My problem was that I was too shy.

Take the time when Mum and I kissed under the mistletoe at Christmas. Admittedly, she'd had a few glasses of wine, but we'd never kissed like that before. She pulled me under the mistletoe, laughing, and took my face in her hands and kissed me on the lips. She was wearing a shortish skirt and a sleeveless silk blouse, with a sprig of holly in her hair, and it felt marvellous when I put my arms round her.

But then I felt her soft lips moving on mine, and her bare arms slid around my neck. Involuntarily, I held her closer, and her body moulded itself to me. The kiss lengthened — it must have gone on for over a minute, which is a long time when you're kissing your mother, and it would have been impossible for her not to have felt my growing erection pressed against her belly. Her eyes were closed, and then the tip of her tongue roamed over my lips.

Eventually we broke apart — I saw that her face was flushed, and her breathing had quickened, her breasts heaving slightly against my chest. Her eyes opened, and she looked at me almost questioningly — and I released her.

Why didn't I kiss her again, using my own tongue to probe her mouth, perhaps fondle her breast? I asked myself that question again and again, but the moment had passed, and we were back to normal.

And then there was when we fought, laughing, over the last slice of toast at breakfast one morning. All she had on was the housecoat she usually wore, and when she hid the toast behind her back I grabbed her, trying to reach round her, and her soft body squirmed against me. I started to tickle her, and the squirming intensified as she shrieked, and then her face was inches from mine, and suddenly we stilled, looking at each other. Why didn't I kiss her, and feel her body?

She often went out in the evenings, and sometimes when she got home she'd come into my bedroom and sit on my bed and talk to me. Instinctively, I knew that this was when she'd had sex, and I was captivated, thinking about what she'd been doing — all right, being fucked.

One night, she came home very late, and I woke up when she switched on the light and stood looking at me. I remember she was wearing a very short, very low-cut plum-coloured dress, and when she perched on the edge of my bed her dress rode right up over her thighs. I mumbled something inane, asking her if she'd had a good time or something, and she took my hand.

'Yes, darling — but I missed you. Cuddle me, dearest!'

I sat up in bed and she snuggled against me, resting her head on my shoulder as I put my arm round her. I could smell her perfume, and looking down I had an unrestricted view of her deep cleavage. Then she tucked her legs up, her thighs gleaming, and my penis stiffened painfully. All I ever wore in bed was my pyjama trousers, and Mum sighed and ran her hand over my bare chest.

'You're lovely and smooth, darling — your skin is so soft — it feels wonderful... '

Why didn't I put my hand on her leg, or reach into her dress to fondle her breast, or kiss her?

Looking back, it was obvious that she was offering herself to me again and again, and all I had to do was reach out and take her. God knows I wanted her — I had for as long as I could remember — but I did nothing.

But it seemed that not everyone was as shy as me, and I wasn't the only boy she offered herself to. I had a friend called Doug, who often came to the house. He was there one afternoon after school, and I suddenly realised that my mother was sitting in an armchair opposite him and letting him see her legs. She was wearing that housecoat of hers again, and a few of the bottom buttons were undone, and she kept crossing and re-crossing her legs, very slowly. Even from where I was sitting to the side of them, I could see high up the inside of her bare thighs, and Doug must have had a perfect view of her panties.

Mum had started to make tea, and she asked Doug to help her carry the things in from the kitchen. They seemed to be gone a long time, and when they came back Mum's eyes were sparkling, and she kept running her tongue over her lips. The housecoat had a fairly low, square-cut neckline, and when she bent over in front of Doug to hand him his tea he must have been able to see her breasts quite clearly.

Afterwards, I asked him if anything had happened, but he said no, although he'd looked away guiltily when he said it.

Then somebody told me they'd seen my mother kissing a boy from another school, and that he'd been feeling her tits. I accused him of lying, but he swore it was true, and then we got into a fight. I ended up with a black eye and a split lip.

When I got home Mum asked me what had happened, but I wouldn't tell her, and then she bathed my lip as I sat in the kitchen. She had on that housecoat again, but when she bent over me I discovered she wasn't wearing a bra, and the sight of her naked breasts made me forget my injuries. After she'd cleaned me up, she kissed me softly on the corner of my mouth — I thought of the boy feeling her tits, and for a moment I was tempted to follow his example — but I didn't.

Thursdays were the nights when Mum usually went to the cinema with her friend Doreen. I sometimes asked her what she'd seen, but she was always vague, simply saying it was a good film. Then, one day I noticed a card on the stairs — it didn't belong to me, and it was obvious that my mother had dropped it accidentally. I picked it up, and saw that it was a membership card to an art cinema club in the neighbourhood. My eyes widened, because it was known to show mainly pornographic films, usually foreign. I'd never been there, because I was under-age, and you had to be eighteen to become a member, but I certainly knew its reputation.

