The Statue

The Statue

By Alex Barton

I had been in Berlin on holiday for three days in the week and Friday was my last afternoon. Of course such a short time was nowhere near enough with so much to see and do, but I had already decided to go back later in the year and that consoled me when I looked at my checklist and realized I had done only a fraction of what I intended.

Walk down the Wilhelmstrasse and locate the site of the Chancellery and Führerbunker, check. Well the former at least, the latter is now buried under a car park. Look at what was left of Gestapo headquarters, blown up by the Russians, and shudder at what memories are contained in all that's left, the shattered tiled pillars that had once held up the cellars, check. Find what used to be Checkpoint Charlie and marvel at the economic and architectural revival of the city, check. See a Mozart opera, 'Don Giovanni' at the Komische Oper, check, although the guy who sold me a cut-price ticket at the door surely knew one of the two soprano leads had lost her voice and would be miming while another soprano, clearly visible, sang her rôle off to the side. Check and damn the bloody man for ruining a treasurable experience.

And go shopping. Bloody hell, check. I was going home a great deal poorer than I was when my plane landed. Not only is Berlin fearsomely expensive but the pound to euro exchange rate is ludicrous. A pound to an Englishman is a significant amount where a euro to the Germans, who have a much higher cost of living but also a higher income, is worth very little. The two books on the composer Richard Strauss and five classical CDs I bought from Dussmann der KulturKaufhaus on the Friedrichstrasse left me extremely glad I was only staying for three days.

I had to catch the train and be at Schoenefeld Airport by 5pm and knew the journey there would take an hour. I had checked out of the three-star hotel included in the package as late as I could which meant I had a couple of hours to kill before catching the train so I hoisted my rucksack on my back, figuring I would go for a walk and end up in front of the Brandenburg Gate where I could buy a postcard and some chocolates to take home to my mum. She needed cheering up after her divorce from Dad and, while I knew she was pleased I had elected to live with her until I graduated from university and would then get a job to help support us both, I also knew that she blamed herself for the breakdown of the marriage even though it had been Dad who out of the blue suddenly announced that he was leaving Mum, myself and the happy family home to go and live in Bangkok because he was in love with a Thai ladyboy named Bambam. I wish I could say I was surprised but Dad and I had never been close.

The hotel was in a residential area and there were streets leading off in all directions. I got my map out and started walking, glancing in the shop windows as I walked, regretting I could afford little more than a bottle of water and a sandwich when I reached the airport. But then I suddenly stopped, entranced.

The display of Asian artifacts and curios in the window of a shop called Ypsilon-Asiatika in Wittenbergplatz was breathtaking. Not those big ugly porcelain buddhas you know are mass-produced in a factory in Hong Kong but delicate Japanese porcelain pottery in gorgeous colors, tiny Chinese watercolors of mountains, fields and rivers that made you feel as if they were there in front of you, all sorts of intriguing and colorful jewelry and decorative objects. And there, just off to the right, almost hidden, was something I had never seen before in my life. A tiny statuette of a penis, only about three inches high and made of either bone or ivory, decorated with strange inscriptions that resembled no script I recognized. The price tag, handwritten in black ink, said Burma, € 30 and I knew, just knew in my heart and soul, I had to have it.

I opened the door of the shop. Before the woman behind the counter could ask what I wanted I said, "Hello," so she would know I was English and, with luck, we could sort out what I wanted without resorting to my almost non-existent German.

"Yes?" she said coolly. The Germans are quite formal in social situations with strangers.

"In the window, the little statuette from Burma?"

"Nicht verstanden," she said and I knew enough German to know that meant she did not know what I was talking about.

I mimed going outside and pointing through the window and smiled. The woman nodded but did not smile back. I went back through the door and pointed and she picked up the tiny statuette.

Back inside I brandished my credit card, hoping my overdraft limit had not been breached, and attempted polite conversation while the transaction completed.

"From B-errr-ma?" I asked, pronouncing the name the English way.

The woman looked confused. "Bitte?" she said.

"It is from Burma?"

"Ach ja, 'B-ooor-ma'," she said, giving me the impression she thought I was retarded. Danke, Deutschland, I thought but remembered my manners and smiled my thanks when she handed me the receipt and my precious little statuette, wrapped in tissue paper and slipped into a very small plastic bag.

