Salvation

Prologue

I've wandered across a couple of those erotic story sites in looking my daily portion of spam. After a while my curiosity got the better of me and I checked a couple out. Due to my own experience, I was curious to see how, or if, they dealt with incest. Yup! They sure did, every possible coupling between any pair or group of relatives conceivable, heavy on dad-daughter and mom-son.

I checked out several of the mom-son stories. They were all pretty much the same; well-preserved mom alone due to divorce, widowhood, or abandonment, devoted (and horny) young son who for whatever reason isn't getting any elsewhere. Very predictable. But as our Postal Service is fond of saying, "If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." Not that I am everyman, but my experience was much different.

To begin with, I had a pretty satisfying life going. I was in what amounted to an internal affairs shop of a large nationwide financial and securities firm. I was on the road too much to make any lasting romantic entanglements. However, as a "spook", it was no trouble to learn who was the office easy at the various branches I visited, so my horns were always close cropped.

Mom, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. Dad had suffered a stroke many years back. Fortunately it had been in the day that many companies still provided decent health insurance and Dad's company had been one of the best in that regard. Over the years, though, his ever-deteriorating condition had turned Mom into a full-time nurse. Dad had passed about a year ago. I had used all the vacation time I could beg or borrow to stay with her and make sure Dad's affairs were properly taken care of.

I could see, even then, that the years of selfless caregiving had taken their toll. Although she grieved at Dad's death, she seemed physically relieved by her burden being lifted. We had agreed that she was strong enough to carry on by herself and that I should not jeopardize my job. I went back to work, but made a point of having a long phone chat with her every week.

During the past month, however, something in those conversations told me things weren't quite right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I decided to take the little vacation time I had built up to go see how she was doing. I was somewhat surprised that she didn't seem particularly happy when I told her I was coming to visit.

Arrival

After a fun-filled day of security screenings and airline snacks I arrived home in the early evening. I was surprised that Mom didn't respond to my ringing the doorbell or knocking. Luckily I still had my house key, so I let myself in. Even in the dim light from the foyer windows, I knew that things were bad. Junk mail and magazines were scattered here and there. Mom's almost threadbare overcoat lay crumpled at the foot of the clothes tree as if she had tried to hang it up, missed, and didn't care. I retrieved it and hung it up properly. Mom hade never been exactly a neat freak but she wouldn't have tolerated something like this when I was a kid.

I saw a light from the kitchen and called out a hello. Mom's flat voice answered something from the kitchen. I quickly hung my own coat and went there.

Standing in the kitchen doorway I was aghast at the wreck of the woman who was my mother sitting there before me. Mom had never been pretty but when I was a child she'd known how to groom herself to be reasonably attractive. Even in the last strained days of caring for Dad she'd managed to keep herself presentable.

She had dyed her hair some color nature had never intended, and her face was over made up with too much of the wrong shade of everything. Her frayed robe was stained and hung open in an unattractive, though fortunately not revealing, way. The ashtray in front of her was overflowing and a tumbler with a little of what was probably bourbon sat next to it.

"Oh, my God!" It probably wasn't what I should have said, but I couldn't suppress it. I could feel the tears coming.

"Hello to you, too," she rasped in a voice scarred by too much tobacco and bourbon. "I'd get up and hug you, but I'm a teensy bit squiffed," she continued in slurred speech.

I chastised myself for being glad she hadn't. It is hard to acknowledge that your own mother is a complete mess, but there it was. People usually say, pro forma, that they love their mother. This was a Hell of a way to find out whether it was true or not. I fought back the revulsion (and the last of the airline snacks that had risen to my throat) and went over to her.

"C'mon, Mom," I said, rather more forcefully than I intended. "Let's get you upstairs and to bed."

"Whatever." A voice beyond caring. A voice of total defeat. I suspect I could have suggested she lie in front of a speeding truck and gotten the same response.

As I held her to get her up the stairs, I noticed her body seemed to have lost all resiliency, just tired flesh hanging on bones. Finally I maneuvered her into the bathroom and sat her on the closed commode.

"Shouldn't pee while my robe's on," she sort of giggled.

"No, you shouldn't," I said, starting to draw her bath water. "I'll be out of here in a second and you can take care of that."

