No Memory, No Regrets

All characters in this story are at least eighteen years old.

NO MEMORY, NO REGRETS

One

I'm the youngest of five children and it's true that the youngest is the kid where the least number of fucks are given. I got away with whatever I wanted, and Mom and Dad basically gave up being any sort of strict with me long ago. That said, Mom seemed to have given up on life in general. It seemed she couldn't get through a night without the aid of wine. This was a habit that began after my third oldest sibling left the house and intensified after my next oldest sibling left. The weekends became prime for over-imbibing.

I never really minded it except she would get chatty and touchy. I never thought much about either of those as she was funny and spoke about things she would not normally discuss with me or anyone else. We sometimes had great conversations that were funny, deep thinking, and thought provoking. I would shamefully find myself hoping she would drink so I could hang out with her and just... talk.

I paint a gloomy picture of her, but she's not a drunk. You would probably classify her more as a functioning alcoholic. She would wake in the morning and seem perfectly fine. She would be chipper and energetic, which goes against everything I've ever heard about hangovers. At eighteen, I wasn't well versed in the ways of partying, but anyone could look at Mom at the end of a Friday or Saturday night and assume she would be down for the count all weekend. No, that couldn't be any more inaccurate. Saturday was often a repeat of the day before.

I never connected one conversation with another, so I never knew that she often had no memory of certain nights that we spent time together. I soon found out that some events, while vivid in my mind for ages to come were dismissed into oblivion by the next morning in hers.

The night it all began, I came home after watching a school football game. It was about eight that night when I plopped down next to Mom on the couch.

"Hi Mom, whatcha watchin'?" I asked, attempting to start a conversation.

"I don't even know, it's on Lifetime and it's stupid," she slurred in an annoyed tone.

She looked around for the remote before angrily giving up.

"Can you find the remote? I'm going to get another drink," she said as she stood up slowly, regained her balance, and stumbled to the kitchen.

I rolled my eyes and searched for the remote. I found it between one of the cushions and opened the guide on the cable box and began scrolling through the channels. I found a movie I liked that just started and tossed the remote on the coffee table. Whenever I think about how it all went down, I always pinpoint that moment as the thing that started it. I liked the movie, but I failed to remember everything about it and that led to the life changing events that would transpire.

Mom came back with her drink, and I knew how hammered she was because her drinks had gone from half to full glasses, then just flat out forgoing the wine glasses in favor of higher capacity cups. She resumed her previous position and began sipping her new drink.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A movie I liked that I haven't seen in a while. You might like it!" I said without moving my eyes away from the screen.

We sat there for about an hour before I looked over and noticed her drink was empty. She was leaning against me as she watched the movie.

"Would you like me to get another drink for you, Mom?" I asked.

She looked over to her empty glass, "No, I don't have anymore, but that's fine," she slurred out.

Her speech was slurred, but I had no indication that there was anything more happening inside. When she put her head in my lap, I didn't think much of it. The movie was about to go into a steamy sex scene that I had forgotten about, and I was nervous about reacting while Mom was laying on me like she was. Before long, the scene was upon us.

A cheating husband was exerting control over a co-worker as they worked late. He had already ripped her panties off and lifted her skirt. She was egging him on to fuck her. The angle of the camera allowed you to see the strong ripples on her ass as he slammed into her from behind. I was watching intently, trying not to have a response that Mom could feel. I was shocked out of my focus when Mom finally spoke.

"That's pretty fuckin' hot," she said as she stared continuously at the TV.

I lost my battle and felt my cock begin to respond. I was in full panic mode when Mom spoke again. There was nothing I could do to get me out of the awkward situation I knew was about to happen.

"Seems like you agree," she said. Again, without any change of position. I tried to think of anything else, but the scene on the TV persisted and the sounds of hot fucking overrode any contradicting thought I could muster. I considered excusing myself to go to bed but with Mom's brazen remark, I didn't want her thinking I was going to go jerk off, even though I probably would have.