Almost without thinking, I slipped the card in my pocket — I think I thought I might use it to try to get in and see one of the films I'd heard about. It was only later that I wondered if it really belonged to my mother, or if it were something she'd found.

Then I forget about it until a few days later — my mother was in the bath, and I saw her purse on the table. On impulse, I picked it up and opened it — I'd never looked in her purse before, but there, along with the usual credit cards and things, was another membership card — obviously a replacement. I also noticed a packet of condoms, and I immediately thought of my mother being fucked, and visualised her upstairs, lying naked in the bath...

The next night was a Thursday, and I wondered. She usually went out about seven to meet Doreen, and I made some excuse about spending the evening with a school friend, and left the house about six-thirty. I made my way to the cinema — there was a coffee bar almost opposite, and I bought a coffee and sat at the window.

Sure enough, a little later I saw my mother coming along the street. She was wearing a short grey skirt and a peach-coloured sweater, with a white cardigan thrown round her shoulders, but there was no sign of Doreen. As she reached the cinema, a boy of about my age approached her and said something. Then he seemed to be offering her some money, but she shook her head and smiled, and went up to the box office window. The boy held back, and I realised that he must have asked her to help him get in, and then they disappeared through the door, which obviously led to the auditorium.

I finished my coffee and crossed the road to the cinema. I produced the membership card, keeping my head down as I asked for a ticket, but the bored-looking girl didn't look at me, but just glanced at the card and took my money before returning to her magazine.

Once inside, I glanced around — it was very dark, and I found a seat near the back. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw that the cinema was very small, and less than a quarter full. There were no ushers, and it was apparent that there were no restrictions on behaviour, and the age limit didn't seem to be enforced either.

As I looked around, I saw a man with his cock out, idly brushing his thumb back and forth across its head. Another man was having his cock rubbed, very slowly, by a girl young enough to be his daughter, and two women were kissing and fondling each other — one of them had her hand up the other's skirt, both of their thighs gleaming softly in the dim light. Further along my row I saw a boy with a man's head buried in his lap, and I watched, fascinated, as he sucked the boy's cock.

Then I saw my mother's white cardigan a few rows down. I moved down to the row behind her and sat a few seats to the side, and I saw that she was sitting with the boy, and that the row was otherwise empty. She was fixedly staring at the screen, and for the first time I looked at the film.

It seemed to be Scandinavian, black-and-white and grainy, with English sub-titles, and as I watched a group of naked boys and a few naked women were running down a beach and into the sea, and several of the boys had erections. But then my attention returned to my mother — she'd shrugged the cardigan off and spread it across the boy's lap, and I saw her slip her hand under it.

The boy put his arm round her shoulders, and she turned her head towards him and they started kissing. I saw him grip her breast, and Mum's hand moving under the cardigan, and I imagined her fondling his cock, and felt a pang of jealousy mixed with excitement.

They must have kept it up for almost half an hour — I saw my mother's head moving from side to side as she kissed the boy hungrily, and she took his hand from her breast and dragged it up under her skirt. I was tempted to take my cock out and masturbate — I wouldn't have been the only one, but the others were watching the screen, while I was concentrating on my mother making love to a boy.

Then, to my disappointment, they got to their feet and headed towards a dimly-lit exit sign. It probably led to a side alley, and I wondered if I could follow them without being seen. But then I noticed that my mother had left her cardigan behind, and I thought that perhaps they would come back. My emotions were in turmoil, because I was sure the boy was fucking her. I glanced at the screen — A naked woman was kissing an equally naked young boy, who was squeezing her breast as she ran her hand down her body, and the caption read 'You've got a beautiful young cock, darling — I must have it!'

But I was thinking of a beautiful young cock embedded in my mother's vagina...

Then, to my relief, my mother emerged from the exit — if they'd been out in the alleyway, they must have propped the emergency exit door open. But she was alone — the boy must have left, and Mum found her seat again and picked up her cardigan.

Once more she concentrated on the screen — the woman was stroking the boy's cock — and I saw Mum start fondling her breast as she watched. That decided me, and I climbed down over the seats and sat down beside her.

She ignored me, her attention focussed on what was happening in the film, and I sat there, wondering what to do. Finally, I plucked up my courage, and put my hand on her thigh. I discovered her legs were bare, and the feel of her warm, silky-smooth skin felt wonderful. Still, she gave no sign of noticing, but then her hand covered mine, and she slowly moved it up and down her thigh. Then, to my amazement, she lifted it and brushed it against her breast, still staring at the screen. I followed her gaze, and saw a woman, straddling a boy. He looked about twelve, but his cock was enormous, glistening as the woman rose and lowered herself on it while her crushed her breasts with both hands.