Chapter 4

“Hoooo boy,” I breathed. Her right hand was exploring, moving along the length of my cock. Her left hand cupped my balls and hefted them.

“Am I freaking you out?” she asked in my ear.

“I’m about to have an accident,” I gasped.

Her hand gripped tight around my penis. I couldn’t have cum if my life had depended on it.

“Let’s not be in a hurry,” she breathed.

“I’ve never done this,” I panted. “I don’t know what is and isn’t a hurry.”

“My baby is a virgin,” she moaned.

“Your baby is ... your baby,” I gasped. I was worried she was less sober than I thought and I didn’t want her to do something she’d hate herself for later.

“I know, but I can’t help it,” she moaned. “This is so confusing! I know it’s wrong, but I want it so much. All night long all I wanted to do was hold you and kiss you and love you.”

“I get that,” I panted. “All night long I was like I am right now, just from watching you.”

“Like this?” She squeezed my prick.

“Yes!” I gasped.

“Turn off the stove, Bobby,” came her voice in my ear. “I’m not hungry after all.”

“Okay,” I whimpered.

I reached to do that as her hands moved in my shorts.

“Ohhhh I don’t want to let go,” she whined.

“Okay,” I whined back at her.

“But I have to.”

“It’s okay,” I panted. “I know you’re just trying to do the right thing.”

Her hands slid out of my shorts and I gave a huge sigh. I realized I’d been holding my breath, for the most part. I’d used a little air to say a few words, but the rest had been milling around in my chest, looking for a way out. I felt myself being turned around until I was chest-to-chest with my mother. I could feel her breasts brushing against my chest and her lips were inches from my own.

“I’m not trying to stop, Bobby,” she breathed. “I just had to let go of you so I could do this.”

She knelt and, rather roughly, I thought, jerked my boxers down to my knees. My penis, possibly harder than it had ever been in my whole life, got caught, pulled down painfully, and then popped gleefully out, to slap audibly upwards against my abdomen. When it stopped bobbing it was pointing almost straight up, as if it was staring at both of our faces.

Except her face wasn’t up there anymore. It was right there, next to my little buddy. I could feel her breathing on it.

“It is bigger than the last time I saw it,” she sighed.

I wanted to laugh. My body even tried to laugh, but that would have required that some of my muscles relax, and every muscle in my body was just as rigid as my cock was.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

She reached for it. The same hand I had roughed in on my easel earlier that night gripped my penis and pulled it downward, until it was pointed at her face. Panic made it further impossible to breathe as I realized I was about to paint my mother in another fashion... outside the art lab. I was about to spurt all over her face.

“Mom!” I was able to gasp.

She looked up at me. It was as if there was unspoken communication going on.

“Of course,” she said.

Then, instead of stopping me, she stroked my penis twice. I felt the sweet pain of ejaculation begin and my arms rose to flap at my sides, like some demented bird.

She simply leaned forward, opened her mouth, and expertly skinned my foreskin back. Then she sealed the tip of my prick inside as my semen joyfully leapt out into the world. Or her mouth, as it happened. Her cheeks caved in as she sucked gently on my knob, and I heard, rather than saw, her swallow. In the space of less than a minute, I went from virgin to ... well, something else. I’d gotten my first blow job ... sort of.

My muscles relaxed suddenly, and I had to catch myself on the edge of the counter to keep from folding up and falling on the floor. My mother looked up at me with her beautiful eyes, in her beautiful face. She was smiling. There was a little white drip of something ... of me ... at one corner of her mouth. Her fingers came to wipe it off as she stood.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice husky. She took my hand and pulled. I stumbled, but caught myself as strength flowed into my legs. I had to hobble, a bit, as my boxers were still at half mast on my legs, and restricted me from taking a full step.

When it became clear she was leading me to her bedroom, I tugged at her. I was fully aware I’d just had the hardest, most satisfying, most energetic orgasm of my life. If things went based on the historical record, I was already mostly soft, and was going to be that way for the rest of the night.

“I can’t,” I gasped.

She stopped and turned to face me.

“Yes you can.”

I realized she thought I was trying to stop for moral reasons.

“I think you broke it,” I panted, in explanation.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, her voice almost normal, “but I remember how quickly your father could go again. You’ll be fine.”

It was surreal. Only ten minutes before she’d been agonized about the direction she was leaning towards. For me it was different. I’m a guy. I want to have sex, even if it’s with my mother. Actually, since then I’ve learned that’s not true. A large proportion of the male population isn’t interested in their mothers that way. It turns out that it’s really pretty black and white. A guy either thinks his mother is sexy, or he doesn’t. There doesn’t seem to be much in-between. On the other hand, it does seem to be true that most men choose a woman to marry who has many of his mother’s characteristics. All of this is based on anecdotal evidence, of course, but it looks that way to me.

