My friend Tamara had told me that the only people who took out personal ads in our local weekly were "horny yuppies with more money than brains."

However, I had recently finalized my divorce after twenty-seven years of marriage, and I simply didn't know how to play the modern dating game. Besides, I could think of a lot worse things than a man with a fat wallet, a lonely cock, and an empty head.

One advertisement called to me again and again: "Good-looking professional, 26, who enjoys romantic encounters in dark theaters with mature women who remember the days of candlelight and roses. Let's share a bottle of fine, properly aged wine together and discuss our interests."

Tamara groaned when I pointed it out to her. "Kim, you're old enough to be that man's mother," she said as she jabbed her scarlet fingernail at the number 26. It was true, alas. I didn't like to remember it, but my own son was exactly that age.

"Well, he does say he likes mature women," I said.

"Kim, to a boy of 26, 47 isn't mature, it's ancient! Either that, or he's looking for a sugar mama. Why don't you let me set you up with my cousin Brian!"

Cousin Brian, I remembered, had hunched shoulders and looked a decade older than his fifty years.

"No, thanks. Tamara. I think I'm going to check this one out."

I sent him a cautious note, along with a photograph that showed my body from the neck down. Maybe I was being TOO cautious, but I wasn't ready to have naked photos of myself circulating around town with my real face or name attached! I reasoned that a good, long look at my lean, well-maintained figure would he enough to tell the man what he needed to know.

A couple of weeks passed, and then I found a note in my mailbox telling me to drop by a certain club any Tuesday for the next month. "I'll be the one with the silver wine bucket," he promised.

"Don't go." Tamara said. "You haven't even talked to him on the phone. Are you crazy!"

"Look," I said. "We're meeting in a public place. I'll just steal a look at him and if I don't like what I see, I'll leave. No worries, right!?"

Tamara just shook her head as I shimmied into a tight white skirt that she couldn't have worn since the summer of '67. It wasn't fair that I had such a firm, small belly since I'd had a kid and Tamara hadn't, but hey. That's the breaks. Anyway, I didn't need to fuss much with my appearance. I slicked on some coral lipstick and stepped into a pair of white, high-heeled sandals and I was ready to go.

The club was moderately crowded. I scanned several busy tables for a minute before I saw the one in the corner where a man sat alone with a silver bucket and a bottle of wine. Although I was looking at him from behind, where I could see nothing but the blonde curl that hung down like an inverted question mark from the back of his short, thick hair. I knew it was Matthew. My own son!

Just then he turned and saw me. Our eyes met across the crowded barroom floor. I remembered the sexy fantasies I'd had while slithering into my tight skirt, and I wasn't willing to give up the dream. I felt a sudden moistness in my panties as I realized how handsome my son really was.

"Mom!" he said, getting up and coming across the floor. "What are you doing here!"

I laughed. "Well, Matt, I guess you invited me!"

He flushed and then laughed as I explained. Somehow we wound up tucked in the corner table, where a waiter materialized to pour the wine. I could tell from his manner that he assumed that my son was actually my lover, and the way I giggled when I tasted the expensive libation did nothing to contradict that assumption.

"I didn't know you liked 'mature' women," I said to Matt after the waiter finally left.

"I suppose I have you to thank for that." He clicked his glass to mine. "You're a beautiful woman, Mom. Beautiful, intelligent, and sexy. I've often wondered where I would meet a woman as fine as you."

I felt flustered. We aren't a family that's much on compliments. Besides, Matt had suddenly slipped his hand into mine, squeezing it. I wasn't really surprised when he then took my hand and placed it gently in his lap so that I could feel his crotch. "Just looking at you in that skirt has me so hard, Mom," he whispered. "I need to fuck so bad."

"So do I," I confessed. before I could stop myself. The feel of Matt's hard cock was like a drug on me. My pussy was moistening rapidly. I couldn't help myself. I wanted to fuck my own son!

"I know it's wrong, Mom," me whispered. "But I want you so badly! Maybe I always have."

He wrapped my fingers about the bulge in his pants and instinctively I squeezed his erection. I was shocked at the size and stiffness of his prick. I couldn't remember when I had felt a cock of such prodigious proportions. My pussy was itching with a need to feel it between my legs.

"Come home with me, Mom." he whispered.

My brain told me that it was wrong, but my body wasn't listening anymore. All I wanted right then was my son's long hard cock fucking my neglected pussy.

I didn't remember much about the ride from the club to Matt's apartment except the speed at which the streetlights flashed past. I had both hands inside his pants stroking his hard, throbbing cock while he was driving, and I'm afraid that they may have provided something of a distraction.

When we reached his apartment, soft music came on. He'd wired the place somehow so that it did that automatically. I was surprised at the subtle eroticism of the recording he'd chosen. I suppose I'd expected something crude and vulgar from a younger lover, even if he was my own son. I should have known by now that Matt was a man of exquisite good taste. He took me in his arms and danced with me, waltzing me around his hardwood floor. I kept hunching my hips forward, eager to feel the hard lump in his trousers rub deliciously against my burning pussy.

Despite his obvious desire for sex. Matt didn't rush a thing. He was clearly the master of the show. When the song ended, he kissed me. Not the usual mother/son peck on the lips, a long, lingering passionate kiss that had my pussy bubbling with lust for him. He slithered his tongue into my mouth. I sucked it gently and then a little harder as I felt his hands drift down to unzip the back of my tight skirt.

I tried to remember to pull off one or another of his articles of clothing from time to time, but I was mostly letting him undress me. I was highly aroused, burning from the thrill of surrendering my body to the touch of my very own son.

When we were naked, I made him step back so that I could look at his body... just look at it. He was so beautiful! His shoulders were broad, his chest rippled with muscles, his belly flat, his hips tapered. His cock was long and thick. I was secretly afraid that I wouldn't be able to get all of it inside of me, but I sure as hell was going to have a lot of fun trying.

"It's been a long time since I've had sex," I told him."I feel like a virgin with my own son."

Matt laughed.

"Come here, Mom!"

He took me into his arms and kissed me everywhere. The track of his wet tongue created a sensuous criss-cross pattern as it traversed the sensitive flesh of my too-long-neglected body. I quivered, painfully close to orgasm and yet so terribly afraid that I couldn't take the blast of long-denied feeling, when he sealed his young lips about the small bud of my clitoris.

"It's all right, Mom," he whispered, his warm breath tickling my pussy hair. "It's all right. Let go and enjoy. I'm going to make you feel so good."

He opened his mouth wider, so that he could simultaneously move his tongue down to my cuntslit while he continued to suck gently on my clitty button. I bucked my hips up in total abandon. Having my handsome young son eating my cunt like this was so deliciously dirty I knew I wouldn't last long before I came all over his tongue. My knees wobbled. I wasn't going to be able to remain standing if he insisted on giving me much intense pleasure.