Making sure that the tub wouldn't fill too fast, I left the bathroom. I wanted to get out of earshot, but knew I'd better not. It's not fun listening to your mother urinate (unless you're really kinky, I suppose). Fortunately, I guess that was all she had to do, because I heard the toilet flush. Then nothing. No sound of her turning off the bath water or moving around taking off her robe and whatever might be under it. Nothing. I knocked lightly at the door.

"Who...who's there?" Mom slurred.

"Just me. You okay?"

"Oh, hi. I wanted to meet you when you got here, but I had to pee." For the first time, there was something like liveliness in her voice.

Without invitation, I reentered the bathroom. She was standing by the sink, looking confused. At least she'd managed to get her robe on more or less correctly. I turned the taps on the tub, as the water was now at the right temperature and depth. I saw a can of some sort of women's bath stuff and sprinkled some into the water. "All ready, Mom," I said, trying to feign cheerfulness.

"It's so good to see you!" She lurched forward as if to embrace me. I braced myself for the reak of bourbon and body odor, and let her come into my arms.

Her body seemed weak against me with no real vitality. I tried to hug her as gently as possible. The "it's good to see you, too" bit stuck in my throat. The tears were really flowing now.

"I guess I must have been planning to take a bath, get cleaned up for my son's homecoming," she said uncertainly.

"Looks like it, Mom. I'll just step outside..."

"Oh, you don't need to go so soon, do you?"

"I'll be right outside, I promise. I won't go anywhere."

"You're such a good boy."

I quickly left the bathroom and closed the door. I found my handkerchief and wiped my eyes. Silence. Still no hint of activity behind the bathroom door. I gingerly opened it. Mom was standing there as before, arms hanging loosely at her sides. I didn't want to do what I now knew I would have to do. The airline snacks were on the rise again. I willed them back down as I stepped over to Mom.

"What are you doing?" she asked matter-of-factly as I untied her robe.

"Helping you get ready for your bath."

"Oh, yes. I forgot to take one before you got here," she continued in a flat voice. "I don't have anything on underneath, though."

Part of me was relieved, as there would be no more clothing to struggle with. The truth of the matter was that I'd just be seeing what I had no earthly desire to see that much sooner.

I moved behind her and slipped the robe off of her, to be confronted by a view of her back, ravaged by age and perhaps other factors. I noticed a few fresh bruises that weren't where one would normally get them by running into something. But now was not the time to ask about them.

Staying behind her, I talked her into getting into the tub and seating herself. I sorely wanted to leave the bathroom again, but common sense told me that wasn't a good plan. I just stood there quietly.

"Where are you? "

"I'm right here, Mom, by the door."

"Well, come around here where I can see you. Go sit on the commode till I'm done here."

I willed myself to comply, keeping my eyes riveted to the floor.

"Look at your mother. I want to see your face."

"You're my mother, sitting in a bathtub with no clothes on."

"I'm an old woman and you're an adult. It'll be okay."

I looked up and concentrated on her poor, ruined face. Somewhere behind that face and the near stupor she was still my mother. I did truly love her. I knew that now and it was tearing my guts out.

"I just can't seem to muster any energy. Must be the nice hot water," she said. "Do you think you could help me wash up?"

I'd been dreading the fact that I might have to do that, and had more or less steeled myself to do it. I moved over to the tub.

"Please hand me that jar over the sink," she asked. It turned out to be some sort of makeup remover/skin conditioner concoction. I opened it for her and she managed to get her makeup off. It certainly did nothing miraculous for her looks, except that now she looked like my mom and not some over-age tramp. With a silent prayer of thanks I closed the jar and returned it to the shelf over the sink.

Unexpectedly my mother rose to a somewhat shaky standing position. "Can you do my back," she asked, thankfully turning around before I could fully comprehend what I was seeing.

I managed to find the washcloth and some scented bath soap and went to work. Her shoulders were slack as if locked into permanent dejection, There was no pleasure in touching her lifeless skin, the flesh underneath seemingly almost gone.

I did her shoulder blades and ribcage then worked down to the small of her back. Finally, I worked up the courage to move on to her flaccid buttocks. Though not analogous, Shakespeare's sonnet about bare, ruined choirs kept running through my mind. She started slightly as I moved the washcloth between her buttocks and toughed her anus. I jerked the cloth away and began rinsing it vigorously.