*

The flight back to London Stansted was uneventful and I reached home just before midnight. My mum had gone to bed but she left me a plate of chicken drumsticks in the fridge together with a nice note that said, 'Welcome home - I missed you!' which put a smile on my face all the way through having a quick wash and falling into bed.

I would have gone right off to sleep but I heard a soft moan from the adjoining bedroom followed by another. That did it: I turned over, flipped the covers back from my naked body and took my immediately erect cock in my hand, incredibly turned on by listening to my mother masturbating. At least I figured that was what was happening because I didn't hear any masculine gasps or moans and I knew if I was the guy making love to my mum I sure as hell would be.

My mother is a total babe. She had me when she was 18 and I'm 19 now so she's still in her thirties. Her silky black hair which she wears pulled back into a ponytail, high cheekbones, soft green eyes and full lips have made many a man's heart swoon and that includes me, especially if you factor in she has really big breasts almost too big for her petite frame, a tiny waist, the pertest little backside and legs that go on forever. Ever since I grew taller than her I've loved it when she hugs me, her head under my chin, her huge breasts pressed against my chest, the smell of her hair filling my nostrils. I would give literally anything to turn up the heat by reaching down and cupping her curvy ass, grinding her body against mine so she could see how hard she made my cock, but there were two problems. One, sons are not supposed to be sexually attracted to their mothers, and two, I had no idea if she was attracted to me and I was scared to do anything that would damage the closeness we shared since my Dad walked out.

It felt incredible to pick up the same masturbation rhythm my mum had, my arousal made more intense by imagining what my mother looked like spread out on her bed, her legs wide open, her huge breasts rising and falling, her pussy filled to the brim with Big Blue as she fucked herself toward orgasm. I nicknamed her dildo that when she accidentally left it in the bathroom one morning. I didn't say anything to her when I joined her for breakfast but when she saw I had already had my shower she suddenly squealed and disappeared for a moment and then tried to act nonchalant when she returned. I had to act nonchalant too but I was crying with laughter inside.

Mum started moaning louder and harder and it was all I could do to suppress my urge to do exactly the same. My balls tingled, my fingers curled round my super hard cock felt so good, a stream of precum oozing from the tip to slide down the shaft which made stroking myself even more pleasurable and I knew I was about to come big. And then I heard my mother let out a loud 'Uh-uhhh-OHHH' moan and I knew she was coming too and my orgasm exploded with an intensity so fierce I swear my cum fountained into the air before landing back on my belly. God almighty but it was good to be home.

*

After a good night's sleep I woke to the smell of bacon cooking and coffee brewing and I fished in my rucksack for the chocolates I had bought Mum. They were on top of my bag and next to them was the little plastic bag from Ypsilon containing my Burmese statuette. I unrolled it from the tissue paper and felt a thrill of excitement that I had brought back so unusual a souvenir, standing it up next to my laptop so I could do some research on it after breakfast.

My mum was standing in front of the stove when I padded into the kitchen. She was wearing a cut-away singlet that displayed the sides of her amazing breasts and a pair of shorts so tiny they barely covered the cheeks of her gorgeous ass. I was still horny from our sort-of-mutual-masturbation session the night before and it was all I could do not to fall to my knees, peel those tiny shorts down and spend the rest of the morning working as much of my tongue into her asshole as I possibly could.

I should explain that ever since I can remember I've been an anal sex addict, believing sodomy has to be the single most transcendent pleasure known to man. Every girlfriend I've ever had has discovered this enthusiasm of mine, some were shocked, others enthusiastic, although I didn't have anyone in my life right now which was why I stared at my mother's ass with such longing, my cock achingly hard under my sweatpants.

"Ah the intrepid traveler returns," my mother said with a sweet laugh when she turned and saw me standing holding the box of chocolates. They were from Rausch Schokoladenhaus in Charlottenstrasse and cost a fortune, paid for by my ever-expanding overdraft, but Mum didn't need to know that. "And bearing gifts I see," she added happily as she slid fried eggs onto the plate next to several strips of bacon. Looking at her naked breasts bouncing under her singlet as she walked across and put the plate in front of me, then stretched up to kiss my cheek, I wasn't sure which I was hungrier for: her or my breakfast.

