstasy.

Finally, she pulled her mouth away and said, "P-spot."

For lube, she dipped her finger into her own gooey slickness. When she gently touched my asshole I instinctively clenched. "Trust me," she said. "Relax."

As soon as I breathed out and let go, she easily slid her slippery finger inside. What happened next was nothing less than an erotic initiation. She no longer sucked and stroked my cock, but only massaged the bulge of my prostate gland. Immediately, a wave of bliss crested into an orgasm, and then another wave, and another. Yet I wasn't ejaculating! I stared, amazed, because I kept orgasming and orgasming, without shooting cum. The orgasms spread irresistibly up through my belly into my chest and up to my throat and seemed to pass like fountains of joy from the crown of my head. An unnamable emotion, something like pure astonishment, caused tears to run down my face.

I whispered in gasps. "Oh!... Mom!...That's!... So!... Good!"

She kept me climaxing non-stop for a couple minutes and then she resumed sucking and stroking my cock, while still massaging my P-spot. "Oh. I'm gonna come. Crazy hard. I'm gonna come. Oh, oh, OH! OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Bolts of lightning lit my brain and my cock jerked in a mad dance, shooting, shooting, shooting cum.

My beautiful hippie mother kept on massaging my P-spot and swallowing. I tried to pull away from her greedy mouth because the pleasure was too intense, but she locked me in place with a hand gripping the base of my shaft, and she tortured me, draining every drop of cum from my balls. Natural health food.

That was the only time my mom and I broke all the rules and behaved like horny lovers.

I'm now 51 years old, married, with two adult sons. My mom is almost 70, still teaches yoga, and though her face is wrinkled from wind and sun, she moves with the agility of a 30-year-old.

I let my sons play football. When they each turned 18, I sat them down and taught them about a woman's sexual anatomy: we studied diagrams and I drew a chart of the 14 erogenous zones. It's good to be in the know: my wife claims I'm the best lover she's ever been with.

I do have a fetish, though. My wife learned to indulge me when she was still my girlfriend. I like to make love outdoors in nature. Up on a ladder.