I was in the middle of debating my next move when Mom made my decision for me. She lifted her head up and began to fumble with my zipper.

"Here, I'll take care of that for you," she said just as she fished my cock out of my pants. She was clumsy with it and scrapped the head against the teeth of the zipper. I cringed as it happened but before I could recover, the painful sensation that was there was erased by her warm mouth. Mom was sucking my dick in the living room with Dad just down the hall sleeping.

"Mom," I whispered trying to figure out what was happening. My hope was that reminding her of who I was might snap her out of whatever she thought she was doing.

She continued to slowly bob her head up and down on my cock. I tossed my head back against the couch as she worked my cock into a frenzy. I wasn't going to last long. That wasn't the first blowjob I ever had, but everything about it was next level and was blowing my mind. Seconds passed before I felt my balls tighten. I knew nothing about how to handle Mom in this situation, so I took the safe route.

"Mom, I'm going to cum," I informed her.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth while still stroking it, "Cum in my mouth and don't make a mess."

Her tone was plain and lifeless and gave me nothing as to what she was thinking or if she was even thinking at all. She put my cock back in her mouth and as soon as I felt her tongue on my shaft, I began to shoot in her mouth. I quickly looked down and watched her lock her lips around me and squeeze me with her hand tightly and began to milk to cum out of me.

My hips jerked as the first shot blasted into her mouth. I could hear her begin to swallow as the next load began to fill her mouth. A third and fourth shot quickly followed. I could feel the white, gooey fluid dropping onto me from her mouth. When she was done, she released me. I was sure she would have realized what just transpired and the shit would hit the fan.

"Next time, you'll have to last longer. Not sure what was going on there," she said as plainly as everything else that night. "Shit, I got half of it on my shirt!" she said as she pulled her shirt out and stared down at it.

It dawned on me that there was a significant chance she thought I was Dad. She may also have had no concept of what she was doing. She tucked my dick back into my pants and shocked me with her next statement.

"Looks like the movie is over, Jeremy. I'm going to go to bed. Don't stay up too late," she said as she slithered off the couch.

I watched her walk away and for the first time in my life, I really watched her. Mom had always been Mom and not a woman I could relate to on a sexual level. My head turned watching her walk out of the room and I became hard again. I didn't even wait. I pushed my pants down and freed my cock. I slowly rubbed it thinking about what just happened.

"Mom sucked my dick," I whispered to myself.

The pace of my strokes increased as I began to think of Mom in a way that I never did before. I tried imagining her standing naked in front of me. Every detail was there. I pictured her standing in front of me with a hand on her hip and staring right into me. She stood there, average height, short brown hair, tits that were a bit bigger than you would expect from a smaller woman, and in my imagination, completely shaved between her legs, though she probably didn't.

"Fuck me, Jeremy," I imagined her saying. I shot my load as soon as I imagined those words leaving her mouth. There wasn't much, but what did come out dribbled over my hand and pooled at the base of my cock.

I sat there thinking about everything that happened and felt myself drifting off. I snapped out of it and quickly stood up and made my way to my room. I chuckled lightly to myself at the prospect of being discovered in the living room; pants around my ankles and my floppy cock out in the open with dried up cum all over it.

I quietly closed my door. I was still in disbelief at what happened in the other room. I replayed the event over and over in my mind. Suddenly, the idea that she would remember everything that happened thrust me into a panic about what she would say or do to me. I laid there thinking about how the following morning could unfold.

I marveled at the possibility of picking up where we left off. I was terrified of the words my own mother would say to me.

Two

I was jolted awake by a loud and rapid knock at my door. Initially I was sure it was just a preparatory knock before she walked in on her own accord, but she evidently had no intention of barging in.

"Wake up, sleepy!" she said jubilantly.

"I'm up!" I announced, still amazed at her resilience and motivated by her exuberant tone.

