Chapter 2

I know that, to you who are reading this, many years later, it seems I was an incredibly stupid young man, or at least dense. To have my mother first masturbate me and then put my penis in her mouth as it spurted seems clear and simple to you as an indicator of where things might be headed. But remember, I was fourteen, in a small town that was pretty conservative, and where talk of sex was restricted to the playground, or the infrequent sleepovers we had in those days. Sex education was just beginning to be talked about as part of the health classes taught in those days. And, for the most part, “Health Class” meant instruction on the importance of hygiene in combating disease. Those were the days when people didn’t take baths every day like most do nowadays. The ‘ration mentality’ of the war and the Korean conflict that followed had only begun to abate in the last four or five years, and many people of my mother’s age were very frugal when it came to household expenses. Even though my mom was well off, due to the insurance settlement, we didn’t live a grand lifestyle. Other than the fact that there was no man coming home at the end of the day, you couldn’t have told us apart from any of our neighbors.

But a vibrant young woman, whose dreams of a family, dreams which only a few years ago were ripe and ready to burst like buds on a tree in spring, couldn’t be blamed for trying to revive those dreams. Those dreams wouldn’t have been understandable to a fourteen year old boy, with his own set of problems and dreams. And the fact that she never told me, at least not then, how she was feeling and what she wanted out of life, is completely understandable now that I’m older.

She knew what we were doing was something that society would lambaste us for if anyone found out. She resisted what was slowly happening inside her as her passions grew and grew. She tried to find a man to sate those passions with, in the way our neighbors would have called “normal”. But the men she met were always compared against the standard of my father. And all were found to be wanting. She later told me that, as she spent time with these men, the thoughts uppermost in her mind were: “Would I want to bear this man’s children? Would I be thrilled to welcome this man into my arms each day? Would this man be a fitting father for my future children? Do I love this man?”

And each time she found, much to her dismay, that the answer was “No.” to all of those questions. And, inevitably, after finding those answers, she’d find herself washing a boy... almost a man ... who she did love. A man she admired, who had a good heart, whose innocence was something that fed her passions. A man she’d always be glad to welcome into her arms at the end of the day.

Can she be blamed so harshly for looking at me as a possible donor of the seed that would fulfill her dreams?

That night, as I felt her warm, naked body slide between the sheets of her bed and press against mine, she was feeling that ... maybe ... her dream was back within reach. She wasn’t a predator. She wasn’t being mercenary about it. She just wanted what every woman wants ... a man to love, and to cleave to, whom she feels safe with and loved by. And the emotions that were raging through her that night didn’t leave room to think about the ramifications of what she was thinking about doing.

I suppose a psychologist might say that the desires uppermost in her mind were so strong that they blocked out that part of her intelligence that would have told her she mustn’t do what she was planning at all. And, if she just had to do what she was planning, she mustn’t do it without taking the appropriate precautions. I, for one, think that the fact she had never been on any kind of birth control in her entire life had more to do with it than anything else. Birth control pills had been invented, but would not become widely available to women for another year. When she’d married my father she was a virgin, and they had wanted to start a family immediately. After he’d died she assumed that, if she decided to let a man into her inner sanctum, it would happen slowly ... would evolve ... that she’d have plenty of time to think about what to do before the gates of that inner sanctum were breached.

Now I know that you, the reader, who have had time to assimilate all that had happened thus far, are fidgeting in your seat, leaning forward ... saying “What do you mean? She’s been playing with you sexually for years! She had years to prepare for this night.”

But you must understand that she never intended for our play to go as far as it had. She never anticipated wanting to swallow my prick ... to take my semen inside her body. And when it happened it was as unexpected as when a virgin, thinking she’s going to the Prom only to dance and perhaps flirt with a boy, suddenly finds herself in the back of a car, Prom dress gathered at her waist, as something completely unanticipated thrusts through her barrier and penetrates her to her very core.

What I’m saying is that she was just as surprised at sliding between those sheets to join me as I was.

And her sigh of “Oh Bobby” as she did so was not a sigh of acceptance, or passion, or even lust, as you might expect. It was a sigh of remorse as that little part of her brain that knew she was doing something that would turn our life together on its head tried one last time to penetrate her passion and lust.

Had I said “Yes?” or “What Mom?” or any of the other possible things a normal boy might respond with when his mother says “Oh Bobby”, things might have been different, and her conscience might have won the day ... or night, as it were. But my response to feeling her warmth and nakedness and all that smooth skin against me was more of a “Mmmmmmm.” And that response struck her conscience a slap on the face that knocked it back into the dim closet that her lust and passion wanted it to remain in.

