


Finding Beauty

by clearwinston



Category: Incest/Taboo
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2017-04-29 07:40:42
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/finding-beauty
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1379904&page=submissions
Summary: A son helps his mother believe she is truly beautiful.
Erotica Tags: Anal, Blowjob, Mature, Mother, Mother-Son, Son
Average Rating: 4.58






        Finding Beauty


I straightened my tie, checking myself once more in the mirror.  
  
"We have to go!" called Mom as she knocked on my door. I opened the door to
see her smiling at me. "You look so handsome," she said, placing her hands on
my shoulders before brushing one down my tie to smooth an imagined wrinkle.  
  
"Thanks, Mom," I smiled. "Look at you, though! Stunning!"  
  
She blushed at my compliment. "No" she muttered, looking down.  
  
"Yes." I wasn't wrong. She was beautiful, always had been. Standing at only
5'5", she had a little bit of roundness to her. Her face was cherubic and
round with a perpetual, almost imperceptible, smile. Her blue eyes were bright
and expressive, betraying an intelligence she didn't believe was there. Her
figure was curvy, but not fat. Yes, she had some fat, but she was older now,
almost 50, and it was expected. She worked hard to stay in shape and ate
relatively well, which wasn't easy in the deep south, especially around our
family. It looked good on her, though. Her breasts were large and seemed to
sit proudly on her chest. In certain clothes she displayed deep cleavage,
although she typically dressed modestly. Her ass was full and round, and a
narrow waist gave her the classic hourglass figure that I found so attractive.  
  
Mom had recently had her hair cut to a shorter style than I would have
preferred, but I had to agree with her stylist that it made her look younger
and more stylish than the longer hair she had worn for most of my life. She
also had her hair colored to hide the gray, now a dark brown.  
  
Today she wore her new dress, a simple knee-length wraparound in a shade of
emerald green, and simple black pumps over tan hose.  
  
"Well, thank you for the compliment," she smiled.  
  
"Wait!" I exclaimed, remembering something. I stepped away from the door and
grabbed a bouquet of various flowers off my dresser. "Here," I said with a
smile. "This is only possible because of you."  
  
She buried her nose in the flowers. "Thank you," she said, choking up a
little. "They're beautiful. I haven't received flowers since. . . I don't know
when."  
  
"That's too bad," I frowned. "I should have been on top of that."  
  
"Not you," she said with contempt.  
  
I nodded in understanding. A lot should have been different for her.  
  
"Does he know about today?" she asked.  
  
I just shrugged. "Only if he read about it somewhere. I didn't tell him. Dad's
an asshole."  
  
"That, he is," she agreed. "Well," she said, clearing her throat, "Shall we?"  
  
"Let's," I smiled and held out my elbow. She took it in her hand and we walked
to the car. We reported to the staging area where Mom helped me straighten up
my gown and hood before helping me to make sure my cap was straight. After the
ceremony, Mom took some pictures of me with my degree and recruited a couple
of people to take pictures of us together.  
  
I was glad to be out of that cap and gown, returning them to the rental desk
after removing the tassel, hood, and cords. I loosened my tie as I approached
the fountain, admiring the beautiful figure beneath the emerald fabric, my
mother looking at the sculpture that sprayed crystalline arcs in every
direction. The tarnished bronze statues of women in flowing Grecian tunics was
supposed to represent the strengths of the school, each of the ladies holding
a different implement to represent their field. I never really understood it,
but that's not surprising. My mother was the artist, not me.  
  
I stopped a good ways back, simply watching her. It wasn't long, just a few
seconds, but I was enamored. I shouldn't have been. God knows I shouldn't have
been. She was my mother. It was wrong on so many levels.  
  
My friends made fun of me for being a chubby chaser. That's what they called
me: "chubby chaser." They would watch their porn and their "Girls Gone Wild"
videos and they would date and screw the typical "hot chicks". And they would
make fun of me and make fun of the girls I dated and, yes, slept with. As they
scoped out their prey on campus, they would point out the ones they thought I
would like, and then burst into fits of laughter.  
  
These really were my friends, not guys who would bully me or make fun of me
all the time, just really in this one area. Maybe it's not conventional, my
attraction. But the way I see it, every woman wants to feel beautiful. They
shouldn't have to squeeze into a size 2 in order to be loved and desired.
Honestly, I think I'm more sensitive to the weight struggles of women than a
lot of guys are. I'm not a hero or anything; I just spent most of my life
listening to my father berate my mother for her weight and appearance and
stupidity and any number of things.  
  
I would listen to her cry quietly, watch her go through countless exercise
programs and fad diets. I'll say this about her: she's persistent if nothing
else. She never gave up, but denied herself all kinds of things in order to
try and fit into a mold someone else designed. She would eat small salads for
lunch and dinner, make fresh smoothies for breakfast, and all while trying to
make my father's favorites, and mine, too. Dad spent a lot of time laughing at
her, criticizing her, and squeezing and pinching at her fat. Like I said,
Dad's an asshole.  
  
That's why I went into nutrition as a major, so I could become a certified
nutritionist. I have a job waiting for me at the local chain of a gym, doing
evaluations and meal plans for members. One thing I've learned is that
genetics is one of the greatest contributors to health issues, including
weight, and I've used that knowledge to help mom and I both establish pretty
decent habits.  
  
In the three years since Dad's been gone (he found someone else. Dickhead),
I've worked hard to replace all the shit he's told mom, with positive truths.
I've called her beautiful and brilliant, praised her for every quarter-pound
lost, and soothed her for every quarter-pound gained. She's been a willing
student and partner in our shared healthy lifestyle, and we've grown closer
because of it.  
  
And here she is, not significantly thinner than she ever was, but much more
confident.  
  
"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm looking for—"  
  
She turned around and smiled. "What are you doing?" she laughed.  
  
"OH! Mom! There you are. I was looking for you, and knew we were supposed to
meet at the fountain, but I only saw a beautiful young lady here, and thought
she could help me find my mother," I smiled.  
  
"You're one of a kind," she laughed, returning my hug. She stepped away. "The
'beautiful young lady' talk is a little over the top, don't you think?"  
  
"No," I said, seriously. "I don't."  
  
"Then we need to get your eyes checked," she said, patting my cheek with a
smile.  
  
"Trust me," I smiled. "My eyes are fine."  
  
"Well, either way," she said, looking down. "Let's go get you some lunch."  
  
She drove and we went to my favorite steakhouse, one that we only went to once
or twice a year. When the server took our orders, Mom said, "I'll just have
the side salad with a light vinaigrette." I just looked at her and shook my
head. She looked down, obviously ashamed.  
  
I looked at the server and said, "And she'll have a side of New York strip,
medium rare, with a baked sweet potato. I'll have the same. And no breadsticks
today, please. Would you bring our salads to start?"  
  
The server thanked us and walked away. Mom was still looking down in her lap.
"Mom?" I said. She looked up, tears in her eyes. "This is a good lunch, I
promise. You need to learn to enjoy good food, too, not just deny yourself.
We're celebrating. That means we're BOTH celebrating."  
  
"I know," she sighed. "I just don't want to. . . I don't know," she said,
shaking her head.  
  
"Look at me." She did, and I reached across and took her hand. "You're
beautiful and you're healthier than you've ever been, Mom. We've been doing
that together. Why won't you let yourself be proud of that?"  
  
"Because," she leaned in to speak quietly, "I'm still fat."  
  
"No, mom," I shook my head. "You're not. You've been lied to by a man who was
supposed to love you and by a market that wants to sell you beauty in a
bottle. Mom, we just ran a 10k race together in a little over an hour. You can
swim a mile in 45 minutes. Your heart beats at 50 beats per minute. You are an
athlete, mom. Your body is what it is. If your nutrition plan and exercise
plan isn't burning fat or adding fat, then your body is telling you you're
good. When's the last time you put on any significant weight?"  
  
"Two years ago."  
  
I nodded and smiled. "Do you think your body's not going to know what to do
with that steak?" I asked.  
  
"I guess," she smiled.  
  
"Damn right, it does. You're a fit, beautiful woman. If I wasn't your son, I
would—" I cut myself off and looked away. I sat up and started to pull my hand
away, but Mom held it tightly and leaned in close.  
  
"You would what, Vince?"  
  
"I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." I reached for my tea and took a sip, but
Mom wouldn't let me go.  
  
"No. Would what?"  
  
I sighed and hung my head. I leaned forward. "If you weren't my mother, I
would kiss you. You're that beautiful and amazing."  
  
She sat up in her seat, her eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
"I told you to forget I said anything," I defended. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No," she said, shaking her head, as if trying to shake loose the last twenty
seconds. "No, it's. . . it's fine. I'm just surprised, is all."  
  
Right then the server brought our salads. We ate in silence. My stomach was
gnawing at me and I never looked up from my bowl. Finally I looked up and saw
Mom looking at me. "I'm sorry I ruined our lunch, Mom. I didn't mean to do
that."  
  
"You didn't ruin our lunch, baby," she smiled. After a pause she said, "Can I
ask you a question?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"When you are attracted to a girl, what attracts you?"  
  
"To a woman, you mean?"  
  
"Okay," she smiled, "To a woman."  
  
"I like curves," I shrugged.  
  
"Most men like curves," she laughed.  
  
"No, I mean, I like a woman with a little bit of a fuller figure." She cocked
her head a little and had a confused look on her face. I sighed and continued,
quietly. "I like something I can sink my teeth into, you know? Something I can
grab."  
  
"Oh!" she giggled. "I think I understand."  
  
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," I apologized. "I mean, you asked, so. . ."  
  
