Copyright© 2003

There was a young man of Darjeeling
Whose cock reached up to the ceiling.
In the electric light socket,
He'd put it and rock it--
Oh God! What a wonderful feeling!

When I felt it, I should have jumped up and ran away!

I did start to rise, and felt him beneath me not help nor hinder, and something in me just disappeared. Call it my moral convictions, my sanity - whatever you wish. So I again relaxed and silently gasped when I felt that it had gotten even larger in my very brief absence.

A man, my son, would never get a hard on in the middle of the family picnic by his own middle-aged mother seated on his lap!

Could he?

It had to be simply the friction, it could have been a bag of books or a pail of lobsters that caused his penis to harden. God, I knew men - I had had been married to one for many years. And in those early years, he was a satyr, while my interest in sex was more inquisitive passive acceptance. The levels of my husbands, and my own, sexuality reversed, in the final years leading to our divorce, that my desires were fertile and his own were... well, bordering on marital neglect.

Something had happened to me, caused me to sit back down. Fascination that my twenty-eight year-old son was getting an erection by the weight of his mothers own bottom! It was almost a grand provocative joke - one that I could could never share or even express to another living soul.

My eyes turned and I looked upon my daughter-in-law and her toddler, my two year old grandchild. Guilt welled up within me, for her - as if it should be her bottom having this particular hard cock pressed into it rather than my own. Not that I have had a man press anything hard into me in so many months you must understand.

The only sex that I've had, not counting my own self-induced pleasures, was from one of the companies executives that I've worked with for years. He lived and worked in another city, married unfortunately, but whenever work brought him to me we indulged in rather carnal entertainment. It was very fine in fact, but it was barely three or four days total within every six months. Yet I learnt more from that man in the few days every couple of months we had than I had learnt in the sum total of my marriage. God, I felt like a teenager with him.

That feeling was now present within me - naughty as I continued to sit upon my son's lap. There was so many of our extended family about us - none realizing what was poking my backside.

Tearing my eyes from my grandchild I slowly looked down at my son's face - his eyes looking guilty right back at me. A slow reassuring smile seemed to calm him a little, and with a jerk of his cock I knew that he knew I was not going to leave my perch.

A woman needed to know that she is still attractive - can still entice a man, especially a younger virile man. Yet, how should it make a woman feel if its her own son that is attractive to her?

My niece, my son's cousin, came by and I asked her politely to replenish my wine glass. I needed a drink - or rather - I needed more to drink!

I wiggled against him and wondered what he was now thinking of his old mother - as she enjoyed the hard cock between two thin layers of clothing as it pressed into her round soft ass.

My filled wine glass returned and my ancient aunt, seated on a chair across from me began to ask about my job and if I had any men in my life. The same questions at every encounter with her, and many other family members. Only a small fraction of me paid attention - my faculties were focused inside my son's jeans.

One of my son's hands lifted while the conversation swirled around us and rested gently upon my hip. Even as my venerable aunt went on about her kidneys, my son gently pressed my hip so that I shifted upon his lap slightly to our left.

It was like being slapped across the face - what lay within his jeans suddenly shifted and jerked up against me. It shoved along the groove of my ass pressing the fabric of my dress and my white cotton panty up against my sensitive anus, between the cheeks of my ass.

One of the things I had learnt, since my divorce, was that my ass hole was one of my prime erogenous zones. My husband had never touched me there - but my part-time married lover greatly enjoyed using his finger, his tongue and yes, even his cock within that part of me. At first I was tentative, to say the least - it was dirty, it was going to hurt, only tramps did that - but I found a pleasure that superseded my fears. That was only one, of many, lessons that he taught me.

Since it was a hot day, the sparse clouds doing little to still the burn of the sun, I wore a loose summer dress and conservative undergarments. I was a small woman, barely a hundred pounds - that, I had always thought my face was cute rather than beautiful.

Of course I knew when my son became sexually active - the evidence was politely ignored about our home. I also knew that he loved me - cared for me - as only the best of any woman's offspring can do.

What I am trying to say is that I never had evidence, never conceived that he may become excited, hot, for his old mother! Even during the years that I found evidence of his early sexuality - the wet sheets of his bed, the well-used magazines in a box beneath his desk, the drawings of girls without clothing.

Thats what it was, it wasn't only the friction of my soft ass against his crotch - it was more. It was in the touch of his hand as he had shifted me so that his cock could slid up the length of my ass. It was also that quick look we shared minutes before, how his embarrassment turned to surprise and then bold assurance.

The relatives that went by, some stopping to chat briefly with me or others near by, could never have guessed what went on between this mother and her son. I was the prim and proper mature woman that everyone seemed to confide in but none wanted to be. Of course it was only natural that I sat upon my child's lap - we had always been close and loving, never caring who knew it. Proud of it in fact.