Everything that happened the night before came rushing back to me once again. I recalled watching her head moving slowly up and down as I felt the warmth of her tongue and lips as they massaged my cock. I was getting hard knowing that twelve hours before that, my mother took a load of her son's cum in her mouth. I stroked myself thinking of every moment of that scene. It was the slow movement of her mouth along my shaft that created the buildup. The fact that she had every intention of swallowing my cum is what put me over the edge.

I felt my stomach tighten as I imagined the first rope flying past her tongue and hitting the back of her throat. I raised my hips slightly and watched as my first blast took off into the air and land partially on my stomach and partially onto the bed. Again and again the same scene played out as I imagined her mouth filling with my salty cream. I was nearly out of breath after the intensity of the orgasm wore off.

The shirt I had on the night before was a suitable rag to clean myself off before I leapt out of bed. I wandered out to the kitchen where Mom was making a light breakfast for Dad before he went to work. I was very curious what was going to be said or done after he left. It would just be me and her in the house for the rest of the day.

I made cereal for myself and waited for Dad to take his breakfast to go. He was constantly running late, so she learned to pack up something for him on Saturday mornings. I was about halfway through my cereal when Dad rushed through and kissed Mom as she handed him his breakfast. Mom took whatever was left from making his meal and put it on a plate for herself. She sat at the table across from me and began to speak before Dad was even out of the house.

I panicked, thinking she may still be drunk and would say something regrettable, but I was wrong.

"What time did you get in last night?" she asked, looking up at me briefly and with inquisitive eyebrows.

I was dead wrong. I stopped eating and stared at Mom for a while in disbelief. I didn't know anything about drinking until you blacked out and not remembering anything the following morning. I thought she was kidding. I was sure she would have remembered something about the previous night's activities.

"What?" she asked, confirming she had no memory of anything that took place. I wondered if she woke up and wondered how she got into her own bed.

"What? Oh, sorry, I was drifting off into space. I didn't sleep much last night for some reason, so I guess I'm just tired," I lied.

"Well, you don't have to do anything today so go grab a nap after this," she said with a warm smile.

"I think I might. I should be good to go after a couple hours. I don't remember having any disturbing dreams."

After we ate, I helped mom do the dishes and figured everything that happened between us would be lost in time. What continued to bug me was that she used my name. I would have been able to easily dismiss it all if she called me Dad's name. The scene would forever be burned into memory, though. That much was certain.

I went to my room and showered. I pondered the situation as it was. The concept of her not remembering what we did still blew my mind. I almost chuckled a few times trying to grasp the state of mind someone would have to be in to forget an event like that. I laid down, intending to continue reading into the situation instead of letting it go. I was easily distracted by my phone and put the previous thoughts on the back burner. About an hour into my rest, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said, not thinking twice about why Mom would be at my door.

Mom opened the door and asked if she could come in. I nodded and she walked in, closing the door behind her. My eyes never left the screen of my phone as I was playing a game when she sat down on the bed next to me, facing the wall. There was a long silence before she spoke.

"I was cleaning my room and came across something that gave me cause for concern," she said without looking at me.

Her hands were in her lap, and she stared into them without budging.

"Yeah?" I said.

I was almost certain what she was talking about but didn't know where she was going to go with it. I wasn't prepared for her to question me about it. I assumed she would think Dad did it or something. After all, she didn't even recall me getting home.

"Yeah," she said in an odd tone of regret, "I need to ask you about last night," she added.

"What about it?" I asked looking at her, waiting for her to look at me.

"I feel like I did something that I should not have," she said cautiously, "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

I almost changed where the conversation was headed by asking her what she found and denying everything. I had only seconds to think about the ramifications that path held. The first thing that came to mind was that she would confront my father about it. I couldn't immediately think of any good coming from that so, I obliged her question.

"Well, I came home, and you were watching TV while having some drinks," I started. I told her the story up to the point when she acknowledged that I was hard.

