Tempted by Tanlines

My mother groans and judders, breath coming out as a sob. She lifts up her head and pulls me in for a kiss. Our lips touch and our tongues slide together, my cock buried deep as I pour the love into her body.

My eyes close and I wallow in the depravity of squirting my seed deep into my mother. It goes on and on and on. I groan and writhe and keep yanking away 'til I'm dry. I open my eyes when I'm sated. I'm on top of my bed, covered in cum and gasping for breath, heart pounding away.

I've only just wiped the mess off my chest when I hear the knock at the door, my sphincter loosening with horror as I realise how close I've come to being caught spraying jizm all over myself.

"What is it?" I warble, appalled, reaching for my mobile. I check the time, surprised to see it's the middle of the night at 2:33.

"Can I come in?" she asks through the wood. "I can't sleep. I've got so much on my mind." There's a pause before she goes on with, "I need to sort this all out, Sean. I'll be a wreck at work on Monday if we don't put all this to bed."

I'm vaguely aware of her poor choice of phrase, but can't ignore the plaintive plea in her tone.

"Please, Sean," she says, knocking again, her rapping persistent and woodpecker fast. I know from experience she won't let it lie. If my mother has her mind set on an objective, she usually achieves it.

Just ask my dad.

Agitated, I glance round my room. It seems free of any DNA evidence but my stomach still flutters when I look at the door. After the awful encounter downstairs I'm embarrassed to face her.

"All right," I shout back when she carries on tapping. "Come in if you have to."

The relentless rap-rap-rap ceases abruptly. There's a pause and I imagine my mother hesitating and chewing her lip. When the moment stretches to a few seconds I begin to think she's lost her nerve, but the door opens a moment later and she enters enveloped in a large fluffy robe.

I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see she's not naked.

"Sean?" she blinks, tiny and vulnerable inside the dressing gown.

I'm in bed, with the sheet up to my chest. I don't say anything, and neither does she.

We just look at one another for a while until she sighs and says, "Oh God, Sean." My mother shrugs and shakes her head, adding "I..." but getting no further.

There's another difficult pause before my mother looks at the bed and asks, "May I?"

I nod in assent, knowing she wants to sit, which she does when I shift sideways a bit.

The bed dips as she settles. I'm acutely aware of her presence, the awkwardness swelling between us.

It goes on. The proverbial elephant in the room with us grows bigger and bigger with each passing second.

"I didn't know," my mother eventually says.

To which I reply, "Didn't know what?"

She shifts her rump and clears her throat, eyes going everywhere but me. "Well," she begins. "You know ... About seeing me nude. I didn't know you were bothered.

There's more silence until she breaks it again.

"When?" she asks.

"What?" I say, pretending I don't have a clue.

"Did it start."

"Did what start?"

She sighs and the bed moves when she squirms. "This ... this fancying me -- or whatever it is." My mother glances at me and waves a hand in the air, then looks away.

My insides curl with embarrassment. I'm mortified, my face heating up. I don't want to answer at all. What I want is for her to go away and leave me to feed on chagrin for a few months, but, in the end, knowing she won't let it lie, I blurt out, "Last Christmas," my cheeks burning hotter.

There are bound to be more questions coming my way and, sure enough, one arrives almost immediately.

"What happened to bring it on?"

I groan with the agony and whisper, "I noticed you were a woman instead of just my mum." I'm not looking directly at her but still see her wince from the corner of my eye.

I can also see her shaking her head. "Oh Jesus," she mutters.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"If I can ask...?"

She pauses and I look at her face, but my mother isn't looking at me. Her eyes are angled down at the floor, her profile troubled. I see her internal struggle, lips moving as she mutters something I can't make out.

Then, after gathering her resolve, she turns her head and her eyes confront mine.

"If I can ask," she repeats. "Just what was it exactly?"

It's an excruciating sixty seconds or so, but I explain about the tanlines, stuttering and hesitating as I endure the telling.

I finish and she starts to ask, "And do you...?" There's another pause before my mother finishes with, "Well, you know..."

The hand gesture confirms what I'm thinking. The closed fist and jerking action leave me in no doubt.

I'm humiliated she's asked and don't want to admit to fantasising over my mother, especially not to her face.

"Do what?" I ask, incredulous. I'm stalling while struggling to come up with a way out of this hideous confrontation. I'd get up and leave, but I'm nude under the sheet.