"No apology necessary," she laughed. "So when I was at the fountain and you
said. . ."  
  
"Oh, yeah. I would totally be into a woman like you. I mean, with your shape.
I mean—"  
  
"I know what you mean, sweetie," she said with a smile. "You don't have to
explain."  
  
Fortunately, the server rescued me, bringing the two steaks and sweet
potatoes. Mom did her best to normalize the meal, but I felt like I had
totally embarrassed myself. What must she think of me? But she never said
anything to humiliate me and didn't bring it back up the rest of the meal. She
tried to lure me into talks about my new job and the apartment search, but I
was still mired in my embarrassment.  
  
After a few minutes, Mom said, "Are we still swimming this afternoon?"  
  
"I don't know," I shrugged.  
  
"Vincent, enough." I looked up at her. "You don't have to be embarrassed about
anything. Okay?" I shrugged. "Well, then, I'll be going to the pool when we
get home. If you would like to join me, you're welcome to. If not, I'll go
alone."  
  
"You're right. I'm sorry. I do want to swim today. I'd like to go with you."  
  
"There you go!" she said cheerfully. "That's the Vincent I like to see."  
  
We chatted back and forth over lunch and she reiterated her questions about my
job, this time receiving more enthusiastic responses. She still didn't like
the thought of me getting an apartment when there was plenty of room at home
with her, rent-free. Plus, she pouted about being left alone. I suggested she
find a good man. She just rolled her eyes at that one.  
  
That afternoon we went to the Y for our swim and we shared a lane. We always
shared a lane. We were supposed to do circles when there were only two to a
lane, but Mom and I had agreed to each take a side since I swim faster than
she does. After 500 meters of warm ups using kick boards, fins, and leg buoys
for drills, we set out to do our 1500 meters. Mom had a great day. Her form
was on, her pulls were strong and her turns were the best she had ever done.  
  
As we made our way home after a quick change in the locker rooms, I told Mom,
"I think today was your best workout. In fact, you shaved almost three minutes
off your best time. What happened?" I laughed.  
  
"Well," she said, never looking at me as she drove. "I think you did. You have
been very complimentary all day, and that helps. You also pretty much reminded
me of how much I could do, and that boosted my confidence. I was very relaxed
today."  
  
When we got home, we took our showers and changed into some casual comfortable
clothes, both of us wearing shorts and t-shirts. Mom asked if I wanted a fresh
smoothie, and I said I would enjoy that. When she brought them in, she sat on
the couch at the opposite end and curled her legs under her. I was online,
just poking around. I looked up over my laptop screen and saw Mom looking at
me. "What?" I asked.  
  
Mom just looked away and took a sip of her smoothie through the straw. She
cleared her throat and said, "Can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Close the computer. I want to talk to you."  
  
"Okay." I closed it and set it on the coffee table.  
  
"Um. . . what do you know about body confidence?"  
  
"Well, we talked about it in our fitness and nutrition classes some. Why?"  
  
"How does it work? I mean, how do you become confident in your body? You told
me today that my self-perception is a result of constant lies that are being
told to me about my looks. So how do I change those?"  
  
"Right now, you believe those things are true, so you have to believe new
truths that will replace the old ones. It's like self-talk. Self-talk is what
you say to yourself. When it's quiet, self-talk is what comes into your head
and fills that quiet. When we hear the same thing over and over, we begin to
believe it, so that becomes what we tell ourselves. Changing that self-talk
needs to be a process of repetitively telling yourself something new to
replace what you have always been hearing."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"That depends on you. What do you need to eliminate?"  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just want to see myself. . . the way you see
me. Or at least talk to myself the way you talk to me. Have you ever done this
self-talk stuff?"  
  
"Yeah. We had to track it in one of our classes, so we could see how effective
it is. That way we can help clients confidently, assuring them that this can
actually work."  
  
"Does it?"  
  
"It has for me. And for some of the other people I've talked to."  
  
"What did you have to tell yourself?"  
  
I didn't want to tell her. Let me put it this way. I don't have a nine-inch
dick as big as a girl's forearm. No woman has ever pulled my pants down to my
knees before my giant prick sprung up and smacked her in the chin. I had my
share of penis jokes thrown my way from middle school through college, not
usually from girls, but mostly from other guys, even guys who have never seen
my penis. It's just a go-to insult for some people, and it cuts deep. Just
like my dad's comments about Mom's weight.  
  
"Well, for one thing, I'll never be very big."  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
"You know how you feel like you're overweight because you're not as small as
the models or celebrities or whatever?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I didn't think I could tell her about my penis concerns, so I modified my
story, which was still true. "Well, no matter how hard I try, I'll never be
hugely muscular. I mean, I'm fit and I'm pretty lean, but I'll never be ripped
or huge. I've got a smaller frame, so unless I take tons of supplements, and I
don't even know if that would work, I'll never have big muscles."  
  
"Oh, I think I see what you mean. So how do you feel about that now?"  
  
"I would still like to be bigger, but at least now I accept that it just won't
happen for me. It's beyond my control. I've got a smaller frame, but I'm
strong, I'm fast, and I'm pretty lean. And there are girls who are okay with
that, just like there are guys who want a woman with a body like yours, Mom."  
  
She blushed a little. "Okay, so what do I need to do?"  
  
"You can do it alone or with someone. I've been trying to help for a long
time, telling you how beautiful you are, but you have to be the one to believe
it. Your own voice has to replace everybody else's, even mine. It's okay for
you to believe that I see you as sex. . .beautiful. But you have to believe it
about yourself."  
  
She gave me a suspicious look, but then it turned to a smile. "So how do I do
that?"  
  
"You need to make it a habit a few times a day. First you need to come up with
a statement you want to believe about yourself, then you need to write it down
and stick it in a place you will see it several times a day. Every time you
see it, you quote it to yourself out loud. Soon enough you will memorize it
and you will need to look yourself in the eye and say it several times. Then
when a lying voice sneaks in, you will need to cut it off by repeating that
phrase about yourself. For instance, 'My body is perfect just the way it is.
It is healthy and strong and men find it arousing.'"  
  
She looked at me with a subtle smile and cocked her head to the side. "Just
like that, huh?"  
  
"Not exactly, but yeah. It works for your whole body, but also for individual
parts. Just pick the part you're not happy with and admire it, find the beauty
of it, and tell yourself how great it is."  
  
"You mentioned something about having a partner to do this with?"  
  
"Yeah, you need to do it alone, too, because it's about your own beliefs, but
embracing someone else's perspective can give you that confidence to believe
it about yourself."  
  
"Oh. All right, then."  
  
"Do you. . . do you want me to help you?" She hesitated before nodding. "Let's
go to your room. You have that full length mirror."  
  
"Okay," she replied quietly. She stood to walk to her room, and I waited until
she was past me so I could adjust my erection. I watched her ass as she walked
and noticed how short her shorts were, her strong legs flexing with each step.  
  
I followed her into her room and she stood in front of the mirror. "Now what?"
she sighed.  
  
"Okay, what you want to do is start at the top of your body and work your way
down, praising every part you see."  
  
"Can you show me?"  
  
"On you or on me?" I asked.  
  
"On you." She stepped to the side and I took her place in front of the mirror.
I took a deep breath and looked at my hair.  
  
"I like my hair. It's thick and full and styles easily." I moved down. I
commented on my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears, my chin, my chest. "My chest
is strong and lean. My stomach is flat and strong." I skipped down to my legs.
"My thighs—"  
  
"Wait," Mom called. I looked at her. "What about the. . . you know, the middle
there."  
  
"My, uh. . . my groin?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I sighed. "Don't laugh, okay? This is embarrassing enough."  
  
"I promise."  
  
"My. . . my penis is a decent size," I said, glancing at Mom, who was looking
at my crotch. "It can be rock hard when I'm excited. My thighs—"  
  
"What about your. . . testicles?"  
  
"My what?" I asked.  
  
"Your, um, your scrotum? Well, you said, everything!"  
  
"Mom."  
  
"You're going to watch me, right?" she blushed.  
  
I sighed and cursed under my breath. I turned back to the mirror. "My balls,"
I said, looking at Mom, who smiled behind her hand, bringing a smile from me.
"My balls," I said, "are sensitive and very potent. My thighs," I said,
looking at her again, "are lean and powerful, making me very fast." I
continued on with my calves, my shoulders, my arms, my back and my butt before
looking over to Mom. "See? Just like that."  
  
"Okay, but I don't want to describe my penis and balls." She didn't even crack
a smile until I busted up, laughing.  

We traded places and I stood to the side close to the mirror. Mom said
something to herself and shook her head before standing up straight and
saying, "I like my hair. . ." but stopped. Her mouth moved as if she wanted to
say something, but no sound came out. "I can't do this," she sobbed. "I don't
like my hair, or my eyes, or any part of my body really. I can't tell myself I
do when I don't." As she cried, I quickly took her into my arms and let her
cry into my neck. She wept openly with her arms around my waist while I held
her.  
  
A few minutes later, she sniffled and pulled back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I
didn't mean to do that. I just don't think I can do this."  
  
"Yes, you can. Listen, this will be more difficult if I'm here. Maybe it's
because you feel like you have an audience. I'll leave and you do what you
need to do. Remember, it doesn't matter if you believe it at first, just say
something positive about everything and start there."  
  
"Can. . . can you give me a head start? Maybe help me out with it?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I mean, can you say something nice about me? Maybe if I hear you do it, I can
do it better."  
  
I thought for a moment. "If that's what you want," I whispered. She nodded.  
  
I took my place behind her, looking over her right shoulder. I looked at her
in the mirror and began to speak.  
  
