My Lonely Mom Ch. 01

I swore I would never return to this damned mountain, the place of misery that I was raised in and not from some bad childhood. Only those that haven't lived on a mountain ever dream of it. It's fine to visit during the summer, saw plenty of that growing up, but none of them can drive these roads worth anything. No one wants to be here when the snow hits.

There's not much worse than being stuck in a house for days when the bad ones hit. A lot of branches come down and block the roads, which slows the plows a lot. I wonder if any of those city folk could handle one of our winters.

When I graduated high school, I did a short stint in the Army. It got me away from the mountain and into a semi, which I love and would go back to driving in a heartbeat. If I hadn't blown out my damned knee, then I'd still be on the road where I belong. I scrimped and saved every penny, while ignoring others that told me to stay in and get my twenty. After four years of honorable service, I left and found the nearest school. It was cheaper than buying a truck and I didn't know anyone that had their own. Either school or back into the Army.

Despite having that class A in my hand and four years of experience, I was too young for most companies. It pissed me off and still does to this day, but I managed to find something until I reached twenty-five and that's when I started making good money. Experience and being a damned good driver had me making a lot of money until a year ago.

At the age of thirty, some four wheeler cut me off and that was it. I should have just run into the stupid fuck, but I didn't. The driver took off and I was left in a damned ditch with a busted knee. It took six months of rehab for them to tell me I'll never drive a semi again. Disability doesn't pay shit and I won't work for someone that has no idea that a whole world awaits them, if they put down the damned tablet for more than a few minutes.

Dad passed about the same time and mom had never worked a day in her life. He left her a little something, but it wasn't enough to get by. It was either work for someone that I hate, or move back home to the mountain that I hate. I'm still wondering if I made the right choice. At least, between the two of us, we won't starve and the house was paid off a couple of years back.

I look a lot like dad did when he was younger. The same brown hair, which I keep short like he did, and the same brown eyes. We have a similar build and, from what I've been told, I sound a lot like him. The only thing I got from mom was her nose and lips. At least no one could joke about me being someone else's son.

It's been a year and we've managed to save up a little, at least enough to stay ahead of the bills and keep beer in the fridge. Most of the guys I went to school with got the hell off of the mountain and never came back. I guess that makes me the stupid one. Those that are left, act like they never grew up. Don't even get me started on the women, since they are worse than the men. They still think they're in highschool and it drives me crazy. Not to mention, the remind me a little too much of lot lizards and I was never that desperate.

There's no club scene in the mountain and I'm miserable. I haven't been laid since moving here, not even a fucking handjob. Have I said how much I hate this mountain? My knee would never hold up driving to civilization and mom's never been a particularly good driver. I'm fine around here, but that's about it.

Not that it matters right now, since the damned snow just won't stop. It's already a bad one and the powers going to go out very soon. See. At least it isn't the middle of the night, since we can start moving everything out to the deck. We have special boxes out there that lock up tight and it keeps the critters away. At least most, but those that get a little curious won't be able to get in.

I grab another beer and mom has her wine. Moving the food and the cold has left my knee killing me. She's normally very reserved and dresses like it, but once the wine starts to flow, she'll loosen up. A little more wine after that and she'll loosen up a little too much. Can I hide the wine from her? Not anyplace she won't find it. I should really let my hair grow out, since I'm tired of her thinking I'm dad when she has a few too many.

We're at the table and the fire's crackling away, which means I won't freeze to death. She's on her second glass and her face is getting a little red. At least it has some color. I used to have a nice tan, now I'm as pale as everyone else. That's another problem with this place. Almost no color on their faces and I like a woman with a lot of color. What can I say? Black women are beautiful to me and the darker the better.

Mom's finger starts to undo the top button as her slurred words pass her lips. "I'm hot, Chris."

Those hot flashes just started and my understanding is they're a bitch. It's just my luck that it happened right when the cold started. It isn't my fault she's going through it and shouldn't even ask me about opening a window in here. Mom has her own bedroom with a door and window. If she wants to freeze, that's the place to do it.

At least she didn't call me by dad's name. "I know, mom, but I'm not opening the window."

She pouts as she undoes another button and my eyes keep steady on her pale face. "Fine, then I'll just have to take my shirt off."

My eyes glance down as she undoes the remaining buttons and there's almost no cleavage to be seen. "If you want to strip in front of me, see if I care. I'm not opening a window. I'm not freezing my ass off for you, mom."

My eyes move back to her face and stare into her blue eyes. "Just one window, Chris."

Her shirt is fully open, but I don't have to look down to see it. I've been dealing with this ever since winter hit and haven't given in yet. Mom has never actually taken off all of her clothes. The only thing she does is open her blouse and her bra covers everything.

Mom starts on her third glass and is getting a little redder. "How about a deal?"

I shake my head as I say, "No deal, mom. The windows stay closed, all of them."

She refuses to take no for an answer. "How about a handjob for one small window?"

I couldn't have heard her right as I open another beer. "What?"

Her blue eyes look into mine and her voice is very slurred. "I'll give you a handjob, if I can have just one window open."