"Touch yourself, Sean. That's what I mean."

I can hear her exasperation, but we're in territory I'm not prepared to venture into so I gasp, "Mum, please ... Jesus!" My eyes flick back to her face and then quickly move on to a point on the wall over her shoulder.

Meanwhile, her gaze is relentless.

She surprises me by laughing and saying, "It's perfectly normal. Everyone does it. Even I I do it too," my mother informs me.

I groan and close my eyes and turn away to roll onto my side. It's more than I can take.

But Mum isn't having any of I, she's determined, voice stern when she pokes me in the back with her elbow. "Oi, no, Sean, no curling up to hide, she tells me. "This is part of the problem. We don't talk about things enough. We're embarrassed by sex. You never used to be bothered by seeing me nude. It's just sex makes it awkward."

"You're my mother," I say. "There are some things we shouldn't talk about."

I sense her shrug as she says, "Why not? It's just us. There's nobody else to get in the way. Maybe we should talk about it all freely. Who knows," adds my mother, "it might make you feel better."

I lie there and hope she'll just go away.

She won't, of course, but I still hope.

She plays me with silence. My mother lets me lie there, her weight on the bed a signal she's prepared to wait as long as it takes.

Damn, she's so stubborn!

The pressure inside me cranks up as I try to prove I'm as capable of holding out as she is.

But, in the end, with great reluctance and a heavy sigh I have to concede. I decide to save myself the torment. Better a quick bullet than suffer the torture.

"All right," I breathe, rolling over. "Let's talk about it. Let's get it over with and then you get out of my room and leave me alone."

My mother chuckles and pulls a face. "Please, Sean," she says while smirking at me. "Let's have less of the drama."

A hot flare of anger wells when I see the roll of her eyes. In that moment I just want to hurt her, and to get in a dig of my own I ask, "So what happened tonight? What did he do?"

My mother's face crumples. The grin vanishes and she seems to shrink inside the gown, the words leaving a shitty taste in my mouth when I see their effect.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, immediately contrite.

"Oh, Sean," she sighs, "it isn't your fault. He confessed to sleeping with someone else. He thought by telling me it all, we could move on."

All I reply with is, "Oh."

I know she wouldn't have accepted anything he said after confessing. One chance. You cheat, you're gone. No exceptions.

Just ask my dad.

"Sex," she says, spitting out the word. "All he had to do was explain before doing anything sneaky. He might have gotten a surprise."

My mother pauses, eyes glazing.

She drifts for a while, eyes glazing.

I feel bad when I see her wistful expression. It's my fault for reminding her and wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"If he was up front and honest," she starts up again. "And God knows, I thought I'd explained all that to him." My mother looks looks at me in earnest. "I told him how I felt about infidelity," she says, stressing her feelings by clenching both fists. "Itold him to be truthful with me. No matter what was going on inside his head, I said he should share it.

"If he was up front and honest," she continues, eyes wide as she says, "he could have had his fun. The sex I don't care about, Sean. It's the fucking deceit I can't stand."

My jaw dangles at the revelation. It comes a bit of a shock to discover my mother would let her swain slip the collar for a bout of no-strings rumpy-pumpy as long as he was honest about it. I blink and gawp at her, the idea slowly filtering through layers of disbelief.

She must see something in my expression to indicate some need for further clarification because my mother rattles on without a word from me. "It's quite simple, Sean. The sex doesn't matter. I can understand how overwhelming passion can be. I've been there myself."

An image bursts into mind when she says that. I didn't want to think it, but I immediately picture my mother caught in the throes. I've seen it before, inside my head: she's on all fours and looking back at her lover. She's got that look on her face. She's daring him to fuck into her, hard. Her buttocks are raised, breasts all heavy and round and exquisitely presented to his palms as he leans low over her back. I watch them kiss, with my mother eagerly sucking his tongue as she winces and groans, her body taking his length from behind.

Of course, the lover is me.

She's still talking as I try to supress the lewd image. I'm fully aware the sheet won't mask my resurgent erection, but what I've imagined is so vivid and powerful I'll be back up and ready in seconds.

