The Porn Shop

Even though my mom lived on the upper West Side, I moved into a dorm my freshman year at NYU. Mom had plenty of money after the divorce from dad, an insurance executive, and she figured that I would concentrate better on my studies if I didn't have to live at home. I agreed and relished the full college experience in Greenwich Village.

But there was one problem with living in the dorm with two roommates: I was perpetually horny. After fucking nearly every day over the summer, my high school girlfriend went away to Fairfield University, so I only had sex about once a month when we managed to visit each other. I couldn't jerk off in my room because guys were always around. The bathroom was serviceable, but I liked to spank to porn. And there was no graceful way to sneak a magazine into the bathroom with me. This was in the 2000s, before smartphones. I would sometimes go three days straight without beating off, waiting for privacy. That makes an 18-year-old a little twisted in the head, especially after he smokes pot with his friends.

Luckily, Manhattan was filled with adult video stores with private viewing booths. I got into the habit of going to them after dinner a couple of times a week. This one place that I particularly liked was all the way down by West St. The viewing booths were equipped with two-foot by two-foot windows on each side. They were sort of like a glory holes, but way bigger. Each window had two sets of shutters. When someone opened his side of the shutter, a little red light would go on in yours, signaling you to open the shutter for anonymous sexual activity if you wanted. It worked like a confessional, but for sex.

I'm not normally gay, but sometimes I indulged instead of jerking off. I liked getting my cock sucked as I watched porn. And men happen to give good head. I usually opened up my side of the window and waited for someone willing to get his face fucked. I never sucked someone else's cock, though. I shut my window right away when someone poked his pecker through. I'm selfish.

Anyhow, my real preference wasn't for gay stuff. And one night I went there, I had another opportunity. I was high that night and hadn't nutted since a quick bathroom jerk two days before. My dick was hard the entire way to the shop.

I saw the light come on and I could feel my pounding heart shake my body at the prospect of finally getting off. When I opened the shutter, what was waiting for me was not the face of a gay man, but a woman's brunette bush. I could only see her waist, but by its width and an ample pouch below the tummy, I could tell that she was in her mid-forties at least. I thought she would drop to her knees to blow me, or perhaps she wanted me to eat her out—two tasks I was more than willing to do. But she instead handed me a condom, stuck her big round ass in the window, and bent way over. Her pussy peeked underneath, the folds were swollen and gaping open. The flesh inside her cunt was fire-engine red. She had been fucking and wanted to get fucked again.

I never heard of a woman doing this. My penis throbbed at the thought: A woman so slutty she sneaks into viewing booths for anonymous screws from behind. I was so turned on I was afraid I'd cum before I even had the condom on.

I palmed her pussy and plunged a finger in to tell her another cock would soon arrive. She stuck her backside as far through the window as she could. I grabbed the sides of her hips. I worked my dick in. It was easy. My girlfriend was so tight that I had to take my hand and force myself in. This woman's cunt was like a black hole, engulfing everything that came near it. I fucked her slowly at first. My dick and my pubic hair were dripping in her musty juices.

I hunkered down after a minute and really went for it. Fucking her like a jackhammer rang her bell, I could hear her muffled screams through the wall. I didn't last very long at that pace and I came harder than I ever did with my girlfriend. I pulled out, the condom was laden with my big load and glistening with her juices. The woman passed a note to me.

"I am here from 7 to 9 every Tuesday."

All I could think about all week was cracking that ass again. The next time I went to the shop—at 7:15 and at the same exact stall-I opened the window right away. I could hardly wait for the other window to open. While I waited, I wondered: "Would she be here? Could she have skipped a day? If she doesn't show, should I just keep coming every Tuesday until she does?" My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the opening window.

It was her again. And, again, she did her routine of handing me the condom and poking her ass through the window. So she would know it was me, I jammed my middle finger up her cunt like I did before. But this time I twisted and turned and really finger banged her. I replaced my finger with my penis and this time kept the slow fuck going. I was savoring the fuck. I spread her ass cheeks apart and gaped at her asshole. I was surprised to see it looked tight and unused. I wondered for a moment if she would ever let me in there. The thought overwhelmed me. I came as massively as I did the week before.

