Copyright© 2004

There was a young idler named Blood,
Made a fortune performing at stud,
With a fifteen-inch peter,
A double-beat metre,
And a load like the Biblical Flood.

Do you want to know the most difficult thing about having a sexual relationship with your mother? Without a doubt - it has to be the fact that you can never tell a soul about it. This is before the age of common Internet access - before there was anonymous ways to communicate with others with, lets say, special sexual interests.

And so, it is not so long ago either, that I was a, seemingly, introverted high-school honour student who lived in a large house with his divorced mother. She worked at the local bank and attended a women's divorcee support group as well as two craft clubs. I studied hard, played baseball in the spring and hockey in the winter. It being a small town - we were known, liked and accepted by our fellow citizens.

What would those same people say if just a rumour of my more complicated relationship with my mother ever became known? I shudder to think - my mom is horrified at the prospect. Yet neither of us wanted to leave the small town and move to big city, to the seemingly safer autonomy of large crowds. This town is where mother had grown up, where I had been born and where our lives were.

So the only alternative was to be ultra-secret lovers.

In the privacy of our own home - mother and I no longer played the script that life handed us. Meaning she did not play the matronly parent and I did not pretend to be the rebellious teenager. Oh sure there were exceptions, where mom had to assert her mature dominance for whatever reason - but these were few and far between. No, in private we lived a carefree, loving and respectful life together. We actually sought out each other's company, we had fun together and we enjoyed just 'being'. We also could not get enough of each other sexually - being like children with a new toy together. Nothing was forbidden and we always shared.

Outside the home, though, we kept our distance. She wearing a stern somber face and I a bored distant one. We never touched each other - even in an innocent way. And we never spoke of anything intimate outside the locked sanctuary of our home.

These strict rules that we both agreed too, forced us to live like hermits. We stayed in the house unless our lives forced otherwise - work and school for the most part. Oh we kept appearances, me with my sports and mom with her clubs.

Mom became distant with her friends - many of whom had deserted her when my father left us for another woman. She balanced this loss by having her son, me, become her closest confidant as well as lover. I, on the other hand, kept a handful of close friends that all thought me a bookworm with a tyrant of a mother that never let me date. Thats the lie I told - that my mom wanted me to do good in school, so I could not date.

If your a teenage guy with an eye on your mother's curves and consider what it would be like to be in my situation, don't think that its all play. I came home from school and started supper - mom arrived, dressed down into her around-the-home sweats and tee-shirt - we ate - then I went to my room to study and she normally read a book or a craft magazine. If I neglected my studies, mom would sit me down and remind me of my responsibilities. If I did not have time to prepare supper, she would order something delivered for the two of us. Often, mom would return home from the bank exhausted and a little cranky - and I learnt how to manage her on those occasions. Or I wanted a cool new thing all my friends are buying, often with their own money from working part time jobs, and mom could not afford it so we would argue. Mom spent one weekend day a month doing all the bills - often her mood was worse at those times than at any other day. We argued any time I drank with the guys, often after one of my baseball or hockey games. I had to take out the garbage, make supper on weeknights, keep my room clean, shovel the snow and cut the grass outside. Mom did pretty much all else about our home.

Yet, guys, it was the most incredible life I could have imagined. Mother loved sex with me, she became a playful lust-filled petite sexy woman and I learnt so much from being with her. There is no other woman, my age or older, that I can imagine being with, besides mom. The soft curvy smooth pale skin - the way she sighs when I first sink my penis into her ready vagina - the sparkle in her eye before we even get undressed. What girl my own age would dress in stockings and garter belt and nothing else, dance before the roaring fireplace and then suck me for nearly an hour, teasing me again and again to the point that I begged for release? What girl would have the experience, the uninhibited nature, or just the desire to be wanton with the one she loved.

I've listened to the guys on my teams talk about their conquests - a fuck here, a blow job there - nothing even came close in comparison to the pleasure that mom delivered.

I did not start out my new relationship with my feeling so fantastically in love. It started with a normal mom-son love that turned sexual. It was raw sex between us back in the beginning - our coupling hard and fast... and loud. We did it often two, three, times a day. We fucked in a multitude of positions and any time my dick got hard - mom would take care of it. I was rookie in the mysterious ways of women - but found an able and anxious teacher in mom. Nothing I wanted to try was denied to me - even when it was the first for her as well.

Time passed and we calmed down in our ravishing of each other so that we were not so anxious to climax, not so anxious to join our bodies with each other. I fell in total and complete love for my mother - a love a man should only hold for his wife. Our sex became more refined, rather than desperate, and we fornicated with slow pleasure-filled movements.

Mom loved to kiss - dancing naked before the fireplace on a cold winter night, or after an hour of sweaty pleasurable sex - our lips found each other. It was one of the most sensual things I could think of between mother and I - our lips kissing not as a mother and child, but as lovers. It was always slow and passionate, it was always patient and a little sloppy. We kissed good morning this way, we kissed as mom came home from work - no matter if either of us were in a fowl mood or not, a kiss was never denied by either of us.

This is a good indication that mother was oral - that her lips, mouth and tongue were an important part of her sexuality. Mother absolutely loved sucking my cock - loved kissing my naked body. Many a night I awoke to the pleasure of mom sucking my hard cock. And she did not suck me as a prelude for intercourse, or at least not often, but until I finish into her hungry mouth. She was ravenous for my sperm, never missing a drop. She drank it direct from my fountain or sometimes scooping it out of herself with her fingers - mom could not get enough. It was the product of her oral delights and she revelled in it.

Mother had a drawer full of lingerie - all purchased since we started to have sex, specifically for me. She loved that I loved her body - visually devouring her with wonder and delight. If there was a second place, for what mom enjoyed doing together, it was for me to look on her with that, now, familiar gaze of lust. For this, she began to take better care of her middle-aged body than ever before - she dressed in sexy and revealing lingerie, she sought out ways for me to visually experience her (like dancing naked before the fireplace). Mother gets so hot, so wet, when she sees how passionate I'm getting just by looking at her body.