"It's the betrayal that eats me up," my mother is saying as I ease up the bed and raise my knees to disguise my dilemma. "And this thing with you," she goes on. "It doesn't mean anything, Sean. It's inside your head. Nobody will get hurt. So what," she shrugs, "you suddenly noticed me as female? It isn't like you've tried to molest me, is it? You know the difference between what's right and what isn't."

I wonder if she'd be so blasé if she could see the despicable scenarios I've conjured up between us. How cool would she be if she knew I'd just thought about fucking her pussy with my hands all over her tits?

"But you're my mum," I groan, trying to do the right thing. "I shouldn't think about you in that way."

"I do believe," my mother says with a smile. "It's more common than you might imagine." She lays a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry," she adds. "It really doesn't bother me at all. I could be quite flattered actually."

And I know it's a joke. Her last line was a throw-away comment she used to lighten the mood. And she isn't to know, but her touch has electrified me. I'm fully erect and churning inside. If it wasn't for the robe, I'd be on her. It takes an immense effort of will not to lunge. If she'd been nude there would have been no stopping me. Her naked body would have been too much to resist.

"I still shouldn't think it," I manage to say.

She chuckles and pulls her hand back.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Sean. It doesn't matter. Honestly, babe, you don't have to feel embarrassed. I'd rather we talked and got everything out in the open than bottle things up. Besides," she says, head tilting towards one shoulder. "Like I said, it's just us. There's nobody else to consider. What business is it of anyone else's what we say behind these four walls? It's like me being nude. I love the freedom. And inside my own home, who am I bothering?

Except you, of course," she finishes with a grin.

There's an upsurge of emotion inside me. "You're incredible," I mumble, which is the second I resolve to fight off the pervasive thoughts and imaginings. I'm suddenly filled with determination. I love my mother; I'm proud of her. She's strong and courageous -- and who am I to dictate how she behaves?

My mother looks at me. She's puzzled when I say, "You shouldn't listen to me."

She blinks and frowns, then says, "What do you mean?"

I shrug while gurgling, "About it being inappropriate. You've always done it. I'm the one who's changed. Besides, I don't live here full-time. This is your home. If you want to walk around nude..."

She pulls back to eye me with doubt. "But what about ... you know..." My mother gestures with her head. She nods towards my genitalia, inconspicuous but rampant under the sheet. "...your problem," she finishes.

"It's my problem," I say, meaning it at the time. "I'll be fine," I assure her. "I promise."

My mother nods slowly. She stares off into nothing again, perfectly still for a few beats before rousing herself. "Thank you," she smiles. "I'm so glad we can talk."

"Me too," I reply, a little surprised when I realise my mother had been right. "I feel ... lighter," I tell her.

"I'm glad," she says, leaning in.

I'm stunned when her lips brush my cheek. The heat comes off her, my mother's scent lingering when she stands and nods down at me.

"See," she says with a smile, "it was worth me coming in and forcing a talk, wasn't it?"

It was and it wasn't. When she leaves me lying there I'm already wondering why I let on it was all right for her to carry on in the nude. My newfound resolve has evaporated already.

My mother pauses near the door and turns to waggle her fingers at me, cheeks dimpled with an ebullient smile.

"Night," she says.

The door clicks shut and I recall what she said: I do it too, you know. It had never occurred to me my mother might be a few yards away, in her own bed, fingers sloshing around her vulva as she masturbated herself to a climax.

The heat envelops me. Lust bursts afresh and I throw back the sheet and work at my dick, my head full of my mother with a thick dildo wedged in her cunt.

###

When I walk into the kitchen she looks at me and asks, "Is this okay?"

I nod and say, "Yes," although the word sounds more croaky than I would have liked.

She notices the catch in my voice and her eyes narrow. "You sure?"

It doesn't help when her breasts sway as she stands, but I nod again.

"I can put some clothes on," she says, and I can tell she's doubtful about my sincerity.

I hold up a palm to stop her from going. Then close my eyes and say, "No. Really. I meant what I said. I can deal with it, Mum."

She's dubious. It's all over her face. My mother hesitates and continues to observe for a few seconds longer. But, eventually, she sits back down at the table.

"How did you sleep?" she asks as I go to the counter.

The truth is I didn't sleep much; my head was filled with my mother.

"So-so," I tell her, taking bread from the bin. It isn't an outright lie, just hedging it a bit. After what she told me last night, I don't want to deceive her.

The toaster does its thing and I pour tea from the pot. The milk goes in and I carry the lot to the table, then pull out a chair at the opposite end from my mother.