"I like your hair. It's soft and stylish and always smells like fruit." She
smiled, making me smile. "I like your eyes. They sparkle when you smile and
they always look at me with kindness and love. I like your nose. It's a
beautiful little nose, feminine and small. I like your. . . I like your mouth.
Your lips are beautiful and full. Your smile is amazing and your white teeth
shine when you smile that amazing smile. Your ears are perfect and small. I
like your skin. It's so smooth and soft with a few light freckles, which give
it a youthful appearance.  
  
I like your. . . I like your breasts," I whispered. I could tell her breathing
picked up, maybe nerves. "They're full and round, and. . . and soft when we
hug." Her nipples were starting to show, poking against her gray t-shirt. I
noticed and my voice caught. "I [ahem] I like your breasts. Any man would be
lucky to. . . I, uh, I like your waist. Your stomach is gently rounded, but is
strong from all your exercise. It's narrow compared to your breasts and your
hips. I love your hips. The roundness of them expresses your femininity. I
like the way they sway when you walk and the way your full, round butt moves.
It looks firm, yet feminine. I like your butt. I like your thighs, so smooth
and strong, like pillars of a temple. I like your calves and the way they
flex. They are firm and rounded, showing how strong you are from miles and
miles and miles of running. And I like your feet, so soft and small. When you
paint your toenails, they are even more beautiful. I love when you walk around
the house barefoot so I can see your beautiful feet."  
  
"Oh, wow," she breathed.  
  
"Yeah," I whispered. "Wow."  
  
She looked at me in the mirror, and caught me looking at her body, scanning
her up and down. When she caught me looking at her nipples, she covered them
with her hands. "Thank you, Vince. I think that's enough." She walked away
hurriedly.  
  
I cleared my throat. "Yeah, so that's how that's done. Oh, yeah, and when
you're alone, you're supposed to do it naked so you see everything and
appreciate every part of your body. So, you know, there's that."  
  
"Um, okay. Thank you. I think I need to lie down for a little while. It's been
a busy day. I'll make dinner in a couple of hours."  
  
"Oh. Okay." I walked out and her door closed quickly.  
  
I went to my room and realized how excited I got, talking to and about my
mother that way. I had always been attracted to her, and found her alluring,
but would never have admitted to it. I imagined, for the first time, what it
would be like to be with her, to make love to my mother. I stroked myself into
a towel, pulled my pants up and fell asleep on my bed.  
  
######  
  
When I woke up I heard the television on and Mom cooking dinner in the
kitchen. The washer was going and I noticed that the lid to the hamper was
open and that the towel on the floor was gone. Mom was still mom, doing my
laundry for me, even at 23 years old. I went to the bathroom and relieved
myself before going downstairs.  
  
"Need any help?" I asked as she pulled the bones from a baked chicken.  
  
She didn't even look up. "No, thank you. I can do it."  
  
"Are you sure? I can—"  
  
"I said I've got it!" she snapped. I froze, not sure what to do. After a
moment I turned to walk away. I made it three steps. "Vince! Wait!" she said
from behind me. I stopped. "I'm sorry. I'm just. . . I don't know," she
sighed. I turned around and saw her resting her hands flat on the counter, her
head hanging forward.  
  
"Mom," I said, walking toward her, "I really didn't mean to make you
uncomfortable. If I crossed a line today, I'm sorry." I rested my hand on her
shoulder.  
  
"It's not you, Vince," she said. Looking up at me, her eyes were red. She
rested a hand on my hand on her shoulder. "It felt so nice to hear someone say
those things about me today, and I got carried away. I shouldn't have let it
get to me like that."  
  
"It's okay, Mom. Do. . . do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe. Why don't you get us something stiff to drink while I
get this chicken finished up?"  
  
I fixed us both a couple of Jack and Coke's and took them into the living
room. A minute later, I heard the glass casserole dish slide across the oven
rack before the door closed and Mom set the timer. She walked in, still in her
short shorts and gray t-shirt, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Reaching
for the drink, she said, "Thank you, sweetie." She sat down on the couch and
took a sip before resting her elbows on her knees. With her head hanging down
and her eyes still closed, she asked, "Did you mean all those things you said
about me this afternoon?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah, Mom. I did."  
  
"Where do you get off?" she asked angrily, sitting up and looking at me with
fire in her eyes. "I'm your mother, dammit!"  
  
"I know," I sighed.  
  
"Is this some sick fetish? You need to get this under control!"  
  
I stood up suddenly, yelling, "I've been controlling it for ten fucking years!
Don't tell me to get it under control!"  
  
Her eyes were as big as saucers and the color drained from her face as she
looked up at me. "Oh, Vincent," she said quietly, shaking her head.  
  
I paced the living room. "I'm sorry, Mom, I really am." I took a gulp of my
drink. "I never meant for this to come out. I never wanted to look at you this
way and I don't know how to turn it off. I tried all through high school and I
thought I would just lose interest. When I got to college I figured that if I
got a girlfriend my feelings for you would realign the right way, but it never
happened." I sighed and stopped, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to see her
face. "I think the reason I like bigger girls is because I'm attracted to
you." She didn't say anything. I opened my eyes to see her looking at the
floor between her feet, her right knee dancing nervously.  
  
"Maybe it would be best if you got that apartment," she said quietly. She
stood and walked up the stairs and closed her bedroom door. I dropped onto the
couch before tipping my glass back and swallowing the rest of the liquid
comfort. As I replayed the events of the day, I heard the oven timer beep and
I went into the kitchen. I got out two bowls and scooped some of Mom's
casserole into each one. I walked up the stairs with a bowl and spoon and a
glass of tea.  
  
Stopping outside her door I called out quietly. "Mom? I brought you some
dinner." No answer. "I'll just leave it outside your door. I love you, Mom.
I'm sorry." She had never failed to answer me, no matter how upset she was.
This was new.  
  
I was scared.  
  
I finished my dinner and cleaned the kitchen. No stirring from upstairs. I
sighed, picked up my laptop and took it up to my room. Her bowl and glass were
still full. She hadn't eaten anything. I didn't know if I should leave it for
her, but I also knew that her casserole was no good cold, even she thought so.
I placed my computer on my desk and walked to her door. As I bent down to pick
up her dishes, I heard her talking quietly.  
  
". . . likes my skin, even the freckles. Vincent likes my. . . my son likes my
breasts. He says they are soft when we. . . when we hug. Oh, God, what's wrong
with me? Okay, breathe." I could hear her do her deep breathing exercises to
calm down. Then she cleared her throat. "My son likes my stomach and my hips.
He likes the way my butt moves. He likes my thighs and my calves and my feet.
Dammit, Claire. He's still your son."  
  
What the hell was going on? I wanted to knock and ask, but this was her time.
Alone. Especially if she was trying to settle down from the mess I had caused.
I picked up the dishes and took them down to the kitchen before emptying them
into the garbage disposal and putting them into the dishwasher.  
  
I walked back to my room, tempted to listen in again, but I thought better of
it. After closing my door I stripped to my underwear and started watching a
movie on the streaming service, but I fell asleep within the hour.  
  
######  
  
"Vince?" I heard, feeling a hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. "Vincent,
honey? Wake up."  
  
"Mom? What time is it?"  
  
"It's just after 11. We need to talk, sweetie. About earlier."  
  
"Yeah, okay," I said, sitting up.  
  
"Put something on and come downstairs. I'll make coffee." With that she got up
and left my room.  
  
I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face to wake up, and went back to
my room to put on some lounge pants and a t-shirt. By the time I got down to
the kitchen, Mom had already made our coffee and was sitting at the kitchen
table. I sat down across from her and took a sip from my favorite mug.  
  
"First of all," she said, "I want to apologize for my reaction earlier. I
think I was out of line."  
  
"It's okay," I said. "I shouldn't have—"  
  
"Yes, you should have." I didn't understand. "I have always told you that I
wanted you to be honest with me. I wanted to know what was going on. So then
you tell me something big that you've been struggling with for half your life,
and I react out of anger, as if it was a personal offense to me. I know,
sweetie, that this has nothing to do with me. I mean, it does, but it's not
about something you are doing to me or against me; it's just how you feel."  
  
I nodded. "Mom, I don't want this to come between us. I don't want this to be
a problem. I may always be attracted to you like I have been, but I've had it
under control for this long, and I can continue to control it. Maybe I'll
outgrow it in time."  
  
"Or maybe you won't." She peered at me over her mug.  
  
"So, what now?"  
  
"Now we talk." She took a deep breath. "You've been very honest with me and I
think it's time I'm honest with you. I've known for a long time, how you feel
about me."  
  
"You have?"  
  
She held up a hand to silence me. "The reason I got so angry this afternoon is
that I felt like the foundation of our relationship cracked." I shook my head
to signal that I didn't understand. "I've known how you feel for at least five
years, since your graduation party at least. But you never said anything. You
never acted on it. It allowed me to keep the illusion that you didn't feel
that way, that we were safe. Now, however, we aren't safe. Our relationship
can't be what it was."  
  
"Why not, Mom? What's not safe? So you know; so what?"  
  
"So, now I have to fight for both of us, and I don't think I'm strong enough."  
  
"Fight for both of us? I don't understand."  
  
"So far, I've only been fighting myself. As long as I could pretend you
weren't interested in me. . . that way, then I could fight the temptation
raging inside me. Now that I know for certain how you feel, then my own
temptation is stronger."  
  
Suddenly, a light bulb came on.  
  
"Mom? You mean you've. . . for me?"  
  