"Well?" she said, still in that flat, almost lifeless voice.

"Yes, Mom?"

"I'm getting cold." She illustrated with a slight shiver. I was hoping you'd finish washing me."

Surrealer and surrealer, to badly paraphrase Louis Carroll. In order to defer the inevitable I kept her back to me while I slowly washed one arm and then the other. She continued to shiver slightly.

"I'll hurry, Mom," I said, turning her sideways to me. I kept my eyes averted as I started washing at her shoulders. I willed my hands not to sense anything through the washcloth, but they had fallen and they were pendulous. Trying to think of something, anything, else I carefully avoided spending an instant too long on her nipples, washed under them and took the cloth down to her stomach. Wanting to get this whole unpleasantness over as quickly as possible, I rinsed the rag again and continued downward from there.

I'd never washed a woman's vulva before so I knew that I would have to look at it to wash it properly. I'd have sooner plucked my eyes out, except that that seemed like it would be quite painful. Sick humor at best. I won another battle with the airline snacks and gently urged her to spread her legs. There was no resistance and I was now staring at the entrance to the tunnel where my dad had put his penis to create what became me, the tunnel through which my mother's body, despite her pain, had forced me to bring me into this world. I washed it as gently as I could, spending as little time as I could around the clitoris. I made a point of not noticing if it were swollen or indicated any excitement. I paid as much attention to the folds of the lips as I felt necessary. Then, with an exhale of relief, I began to work down one of her thighs.

After quickly finishing her legs, I assisted her back to a sitting position in the tub. I knew I would have to dry her when she was ready to get out, but that would not be quite as difficult.

Thankfully there was a clean nightgown in her dresser when I managed to get Mom back there. I somehow got it on her and got her into bed. Whether she fell asleep instantly, or just passed outfrom the booze, I don't know.

I turned out the light but left the door ajar and the hallway light on then headed back downstairs. I found Mom's jug and a glass. I poured a stiff one to congratulate myself on my self control. It was then that I realized I had a raging erection. In my shame I spent a couple of hours scrubbing and tidying up Mom's kitchen and picking up the mess in the foyer.

It was late, so I went upstairs, strongly hoping that the guestroom bed was made up. I decided to look in on Mom first. I opened the door. Light from the hallway would be sufficient, so I didn't turn on any lights. This was the scene where I was supposed to be aroused by Mom's provocatively rounded rump, shapely legs, or huge breasts which heaved as she breathed. Unfortunately Mom no longer had, or never had had, any of these features.

She was lying with her back to me, one leg partially, but not provocatively out from under the covers. I moved to gently spread the sheet back into place. Suddenly Mom rolled back toward me. Grabbing my wrist, she said "Danny, we've got to talk!"

"We can talk in the morning, Mom. You need your rest."

"No, my son. It's got to be now, while I've still got the courage."

I knew I wasn't ready for this. Maybe I'd never be ready. But I caved to the urgency and pleading in her voice. "Okay, Mom. We can talk now." I sat down at the foot of her bed.

"Danny, I'm a slut!" Her voice quaivered as she said the words. "I'm sorry there was no way to prepare you for this or sugar coat it. I'm a slut, pure and simple. Always was. Always will be, it seems."

"What do you mean, Mom? You never..." I interjected.

"I was always wild, even as a kid. I used it to cover my nymphomania. While I was still at home, my love for my parents kept me mostly in check. Everyone figured I was just a tomboy who'd grow out of it. In college, though, I couldn't keep it under control any longer. I just let go. My name and number were on the wall of every men's dorm latrine and frat house who's easy list." She paused. I wanted to tell her to stop, but I knew she wanted to, needed to, get it out of her system.

"I managed to flunk out, of course, and went off to hit the streets of the big city. I turned a few tricks here and there to make ends meet when I wasn't some low life's live-in girl friend. I was within half a heartbeat of becoming a full-fledged whore. My parents found me and begged me to come home, but I refused. It killed my father and left my mother devastated."