The result was that I found myself being pulled on top of all that lovely naked skin. I felt her breasts flatten against my chest and her legs spread to make a comfortable saddle for me to lie in. I felt her lips find mine in a hot, wet kiss that sucked the breath from my lungs and made me light headed. And ... I felt her hand between us on my rock hard penis ... just before the tip of that penis sank into something so hot and so slippery and so... amazing.

There is an instinct in every man, when he feels that first tentative penetration, to push for more. I did, and in an instant, my whole prick was sheathed in that fabulous heat. My mother’s groan as, she was suddenly filled after years of having nothing in her, was a sound I’ll never forget. And even though I have heard that sound many times since, that first one is the one that makes my blood boil every time I replay it in my mind.

Our first coupling was like the first French kiss a person experiences. It seemed to last only seconds, but within those few seconds it was like a raging wildfire in a hundred year old forest choked with fuel after a decades long drought. Her shudder of completion came as quickly as the sperm in my balls boiled over and exploded from my penis like a geyser at Yellowstone. I don’t even think we had time for me to withdraw and thrust, something I did after the first two explosive spurts of my ejaculation entered her body. And even then there was no rhythm to what I did. I just jerked spasmodically as my body tried to shove every drop of my seed available out into her hot sheath.

I gave a wrenching sob and my body pummeled hers as I emptied. I think her own climax was as complete a surprise to her as mine was to me. I don’t know how long it was after that - it couldn’t have been an entire minute - but her second sigh of “Ohhh Bobby” sounded like a thousand birthday cards rolled into one, to my ears. Her gratitude for what I had just given her was astounding, and it struck into my brain like fire. I was hard again almost immediately, and now the urge to shove and withdraw was strong. I assuaged that urge by rocking my whole body on top of hers, sliding toward her feet and then back toward her head. I was rolling on her breasts, which felt good to us both. Her hands came to my back and helped me, and her little murmurs of joy at the feelings washing over her were like gasoline thrown onto a fire.

Again, I can’t tell you how long it lasted. Now it seemed to go on and on and on, and I wished for it never to end. I got my knees into a position that let me use them to shove forward and her legs opened wider as her knees drew up and pressed against my sides. I found that if I pushed up on my arms I could bring more force to bear on slamming my prick into her, and I wanted to slam it as hard as I could for some reason. She began whimpering with little soft, short high pitched sounds and I felt that hot flesh surrounding my cock press on it, tightening. That felt good and I stayed in for a few seconds, loving the feel as, somehow, that flesh moved, almost like a ripple. I had never, of course, felt anything like that, and it was fabulous. It made me want to spurt again, and I suddenly found that I could do that. Staying deep inside her, feeling her vagina stroke me, I let everything in me surge through my penis. A pain I hadn’t even felt was suddenly soothed and I sagged back down on her breasts as my essence flowed into her again.

We both lay there, as if dead, except for labored breathing on both our parts. I rose and fell as she dragged air into her lungs and I tried to raise my body off hers again, to let her breathe, but her arms across my back tightened. Her unspoken command for me not to move let me sag back.

Sometime later she kissed my cheek, murmuring little expressions of gratitude into my ear. I was content to lie there as I felt little drips ooze out of my softening prick. I wanted it to last forever.

But, of course, it couldn’t. Eventually our combined body heat caused us to begin sweating, and that was uncomfortable. I finally rolled to one side and she caught my hand as I lay beside her, the sheets somehow thrown back, our naked bodies cooling in the air. For whatever reason there was no need for speech. I don’t know what was going through her mind - she never told me - but in my mind was the fervent hope that this wasn’t the only time that ... whatever had happened ... would happen. Some part of me knew that sex had taken place, but I don’t think it had sunk in yet.

We slept.

I don’t know what woke me, but it was very dark, so I knew it was still the middle of the night. I felt my elbow against my mother, and it was warm there. Everything else had cooled off, and I shivered a little bit. I realized that my penis was hard again. Achingly hard, standing up off my little fluff of pubic hair, my penis seemed to be searching for something.

And now ... I knew what it was searching for. I didn’t even think about what I was doing as I climbed back on top of my sleeping mother. Her legs had closed and I had to put a knee between them to spread them so I could get between her legs. I felt her head move and she made a sound in her sleep. I still didn’t know how to make happen what had happened before, so I simply did what felt good and that was to rub my stiff prong against her. She was still slick, though that slickness was now cold against my hot cock. I felt the bottom of my prick slide between those same two lips of skin that my finger had found in the shower and their warmth felt wonderful. Again I slid up and then back, feeling the whole length of my cock glide along her skin between those lips.