She hung her head. "I'm sorry, Vince. It's wrong on so many levels. When I
told you to get yourself under control, I wasn't just talking to you; I was
talking to myself. So now that we both know, maybe we can work together to
fight, you know? We can overcome this vile temptation, watching each other's
back."  
  
"Why?" I asked.  
  
"Vince, don't," she said, shaking her head enthusiastically. "Don't even think
about it. This is wrong and we have to stand together against it. Tomorrow I
will help you find an apartment. As my son I want you to stay here with me,
but the risk is too great now. We can't stay here together, not now at least."
With that, she stood and took her cup to the sink.  
  
I stood up, too. "Wait, can we talk about this?"  
  
She walked past as she said, "We just did. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
She walked out on me and I began to cry.  
  
######  
  
I don't know if Mom slept that night, but I didn't. Even when I tried to think
of Mom and I in a romantic situation, it was different. Before today, when I
had fantasized about seeing Mom in her swimsuit, or looking down her shirt
when she bent over, or rubbing up against me as we decorated the Christmas
tree, it would sometimes lead to a kiss between us. I never got farther than
that, wracked with guilt at what I was thinking, but I was somehow still okay
with thoughts of kissing her and maybe copping a feel. When I would fantasize
about her, she would smirk when she caught me looking, or maybe wink at me.
That night I had a familiar fantasy of looking down her shirt when she bent
over, catching a glimpse of her deep cleavage. This time when she caught me,
however, she quickly stood up, grasping the neck of her shirt and asked me
what the hell I thought I was doing. Then she stormed out of the room.  
  
Dammit, I thought, why did I have to go and screw everything up? Maybe Mom was
right. Maybe I needed a place of my own, a place away from her.  
  
I finally dozed off into a fitful sleep, although it wasn't until almost 5am.
When I got out of bed at 6:30, the sun starting to peek over the neighbor's
roof, I stumbled downstairs. I was surprised to see Mom at the table already,
still in her bathrobe, her hair a sexy mess. Her left hand was wrapped around
her coffee mug and with her right, she circled another ad in the paper, which
was spread out on the table.  
  
She looked up at me and muttered, "Good morning."  
  
"Yeah," I mumbled. I fixed a bowl of cereal and sat down across from her. She
didn't acknowledge me a second time. I dropped my spoon in the bowl, causing a
splash of milk to land on the paper, the table, and my arm. "Are we really
doing this, Mom?"  
  
"Yes, Vince, we are," she said as she calmly blotted the milk droplets on the
paper with a napkin.  
  
"This is insane," I said. "Can't we please talk about this and come up with a
workable solution? Please?"  
  
"Go ahead," she challenged. "Tell me how we're going to work through this
living under the same roof, knowing how we both feel. Lay it out, Vince."  
  
"I. . . well, we. . ." I stammered before sighing, exasperated. "I don't know
just yet, but we can work together, Mom, you said so yourself."  
  
"This," she said, stabbing the paper with her finger, "This is working
together. This is how we fight it." Her eyes were filling with tears and her
voice was angry. "I don't see any other way. You can't stay here."  
  
"Fuck it!" I said, shoving my bowl away and standing up. "I'll find my own
damned place!" I stormed out and up to my room. I threw on some shorts, a
t-shirt and a ball cap. I bounded down the stairs and headed to the front
door.  
  
"Vince, wait!" I heard. Mom continued to call me, her voice frantic and I
caught her out of the corner of my eye, as she rushed toward me. "Vincent!
VINCENT!!"  
  
The door slammed behind me. The morning was quiet outside the house, despite
the storm that had been brewing inside it. I jetted out of my driveway, my
Civic squealing on the pavement as I slammed on the brakes and jammed it into
first. I stopped at the gas station on the corner and grabbed every copy of
the apartment finders I could get my hands on. Sitting in the parking lot of
the local park, I circled apartments that might work and dog-eared the pages.
By 8:30 I was driving from complex to complex, meeting with property managers
and looking at the model apartments. I ate lunch while I drove, afraid to stop
and sit down for a few minutes. By four o'clock I was wiped out mentally and
emotionally.  
  
Over the course of the day, my phone rang several times, at least twice every
hour, usually three times. I had a series of missed calls and new texts. I
hadn't even bothered to take out my phone and look at it. It wasn't important
either way. When it rang, I would just hit ignore and keep doing what I was
doing: driving, touring the apartment, listening to the agent. Actually, by
10:30 I had just set it on silent so I wouldn't even know. Now I was back in
the car, trying to decide where to go for the evening. I looked at my phone
and picked it up out of the cup holder.  
  
There were only four texts from Mom. All of them essentially said the same
thing: She was sorry and I needed to answer my phone. I cursed under my breath
and called her. It didn't even get to the second ring.  
  
"Vincent?" she said, excitedly.  
  
"Yeah." I was still plenty hot under the collar and didn't feel like doing
this.  
  
She sighed, "I'm so glad you called."  
  
"You told me to. What do you want?"  
  
"Please come home. We can talk, work this out."  
  
"No, Mom, we can't."  
  
"We can, Vincent! I know we can," she began to choke up. "Please come home."  
  
I sat silently, reconciling my pride with my true desire. Was I hesitant to go
home just to piss her off? To say I'd won? Or was I just that angry? I wanted
more than anything to be home with her, at least for now, but I couldn't
afford to be jerked around, begged to come home, only to be told tomorrow that
I needed to move out.  
  
"Where are we going with this?" I asked. "I need to know where I'm sleeping."  
  
"Here," she said. "With me. I mean, I want you home with me."  
  
"I don't know, Mom." I was calm and confused. I really didn't know what to do.
I knew I'd messed up big time. "Maybe it really would be better for me to find
somewhere else to be."  
  
It was quiet for a moment before Mom spoke again. "No, Vincent, it's not. This
is your home. I overreacted and, rather than finding my own strength, I put
the responsibility on you to change. I need to be strong here. We can work
through this here. If you want to move out, I understand. You're a grown man
and it's expected that you have your own place. I don't want you to feel
pressured to stay here. I just don't want you to move out because I told you
to. I want you to know that there will always be a place here for you. For
tonight, however, won't you please come home?"  
  
I thought about it for a minute. Mom was very good not to push me for an
answer as I processed through it. "Okay. I'm coming home."  
  
"Thank you, Vincent," she said. I could hear her smile through the phone.  
  
"I love you, Mom."  
  
"I know. And I love you, too, baby doll."  
  
I hung up the phone and drove home.  
  
As soon as I pulled into the driveway, Mom was on the front porch, beaming.
"Hi, Mom," I said as I walked up the sidewalk. As soon as stepped onto the
porch I said, "I'm sorry I—"  
  
My words were cut off by my mother's sobbing hug. I wrapped my arms around her
tightly as she squeezed my neck in her own embrace. "Vincent! No no no. Shhh.
No apologies. You didn't do anything wrong, baby." She pulled away and stroked
my hair with a gentle smile. "Come inside. Would you like a drink?"  
  
I sighed with a smile. "That would be great." I dragged in behind her and
closed the door. I plopped onto the couch and listened to Mom mixing me a
Margarita before mixing one for herself. She handed it to me and sat on the
coffee table, facing me. The margarita was good. "Mm, thank you. This is
really good."  

"I'm glad," she smiled. She suddenly looked concerned. "You look exhausted.
Tell you what. After you finish your drink, you rest and then I'll take you
out to dinner. How does that sound?"  
  
I nodded. "Sounds good," I said. Unfortunately, I didn't finish my margarita.
I fell asleep right there on the couch while watching a show I had DVR'd. When
I woke up, it was dark outside and I had a blanket covering me.  
  
Mom apparently caught me stirring because she said, "Look who's awake. You
hungry?" She sat down on the couch by my hip and rubbed my arm.  
  
"I could eat," I smiled, stretching and pushing myself up.  
  
"Go clean up and we'll go get Mexican. Sound good?"  
  
"Sounds great." I stood up and walked up the stairs. A few minutes later I was
out of the shower and getting dressed. Mom knocked on my door. "Yeah?"  
  
"Are you about ready?"  
  
I opened the door as I pulled my shirt down. "I just have to put on my shoes."
I sat in my desk chair and put on my shoes and socks as my mother sat on my
bed.  
  
"What do you think, Vince? Think we can put this behind us?"  
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of moving forward, not backward," I
smiled, looking up at her. "But we can definitely work it out."  
  
"I think so, too," she smiled.  
  
I stood up and took her hand. I kissed her on the cheek and we went to dinner.
While we were there, we each had a couple more margaritas. We weren't drunk
because they weren't very strong, but our mood was definitely lighter and I'm
sure the drinks had something to do with it.  
  
I had no trouble driving us home and I felt like Mom and I were in a good
place again. When we got home, I told Mom I was going to change and watch a
movie. She thought it was a good idea and changed as well. It wasn't long,
however, before she had fallen asleep on the couch. After the movie was over,
I helped her off the couch and walked her to her room.  
  
"Vincent, don't leave," she mumbled tiredly.  
  
"Mom, get some rest," I said as I helped her lie down.  
  
"I'm not sleepy," she said, looking up at me.  
  
"Yes, you are." I pulled her covers up over her. As I reached for the light,
she grabbed my other hand.  
  
"Vince," she said, sitting up, suddenly more alert. "Stay with me."  
  
"You're drunk," I laughed. When I reached for her lamp a second time, she
pulled on my hand.  
  
"I'm not," she said. She sounded sober. I stopped and stood up, looking down
at her. "Today when you left, I thought I'd lost you. Then when you didn't
answer my calls, I was afraid I would never get you back. The thought of you
not being with me was devastating."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere, Mom. Even if I do get an apartment, I'll still be
here for you."  
  
