Copyright© 2002-2003

I dined with Lord Hughing Fitz-Bluing
Who said, "Do you squirm when you're screwing?"
I replied, "Simple shagging
Without any wagging
Is only for screwing canoeing."

Mom turned into a ball away from me and sobbed loudly, "What have I done", she repeated over and over. She was hiding her face in her hands, as if hiding from the reality of my bed.

Me, I was breathing deeply, trying to relax my sweaty quivering body after such a surprising and enjoyable fuck. I was looking down at my slimy wet exhausted cock and then over to the glistening white flesh of my mothers bare ass - remembering with clarity, the pleasure we had found together.

Through a dry mouth I croaked tentatively, "Mom... ?"

Her reaction was very confusing - she had seduced me, she had screamed out for me to fuck her harder and faster, she had even orgasmed again and again. Had she not enjoyed it?

God damn it! Women, yes, even my own mother, were so god damned confusing!

"Mom, its OK!" I put a hand upon the top of her soft raised hip, which caused her body to freeze and she wiggled another few centimetres away from me. I pulled it back, knowing my touch was no longer welcomed.

I had allowed it, of course. Her seduction and our eventual intercourse I mean.

This was the first visit to my apartment for mom, hours away from home by train or car but still close enough to my University for a visit. It was obvious to me, even before she arrived, that she missed me. After she arrived she told me she wanted to go and see everywhere her son 'hanged out' - if you can believe that. Well I could not take her looking middle-aged and very much like a suburban mother. It was embarrassing! Laughingly, she agreed for me to make minor adjustments; suggesting she change her hair, loose her old coat, forget the nylons and unbutton a few buttons on her blouse. With gusto she did all that I asked without even a characteristic negative comment. The end result was startling; she did not look like a twenty year old - nothing could do that - but she did look amazingly better. And I thought nothing about telling her how great she looked, heaping praise upon her; how that skirt showed off her sexy curves that the open blouse was suggestive without being frank about it.

Mother ate it up - each compliment seemed to empower me to mold her more to an image that should not embarrass me too much.

So there we were, the second afternoon of mom's visit - tromping through campus showing her my lecture halls, the library, even stopping to chat with a few of the people in my classes. I saw the appraising looks of my male peers, admiring the handiwork that was now my mother - mom saw it, that way, as well.

As innocent as it seems now, I was proud of her, proud to be with her. She was looking great and was not acting in the dominant maternal role - in fact she seemed anxious to do everything I asked.

Before we even hit the off-campus bar and grill she was flushed and giddy like a teenager, hanging off my arm as if afraid this was all a dream and she should wake up with my dad snoring next to her and a sink full of dishes to clean.

Well, after a few wine coolers and then a beer, some finger food and then two shots, mother was much more relaxed. In retrospect, probably too much. She drank willingly, and after that first wine cooler, much more than I had ever seen her do at home. She still clung to me - usually just holding my hand. I thought it irritating that I had to baby-sit her to the point that she nearly panicked when I got up to go take a leak or the flushed pleasure at my return. We were in constant contact, so much that I was embarrassed to be holding my mothers sweaty small hand constantly, so I removed it and would wrap my arm about her shoulders or place my hand on her mid-thigh. All innocently, of course. Mother seemed to enjoy these new touches more so than holding hands.

A year ago she would have yelled from the top of the stairs for me to turn this type of music off - now, after several drinks, she was wiggling in the bench seat next to me, constantly looking at me for approval - as if afraid I should tell her that she was embarrassing me, my mother acting so loose. Or as my father would probably say, "Act your age!" When her head was turned I could not help but laugh at how her visit was turning out - how easy I discovered that a little compliment and positive reenforcement seemed to change her from the woman I have known all my life.

The place was emptying out - there was not that many people to start with, as it was a long weekend - so I thought it safe to dance in public with my drunk mother. She tried, I will give you that, but she could not get her body to bump and grind to the beat of the music that played. So I was thankful when another song came on and she wrapped her arms about my neck and pressed her soft curvy body, I thought it innocently at the time, against my own. Naturally, I wrapped my arms about her waist which seemed to lock ourselves against the other.

She had to reach up on her toes to tell me, across the loudness of the music, "I have not been dancing in years honey!" Mom caught my eye and I could see that she was thinking about something before she again leaned toward my ear, "I don't remember the last time I felt so... sexy."

Her use of that word startled me and I turned my head to look into her eyes, her face held an impish embarrassment. Mothers are not supposed to be, or feel, sexy... are they?

Then I felt it. And again.

