This is how my Mom and I became lovers in 1976, more than forty years ago. I’ll try to be as straightforward as I can here, hopefully remembering things fairly accurately. Fond memories like this one have a way of looking different when viewed from a long distance, but I think I have pretty good recollections about this. After all, it is one of the most significant things that has ever happened to me.

I have a hard time recalling a lot of stuff from when I was in college, but I remember what happened in July of ‘76 very well probably because I have replayed it over and over in my head so many times. I know I’ve been incredibly lucky.

What follows is how things actually happened. I think there was a really unique set of circumstances that created the atmosphere and opportunity, but there was also a fair amount of subconscious attraction between us, something that we didn’t acknowledge before. The experience we shared that led up to us becoming intimate had a lot to do with how things turned out. Over the years, Mom and I talked about it a lot and we both agreed that probably nothing would have happened without the specific circumstances at that time.

Before our first time together, I don’t think I had ever really overtly thought about my mother sexually, except a bit when I was hitting puberty. When you’re at that stage of your life, anything with tits and ass and pussy is of interest. Looking back though, I think that the attraction may have been there all along subconsciously, because for as long as I can recall, I’ve had a thing for older women. One of my earliest memories of being turned on was seeing “The Graduate” in theaters. Damn, but I thought Anne Bancroft was hot as Mrs. Robinson. Even though the “You’re trying to seduce me Mrs. Robinson” scene is very tame by any current standard, it still turns me on every time I see it.

I had my share of crushes on pretty classmates, but the thought of getting it on, or better yet, being seduced by one of the married women in my neighborhood was always a huge fantasy of mine. I was really pretty nerdy and shy around girls my own age and had a real hard time getting dates. Like a lot of guys my age, the thought of being rejected and embarrassed was a really big hurdle to overcome. The fantasy of an experienced, horny woman taking charge took all the risk and anxiety out of the whole process. That was sort of my sexual state of mind at the time.

Anyway, flash forward to ‘76, when I’m a junior in college. I was still a virgin and haven’t ever gotten beyond second base with any girl. I waa living at home to save money (my younger sister was also in college by then, going to a fancy private university and money was pretty tight). So, it’s Friday night and I’m basically just coasting, listening to music on my headphones in my room. I’ve been working a swing shift at a can factory (a job my best friend’s dad got for me). I was making really good union money that summer, about $8 an hour, which was pretty close to a living wage back in those days. But it was swing shift, working from 3 to midnight, which totally screwed up my already fairly pitiful social life. So, most Friday nights, I’d come home pretty well bushed and would just sack out and sleep in the next day.

My father was a Ph.D. chemist and ran an analytical lab for a big oil company. I didn’t understand his work that well, but it had to do with testing the quality of gasoline being refined and other products as well. In any event, he had been called out of town to go to another facility in Southern California to help them solve kind of refining process problem. My sister was staying in her college town shacking up with a new boyfriend (I won’t get into how that upset things at home; this was 1976 after all), so Mom and I were home alone, something that was pretty unusual.

The events that brought us together were pretty weird and even now, it seem like one of those “truth is stranger than fiction” things. I don’t think anything would ever have happened between us if it weren’t for those events. Basically, what transpires is, my Mom comes into my room and shakes me awake around 2 or 3 in the morning and tells me she thinks that there’s a prowler in our back yard. Mom wasn’t a particularly excitable or emotional person, so I didn’t think she was imagining things. So, I get out of bed and tell her to wait in my room. I grab a baseball bat and walk to the back of the house, where their bedroom is. Sure enough, I can see someone at the sliding glass doors that lead out onto our deck, trying to get in! I don’t think that he saw me because Mom had turned on the outside lights when she heard noises and her room was still dark.

So now I’m scared -this is the real deal. I hustle back to my room and tell Mom to call the police, so she goes into the kitchen and gets on the phone. She gets through to the cops and tells them what’s happening. By now, we can hear the guy at the back of the house making lots of noise trying to get in and Mom tells them. The person on the other end tells her that we need to sit tight and that a patrol car will be there in less than five minutes, but if he gets in, we have to get out the front door ASAP.

By this time, the freak at the back of the house is going nuts, banging on the siding, cursing and yelling stuff we can’t make out. Then we hear this really loud BOOM and the sound of breaking glass. We found out later that he threw a planter that was on the deck through the sliding glass doors.

At this point, I’m the one on the phone with the person at the police station and I say that he’s in the house and we’re leaving. So I hustle Mom out the front door and onto our front lawn. A minute later, we can see the freak’s shadow in the front of the house and right then, three patrol cars show up simultaneously and then there are four or five cops with shotguns going into our house. They find this nut in the living room and proceed to arrest his ass and take him away. We spend the next twenty minutes giving the cops our statements and then I have to haul some plywood out of our shed and nail it over the sliding glass doorway to close it off.

By now, it’s 4 am and I’m totally exhausted. I tell Mom I’m going back to sleep and Mom says she’s going to bunk in my sister’s room. We go to bed. Mom wakes me up again about a half hour later and says she can’t sleep alone, she’s too nervous. I tell her that she can sleep in my bed and I’ll sit in the chair, but she says no, she’ll be the one in the chair and I should go back to sleep. She just wants to be in the same room. So, I grumble, “That’s fine, it’s your back,” or words to that effect. She smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek and thanked me for looking out for her and then curled up in the chair, wrapping a comforter around her shoulders.

Another half hour later, she’s sitting on the side of my bed, shaking me awake again and asks if she can get under the covers with me, saying she still can’t sleep. For me, this is getting seriously weird, but I say that it’s okay and scoot myself as far to one side as I can, scrunching up against the wall. Mom climbs in with her pillow and settles down, her back to me. I stay as far away as I can, scrunched against the wall, leaving around a foot between us.

Pretty soon, Mom is asleep and a while later, I nodded off as well. I had a really difficult time adjusting to Mom’s presence and didn’t sleep very well at all. I kind of drifted in and out for a long time and things got really blurred and choppy. At some point though, I woke up with Mom spooned against me. As I came awake, I realized my arm was draped over her and my hand was touching the side of her breast.