"Sit down, Vince," she said, scooting over a little. I sat. She looked at our
hands and rubbed her thumb on the back of my hand as she talked. "I loved your
father very much when we first married. It wasn't long afterward, though, that
he started making little comments about my weight. I wasn't as big as I am
now, but I've never been toned. I guess it's like you said, that it just isn't
in the cards for me to be small. If that's what he wanted, he should have
married someone else, right?" she laughed.  
  
"But I eventually gave up even trying." She took a deep breath and looked into
my eyes. "When you were young you always loved to cuddle up to me and
sometimes as you got older and your father became more brazen with his
criticism, I saw how sad you got, and you would often come and apologize for
him later and would remind me that I'm beautiful. You've always called me
beautiful. In high school, especially, I noticed that you started checking me
out. I would catch you looking at my boobs or my butt and it would make me
feel good that a young man would find me attractive, even though I knew it was
wrong because you were my son and because you were so young. I thought you
would outgrow it.  
  
"Then I started noticing the girls you would date and how most of them were
also a little plump. I thought maybe you were just a breast man and the rest
of it just came with the territory. I did notice that all the girls were
beautiful, though. When you went to college I noticed that your pattern was
still the same. It wasn't until yesterday when you were describing the things
you liked about my body, that I was willing to make the connection that you
were attracted to me, too. And that's why I panicked." She took another deep
breath and spoke more quietly. "When you left today, I thought all day about
what we talked about and I realized that I'm just fooling myself if I think
this will go away on its own." She looked me in the eyes. "I know it won't."  
  
I sat quietly for a minute before speaking. "What would happen if I kissed you
right now?"  
  
She shook her head, but didn't back away. "I don't know. We shouldn't."  
  
"I know." I leaned in and she didn't move. I gently touched my lips to hers
and heard a sharp intake of breath through her nose, but she didn't move. Her
hands squeezed mine, but that's all the response I got. I certainly felt some
electricity, but I didn't know if she did or not. I pulled away and her eyes
were closed. She licked her lips as she opened her eyes, a shy smile spreading
across her lips. I smiled in response, relieved.  
  
"The hell with it," she breathed before wrapping her arms around my neck and
kissing me hard. My arms instinctively went to her waist. It wasn't long
before her tongue licked my upper lip, inviting me to kiss her like a lover,
not a parent. Our first kiss was sensual, erotic. Admittedly, my cock was as
hard as a rock and my stomach was filled with butterflies while we kissed and
I wondered if she was as turned on as I was.  
  
I leaned over her to push her onto her back as we kissed and she didn't resist
at all, even moaning into my mouth. Her kiss became more frantic and I didn't
have to wonder any more. "You're so hot, Mom," I whispered.  
  
"Yeah?" she asked, still kissing me.  
  
"Mmhmm. I want you bad."  
  
She pulled back a little, fire in her eyes. "Are you sure about that? We can't
go back if we do that."  
  
I was surprised at her answer. She didn't say no. I smiled and nodded. "Who
wants to go back?"  
  
She smiled and kissed me again. I was again surprised that it was my shy
mother who made the first move by grabbing my ass and squeezing. I groaned at
her first overtly sexual touch. I took it as permission to touch her. I ran my
hand up her naked thigh as she moaned. I kissed and nibbled at her neck as I
squeezed her soft ass. Her hips began to rotate as we kissed, and her
breathing picked up. I moved my hand up to squeeze her breast, bringing a moan
from my mother.  
  
She took advantage and cupped my cock, stroking my shaft through my shorts.
"You're so hard," she whispered. "You're getting ready for me, huh?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." I slid down her body and lightly bit her nipples through her gown.  
  
"Oh!" she yelped. "Mmm, that feels good."  
  
I began sliding her gown up. Taking the hint, Mom lifted her hips and pulled
it further up, exposing her pink cotton panties and stomach. She sat up and
allowed me to pull it over her head. Her breasts were magnificent. They were
full and heavy and round. The areolae were large and pale pink, with thick
pink nipples sticking out excitedly. Mom gasped and moaned when I clamped onto
her right nipple with my mouth, sucking excitedly. I squeezed both breasts
enthusiastically as my mouth switched back and forth. Mom continued to stroke
me through my shorts. At first.  
  
"Let's get rid of this," she said, pulling at my shirt I pulled it over my
head and Mom's hands roamed freely over my body. She looked me in the eye with
a twinkle and smirk and said, "And these," before pushing my shorts down my
legs.  
  
As I kicked them off, smiling at her, I said, "Should I leave my underwear?"  
  
"For now," she winked.  
  
"Fair enough." I began kissing her again while I squeezed her tits. After a
moment I said, "Get on top."  
  
"Really?" She sounded surprised.  
  
"Yeah," I said, rolling over. "Let me get a good look at you."  
  
She giggled and sat up, straddling my waist. Her pussy snuggled right onto my
dick and her breasts hung heavy in my face. I resumed tasting her nipples and
she began sliding back and forth on my groin. I moaned into her breast as she
worked me over.  
  
"Damn, Mom," I said, grabbing her ass. "If you keep that up, I'm going to come
in my shorts."  
  
"Not tonight," she said. She sat up and reached behind her. Her hand made its
way into the fly of my boxers and she pulled my erection out into the cool
air. She looked me in the eye as she grabbed the crotch of her panties and
yanked them to the side. I looked down with a gasp, just long enough to see a
dark tuft of hair and her flared pink lips hanging down. With one hand she
held her panties to the side and with the other she gripped my shaft and sank
down on it. I grunted at the feel of her hot wet pussy sliding all the way
down onto me. "That's it!" she groaned. "That's what I wanted." Mom looked at
me with a smile and shrugged. "Oh, well," she giggled. "We can't go back now."
I smiled as she began rocking her hips, sliding me in and out. "You were
right," she sighed. "Your dick is perfect."  
  
"Oh, my god, Mom! You feel so good. You're so hot!"  
  
"You like being buried in my pussy, baby?"  
  
"Oh, yeah!"  
  
"You're a mother fucker now, aren't you?" she growled.  
  
"I'm fucking my mom," I breathed. "Holy shit, I'm fucking my mom."  
  
"Even better, your mom's fucking you." She closed her eyes and bounced more
quickly. "I can't believe I'm fucking my son." She shuddered. "Fuck, my son's
cock is inside me." She picked up the pace and started riding me harder. I
grabbed her thighs and squeezed, loving the feel of her soft, fleshy thighs as
she rode me.  
  
"You're going to make me come!" I called.  
  
"Do it, baby. Shoot it inside me. I want it." With that, I let go. I growled
my release, forcing my self into her and pulling her down onto me. My pulsing
rod poured rope after rope of seed into her depths. She settled onto me and
convulsed through her own small orgasm before collapsing onto my chest. I
loved the feel of my mother's bare tits crushed against my chest.  
  
After a minute, our breathing settled down. "I guess I should get you
something to clean up with," I said.  
  
"Not this time," she said, stroking my hair. "I want to feel you leaking out
of me. I may need a reminder that this is real."  
  
"Can I stay in here tonight, then?"  
  
"You can stay in here every night."  
  
I smiled and felt her slide sideways off of me before turning away and backing
into my side. I heard the lamp click off, but didn't see it; I was already
gone.  
  
######  
  
"Morning, Vince," Mom whispered. I stirred awake and saw Mom sitting beside me
on the bed, rubbing my back and holding my favorite coffee mug. I smiled at
her beautiful face. "I called in sick today so we can have the day together."
She giggled as she said, "I told them I had a fever."  
  
"It must be catching," I said with a smile. Sitting up, I took the coffee from
Mom's hand and gave her a kiss. I had to make sure, even though I had an idea.
"We're okay, then?" I asked before taking a sip of my coffee.  
  
"More than okay, baby. I feel better than I have in years. It feels like a
huge weight has been lifted." She was positively beaming.  
  
"So what's on the agenda for today, then?" I asked.  
  
She laughed as she said, "Making up for lost time."  
  
She hopped off the bed and said, "I need a shower. You coming?" She dropped
her robe and removed her panties before standing before me naked, lightly
scratching at her pubic hair as she gazed at me.  
  
"You think I would miss an opportunity like that?" I jumped up off the bed and
dropped my boxers. My erection bobbed in front of me.  
  
"Well," laughed Mom, "It looks like someone's ready." I shrugged and she
grabbed my erection and stroked it as she kissed me. "Come on," she whispered.
"Let's clean up so we can get dirty again." She turned and walked toward the
bathroom.  
  
"Yep," I called, "I love that ass."  
  
She laughed and shook her head. "You'll have to show me just how much you love
it."  
  
She reached in and turned on the shower. I wrapped my arms around her waist
and pressed my erection against her soft ass. "This," I whispered, "Is how
much I love it."  
  
She leaned back against me and sighed. I cupped her breasts and squeezed them,
bringing a moan from her. "Come on," she said, stepping into the shower. I
closed the door behind me and ran my hands over her wet body. We spent our
time in the shower washing each other clean and exploring every part of each
other. Last night was quick and urgent. This was leisurely. I couldn't get
enough of her and it seemed as if she had the same problem. Her hands ran over
my body constantly, everything from stroking my face and hair, to running her
fingers through the crack in my ass.  
  
The feeling of her slick, wet skin under my touch was electric. I was finally
able to touch all the parts of my mother that I had wanted to for so long. As
I knelt in the shower behind her I cupped and squeezed at her luscious ass. I
leaned forward and bit her right cheek. She squealed and laughed, reaching
back to smack me lightly on top of my head.  
  
