You could say it was a pivotal moment: when I was pulling on my underpants after taking a shower and Mom had hugged me from behind.

Perhaps not such a big deal: except her hands had fondled my cock while her lips nuzzled

into my neck, “ Happy 20th birthday Dick. Mmmn, Twenty with plenty, an growing nicely,” she giggled with gin on her breath, “ give your Mom a birthday kiss darling.”

I turned to find she was only in bra and briefs and her hips pressed into mine.

Her kiss was seductive; causing me to blush at the sexual surge I’d felt.

My breath caught in my throat. I’d fantasied some times, but I’d never seen my mother, a prim brunette, semi-naked before.

Christ she had a great figure! Her breasts were full and high, barely held in check by the little bra she was wearing. Her waist was slim and flared dramatically onto inviting hips. Her legs were long, slender and lithesome.

I simply gaped in awe as my cock stiffened and my arousal was obvious to her.

She grinned at my embarrassment. “ Aw, your so nice I could eat you – my lovely boy.”

She leaned into me and kissing me I could taste the drink on her lips...

She lost her balance a little, rolled into me, pushing me onto my back. She snuggled her cheek into my chest laying half over me.

Her thigh slid up over mine: her warm crotch against my thigh.

My pulse was pumping-up my python which I pressed against her.

“Jesus! Is that for real?” she murmured.

I ran my hand down her back, she shivered, impulsively pushing against my cock.

“God, your massive,” she swooned

She looked up into my face and offered me her gorgeous lips: our breath against each other, the only sound. It was another pivotal moment. Should I take advantage of my own mother when she was clearly drunk?

I caught her full lower lip gently between my teeth, stretching it and letting it pop loose. My hand squeezed her tits as we kissed. Our tongues duelled: our hips writhed: before we pulled apart.

“Guess you enjoyed your birthday kiss – huh?” she slurred, “but maybe I’ve had too much to drink; if only father was here to do what I need.”

She got up unsteadily and went from me.

I stared after her: my mind in turmoil. She’d always been such a priggish mother; ever careful to display a virtuous image: in spite of her provocative breasts always suggesting different.

But now suddenly here was this affable Mom indiscreetly fooling around with her grown son!

I’d only recently been called home from my university campus to support her in the trauma of Father’s sudden death.

I’d been away a couple of years and done some growing up in between.

When I hugged Mother on returning, she’d seemed vulnerable, petite, her breasts pressing for attention. “My how you’ve grown so Dick!” She’d exclaimed.

But I’d soon realised her personality had altered: an emotional shift due to the trauma of Dad’s death. Mother no longer viewed me as the youth to be managed: more the man she could turn too.

Gradually over the following day or so Mom began a teasing game on me, clearly enjoying getting me steamed up over her flirty behaviour: her tantalising tits straining beneath a soft warm sweater, just under my nose: begging to be groped.

Like when she’d called me into her bedroom the following day.

“Hey Dick, help me with new bra hook will you darling?”