My life is a cliché.

It’s true: The only child of a solo mum, cliché. My dad left just six months after I was born, cliché. My dad’s an asshole, cliché. My mum was a cheerleader, cliché. My dad was a footy jock, cliché. He knocked my mother up the night of her 18^th birthday, cliché. My mum’s parents forced him to marry her, cliché.

He left less than two years later, cliché. I’ve never seen him since, cliché.

My mother has never taken another lover as far as I have ever seen. She still uses her married name of, Robarts. I don’t think she and dad ever got divorced. However, she does have a lot of female friends. As I got old enough to understand these things, I suspected she was probably a lesbian.

By the way, my mum is as hot as fuck! 5 ft. 7 in. (173 cm) tall and only 125 lbs (57 kg). She has a 37-inch bust, full C-cup breasts, a tiny 24-inch waist, and 35-inch hips.

Mum could be Charlie’s Angels’ Tanya Roberts doppelganger. People always ask her to take a selfie with them and for her autograph. They still want the photo even after she’s told them she isn’t that Tanya Roberts and her name is Tania Robarts.

I’m sure they tell all their friends they met the TV angel.

Logic should have told them she wasn’t Tanya Roberts. The actress Tanya Roberts died last year at 65. My mum has only recently turned 37.

Her body stats haven’t changed much since her cheerleading days. I saw an old school book, and her cheerleader stats were almost the same back then. She was 3lbs lighter, and her bust was an inch smaller, that’s all.

My mum has olive skin, auburn hair and sparkling green eyes. Her nose is thin and shapely, her cheekbones are high and well-defined, and her chin has a tiny dimple when she smiles. I like to make her smile because when she does, she has this year’s, or any year’s, Miss America beaten hands down.

She keeps her figure by religiously working through her cheerleader routine for an hour every single day. I like to watch. Is that weird?

It’s a bit strange having all of your male friends, and many of your female ones, perving on your mum, but I kinda like it. I’m way proud of my mum. She worked her way through community college to become an AIN (Assistant in Nursing). She’s the school nurse at the school I go to.

When she walks the halls, male conversation falters, and eyes follow her ass. It doesn’t freak me out. I like having the hot mum everyone fantasises about.

My mum is the school’s cheerleader coach.

Hey all, I’m Tony Robarts. I’m a high school senior. I turned 18 in late February of this year. I have a story for you that will make you lose your load!

I’m a tall, athletic guy that’s pretty good at most sports. However, I prefer track to the other games. In track, it’s all on you. No teammates you can blame. No lousy referee or umpire decisions can rob you of a victory. No one’s fault but yours if you didn’t work hard enough, train hard enough, try hard enough, or made a bad tactical decision during the race. I like it that way. I’m pretty good. I’ve made all-state for the last three years.

Since my 18^th birthday, mum has started to act a little differently with me than before. I would swear she was flirting with me if I didn’t know better.

She’s always given me lots of hugs and kisses. But before, the kisses would be on my cheek, chin, or forehead. Now she regularly kisses my lips. In addition, she often places her hand behind my head and plays with my hair when she kisses me.

I’ll be sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework, and she’ll run her fingers along the tops of my shoulders. Then, if I’m shirtless, she always runs her fingers up the back of my neck and across my shoulders. She always finishes this act by squeezing my triceps and marvelling how lean and muscled I am.

Everyone knows you’re not supposed to get an erection over your mother, but I can’t help it. I have to pull the chair against the table to hide my hard-on.

Mum notices me shifting closer in and laughs. She doesn’t say anything, but I’m sure she knows I’m hard for her. When I have moved as close to the table as I can get, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses where my neck meets my shoulders.

The strange thing is that before my 18th, she always wore a bra when she hugged me. Now her breasts are almost always hanging free inside her tight top. Her nipples feel fucking awesome against my bare back, but I’m convinced I’m not supposed to feel like that.

I came home from training one afternoon last week. Mum was in the lounge, working her way through her routine. She had pushed the couch and chairs to the edge of the room to give herself plenty of space for her routine. Her routine is an energetic one. It includes lots of leg kicks, jumps and cartwheels.

It is fucking awesome to watch!

I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and sat on the couch.

“Hi, mum,” I said as I settled into place and took the cap off the water bottle.

“Hey, baby,” mum puffed, a little out of breath from her exertions. “How was training?”

“LSD (Long Slow Distance), mum. My favourite.” It wasn’t. I was being facetious. Mum knew that. I brought the bottle to my mouth.

“Just think how good you’re going to feel at the end of your races later in the summer when everyone else is flagging, and you’re still going strong,” Mum panted in reply.

Mum gave a wildly energetic leap right before me, and my tongue went dry. She wasn’t wearing a bra! Her firm breasts bounced delectably.

Luckily, I was so shocked that I tipped the water on my crotch, cooling my immediate erection, not into my mouth.

“Need Mumma to feed you, baby boy?” Mum teased, “Or do you need a sippy cup?”