She poured us both coffee then sat listening with interest while I told her about all I had seen and where I'd been. I could tell she wished she could have come with me but we had agreed this time Berlin was for me to explore and do the things that made me happy, my visits to Dussmann and the opera, and she would go with me when I went back the next time if she could take time off work.

As it was Saturday I knew she didn't have to go to work and I said I would do the washing up but she started to shoo me out, saying that, when it came to plates and eggs, only an expert could do the job and I laughed, hoping she would enjoy the gift I had brought back.

The she stopped and grinned at me. "You know what?" she said.

"Hmm, what?" I said, feeling like a kid again I was so happy to see her.

"I have a new book, nothing I have to do and a big box of sumptuous chocs. The sofa in the living room does look extremely comfortable..."

"Off you go," I said firmly and stood up to take the plates over to the sink while she giggled, grabbed the box and scampered off, the cheeks of her ass bouncing so enticingly I had to fight the urge to pull down my sweatpants and jack off right then and there, so close to erupting in orgasm I wanted to scream.

*

Surprisingly, once I was back in my bedroom, ready to look for information on the Burmese statue on Google, I no longer felt the urge. My desire was super-strong when I was anywhere near my mother, more contained when I wasn't. Of course I could have found one of the many photos I have of her on my laptop, pasted it into Google images and found a naked babe who resembled her being fucked in her mouth, pussy and ass all at the same time, but the thought didn't appeal, not when I knew the real woman was reading happily in the living room below.

I picked up the statuette and looked at the markings carved into the sides. They were like nothing I had ever seen and I couldn't work out if they were letters or tiny drawings. I knew that something so small, even though it had been carved to look like a penis, could not be a dildo, it would simply disappear inside a woman's pussy so it had to be a fertility symbol but everything I saw online, offered by shops from San Francisco to Sydney, sold nothing remotely like it. I even trawled through Ypsilon's own website and wondered if it was something called netsuke, a small carved object, made of ivory or wood, worn as part of Japanese traditional dress attached to the sash of a kimono. But then the woman in the shop had been emphatic that it came from Burma, not Japan. It was pointless searching for something I could only describe for the search engine in the vaguest of terms and I gave up, deciding I needed tea.

I walked into the living room to see if Mum wanted a drink and nearly had a heart attack.

My mother was lying stretched out on the sofa reading. Her fingers were looped in the sides of the singlet drawing them into her cleavage which meant her huge breasts, full, heavy, filling the width of her chest, their skin creamy-white and smooth, tipped by stiff nipples a delicate shade of pink, were totally on display to my enthralled eyes.

She looked up and I expected her to squeal with shock and hurriedly cover up but she didn't.

"Oh hey, sweetie," she said, seemingly unaware she was almost naked.

"Jesus, Mum," I said, my voice betraying my instant arousal. "What are you reading?"

"'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen," she said, shifting slightly on the sofa so her legs opened and I saw the material of her shorts was drawn up tight between the lips of her pussy, a dark patch on the material which meant her cream had oozed from her cunt.

"The X-rated version?" I said, hoping she wouldn't notice the reaction of my prick to her obvious arousal.

She looked bemused as she flicked back to the title page. "Published in 1813 sweetheart so I hardly think so."

"Maybe Mr. Darcy got you all worked up," I said, trying not to stare at the perfection of her breasts, nor to imagine cupping them in my mouth and slowly, lingeringly, sucking their sweet tips, bringing soft moans of pleasure to my mother's throat as I pleasured her.

"Andy, are you alright darling?" she said in a concerned voice, stretching across to put her book on the coffee table which made her huge heavy breasts bounce and sway on her chest.

"Oh absolutely," I said, needing to leave the room before I emptied the contents of my balls into my sweatpants without even needing to touch myself. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Great," she said, and gave me a sweet smile, helping herself to another chocolate.