Spreading butter onto the toast I causally ask, "What about you?"

She regards me from over the rim of a Kath Kidston mug. "How did I sleep?"

I nod and force my eyes to remain on her face while kidding myself it will get easier with time. This fixation for my mother couldn't last forever, I hoped.

"So-so," she grins before adding, "But I l stayed awake thinking for quite a long time."

I think she might be dwelling on her break-up and say, "You're better off without him."

But it seems I'm mistaken when my mother chuckles and says, "I'm not bothered by that. You're right, I am better off. No, Sean," she adds. "I was thinking about you."

Disquiet slides in my guts. "Me?" I murmur.

"You," she nods. "And you're doing it already."

I have no clue what she means. "Doing what?" I reply.

"Not looking at me."

I say, "I am," and make a point of looking her right in the face.

My mother clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. "Yes, when I'm sat down. But when I stood up before you avoided looking completely. It's okay," she goes on in a soft, soothing tone. "Look if you want to. Just be open and honest."

The toast sits on the plate as I pick up the mug and slurp at the tea, my mind turning over what she just told me.

"Open and honest?" I breathe, more to myself than my mother. If only I could be open and honest.

Her bottom lip juts out as she nods.

"Okay," I say, and then glance at her breasts.

My mother's eyebrows flick high on her forehead. "What are you thinking?" she breathes.

My throat swells with the answer I don't dare to give her. If I tell her I'm thinking I'd love to suck on her tits it would be too open and too honest.

"Is it dirty?" she asks in a tone which sends a ripple of need through my core.

My jaw aches and I realise I'm clenching my teeth. "Not exactly," I lie.

She pouts at me and chuckles. "Then what?"

"I was just thinking..."

When I shut up and shake my head she's insistent. "You can't leave it like that," my mother insists.

"Mum, please," I moan. "I ... I can't say."

"Sean," she cajoles. "You can tell me anything, babe. "I won't be angry, I promise."

I want to unburden. I want to tell her but I'm too afraid she'll be disgusted if I reveal what's on my mind.

"You will," I say, avoiding her eyes.

Her eyes roll again as she says, "What is it with men?"

She whispers my name and I face her.

My mother fixes her attention fast on my face and, like she's talking to a particularly slow learner she says, "What part of open and honest is so difficult for you to understand, Sean?"

My face warms. I fidget in my seat. "But--" I begin.

She's on her feet, palms flat on the table. My mother leans forward and grinds out, "I thought we sorted this last night? It's just us here, Sean. It's our opinions which matter. Don't worry about what anyone else might think. You can tell me. It's better if I know."

I seriously doubt it, but her body goads me into being braver than I might normally be. What she said goes a little way there, but it's her breasts and the cinch of her waist which motivates me the most.

"It's luh-like you are now," I manage to stutter. "When I see your ... your boobs. Your body ... Mum ... it's making me mental. I keep seeing you nude and can't help but think all this ... this stuff."

"So look at it," she gasps, rising upright. The backs of her knees hit the chair and send it skriking across the tiles as she pushes it away. "Look at me all you need to, Sean. Don't lock your feelings inside."

I gawp at her, stunned, the amazement showing in my voice when I ask, "You really don't mind?"

"I want to go nude in my house, and you said I could. If you want to look at me ... then look. If you have to ... take yourself off and sort yourself out, then do it, Sean. But I don't mind you looking," she breathes."

"God, Mum; you're beautiful," I gasp.

###

I'm in my room cranking my dick when she comes in.

It's a first. In the past my mother has always, always knocked.

"I thought so," she says as I gape in surprise, my cock stuck in my fist.

Then it hits me. I realise just what it is that's happened and I'm scrabbling for cover while my mother moves further into my room.

"You don't have to stop," she informs me. "I ... I just want to watch."

The stutter is the first indication I've heard she's affected in any way. Not that I'm taking too much notice because I'm too busy yanking at the bedsheet jammed underneath my arse. What's concentrating my mind is the most urgent need to get my hard-on out of sight.

"It's all right, Sean," she assures me, moving even closer.

But to my mind it most definitely isn't. It's very far from 'all right'. I'm not too impressed by my mother walking in on me mid-wank, even if she is the principal focus of the masturbatory frenzy I was so heavily involved in.