She cartwheeled across the floor.

OMFG! She wasn’t wearing panties either!

I stood up and bolted for the bathroom holding a cushion in front of my groin. I tossed it behind me as I exited the room. Mum’s laughter followed me down the hall.

I barely got my cock out of my sweatpants before cumming on the floor. I sat on the commode with my legs trembling, gasping. Did she do that on purpose? I couldn’t believe she would. That would mean she wanted me to see her shaved pussy. That she wanted me to become aroused looking at her. That she liked me looking.

None of this could be true. She wasn’t like that. She was reserved, shy, even. Besides, I’m her son. Wanting to turn your son on is just sick, isn’t it?

Groaning, I took my hard dick back into my hand. I pulled up and back only a few times before I came again to visions of my mum’s tight boobies bouncing and her bald pussy flashing past my eyes as she cartwheeled across the floor.

Mum knocked and tried to open the bathroom door. Fortunately, I had locked it. I grabbed some tissue paper and quickly cleaned my cum from the floor and the commode seat.

“You right in there, Tony?” Mum asked through the door.

“Just a sudden need to take a dump, mum, is all. I’m fine.”

“As long as that’s all it was, baby,” mum said. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Can you do your world-famous chicken wings, please, mum?”

Mum laughed, “World famous in our kitchen, honey, that’s all.”

I waited until I was sure she was gone and then crept out of the bathroom and down to my room. I changed out of my cum soiled running shorts and jockey briefs, then hid them in the middle of the clothes in the wash basket. Hopefully, mum wouldn’t notice the cum stains when she did the washing.

I returned to my bedroom, lay on my bed and picked up my textbook. I tried my best to concentrate on the math exam I had coming up. Despite my best intentions, my cock kept trying to grow as visions of my mother in her cheerleader’s outfit played in my mind. I was able to resist masturbating to these images again, just.

“Dinner,” mum called about three hours later.

I pulled some boxers out of my drawer that were way too big, then put on my baggiest pair of sweatpants. Then, pulling my sweatshirt over my head, I looked in the mirror. I hoped the inevitable erection I would get when I saw mum again wouldn’t be too obvious.

Mum had showered and changed before making dinner. She was wearing a baggy pair of sweats. Her face looked freshly scrubbed. She seemed to be glowing from her recent workout. With her hair pulled back into a ponytail and no makeup, she looked way younger than her 37 years.

As she moved, placing dinner plates and food on the table, it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra.

I had to swallow twice before saying, ‘Hey, mum.”

“You wash your hands, Tony?” She asked.

“Of course, mum,” I lied.

“I know where your hands have been, baby boy,” she said to me with a grin. “I don’t want that on my share of the fries.”

Fuck! Did she know I had masturbated to her image earlier?

“What do you mean, mum?” I asked.

“You had to take a dump earlier. I know you boys hardly ever remember to wash your hands afterwards,” she said innocently.

Silently, I walked back to the bathroom to wash my hands.

“You say grace,” mum said when I returned to the table.

“Grace,” I answered with a grin, completing our family’s oldest joke.”

She smiled at me fondly.

We ate talking about this and that. It was all so normal. Had what happened earlier been nothing? Was I reading too much into mum’s actions? Were they all innocent? Had she merely forgotten to wear underwear when she donned her cheerleader’s uniform?

Come to think of it, why was she in her cheerleader’s uniform? I hadn’t seen her in it since her 30^th birthday when she got a little tipsy and put on a show for her guests.

‘How many other guys’ mums still fit perfectly into their high school cheerleader’s uniform at close to 40?’ I thought proudly.

After dinner, I helped mum clean up. We chatted about the upcoming track season, how my studies for end-of-semester exams were going, and which one of the scholarships I should accept.

Mum seemed to stay a little closer than usual. I’d turn from the bench with a plate in my hand to put away, and my upper arm would brush across her breasts. Or I’d turn, and mum would be bent over putting something away in the lower drawers, and my crutch would push against her ass.

Nothing overt, but it seemed ... well ... sexual.

Twice, as she pushed past in front of me, when there was plenty of room behind me, her hand dragged across my Johnson. When this happened, I’d take a quick step back, apologising.

Mum would chuckle throatily and touch my face before carrying on with what she was doing.

I put the last of the dishes away and turned to mum. She was on the bench’s dining room side, vigorously wiping the top down. I had to swallow quickly to get some moisture back into my mouth because her breasts were swinging sexily inside her sweat top in time with her rubs.

I was going hard again.

Leaning further to reach the edge of the bench furthest from her, mums top fell open. I could clearly see the swelling tops of her breasts down the front of her sweat top.

I quickly turned away, but not before my dick’s head spasmed, threatening to cum. I could feel that a little cum wad had squeezed out the eye.

I ran to the bathroom. Then, taking a tissue from the box, I dropped my sweatpants and boxers and cleaned the dob of cum up before the wetness leaked through my pants, embarrassing me even further.