That women was on my mind constantly after that night. Though the random fuck were an unimaginable thrill, I began to wonder who she was and what she was like "in person". I had fantasies about bringing her back to my dorm room for face-to-face sex. But her face itself was still a blur in my fantasies because I had never seen it. In my desire to give her an identity, I searched for her passively in my daily wanderings around the city. When I walked around town, I checked out women's butts like a pervert. Every older woman with a big ass gave me a boner. Each one of them could have been her. And I wanted to screw them all.

That following weekend, I went home and had dinner with my mother. Of course, I was distracted with thoughts of my new sex exploits. Perhaps it was my new found habit of looking at all women at waist level, but whenever my mom was walking around, my eyes darted right to her rear end. Her form-fitting slacks revealed the kind of mid-section that I had become obsessed with. Her ass was the right size—plump, round, and still shapely. Her hips were about as wide as the booth woman's. I got a boner right there. But immediately, I blotted the thought from my mind. I saw a lot of women that week that matched just as well. And besides, my mother would never do such a thing: she barely started dating after the divorce.

I arrived punctually again at the shop the next Tuesday. And the routine played out exactly the same way, except this time, I gave her pussy long strokes with my tongue from behind, my nose buried in her ass cheeks. When she started to twitch I plunged my dick into her and pumped her hard. I didn't even bother starting off slowly. She groaned loudly and squirted more juices than I did when I came. I loved that I was giving her pleasure. I was trying to woo this anonymous woman, and I think I was succeeding.

I noticed something else, too. The woman used clear nail polish on relatively short women's fingernails, just like my mother. This wasn't much of a clue, I know. Lots of professional women do this, especially if they aren't very dainty. But it made me paranoid nevertheless.

Out of curiosity and to prove myself wrong, I gave mom a call on my flip phone when I left. She wasn't home. I would usually expect her to be in the house that time of night. I told myself there was an innocent explanation, though. I left a message telling her I would have lunch again this weekend.

That whole week I grew more worried. I thought about how I could eliminate my mom from contention as the woman from the booth. It seemed so incredibly unlikely given her personality. But I had no logical reason to say with certainty it wasn't her. I thought long and hard. I never really heard the woman's speaking voice, only muffles through the wall. There had to be some way I could know for sure. I thought about hiding someplace the next week to watch when she exited the establishment, but there was no place I could wait and watch the door unnoticed on the block. It only had a few parked cars and no other storefronts or restaurants. I didn't want to be seen lurking in front of a porn shop.

Then I decided I needed to try to find a way to get into her house alone so I can riffle through her things for clues. I brought books over on Saturday and told her I would stay the weekend to study because my roommate had family over.

As she milled around the house fixing lunch and doing chores, I couldn't help but see her in a different light. It wasn't so much that I became attracted to her, it was that I was starting to see all women over forty as sexual beings. Glancing at old pictures, I realized how much of a hottie she was when she was young, and also how attractive she still was. She was curvy, showing off her cleavage in a photo from a dinner party. Her breasts were a solid "C" cup. Another photo of her in dungarees showed an ample ass. How my father must have enjoyed screwing her when they were both in their 20s! Putting on a few pounds over the years only accentuated her curves. She must get hit on a lot, I thought.

While I was there, I couldn't help but peek at her ass as she bent over in front of me, revealing a little panty line. I imagined myself pulling up the skirt she was wearing, pulling down the panties, and fucking her right there. My dick twitched in my pants. It was unnatural and unusual to think that way. I had to fight those urges. I couldn't get caught staring, either. It was all so strange.

She headed out to run errands until dinner. I knew that I had a few good hours to search her apartment. First I looked through her closet and drawers. The idea was that I would make a mental note of her wardrobe. If I could peer into her booth during the next session and recognize an article of clothing of hers, that would be something. I was also looking for lingerie, condoms, sex toys, anything that would indicate that she was living a secret romantic life. I came up with nothing.