*

Back in my room my first thought was, 'What the FUCK?' and the second to reach in the top drawer of my bedside table for my iPad where I'd bookmarked my favorite passages in my favorite erotic enovel, 'Grandfather's Busty Intern'. I needed to do no more than sit in front of my PC, pull my sweatpants down to free my rigid cock and read the passage where the busty intern Shannon is sitting in the back of her grandfather's limousine, her mouth slowly sinking down on his rigid prick, to climax spectacularly, sperm shooting into my cupped hand otherwise I would have come all over my laptop's keyboard.

I mean, I knew my mother had a high libido because last night was not the first time she and I had masturbated at the same time, Big Blue was evidence of that. And I guess she might have been missing male company, in bed as well as out, but what I had just seen was totally out of character for her usually shy personality. My mother had never been an exhibitionist, I suspect because she had grown up self-conscious of her voluptuous figure and spectacular breasts.

My orgasm left me drained and I stretched out on my bed to doze. When I woke I saw it was nearly lunchtime so I walked through to the bathroom to shave in case I felt like going out in the afternoon. And if I thought the sight that greeted me in the living room was overwhelming this was either even more fantastic or out-of-character, depending on your point-of-view.

My mother was wiping down the bath, her back to me. Or, rather, her bare bottom was facing me and she was wearing nothing more than the singlet and a pair of yellow rubber gloves, singing along to the song she was listening to through a pair of earbuds as she sprayed and wiped. But what took my breath away was I could clearly see the base of a black buttplug stretching the entrance to her asshole. I could see it every time she reached and sprayed and wiped, her huge breasts swaying beneath her petite body.

Intensely aroused despite having had an orgasm only five minutes before, my cock once again jutting like a flagpole from my groin, my balls buzzing with the familiar sensation of my sperm desperate for release, I stood with my mouth open, my eyes fixed on the buttplug as it moved with her body and hurriedly bared my cock, clasping the shaft in my fingers. Three or four exquisite strokes and a huge climax, even more intense than the one I had just had, surged through me, sperm gushing from the swollen tip onto the linoleum. Fortunately my mother was oblivious and I managed to bend down and wipe up the slippery mass with a tissue before she could see what I had done.

Hurriedly backing out of the bathroom and standing on the landing, my breath rasping in my chest, aware that the tingling of imminent orgasm in my balls seemed to have diminished only marginally, sneaking glances into the bathroom at the incredibly arousing sight, I tried to get my mind around two thoughts. First, was my mother deliberately trying to seduce me? And second, why did I really need to disappear into my room so I could bare my prick again and masturbate?

As soon as I had reduced yet another tissue to a soggy mass, I straightened myself up and went to stand outside the bathroom, waiting for my mother to appear. When she did I signaled to her to take the earbuds out of her ears and she did, smiling at me.

"Hello darling," she said. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Mum, how did you -?" I started to say, aware that when I had fallen asleep earlier after my orgasm, my sweatpants were still pulled down to expose my cock.

"I only popped my head round the door to thank you again for the lovely chocolates." Her eyes met mine as she purred, "They're yummy..."

I took the bull by the horns. "Mum," I said slowly. "You're half-naked. I mean I can see your pussy and there's a buttplug buried in your ass." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Mum... You're not - you're not trying to seduce me, are you?"

My mother laughed, a lovely sound that I knew was not meant cruelly. "Oh Andy," she said. "Of course I wasn't." Then she stepped closer to me and pressed her breasts against my chest. "But now that you mention it..."

"Mum, you're being very naughty," I said and turned her round so I could slap her on the backside, which made her squeal with mock pain and I hurried past her into the bathroom so I could lock the door, shave and, to my amazement, masturbate once again.

*

After lunch Mum excused herself, saying she was going upstairs so she could paint her toenails and didn't want the living room to smell of polish. I couldn't help smiling when the sounds of her making love to herself became so loud I was surprised passers-by didn't knock on the door and ask if the person they could hear moaning in ecstasy needed medical attention. Indeed, I started wondering how this could continue as I left the house to spend the afternoon working my vacation job at the local garden center, shifting sacks of bark, tending to plants and carrying purchases out to customer's cars. This required no mental effort, it meant I could help Mum out with our food bills, and was so casual I doubted Angie my supervisor even noticed whenever I went back to university, simply calling out, "Hey Andy," the next time she saw me, figuring I must have spent a really long time on my afternoon break.