The door opened, and mum walked in. Fuck! I had forgotten to lock the door.

There I was, pants and boxers around my ankles, my hard todger in my hand, cleaning what was obviously cum, off the head of my cock.

It’s just as well you can’t actually die of embarrassment!

Mum looked at my cock, “Hmm, bigger than your father’s,” she murmured.

It was a standing joke on the men’s track team. “How can you tell Tony’s not on the ‘roids? Have you seen the size of his cock?”

Flaccid, I’m over 7-inches Hard, I’m over 8.

As if nothing unusual had happened, mum raised her eyes to my stricken ones.

“‘We Own this Town’ is about to start,” she said. “Want me to pause it whilst you take care of that?” She pointed at my penis.

“No. I’ll be right out,” I managed to squeak.

Raising an eyebrow, mum said, “Take your time, honey. I don’t mind waiting.”

What on earth are you supposed to say to that?

She bit her lip and looked down at my penis again, “Does that get much action?” she asked.

“Mum!” I shouted, shocked. “I’m not answering that!”

As it turns out, it does. My current squeeze is almost two years older than me. I work with her at the local supermarket three afternoons a week after school. She waited until my 18^th birthday before jumping me behind the dumpsters at the market the afternoon of my birthday.

“Happy birthday,” she moaned as she pushed me against a dumpster, pulled her short skirt up and slid her thong aside before taking my dick in her hand and backing up onto it.

I didn’t last even one pump. Natalie (Nat) thought it was hilarious.

“This one’s on me,” she said. “Don’t worry. You’ll get better with practice.”

Nat and I have fucked everywhere in that store. One memorable afternoon, we even fucked on the manager’s desk as he held a department heads meeting, not 20 feet from where we were.

Nat’s a bit of a slut, really. She’s a little overweight, but not gross, you know? She could lose a few pounds, though. Nat loves to fuck, and she goes off like a rocket every time we do.

She’s taught me cunnilingus and says I’m pretty good at it. She’s taught me how to use my dick to please her. How to turn a woman on before entering her. She hasn’t taught me any control yet, though. If it’s been more than a couple of days between fuck sessions, I blow almost immediately the first couple of times I enter her.

She says she doesn’t mind too much because I don’t really go soft. Just a little bendy for a few minutes before I’m good to go again. After a couple of orgasms, I can fuck all night and day (Big smiles, right?).

Nat says I need to watch more porn and ‘edge’ myself. Keeping myself close to cumming, but not over the edge, so I learn better control. But where’s the fun in that? What’s the point of watching or reading porn if you’re not going to cum?

“So does that mean ‘yes’ or ‘no’ then?” Mum asked.

“I’m not talking to you about this, mum!” I emphasised as I pulled my pants up and pushed past her out of the room.

Somehow, her hand got tangled up in my sweats as I slid past her. I could have sworn she gave my cock a bit of a squeeze, but she couldn’t have, right? That would just be wrong.

I bolted for my usual seat, jumped into it, and quickly pulled a cushion onto my lap to hide my erection.

As if we hadn’t just had the world’s most embarrassing mum and son encounter, mum strolled into the lounge and turned the sound back up on the show. The introduction credits were just beginning to roll.

The following day I rolled quickly out of bed, into my running gear, and out the door. Mum opened her door as I rushed down the hall.

“I’m going to run to school,” I mumbled over my shoulder as I opened the door and left.

Running with a backpack on is one of the training exercises I do. Weight a pack up with about 40 lbs (18 Kg), then run 3 — 6 miles (5km — 10 km) as fast as I can. It’s about 5 miles to school (8 km). Having my school pack with about 10 lbs in it was a cinch.

“What about breakfast?” She yelled after me.

“I’ll get something from the café at school,” I yelled back.

“See you after you’ve finished work,” She yelled.

I had a shift at the store this afternoon. I was looking forward to easing some tension with Nat.

I made it through school. Every time I saw mum during the breaks, I’d duck down another hall or exit out a door. After I did this the first couple of times, I think it became a game with her. After that, she appeared whenever I felt I had found somewhere safe to sit down.

I ran to the store after school. To my chagrin, Nat had called in sick.

“Probably ‘women’s troubles’,” my supervisor sneered. “Never hire a woman, cos they always have ‘women’s troubles’ and don’t come in.”

‘Fuck me, what a pig,’ I thought. ‘Is this 2022 or 1972?’

He does the roster and assigns the shifts, so I said nothing.

By the time I got home, my balls were aching, and my cock was throbbing. I badly needed to ‘nut one out’.

I walked in the door, “Hi, mum,” I called.

Silence greeted me.

I knew she was home. Her car was under the port. Looking around, I saw her laptop was on the dining room table.

‘Probably looking up a recipe for tonight’s dinner.’ I thought.

I had a look to see what was on the menu. A Google search box was up: ‘Slut mother to Dominating son,’ was the search.