Now, however, all doubt was gone. Whether she’d just rationalized it in her own mind, or whether the act of sucking the sperm from my balls had overcome some barrier, things were now clear for her. She’d made her decision and our relationship had undergone a critical change in the last few minutes.

When we got to her room, she let go of me and shrugged off her robe. She was naked under it. Just like that, the model I had lusted after so much was there, in the room with me, naked, willing.

It was too good to be true. Worry seized me. What if this screwed things up? What if she hated herself tomorrow?

“Mom!” I said, probably too loudly.

She looked at me.

“Are you sober?”

Cut me a little slack, here. I had been dropped into an episode of some science fiction serial, into an alternate dimension, perhaps. I wasn’t at my best, in terms of clear thinking. My mind just threw out what I was worried about.

“Pretty much,” she said.

Now that reply could be taken two ways, in my own alcohol-fogged mind. One way was that her intent in bringing me to her bedroom and getting naked had nothing to do with sex. Rather, maybe she intended to put on some outfit and ask me if I thought it looked good on her. Or maybe she intended to take a shower and wanted me to guard the door. Maybe she wanted to teach me how to knit. It could mean she wasn’t so drunk that she’d commit full-blown incest.

On the other hand, it could also mean she was drunk enough that she was going to do something she thought (or would later think) was stupid. It could mean she was drunk enough that her rational mind wasn’t present, fully aware of what she was doing.

She communicated which of those meanings it was by lying on the bed and assuming the pose she used in the studio, with one of her pillows under her armpit. Her fingers, rather than lying on her abdomen, though, went to press and rub her bulging vulva. It glistened, and her fingers began to glisten as they rubbed.

“Come here, Bobby,” she said, softly.

I looked down at my flaccid penis. My mind was willing, but my flesh had deserted me.

“I can’t,” I moaned.

“Come here!” she commanded.

I was sober enough to know it would be silly to leave my boxers where they were. I bent over and pushed them the rest of the way down, kicking them off. I crawled onto the bed.

She guided me to lie beside her, not quite touching her. I just naturally got into a similar pose, except that I didn’t reach for her other pillow to stuff under my armpit. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stared at her.

“Bobby,” she said, softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt,” I said. I blinked. “Part of me isn’t working right now, but I think it will eventually be okay.”

She smiled.

“I want this to work between us. It’s important that whatever happens, be the right thing ... for us.”

“It is,” I said, mindlessly.

She didn’t roll her eyes, but I think it was a close thing.

“I’ve never talked to you about your father,” she said.

I leaned back. Where had this come from? Here I was, naked with the most beautiful woman in the world. I could imagine the taste of my semen was still in her mouth, and she wanted to talk about that?

“That’s because he hurt me badly,” she said. She paused, and since I couldn’t think of anything to say, I kept quiet. “I was crazy about him,” she finally went on. I thought he felt the same way. I know now that just used me, that all he wanted was the sex, but I was blinded by my feelings back then.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally got out.

“I know,” she said, dismissively. “What I want you to know, though, is that I loved the sex, too. I loved everything he did to me and ... well ... he was very inventive. He wanted a lot of sex, and he liked doing it in lots of different ways.”

I wondered why she was telling me this.

“Then he disappointed me,” she said.

Talk about the understatement of the century.

“I couldn’t trust men after that,” she went on. “But I still wanted to feel ... those things ... the things he had made me feel. That has never gone away, but I never trusted another man enough to let him ... help me. I had to use ... other measures.”

Her talking had made me more comfortable. I hadn’t been required to do anything other than lie there and listen, something I was fully capable of, so I had relaxed a little. I also couldn’t see her body, which helped. Looking at her face felt pretty normal, so I behaved a little closer to normal.

“Like what?” I asked.

She looked me dead in the eye.

“I own a collection of sorts, of what I believe they call adult toys.”

Images of pictures I’d seen online flitted through my head. Primarily they were amorphous, meaning I didn’t get a clear picture of the girl’s face or body. What was in all of them, though, was an oversized dildo of some sort, usually either beside a grinning (amorphous) face, or plugged into a very full pussy.

“Okay,” I croaked.

“That’s been acceptable ... until now,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her. Her voice got a little stronger. “Now I’ve found a man I do trust, a man who won’t abandon me, no matter what ... a man I already love with all my heart.”

I kid you not. At that exact moment, I felt my penis twitch, and knew, somehow, that it was trying to get hard again.

“I don’t want to ... damage ... that man,” she said, “but I want very badly to make love with him.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

The change to her face was dramatic. She looked disgusted for a split second.