I kissed it to make it better and continued kissing all over her ass cheeks. I
kissed the top of her crack and kissed my way down between her cheeks, burying
my face between the slick, wet mounds. I stuck out my tongue and licked along
her crack. She moaned in response. I gripped both cheeks and spread them so I
could bury myself even deeper in that amazing ass. "Bend over, Mom."  
  
"Oh, Vince," she whined, placing her hands on the wall and sticking her ass
out even further. She moaned when my tongue made contact with her asshole. I
circled it repeatedly and lapped at it before lowering my head a little and
eating her pussy. She groaned and bent over even further when I buried my
tongue in her. "Damn, baby, your tongue feels good." I wouldn't stop working
her over until she was satisfied. After a few minutes of tongue fucking my
mother, randomly licking at her clit and ass, she began to whimper as her
orgasm drew near. I moved my tongue to her clit, pressing my nose into her
pussy, and lashed at her little bean until she came.  
  
I stood up behind her. She tried to stand, but I placed my hand on her back,
letting her know that I needed her to stay where she was. She looked over her
shoulder at me with a look of excitement, knowing what was next. I pressed
forward into her and wrapped my arm around her waist to help support her. She
whined my name and pressed back against me, making sure I was buried. "God,
you feel good," I groaned.  
  
"You do, too," she said, her eyes closed. "Remind me what it's like to be
sexy."  
  
"I promise I'll never let you forget again." I pulled out slowly and buried
myself again. With one hand I gripped her hip and with the other I cupped her
tit and pinched lightly at her nipple. As I withdrew and pressed forward, I
picked up the pace, mindful to keep our balance in the slippery shower. The
last thing I wanted was for either or both of us to crash onto the hard tile.
Confident in my footing, I picked up the pace, fucking into her aggressively.  
  
The sound of our wet skin slapping together combined with the prickles of hot
water on my back and the feel of my mother's sexy body under my fingers,
bringing me to full hardness. The grip of her hot, wet sleeve begging me not
to leave and welcoming my return, was enhanced by Mom's whimpering pleas to
make her come again.  
  
I knew I wouldn't last long and warned her. "I'm about to come," I breathed.  
  
"Wait for me, baby! Wait for momma! Almost there."  
  
"I don't know if I can!" I was really starting to feel the churn.  
  
One of Mom's hands came off the tile wall and she rubbed her clit as I
continued to plow into her. "Oh, god!" she yelled. Her body tensed up and
flinched, her cunt gripping me. "Now," she grunted, "Do it now!" Her hand
continued to fly. If she had told me to wait any longer, she would have been
sorely disappointed, but since she demanded my immediate orgasm, I was happy
to oblige. I forced myself as deeply into her as I could and felt my orgasm
burst forth from the top of my head to my clenched toes. It felt like fire
pouring out of me. "That's it, fill me up," she said quietly. After a moment
she giggled as I still fired into her. "Still going? Wow."  
  
I finally stopped and practically stumbled out of her. I had never actually
felt weak in the knees after an orgasm before, but this one was spectacular. I
slid down the wall and sat on the floor as Mom turned around and settled onto
the floor beside me. "Now do you believe me," I breathed, trying to recover,
"About how sexy you are?"  
  
"I think it enhances your credibility," she laughed. "Oh!" she looked down,
drawing my eye there as well. "You're leaking out." We both watched as my cum
trickled out of her bright pink pussy, mixing with the water and swirling down
the drain. She forced more out, also releasing some air I had forced into her,
which caused us both to laugh, I think hers was more in embarrassment whereas
I just thought it was funny.  
  
"Come on," I said, standing before extending my hand. "Let's get dried off.
I'm getting hungry."  
  
"But you just ate," she smiled, taking my hand. That made me laugh.  
  
I decided to go out for breakfast instead of asking her to cook. I knew she
liked a little sidewalk café that had pastries she always raved about. She
hasn't been there in a long time, especially since working out and watching
her diet. I convinced her that we would do this just to celebrate, but that it
wouldn't be a habit so she didn't think I was trying to sabotage her efforts.
She took me up on it and we sat on the patio under the big green and white
umbrella sticking up through the center of the small metal grate table.  
  
Mom had dressed in a little yellow sundress that accentuated her figure
nicely. She wore brown sandals with a small heel that flexed her calves
nicely. Her toenails were still painted from this weekend, as were her
fingernails. She wore a small gold chain that rode high on her chest, and her
make-up was perfect: light, barely there, but accentuating her beauty. The sun
beside us made her blue eyes shine.  
  
"I can't believe how beautiful you are," I said, shaking my head. I was
wearing a simple golf shirt and golf shorts, and brown leather boat shoes. I
felt very underdressed next to her.  
  
She kept her head down and picked at her cinnamon bread, pinching a small
morsel off with her fingers. I could see her smile. "You don't have to say
that," she said quietly.  
  
"I know I don't," I agreed, "But it's true. I've always thought you were
beautiful, but now I can't take my eyes off you."  
  
She looked up at me. "I can't take mine off you, either." She looked away for
a second and had a nervous look. She sighed and asked as she looked out at the
small garden, "Would you. . . would you be upset if I said I'm in love with
you?"  
  
I leaned forward and took her hand with a smile. "Why would that upset me? I'd
be delighted to know you felt the same way about me."  
  
"Really? Because I know that sex can complicate things."  
  
"Sex didn't complicate our relationship. It completed it." I winked at her.
"Now we don't have to hide anymore. Yes, we will probably have to keep it
quiet, but not from each other."  
  
"I'm so relieved to hear you say that. I was worried that I was speaking out
of turn."  
  
"It's not out of turn if it's from your heart, right?" I asked, throwing her
own words from my childhood back at her. She smiled at me and nodded.  
  
Mom looked peaceful, sitting there in the sun, eating her pastry and watching
the hummingbirds in the garden. I kept quiet, enjoying my own sense of peace
at having opened myself up to my mother.  
  
######  
  
We made love again that afternoon, and that evening. Mom showed me how much
she loved giving me a blowjob. She apologized for not being more skilled, but
she told me later that Dad was never one for foreplay or adventure. Part of
the reason she felt unsexy was that he insisted on sex with the lights out, so
he "didn't have to look at her fat ass" or so he "could imagine she was
someone else," he joked. Her eyes teared up as she told me, waving her hand
and trying to laugh, saying he had always told her he was kidding, but what
kind of a fucktard says that to the woman he swore to love?  

For the next two years, Mom and I were lovers. One Sunday afternoon Mom
stopped by the gym while I was going over a client's nutritional profile on
the computer. She rapped twice on the glass door to my office. "Hi, Mom," I
said, standing up and kissing her on the cheek after letting her in. "How was
the race?" I asked. Mom had teamed up with two other ladies to complete the
local sprint triathlon. Mom did the swim leg, since it is the one most people
dislike the most, but she was a strong swimmer. It was her first triathlon.
She showed me her finisher's medal. I had been there to watch her swim, but
since I wasn't allowed in the transition area, I couldn't be there to tell her
how great she did, before I had to come to work.  
  
She sat down and looked at her medal nervously, running her thumb along the
edge of it. "I don't know how to ask you this," she said, "But I got asked out
today."  
  
"You did?" I asked, surprised and a little disappointed.  
  
"Yes. He's the brother of one the ladies, the one who did the bike leg. I've
met him a few times before. He's very nice, about my age, and divorced. His
wife left him for another man a few years ago."  
  
"Are you going to go out with him?"  
  
She looked up at me, her face showing her anxiety. "I told him I would have to
think about it. What do you think?"  
  
"Mom, how do you see yourself?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, a couple of years ago, you didn't even think of yourself as attractive
at all. Now you're keeping a guy on the hook so you can decide if you should
accept his offer for a date. Do you think you should do that to him?"  
  
"I think if he thinks I'm worth it, he won't mind waiting a couple of days."  
  
"It sounds like YOU think you're worth it," I smiled. "That's new."  
  
She smiled. "I am worth it. You've showed me that." Her smile faded. "I just
don't want to do anything to hurt you."  
  
"I will always be your son, and I will always love you and I will always think
you're beautiful, but I can't be a boyfriend or husband. We can't have kids
together; you certainly can't have your own grandchildren, and I know that's
something you've always wanted. I love what we have, Mom, but I always figured
that at some point one or both of us would find someone more. . . appropriate
to be with."  
  
"But I don't want what we have, to end," she croaked, her eyes filling with
tears. I leaned forward and took her hand.  
  
"Right now, it's just a date, okay? If you want to go out with him, go. If he
asks you out again and you want to go, keep going. As long as you and he want
to be together, or as long as you want to be with anyone you start to date, go
for it. The day may come when we'll be having this discussion about a woman I
want to date. It's good that we're talking about it. Go. Have fun. I'll be
okay."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I'm positive. This won't change anything about how I feel about you. I want
you to be happy."  
  
"I think I'm going to do it. Just one date at a time, though, right? No future
plans?"  
  
"One at a time," I smiled.  
  
After Mom left my office, I had a hard time focusing the rest of the day. My
mind kept wandering back to what we had shared over the last couple of years.
No, my life wasn't a nonstop festival of sex. We would make love most nights,
but not every night, probably averaging 4-5 nights a week, plus a matinee or
two on the weekends. I could tell that Mom had become more confident in her
appearance and celebrated even small victories toward personal goals. Failures
didn't seem to upset her as much. Mom was doing much better.  
  
At 5:30 I walked in the door and immediately smelled Mom's famous lasagna.  
  
"Hey, baby doll," she said, walking in from the kitchen. She looked amazing.
Her hair was fixed (she had grown it out a little more and had found a new
style that she could curl a little), and her make-up was impeccable. She had
chosen to wear a sapphire blue and black teddy with black stockings, black
high-heeled sandals and a silver choker necklace.  
  