Mother was pressing her groin into my thigh, which I realized with small humour, was still out of tune with the beat of the music.

She saw my comprehension to her movement and she leaned up yet again. "You would not believe how wet your mother is honey!" And before the shock of that statement sunk in she followed up with, "I want you to take me back to your apartment and fuck me!" She pulled back her face so that we were looking into each others eyes, I saw only a very nervous but very serious middle-aged woman.

Drunk or not she had just past a barrier that I did not even contemplate - I kid you not. As an early adolescent I had realized mother was a woman, with legs, breasts and ass that I enjoyed looking upon. Those thoughts disintegrated immediately after my first kiss with a girl my own age, and I had all but forgotten them after my first time with a girl.

Mom was wiggling out of time with the music, mostly so that she could grind and rub against me I now realized. Her face was looking into my own and saw my hesitation and I saw that spark of fear that that caused. If I spurn her now, here in public, I would harm her, harm our relationship as well. And of course I could not do what she desired, it was only a drunks hazy concept of reality. Wasn't it?

I leaned down to say into her ear, "Lets go back to my place mom."

Her face brightened immediately up, the fear gone, and a new twinkle existed within her eye. I knew what she thought and it embarrassed me terribly.

All I wanted to do was get her back to my place, get her to lay down and god help me, prayed she would pass out and wake up forgetting this crazy night.

As you know, it was not to be.

For one, getting mom out of there, even off the dance floor was tougher than I imagined. She started to kiss, with plenty of saliva and tongue I assure you, my neck and chin. It was embarrassing and I tried hard so that she could not find my lips in any close proximity to her own. The rubbing against me was now obvious to any that should look that the woman was in heat. Hell I had to pull her hand from between us four times, as it moved toward my zipper.

I half dragged her off the dance floor and back to our table, finally. Before I could curse her for embarrassing me, for acting so lewdly she suddenly dropped onto my lap facing me, straddling my legs. Her loose skirt had risen and I could feel the damp heat even through my jeans as it ground against my crotch. Mother leaned against me and whispered non too quietly, "I want you to make me scream tonight honey! Make me do things I have never tried with your father. Fuck my cunt until I can't stand!" She then said in a little girl voice, "Would you do that for your mommy?"

Pushing her roughly off me, partially because I was embarrassed that my cock was starting to harden with the direct attention it was getting and knowing she could feel every centimetre of it, she mistook my actions for my anxious rush to get home and between her legs.

Mother giggled as I dragged her from the bar and grill, she would not shut up the three blocks to my apartment, giddy like a school girl. I learnt way too much about her on that short walk; about her lack of sex with dad these last years, that he was the only man that she had ever had, that she often masturbated thinking about me, that she wished we had done 'this' years ago, that she could already tell that my 'cock is bigger' than my fathers and was bigger than even in her dreams - having felt it through her wet panties for about a minute at the table in the bar.

Just as we walked up the two flights of stairs to my floor, she kept wiggling her ass and teasing that I could do more than look now with her bottom. Even giggling as I unlocked my door that she knew some women liked having a man fuck their asses, and she would do that, and anything else I wanted to do to her, if I wanted too.

Now, so you don't think I'm some type of statue - that I did not notice the opportunity here, something I had never contemplated. Yet now that it was so openly offered, I realized that I got a mental rush, and another a bit lower down as well, when I thought about how nasty and kinky it would be if only I gave in and fucked my mom. It had to be the ultimate sexual adventure I could think of. I mean I've lost my cherry years ago, had countless blow jobs, fucked numerous girls in the ass, bound them up, spanked some very sexy asses, even tried peeing on a couple. But my drunk giggling mother would surpass all that wouldn't she?

The door closed and I turned to see mother already half undressed, naked from the waist down and now fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. The expectant pleasure on her face was obvious as she did not take her eyes from me.

I should think, after diagnosing that gaze and the rest of our day, that mother may have some incestuous fantasies that I had never thought of. A private kink within her own mind that surpassed my own experiences as well as my own imagination about her. This was my mother for gods sake. She had near-silver hair, loosely bound thanks to me, shapely legs but with fleshy upper thighs, a generous round ass and wide hips, large pronounced breasts, small of bone, nearly ten centimetres shorter than I and several kilograms.

When the blouse and white lace bra fell to the floor my naked mother gave me no more time for thought as she rushed me, wrapping her arms about my neck and drawing my lips down to hers. The kiss, sloppy wet, desperate and very passionate.

Her sobbing was getting louder, probably proportional to her soberness. We had fucked like mad animals I recalled with a wide smile; with enthusiasm that I do not believe I had ever encountered, in all the ladies that I mounted before. She seemed to like when I took control; when I roughly commanded her pleasure.