She's drunker than I thought. "You can't be serious, mom. You know I'm not dad, right?"

Her slurred speech cannot be missed. "I'm serious and I know you're not your father. You're my son."

I take a drink of beer as I think things through. At least she knows I'm her son and she probably won't remember a damned thing in the morning. I'm tired of using my hand and it isn't like we'd be doing anything else. How drunk am I to even consider this? I've lost track of how many beers I've had, but know I'm not as drunk as she is.

What the hell. "Alright, mom. You can give me a handjob, then open one window. But not in here. It's too close to the fireplace."

Mom gets up and stumbles towards me. It isn't like I haven't been with a drunk chick before. It's just a handjob, so that doesn't really count as doing anything with mom. Should I press a little to see if she'll back the fuck off?

I look into her blue eyes as she sways. "Mom, if you're going to give me a handjob, I want you take your bra off and get on your knees."

I can't believe I just said that to her, but I really don't want to freeze my ass off. Is she really smiling at what I just asked her to do. Her hands are moving to take off her bra that conceals everything and she's actually going through with it. Fuck, that means a damned window is going to be opened.

She smiles a little wider as she sways. "Alright, Chris. I don't mind you seeing my tits."

She must be completely shit faced to have said that. I've never heard mom use any words like that, not even when she was really angry with dad. Her bra falls to the floor and my eyes stare at very small tits. Mom's not exactly flat chested, but can't be more than A cup. Her dark nipples stand out well against her pale flesh and they're very hard.

Why am I turned on by this? I like them a lot bigger and shouldn't have any problem pulling my eyes up. My dick is pressing hard against my pants as I watch her nipples sway along with her body. What the fuck is wrong with me?

She gets onto her knees and I stand before her, which causes me to sway a little from the alcohol running through my system. I can't back down now, since she's going to open a window regardless of my going through with this. My pants drop to my ankle and my seven inches appears before her blue eyes.

She slurs out as her eyes focus on my fully erect manhood. "Just like your father."

Her fingers are surprising gentle as she reaches for my shaft and causes my dick to twitch at her perfect touch. She's looking up into my eyes and I detect a hint of soberness within them. I focus on the top of her blonde head as her hands start to gently stroke my shaft. Maybe by doing this, I can pretend it isn't my mom working my dick right now.

Mom's hands increase their pace as I give out a soft sigh. I can't believe just how good she is. Holy shit. I don't think I've ever had a handjob like this. Normally, it's a woman doing a shitty job of things and I have to finish, but mom really knows how to bring me pleasure with her hands.

My eyes close as I thrust my dick towards her. Her hands cause me to shoot out harder than I have in a long time. Every touch from her is designed to maximize my release and feel greater pleasure than I have in a long time. It's as if my entire body is on fire and I'm consumed completely by her touch.

The moment passes and her soft hands are still working my shaft, but at a much slower rate. White is dripping from her chin as she licks her lips. There's no sign of white to be found there, but I do see most of it's on her small tits. There's no need to even ask myself if I should be turned on by what I see.

Her hands release my softening dick as she starts to rub my cum into her small tits. I can't believe she's doing this and wonder if she'll remember anything about what we just did. It's only a handjob and doesn't really count as incest, but it did feel damned good and my knee hasn't bothered me in a while.

She has only a slightly slurred speech as she says, "Your father used to love this. Looks like you do to."

I smile at her nipples glistening from my cum and sway a little more. Can I really bring myself to tell mom I like watching her do that? No, I can't. Instead of saying anything to mom, I simply keep watching her hard nipples glisten from my cum.

She gets off of her knees as I fall back to the chair. "I'm opening a window. If you don't like it, to bad."

The chill hits my body and I realize my pants are still around my ankles. I limp a little as I pull them up and get closer to the fireplace. Mom is coming up behind me as I throw another log onto the fire. That was quick, since there's no the chill is no longer there.

I sit on the edge and feel the heat on my back. Mom's tits are swaying as she stands before me. I've been with a few older women, but none were fifty. Not even close to mom's age. They all had the same lines that streaked across their tits, but there's almost none to be found. Maybe age impacts small tits differently than bigger ones.

Mom doesn't seem to mind me staring one bit, but it's a little strange. My eyes drop to her narrow waste and can't find an ounce of fat on her pale stomach. I've never found skinny girls all that interesting, but there's something I like about her figure.

Mom gets down on her knees and looks into my eyes. "That was fun, Chris. I'm going to bed. We'll talk in the morning."

There's no slur to her speech and she stands without a single slip. Is she really sober? Guess that means she'll remember everything. What does she want to talk about? This is weird.

The fire dies down and I head to bed. It's the same room I slept in while growing up, but the bed is relatively new. My knee is no longer killing me as I slowly rub it and don't think it's possible to get any sleep.

Why did she have to say anything? Mom could have just as easily gone to bed and not brought it up at all. I'm trying to get the image of her nipples out of my head, but it isn't easy. She's my mom. I know she's my mom. I don't need to remind myself, but I do. This is all too weird and I close my eyes while visions of her dance in my mind.