"How did I feel that?" she said timidly.

"You had your head in my lap," I informed her. "Anyway, I didn't respond before you unzipped my pants and pulled... it out," I said, intending for that to be the end of my confession.

"What did I do with it?" she asked in a broken voice. She was getting upset.

"You put it in your mouth," I admitted as I put my phone down next to me.

This was going where I initially wanted it to go but her being upset wasn't part of the plan. Part of me couldn't blame her for being that way. The other part of me absolutely could have by putting us both in a compromising position as a result of her alcohol consumption.

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?" I said, looking at the back of her head. I was genuinely wondering what she wanted me to say.

She exhaled loudly.

"Did you... finish?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable with the situation and becoming more audibly upset with each passing word.

I pulled at her shoulder so she would look at me.

"You don't remember, Mom?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Mom turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes and shook her head. She was so upset, and I became worried.

"Can I just say it without beating around the bush?" I asked. The look on her face was making me upset as well.

She nodded and I sighed before letting it all out.

"I told you I was about to cum, and you told me to do it in your mouth. I was horny, Mom. I wasn't thinking of you as my mom, but as an attractive woman. I did as you asked me to," I admitted.

"Why did you let me do that?" she asked as her voice cracked. She was becoming more upset with each question. Tears were flowing down her cheeks.

"I don't know," I responded honestly, "I knew you were drunk," I added. She was crying hard enough that she was shaking the bed. "But I honestly didn't mind," I admitted.

That wasn't the response she deserved. She deserved me to tell her that none of it would have happened if she wasn't drunk. It would not have made any of what was transpiring easier.

She sniffled, "What do you mean you didn't mind? How could you be okay doing that with me?"

I read her face quickly to see if I had made a mistake in admitting that. When I determined I wasn't in imminent danger, I proceeded.

"I meant that I feel there's different levels of love and lust that people can experience, including combinations of them in differing levels. The love of a family member, of a girlfriend and of a friend are all different. Throw the concept of lust into each one at an appropriate level and it don't see how it can be harmful to engage in sexual acts with them?" I ended as a question, sure to get a response from Mom.

Mom stared at me with her mouth partly open. Her eyes shifted around slightly left and right. She was trying to process what she just heard. I tried to help her come to the conclusion I wanted her to be at.

"What I mean is, while I wouldn't naturally go after such an activity with you as my mother, when love exists and a feeling of lust develops, you're already in good company so, why not?"

"You're not making sense, Jeremy," she said. She was trembling still.

I sighed, trying to think of another way to express my thought.

"When you did what you did to me," I started. I intentionally used those words to ensure she knew that the blame was on her. "I didn't think of it as anything else but love for me and a need we both somehow had to fulfill a degree of lust we felt because of the movie that was on."

"Fine, I understand what you mean," she immediately said, "but I don't feel that way and none of that will be happening again. I cannot allow it. I'm ashamed that it happened, and it will take a long time before it stops being an invasive thought in my head. I'm so ashamed of myself for doing it. You should be ashamed of yourself for not stopping it."

"Mom," I said, sitting up and putting a hand on her shoulder. She lowered her shoulder quickly and I removed my hand just as fast, sensing her discomfort. I knew then that what took place created a rift that would not quickly be repaired. "Never mind, Mom. I'm sorry all of this happened."

Mom began to cry again. She turned to face me and looked me over before shoving me to the far side of the bed. She laid next to me and buried her face in my chest as she cried. I wasn't by any means wise in the ways of women, but I did know that I needed to suppress the evidence of my growing hardness. If Mom discovered it, I would not be able to fault her for the anger that she would have.

It was, however, proof of what I was trying to tell her. In that moment, despite my own feelings at her reaction to my admission of what transpired between us, I could have taken her clothes off, wrapped us up in the bed and took her without regret. I took a chance, regardless. I put my hand on the back of her head and comforted her. I decided to take it to the next level, risking her wrath if she got upset.