Mothers orgasms were numerous, I had not even tried to count, two to one of my own, at the very least. Hell, I had not even softened between. We had fucked standing by the door to my tiny apartment, then with her kneeling on my bed with me behind, which she seemed particularly fond of, and then with me on my back and she bouncing wildly above me. I had emptied my seed in her in that position and she had collapsed upon me - but before she had time to, perhaps, contemplate what we had done, I had spun her onto her back, placed her heels on my shoulders and started to pile-drive like a maniac into her again and again. She had clawed at her own nipples, one sporting my teeth marks from earlier in the hallway, had tried to pull my face down to kiss me, unsuccessfully, had screamed out vile very un-motherly words and phrases as I fucked her till we both collapsed upon my soiled bed, exhausted and dripping with sweat.

Mother slowly sat up, and I could see the lack of strength in her tired and abused body. She was still crying and I was still laying there naked and soiled watching her, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. All day she had been another person, and then her bawdy actions at the bar and then the wild, hours long, ride with my prick buried in her body. Now this.

Sighing, I sat up and placed a hand upon her trembling shoulder, ignoring her attempts to shrug me off. "Mother?"

"Leave me alone... don't you know what we have done here!" It was not a question that I think she wanted answered just at that time.

The sobs became louder and my soft and gentle attempts to sooth her were starting to grate upon my nerves, particularly as they were not working. It was nearly four in the morning, mother and I had fucked like animals, probably waking most of my neighbours, and she was sitting there full of guilt and blame. Had I not tried, and endured more than most men could endure, to stop her fires? To ignore those bawdy offers from my own mother?

My anger started to rise - not so much from mothers emotional pain, but from my own realization that I had given in to her drunken lust and now we found ourselves in this mess.

I pulled my hand back and growled rather loudly, "Then get the fuck out!"

Mother jumped at the harsh sound of my voice and spun around to look at me with red tear-filled eyes, fearful surprise evident in her look. It was the first time I had ever talked to her in this manner.

"Just get out mom! Go back home and pretend this never happened if that is what you want?"

She sniffled and reached a hand for my leg, which I roughly pulled away. "Honey... ?"

"No! I said get out! Put your hair back up into a bun, dress like a grandmother and go back to your dirty dishes, your vacuuming and your bridge night mother." I almost said it but I bit my tongue at the last second, for her to go back to dad. Perhaps him most of all, had been hurt the most - and he did not even know it.

She opened her mouth but I wasn't finished venting my anger, so I jumped off the bed, standing over her, "You come here, let me think you're having a good time, get drunk, embarrass me in front of my friends like some drunk old lady," actually there was no one at the bar and grill that I knew but it didn't seem prudent at that moment to mention the truth, "stagger back here and get naked barely before the door was closed." I took a deep breath, seeing her tears running anew. "Do you want to know something? I was actually having fun with you - then you start acting like some slut at the bar. Want to know what I was going to do when I got you home... do you? I was going to put you to bed and hope you slept the booze off and forgot how fucking nuts you had been acting." Again I didn't think to mention that I had actually enjoyed the thought of fucking my mother, another notch in my male bravado belt, and gave in to her offers.

She had brought up her hands half ways through my emotionally destructive outburst but suddenly let one drop and reached toward me. It was almost as an offer of peace, an atonement of her own emotional outburst that she wrapped her tear-wet palm about my soft soiled cock. I hesitated in my anger as she started to lean forward, about to do that which I knew she had never done, from the educational walk back from the bar a few hours earlier. In fact, she had admitted to me earlier, that it was one of her favourite fantasies, sucking me, me fucking her face, tasting my come, even hosing down her skin with my cream.

That I should have mothers lips wrapped about my cock, knowing she would be tasting both of our juices upon me, as another notch to my male ego, was enticing. I also know my cock has had enough for the night.

I quickly pulled from her grasp, her lips having just touched my circumcised head before yanking it from her. "No mother! When I want a blow job I'll tell you!"

I stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind me.

I awoke upon my second-hand couch with an aching head and a cold chill down my spin as I remembered all. Even my childish outburst at the end. Slowly I sat up, seeing mothers and my hastily discarded clothing by the door to my apartment.

Wrapping the thin blanket about me I stumbled to my room, looking for mother, prepared to apologize to her, to promise to attempt to get past the things we did last night. My room, though messy, was empty. Mothers suitcase was gone as well.

It wasn't a very large apartment, only a single bedroom, and standing there in the doorway I knew she had left after I half-passed out on the couch after screaming at her. Oh god, the things I had said!