"Your father met me while he was in the medical school up there. He and a bunch of his med school buddies where looking for stress relief in the shady side of town. Something happened that wasn't supposed to. We fell in love." Mom paused, perhaps enjoying a pleasant memory of young love. I couldn't think of anything suitable to say.

"We wanted to marry, so he dropped out of med school. Luckily, he found a good job. He was quite a man, in every way. He loved me and managed, somehow, to keep me sexually satisfied. After his stroke, the need to care for him sort of suppressed my sexual desires. But after he died, it was just like being away from my parents' love in college. I eventually hit the streets again. Only this time I was no longer a frisky, almost cute twenty-year-old. I was a fifty-going-on-eighty hag. All the makeup and hair dye in the world couldn't make me attractive to any but the bottom-of-the-barrel scumbags looking for a quicky. I caged a few drinks, gave a few hand jobs and blow jobs, but somehow, out of memory for your dad, I never let anyone screw me."

Oh, yeah! I was shocked all right. Even appalled. But somehow her unapologetic honesty touched me. I knew then that I would have to care for my mother. It woulod be what my dad would have wanted me to do.

"Son, I'm very proud of you. You've always been wonderful to me. I think it's time for you to leave now."

"No way, Mom! There's no way I can leave you at the time you need me most. I love you too much!"

Even in the dim light from the hallway, I could see the tear welling in her eyes.

I swallowed hard! Point of no return! "Okay, if you are such a slut, how would you screw a guy?"

A smile, the first real one I'd seen since coming home, started to cross her lips. Suddenly there was real life in those eyes again. "Well, since I'm not a spring chicken any more I'd have to kind of get him a little riled up first." Real excitement was coming into her voice. "I'd pull him over here and..."

Before I knew it my mother had dropped my trousers and shorts and was massaging my cock to full erection with one hand while cradling my balls in her other. "You're as well endowed as your father. I hope the resemblance doesn't stop there!"

"Whoa, Mom! I don't know about Dad, but I am not known for lasting very long." I gently removed her hands and helped her remove the nightgown I had been so relieved to get her into just a few hours ago. She helped me out of my shirt.

"Please don't look at me," Mom said.

"You didn't seem to mind while I was bathing you," I answered.

"But that was the booze acting up. Sometimes I forget what age and less than proper care have done to it," she lamented.

"If I'm gonna be your lover, then I'm gonna love your body, whether you like it or not."

"Fair enough! Take me, you fool! I'm yours."

I reached for a tit. It didn't matter any more that it was flat and pendulous. The nipple responded quickly to my touch.

"Oh, suck me, Lover, please."

My lips were on her hardened nipple in an instant. I reached for her other breast. No, it wasn't firm and shapely, but it was still pleasant to touch. From her soft happy moans I could tell Mom was enjoying it, too.

"I feel like the old whore from Nantucket," said Mom. Trying to laugh will still sucking her tit just didn't work well.

After getting myself regrouped, I began moving down her body, kissing and licking here and there, till I reached her mons. Then I paused. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Mom?"

"No, I'm NOT okay with this!" replied my mother in a scolding voice.

Surprised by her tone, I looked up at her frowning face.

"I never knew you were so selfish! Getting ready to eat my poor old pussy without letting me play with your hard young cock. Shame on you!" She kept the scolding tone okay but she was having trouble suppressing a smile.

"It's for your own good, Mom," I responded. "If you even looked at it funny, it would paint the wall white."

"Then for goodness sake, stick it inside me. I like that wall just the way it is."

I needed no further urging. As she spread her legs invitingly, I moved my glans to her labia and began a slow gentle penetration, not wanting to cause her any pain. But I needn't have worried.

"I never thought I'd be this wet again," she smiled at me, her hands finding my buttocks to force me deeper within her. She studied my face which was contorted from the effort of holding back my orgasm. "It's okay, Danny." Her eyes twinkled with amusement and enjoyment. "I'm good. Let it go!"

She continued to look me lovingly as she gave one last thrust of her pelvis against me. We both shuddered in a tremendous flooding orgasm. Her legs were clamped tight around me to hold my spent penis in her as long as possible.

When we had both returned to something like normal breathing, Mom looked deep into my eyes. "I love you, my son. I needed you so badly and you came to me."

"I love you, my mother. I will be here for you always."