I went searched the hamper. All the panties I saw in there seemed normal enough, just the regular cotton numbers women wear every day. I don't know what come over me, but handing her soiled underwear turned me on. I held a pair up to my nose and took in her scent, it was just like the woman in the booth. I had a full erection. I lied down, covered my face with her underwear, and jerked off while I inhaled her musk.

I replaced everything exactly as I found it. Then the idea struck me to check the garbage. I didn't know what I was looking for, but surely, I might notice something. I plunged in. Buried deep inside the garbage pail, tucked into a plastic bag, was another pair of panties, very different than the others. They were lacey and cut smaller. They were filthy and still a little moist. And from ring of stain around the backside and extending way to the front, I could tell they were soaked in her feminine juices. They also reeked and had public hairs glued to the inside. My heart pounded. This might not necessarily be a relic from the stall, but clearly by mother was doing something dirty somewhere.

That Tuesday, I was determined to get some definitive clue. It drove me crazy that a possibility remained. I did the same ritual as I did all the other times, but I ate her out for long time and snuck peeks between her legs and into her stall to see anything I could under the blue light of the video screen. I saw a tan overcoat just like my mom's slumped over a stool with a pair of my mom's dungarees on top of it. I almost fainted. This was no coincidence!

I had a decision to make. Could I continue what I was doing even though I knew I was almost certainly doing it with my mother? I was so lost in thought that I must have stopped pleasuring her with my mouth. She noticed and pushed back on my face. Realizing I was doing nothing I haven't done already, I got into it more than I ever had before. I penetrated her pussy with my tongue. I massaged her clit with my thumb, and ran my tongue up the crack of her ass and sucked on her asshole. It was worship.

My penis ached for relief. I knew it was wrong, but I also knew that I was acting out one of the most taboo and intense sexual fantasies a person could have. I also realized that she didn't have to know it was me. I could come and do this whenever I wanted and she would never know.

I pulled down my pants and looked down on my cock as I put on the condom. It was beat red and the tip swelled like it was going to burst. I slid into her vaginal opening in one long, gentle thrust. I savored the moment much more than I did the other times. The feeling down there was pure love, a state of mind distilled into sexual sensation. It was like I was having a thousand mini orgasms all at once. My probing inside her developed into short, deep strokes.

And as I fucked her slowly, a thought crossed my mind. I was glad it really was my mother. My body shook and my shoulders collapsed when the sensations overwhelmed me and I released. After being locked into her in orgasm for a half a minute, I pulled out my softening member. She was quiet. I hoped it was as intense for her as it was for me.

I wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. But I was struck with an idea to call her cell phone. I doubted she would pick up with the pornography noises happening in the background. But I just might hear the ringing through the wall. I put my ear to the wall and dialed her. My heart thumped as I read the word "DIALING..." on my phone.

I almost fainted when I heard her ringtone, Beethoven's 5th, through the wall. There was no doubt. I prayed she wouldn't answer. She would hear my voice through the wall. I hung up and fled. She never did answer anyway. But she did call me back about half an hour later. I could hear that she was on the street. She said she was out shopping and missed my call for all the noise. I told her I would stay over her apartment again the following weekend.

Over the next couple of days, I wondered if should confront her. If I didn't, she would never learn my identity if I was careful. I could secretly fuck her whenever I wanted. On the other hand, the only thing that could turn me on more than the anonymous sex was her allowing me to knowingly join in her depravity. And if I confronted her, she would have no right to get offended by my actions given the depth of perversion she herself had sunk into.

But I had another motivation as well, possibly the strongest. I loved her like a mother. But I was also falling in love with the woman in the booth. It was like a schoolboy crush. You want to know everything about the woman. You see every opportunity to catch the sight, or better yet, the attention of them. I was pursuing the woman in the booth like that. Now that I knew that woman was my own mother, I wanted her even more. I was obsessed with the idea of telling her how I felt. People in love can't help themselves.