"Holy. . . wow. Mom, you look. . ."  
  
"I've heard that before," she said. "I think I know what you mean." In her
hand was a glass of red wine, which she handed to me. She took my other hand
and led me to the couch. Pressing on my chest, she prompted me to sit. While I
sat on the couch, she knelt between my knees. "I've been thinking about what
you said, Vincent." She unzipped my fly. "I can't tell you how sweet you are,
watching out for my happiness like that." She reached into my boxers. "It
turns me on so much to know that you love me that much." She pulled out my
erection and stroked it. "I think you need to know how much I appreciate it."
She took me into her mouth with a moan. I looked down and saw a single bead of
drool roll down the top of my cock toward the base as she worked her tongue
around the tip with half of me inside her mouth.  
  
"Damn, Mom, that's so hot."  
  
"Don't worry about messing up my hair, Vince, I'm not going out tonight." She
lowered her mouth again and my hand went to the back of her head. She bobbed a
few times before asking, "Doesn't it bother you that I might start sleeping
with someone else one day?" She lowered her head and I pressed her head even
further down. She groaned at the pressure, sending vibrations through me. I
gripped her hair in my fist and she pulled her head up.  
  
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked. A string of drool hung from her bottom
lip. "Are you angry?" I forced her head back down and buried my cock in her
mouth. I felt myself bumping up against her throat. I knew she could take it.
She had spent the last two years learning what I liked and how to give me a
blowjob. She had practiced suppressing her gag reflex so I wasn't worried
about hurting her.  
  
"Suck it!" I demanded. "Take it all!" I pushed down even harder and felt her
throat open up. The tight passage allowed me to slide all the way in. I held
her there for just a moment before pulling her back up. She gasped and smiled
lewdly, spit foaming on her lips and bridged to my shiny cock.  
  
"Are you punishing me," she asked, "Or preparing my throat for someone else's
cock?" I gripped her hair and forced her head all the way down. She moaned
around me. I pulled her head up part of the way before jamming it back down
all the way to my crotch. Her hands gripped my knees tightly. The front of my
khaki pants was soaked in her spit. I yanked her head back and let go.  
  
"Get up!" I said. She quickly stood, stroking her hips anxiously as I ripped
off my shirt and pants. I could tell she was trying not to smile. I spun her
around and pushed on her back. She fell forward, planting her hands on the
couch cushions. I yanked her satin panties down to her knees and pulled one
ass cheek to the side. "You're going to miss this cock when I'm gone," I said,
plunging it into her sopping wet cunt. She yelped at my intrusion.  
  
"How will I miss it," she breathed, "If I'm getting it from another man?" I
pounded into her again.  
  
"You think he'll love you like I love you?" I continued to pound into her,
drawing grunts with each impact. "You think he can fuck you like I can?"  
  
"Oh, God," she surrendered, "No one can fuck me like you can!" Her hands were
pressed against the back cushions now, my mother bracing herself against my
assault.  
  
"Damn right! This cunt is mine! Got that?! MY pussy! Say it!"  
  
"My cunt is yours!"  
  
"Your pussy belongs to your son! Say it!" I commanded, pounding, pounding,
pounding.  
  
"Oh, fuck! My son owns my pussy! My pussy is for my son's hard cock!"  
  
"I'm coming in your pussy and your mouth! Got that?"  
  
"Oh, yes, baby. My pussy and mouth!" she echoed.  
  
"Here it is! AAAAHHH!!" I fired two blasts deep into her before regrettably
pulling out. Mom immediately dropped onto the couch as she turned and took the
next blast to her cheek from two feet away. It splattered onto her face and
neck before she could catch me in her mouth. She bobbed and swallowed, pulling
my climax out of me with her hand and mouth.  
  
I dropped onto the coffee table behind me when my orgasm ceased. Mom quietly
stood, pulled up her panties and walked to the kitchen. Taking a towel from a
drawer, she quietly wiped her mouth, cheek, and neck. Without a word, she
smoothed her hair the best she could, set the lasagna on the table and picked
up the phone off the wall cradle. She looked at a piece of paper on the
counter and dialed a number with her thumb. As it rang, she picked up the wine
bottle and topped off our glasses. While she poured my wine, she finally
spoke.  
  
"Hi. Dan, this is Claire. . . I'm good." She looked me in the eye as she spoke
to him, setting the bottle on the coffee table. "Listen, I've given some
thought to your invitation, and I just don't think I'm ready yet. . . No, I'm
sure. Thank you so much for asking. I'm very flattered. Maybe in the future if
we're both still single, things will be different. . . Of course. . . Thank
you, Dan. Bye Bye."  
  
She hung up the phone and as she walked to the kitchen, she looked over her
shoulder with a smile and said, "Dinner's ready."  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
"Gloria!" Mom squealed, stepping across the threshold to embrace the beautiful
brunette answering the door.  
  
"Hi, Claire," laughed Gloria, returning the hug joyfully. "It's so good to see
you."  
  
"Oh, I've missed you so much," she said.  
  
"Hi, Mom." I entered from my office, which was just off the living room.  
  
"Vince," she sighed, looking me over. "Look at you. Has this one been taking
care of you?" she asked with a smile, tilting her head toward the busty
brunette at the door.  
  
"Of course," I smiled, winking at Gloria. Mom laughed while we hugged.  
  
"Vince," interrupted Gloria. "Why don't you help Dan with the bags?"  
  
"Sure, honey." I gave her a kiss on the way out the door.  
  
"Dan," I smiled, hugging my stepfather, "Good to see you again."  
  
"It's been too long," he said with a smile. I picked up the suitcase and
shopping bag he had already unloaded onto the sidewalk and he followed me in,
carrying two bags himself before we returned and unloaded yet another
suitcase, a few presents, and another shopping bag. I dropped the presents in
the corner of the living room while Dan took the last suitcase into the guest
room.  
  
"This is too much," said Gloria. "You're going to spoil him."  
  
"That's what grandmothers do," laughed Mom. "Besides, it's not every day that
my grandbaby turns one!"  
  
"Don't blame Claire, Gloria," Dan defended. "Most of these are my impulse
buys. Claire complained just as much as you are, before stealing my defense
strategy to use on you." Mom laughed and shrugged as Dan wrapped her in his
arms and kissed her. "So, can we wake him up now, or what?" he asked
excitedly. "No offense, but we didn't come all this way to see you two."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Dan," I smiled. "Mom, are you going to let him talk to us like
that?"  
  
"If he was wrong I wouldn't."  
  
We all laughed and Gloria declared that Daniel Vincent Stewart had rested long
enough and would probably sleep well enough that night anyway. She walked down
the hallway and I talked to Mom and Dan while Gloria got him up and changed
him. We heard her talking to him quietly. "Somebody came to see you, Danny.
Let's go see!" We heard her coaxing him down the hall before we saw them. Mom
got onto her knees and watched the hall entrance excitedly.  
  
As soon as Gloria and Danny rounded the corner, Mom said, "There he is!" in a
high-pitched voice. Danny started giggling uncontrollably, his big blue eyes
wide while his nose scrunched up as he laughed. He collapsed out of Gloria's
hand before grabbing onto the sofa and walking along it as fast as he could.
Mom was cheering him on, her arms outstretched as he stumbled toward her. As
soon as he was close enough, he collapsed into her hands and she pulled him in
for a great big hug and kiss. She smothered him with kisses, causing him to
continue giggling. All I could see was her face pressed against his cheek and
her fingers wrapped in his loose brown curls.  
  
"Oh, Nana loves you so much." She held him out a little and said, "Look how
big you are! Hey," she said, standing with him in her arms, "Look who else
came to see you!" She turned him around and squealed "Papa!" Danny's legs
kicked and his arms flailed excitedly as he reached for him.  
  
Dan scooped him up with a laugh and kissed him as he held him tight. "Happy
birthday, buddy! I've missed you." Danny reached out with a smile and stroked
his fingers at Dan's beard, feeling the short hair with the tips of his
fingers, concentrating hard. "That's my beard," whispered Dan. "Beard. Beard."  
  
"He's so smart," smiled Mom to Gloria.  
  
"Very," smiled Gloria, "Like his daddy." She looked at me lovingly.  
  
I know what you're thinking. Why would he get my stepfather's name? And how
did that happen anyway?  
  
Dan continued to call for several weeks after that first time. As Mom and I
continued to run local races, I got to meet and talk with Dan. I watched him
and realized that Mom felt good around him. He was very kind to her and looked
at her with genuine attraction, not ogling her. He also treated us both with
respect. As he heard the story of Mom's divorce unfold, he shared some of his
own story and even listened to my side of the divorce story. He also came by
the gym and we got to become friends as I worked with him to balance out his
nutrition and fitness routines.  
  
I genuinely grew to like Dan.  
  
One Saturday morning after a rigorous fuck, I pulled my softening prick from
Mom's ass and lay down beside her. After we had caught our breath, I kissed
Mom on the head as her hand lightly stroked my chest. "Tomorrow after the
race, you know Dan is going to ask you out again, right?"  
  
She sighed. "I know."  
  
"I think you're ready."  
  
"What?" she propped up on one elbow and looked at me. "Why would you say
that?"  
  
"Because you are, Mom." I paused and thought about how to put this. I drew her
back down to rest against me and looked at the ceiling as I talked. "Dan's a
great guy, Mom. He's asked you out several times and continues to pursue you.
It's not because you're playing hard to get. He knows that. I think he's
trying to give you space and also trying to let you know he's still
interested. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm okay with you going out with him
if you think you want to. I might be jealous at first, but we've talked about
this a lot. Maybe it's never been about you being ready to date again; maybe
it's been about me being ready for you to date. I'm okay with it now, though,
I think."  
  