All that she had left was the clothing she had worn the night before, probably because she did not want something to remember last night by, the stains upon my white sheets, and the very thick smell of our pleasure within my bedroom, evidence.

I found her note after my long cold shower:

Honey, I am sorry to leave like this but I think it best. I know

you will agree. I had let myself go last night, something I had

never done, but I assure you it will never happen again. I do

love you, with all my heart. Please forgive me. Mom

The reason I made the trip back home Thanksgiving weekend was simply to see mom. No! Not to taste another sample of the incestuous pleasures we had before - but something in her note that I felt real pain toward her.

That her one time for letting go had ended in such a disaster. That my mother should always live with her true feelings and character forced down insider herself was a hurtful thing to me, now that I know about it. I did not mean to recommend this form of 'letting go' to her, but that under controlled conditions, it was probably a good thing to let ones self 'go'.

What my trip meant to her, though, I had no idea. I knew that mother had desired me for many years, she had said so several times that one fateful evening. That was something I would try very hard to ignore, the memories of our pleasure, her screams of passion and the touch and taste of her. It could not happen again, the first time had been tough, an emotional roller coaster.

My younger sister came to the door before I even stepped up to it - a big hug, then a firm handshake with dad, whom I could barely look in the eye, and then a distant wave from my older sister and her husband.

You see, our home-life was not some back hills shack where booze, fear and barely-contained lust lay below the surface. I had never seen my mother naked before that night. My younger sister and I used to practise kissing - but I had stopped that when I found a steady girl, that was not my sister, to practise with. Sure I knew she was a little hurt at the time, having romantic and sexual thoughts about her sexy big brother - but we had talked about it only recently, before I left school, and she thanked me for not taking advantage of the 'situation'. That was as crazy as it ever got in our home.

I found her, my mom, in the kitchen, of course, cooking. I dare not touch her, for fears of my own resolve and not her own, instead called from across the wide room, "Hi mom."

She turned and sweetly said, "Oh hi honey." Though most would think it was perfectly normal, I saw a hidden embarrassment within her eye that she quickly turned away else I should discover it. "I'm glad you came home for the long weekend."

I said with more meaning that I intended, "Do you?"

Her head turned slowly and I saw that she was about to say something, when my older sister came bounding in the room to help mom with the vegetables. I simply turned and left her to her work.

After supper, and a huge feast it had been too, my older sister and her husband had left for home, my younger sister excitedly left the house on a date with her steady boyfriend, leaving dad and I to finish the game on the television and mom doing the final touches cleaning up the kitchen.

I knew she was hiding from me - whenever I was in a room she was in, she never made eye contact and barely said two words, to anyone, let alone me. As if asking if anyone wanted more mashed potatoes would give away the night of hard sloppy sex she had with her only son.

When dad was snoring before the buzzer ended the game I stood up and entered the kitchen. Gone was the organized mess from our feast and mother seemed to be cleaning a clean patch of the counter.

Mother turned and looked, only at my feet, to see whom had entered the kitchen and I saw her redouble her effort on the clean patch of counter.

Taking the few steps to stand beside her I placed a hand upon hers, the one doing circles on the counter. "Mom?" She froze which gave me time to look quickly at her. She was a mess, after a long sweaty day of hard work feeding her family and then cleaning up after them. I never realized how hard she worked to give us our home, our 'normal' family. I also realized how much strength it must have taken to let herself go and take the chance with her fantasy, knowing that if the truth came out, if her attempt had failed, she took a chance with her whole life and the relationships of all the people in her life. The realization of her extreme wish for that fantasy hit me.

Perhaps that set the tone for the next several minutes, and perhaps the rest of our lives in fact.

Her near-silver hair was tied back into a bun, as per normal, but after her day was loose with many strands hanging down. I lifted my other hand to pull some strands back to tuck behind her ear.

"Please stop."

I didn't.

I took the rag from her hand and threw it into the sink and then turned her two shoulders so that she was facing me. Like a rag-doll, neither helping or resisting, she moved as instructed.

Stepping forward I wrapped both my arms about her torso and gave her a loving firm hug. With much emotion I whispered into the top of her head of messy hair, "I'm sorry mom!"

And I was.

Her body started to tremble before a sob burst from her and her arms suddenly wrapped about my waist in a possessive thankful grip. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for all the stupid things I had said, why I had gotten angry that night had nothing to do with her, that I thought was was a very attractive woman that should learn to let go once in a while, but not with me. Instead I said nothing and just held her as she cried into my chest.