I was uncomfortable when I arrived at her apartment Saturday morning. I could barely make eye contact with her. I talked only when she addressed me, and kept my answers short at that. I holed up in my room with my books as much as I could. Mom was suspicious. She asked me if there was anything wrong. I assured her I was fine. Of course, I was troubled with thoughts about how to tell her she has been fucking her own son. I knew I didn't want to bring it up in conversation. It was tempting to forget about the whole thing. I thought about just going on Tuesdays like I did before without her knowing.

Then on Sunday morning, I heard the shower running. I was overtaken by the urge to confront her. Heart pounding, I stripped naked and put on a condom. I quietly opened the door and sidled up to the shower, taking care that she wouldn't notice the approaching shadow. I reached around the curtain behind her, and palmed her crotch from underneath, like I had done in the booth. She pulled away and gasped. I threw open the curtain.

"George!" she cried, covering her breasts and twat the best she could with her bare hands. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Mom," I said softly. "It was me in the booth."

She stood there in shock. The water running down her body. She looked down at my erection.

"I was fucking my own son!" she cried.

"Yes, mom, you were," I hushed back at her. I stepped into the shower and pulled her hand away from her crotch. I pressed my erection against her belly and planted her with an opened-mouthed kiss.

"Baby, no, stop, we can't, not now that we know," she pleaded.

"I knew the last time," I whispered back. I kissed her forcefully and grabbed her tit.

She kissed back and I rammed my middle finger into her cunt all the way to the knuckle. I knew I had to act before she thought better of it. She spread her legs apart and bent over, presenting herself to me like at the booth.

She grabbed my cock and guided it in. While we had fucked several times before, this was the first time I really got to touch her. I relished it. I was groping every part of her I could get my hands on. I kissed her mouth, her ears, and her neck while I had my dick in her, fucking her wildly. If I wanted her to do this again, I knew I had to deliver a thunderous orgasm to her. The loud smacks of my pelvis hitting her juicy ass echoed off the tile walls. Unlike the stifled whimpers I heard at the shop, she screamed out, calling my name. Her body convulsed. I fucked her ever harder until I too twitched in a massive orgasm.

We dried off in a rush, and still naked, we headed to the sofa to talk. I told her everything as it happened, only leaving out the gay stuff I did. I told her about how I became obsessed with the woman I discovered and how I ended up fantasizing it was her. I told her about how I fucked her anyway, even though I recognized her clothes on the stool. We kissed for a few minutes after I told her that.

Mom told me she discovered her kinky streak just before she graduated college. She visited an old boyfriend at a fraternity party to say goodbye and ended up fooling around with him on the couch. It somehow turned into a gangbang. She didn't care if it damaged her reputation because she was soon putting the college town behind her anyway. Then she met my dad, which ended any further experimentation. After the divorce, she decided to pick up where she left off. The porn shop was the only way to do it anonymously. She said that she had been going there for nearly a year. Over the course of two hours, she can fuck or blow more than a dozen men. Her record was 20. She passes notes to the guys she likes to invite them back, like she did me.

I asked her how she imagined me. She said she knew I was young, but had no idea who I was. She noticed that I was Johnny on the spot and eager, always waiting in the same stall. She also realized that I was trying to please her. The perverts she usually fucks just want to get themselves off as quickly as possible. She said she was always glad when I showed up.

My dick throbbed again hearing mom's sordid sexual history for the first time. I could take it no longer. "I need to make love to you face to face," I said. She took my member in hand and stroked it softly. She could tell I was scanning the room for a condom.

"It's OK," she said. "I can't get pregnant."

I wondered momentarily about disease, but I knew she used condoms with everyone else and I trusted her. And she trusted me. Nothing would come between us. I got on top of her and she wrapped her legs and arms around me. Fucking her missionary style on the couch, I ground against her with every thrust, pummeling her clit. She whimpered softly as we kissed. She was having a different sort of orgasm than before. I did too. The sensation was intense. It was so liberating to release inside her without the imposition of a condom. When I pulled out, her gash oozed with my cum. My semen, in my own mother.