"What about what we have?" she asked.  
  
"We'll work through that as we have to."  
  
The next day as we were in the corral getting ready to run, Dan asked with a
smile, "What do you say, Claire? You ready for that date yet?"  
  
Mom looked at Dan, then at me, and back to Dan. "Tell you what, my PR for this
course is 58:06. If I break that today, I'll go out with you. If not. . ." she
just shrugged with a smile.  
  
Dan stuck out his hand. "Deal." Mom shook it with a smile and turned to the
front waiting for our corral to be released. Dan was much faster than Mom was.
He could easily, and has before, run this race in about 45 minutes. I asked
for permission to run at my own pace, and Mom nodded as she trotted along. I
eased ahead, steadily gaining ground on the finish line and gradually
distancing myself from my mother and her potential suitor.  
  
I waited for them at the finish line, grasping my finisher medal and keeping
an eye out. I saw them through the relatively thin crowd and looked up over
the finish line with a smile. The clock was just passing 56 minutes. Dan said
something to Mom with a smile and I saw her nod and laugh before bolting
forward. She was running at a flat-out sprint, Dan right by her side, both of
them laughing as they crossed. The announcer called their names, both of them
with a time of 56:41. Dan had driven Mom to set a new personal record for this
course. They both grabbed a medal as they walked toward me. I met them
halfway, giving Mom a hug and kiss on her cheek and shaking Dan's hand.  
  
Dan just looked at Mom with a smile. "Dinner Tuesday, then?"  
  
She smirked and nodded. "Dinner Tuesday."  
  
Their first date was set.  
  
Less than a year later they were married and Mom was happier than I had ever
seen her.  
  
We did talk and decided that faithfulness to her new husband was going to be
crucial, given his history, her history, and the fact that he was a good man.  
  
On the one hand, I hated to lose what we had, but on the other, there was
Gloria. I wasn't going without either. I had met Gloria when she came in to
the gym for a consultation and personal training. I helped her with her
initial consultation and to set up a nutrition plan, but I didn't do her
fitness plan. Gwen was her assigned personal trainer, and she was very good. I
worked with Gwen to set up the fitness and nutrition plan, and to adjust it as
Gloria progressed.  
  
Mom and Dan had been dating for about eight months when Gloria and I went on
our first date. We immediately moved into a solid relationship and Mom and Dan
loved Gloria right off the bat.  
  
As my cock reappeared from between Gloria's tits, coated in oil, she licked at
the tip. "You like my tits, don't you?" she asked, holding them together as I
fucked them.  
  
"I love your tits," I groaned.  
  
"I want you to cover them in your cum so I can lick it off," she demanded.  
  
"Oh, fuck," I sighed. I picked up the pace, sliding between them as she held
them together while pinching and rolling her nipples. Her legs were spread
wide behind me, her freshly fucked pussy red and dripping.  
  
"And don't think I'm done for the day, either," she continued. After you cum,
I'm going to suck you until you're hard enough to fuck me again."  
  
That was it. I pulled back and stroked myself onto her tits. She pressed them
together and cooed when my creamy seed streaked across her lush mounds. She
quickly brought a nipple up to her mouth, and extended her tongue to brush
across the slick trail of my semen. She licked what she could, sucked on her
nipples, and the parts she couldn't reach with her mouth, she pushed toward
her nipples with her fingers. Soon enough her breasts were clean of my cum,
now slick and shiny with her saliva and the oil.  
  
True to her word, she dropped to her knees and sucked me until I was again
rock hard, then straddled my groin and dropped onto me. She rode me like there
was no tomorrow, coming several times before I could blast off into her.  
  
She lay on my chest, her large breasts flattened against me. "What got into
you?" I asked, exhausted.  
  
"I guess the wedding got to me. I was. . . I was picturing you and me up
there. . . getting married."  
  
"Really?"  
  
She sat up quickly. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to freak you out!" She dropped
her face into her hand on my chest. "I must sound like a psycho."  
  
"No!" I said. "Not at all! I mean, I wasn't expecting to hear that, but it's
not like I haven't thought about it."  
  
She looked up at me again with a little smile. "Seriously?"  
  
"Of course. Well, not right away, but yeah, someday."  
  
"I can't believe you've been thinking about marrying me. When did this come
up?"  
  
"After a few weeks of dating. I just knew," I shrugged.  
  
"Me, too." She smiled unashamedly. She settled back onto my chest. Knowing how
we both felt did two things for me: it relaxed me, and it prompted me to
invest in growing our relationship. Rather than wanting to break up after an
argument, I wanted to work through it. I wanted to learn what pleased HER
specifically when it came to sex. I wanted to get to know her parents and
siblings. I began to make plans for my career based on supporting a family not
just myself. I no longer felt the need to care for my mother, knowing she was
in good hands, but could focus on how to care for my own future bride and
children. I loved Gloria and I wanted to show her every day.  
  
So, here we are, my mother, my stepfather, my wife, and my child, all on my
son's first birthday. "The cake's ready," called Gloria after hanging up the
phone.  

"On my way," I said, standing up from my recliner.  
  
"Want some company?" asked Mom, standing up off the floor, where she was
sitting next to Dan, playing with little Danny.  
  
"Sure," I smiled.  
  
As soon as we were out of the driveway, Mom smiled and said, "Happy
anniversary, baby."  
  
"Happy anniversary, Mom."  
  
"Did you find us a place?"  
  
"Of course. A girl from work is out of town for the weekend, so I told her
that would give me a chance to replace her faucets like she wanted, without
disturbing her use. I took care of it yesterday, but I still have her key."  
  
"Mmm, sounds good," she said, squeezing my knee.  
  
As soon as the front door was closed, Mom dropped her purse and I pressed her
back toward the couch. "Do you believe [kissing] it's been [kissing] six
years?"  
  
"I can't believe Danny [kissing] was born on the anniversary [kissing] of our
first fuck!" Mom answered.  
  
I stripped her shirt and pants off as we kissed, my gorgeous mother lying back
on the black leather couch. As much as we agreed not to cheat on our spouses,
we had also agreed that our anniversaries would be the only exceptions. We
would make love on our anniversaries if we could work it out, but if we missed
it, there would be no make-up opportunities. Last year, Danny was being born,
so we missed that one. Mom and I were both completely satisfied with our
marriages and our sex lives. We had confessed to each other that Danny and
Gloria were excellent sex partners, adventurous and loving, willing and able
to pursue mutual pleasure instead of just pursuing their own pleasure.  
  
I was on my knees eating Mom's pussy, her legs splayed lewdly. In a short
time, she squealed and came on my tongue. "Come on," she said, sitting up.
"Let me suck you so you can last." Not one to argue, I stood between her knees
and let my mother stroke and suck me, bringing me to a rapid release. She
didn't stop until I was hard again, and she once again lay back on the couch.
I knelt on the couch between her thighs and pressed into her all the way. We
made love slowly and passionately, before reverting to aggressive fucking. She
wanted it from behind and while I drilled into her, she begged for my thumb in
her ass. I had my thumb completely buried as I made long, rapid strokes into
her pussy. Her fingers worked her clit to bring her to another intense orgasm.  
  
Mom pulled off of me and flipped onto her back again, her legs spread. She
stroked her clit as she made her demand. "Grab the lube from my purse," she
breathed. I smiled and quickly picked up her purse, reaching into an inside
pocket and pulling out a small bottle of clear personal lubricant. I flipped
the cap with my thumb and poured some into my palm before smearing it onto my
shaft and head as I walked around the couch to where my mother lay waiting.  
  
"Let me get you ready," I said as I poured more lube into my hand.  
  
She grabbed herself behind the knees and pulled her legs back and open,
saying, "Just smear some on me. I don't want to wait. I'm ready for your cock
now." Her pussy was open, pink and dripping. Her asshole was wet already from
the arousal that poured from her glistening pink. I simply smiled at her and
dropped to my knee on the couch. I ran my slick fingers around her pink knot,
bringing a gasp from her. She looked me in the eye and said, "Go ahead, put it
in me."  
  
I lowered my hips and rubbed my cock on her rosebud. We both groaned at the
contact. I pressed forward into the familiar, but long-missed gateway and
pressed forward firmly. I felt her open up around me, allowing me access
before holding me tight while I eased my way into her. We moaned together at
the intrusion, both of us feeling something completely different from each
other, but each of us drawing a distinct pleasure. It wasn't long before she
was wrapped around me, her legs around my thighs and her arms around my
shoulders while I pounded into her relentlessly.  
  
The couch squeaked beneath our sweaty skin, rivulets of sweat and oil and
arousal rolling along the creases and wrinkles of the fine black leather.  
  
"Fuck it, baby! Fuck Momma's ass! Cum deep in my ass! I've missed it so much!"  
  
Mom was almost screaming in my ear, her cheek pressed to mine.  
  
"I'm coming!" I cried, feeling the fire building in me. I lost almost all
control of my body, my muscles twitching on their own, contorting my body to
thrust and hold my hips forward, buried inside my lover. I screamed out my
release. I throbbed and pulsed inside my mother's hot, moist bowels, bringing
a squeal from her.  
  
"That's it, baby," she soothed. "Fill me up. Mmmmm." She stroked the back of
my head as my flood slowed. I rested on top of her and slipped out, bringing a
contented sigh from her.  
  
"Happy anniversary, Mom," I whispered.  
  
"Happy anniversary, baby."




End file.