She woke up. I could hear a change in her breathing. Her hands came up to my sides and lay there lightly as I moved. Then her knees came up again, taking the place of her hands as they slid up onto my back.

“Feels nice.” she murmured.

Her right hand slid back down my side, between her knee and my side, and tried to force it’s way between us. I lifted a little and felt her find and grasp my hardness.

“Mmmmmm” she crooned.

Her knuckles pressed against my abdomen, almost painfully as she pushed me further and I felt her bend my penis downward. Then there was that fabulous heat all around the tip again and I surged into her. She made that sound again and her hands came to my head. I could smell her ... us ... on her hands. As I strained forward, to be fully inside her, she pushed my head toward her breasts and I found my face full against one of them.

“Suck” she said in a moaning sound.

I found a long, stiff nipple at my nose and adjusted until I could close my lips around it. I sucked and the sound she made caused my balls to tighten. It was hard to move in and out of her and suck at the same time, but I didn’t want to stop doing either. Her hands had moved to my butt cheeks and she pulled on them, and then moved her hands and what little give there was in my cheeks in a circle. I found I could do that and suckle at the same time. I didn’t know what a clitoris was, but she managed to make me crush hers and then massage it with the base of my cock while I sucked her nipples like a starving baby.

Her whimpers started again and they shot clear to something deep inside me that answered by grinding harder against her. Then that rippling feeling started up again as she gasped and cried out. It was like she knew where the switch was to make my balls empty themselves and I groaned as I felt that rush of soothing fluid flash through my penis again. there wasn’t anything in the world I wanted to do more than squirt her full of that milky looking stuff.

In the morning she woke me and said, “Once more before breakfast.”

I knew what to do then and, before I was even fully awake, I was seated in her heat again. This time, when her muscles started working on me I could see her eyes. They were wide open, staring into my face with that soft look in them that I had loved for so many years. And, as I felt my penis begin to jerk and spray inside her she said to me, “Yes, cum in Mommy ... fill Mommy up with your magic potion.”

Breakfast was almost surrealistic after what had happened. She wore her robe, like she’d always worn, and though I don’t remember what we had that morning, she fixed it like nothing had happened. We sat and ate as if nothing had happened either, though inside I was boiling over with emotions. The thought that that mysterious thing called “sex” had happened to me filled my brain. That it had happened with my own mother wasn’t uppermost in my mind. I know that sounds strange, but our relationship was so close already that this step didn’t seem that big a thing in that sense. But I knew that, despite their posturing and bragging, most, if not all of my friends, who “knew” so much more about sex than I did, hadn’t done what I had done last night. And that was huge to my fourteen-year-old mind. Suddenly I was at the front of the pack. Or would be if I told them what had happened.

But I didn’t want to tell them what had happened. It wasn’t because it had happened with my mother. It was because what had happened was so special, and so precious, I wanted to keep all of it for myself.

Mom put down her fork and stared at me. Her fingers picked the fork back up and fiddled with it.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

I was young and not all that bright, but I knew what she was talking about. I felt like my answer was the most important answer of my whole life. And, unable to put everything that was threatening to break my skull open into words, my mouth just said, “Good.”

It was a typical sounding fourteen year old response to a very atypical question. Those of you who are parents knew what I’m talking about. You ask for information and you get a one word response that sounds flat and unresponsive. I saw her eyes change and her mouth tighten up so that the corners made little creases. They were the only wrinkles on her face and I usually only saw them when she smiled. But she wasn’t smiling. Intuitively I knew that my answer had fallen flat.

I tried again.

“Good isn’t the right word,” I set out tentatively. “I don’t know the right word ... words,” I said. “There are all those words they teach us in school. They call them superlatives. But none of them are superlative enough.” I floundered, unable to communicate.

Her eyes changed again and I saw the wrinkles almost appear again ... this time because of the beginnings of a smile.

“So ... what happened ... would you say you were glad it happened?” she asked. Now she was frowning a little bit ... worried.

“Oh yes.” I said. “I wish it could happen a lot.”

“Really? With your mother?” she asked. Then she looked like she wished she hadn’t reminded me it had been with my mother. She looked more worried.

All my life I had been taught the nicest thing you could say to someone. I had been taught it was important to say those words, because people needed to hear them. So in my young mind, those words had a special power. I said them now.

“I love you Mom.”

I could see confidence flow back into her face.

“What if I told you we shouldn’t have done that?” she asked. “What if I told you people would think what we did was wrong?”

That was simple for a young teen boy.

“Are YOU sorry it happened?” I asked.

She looked startled.

“No,” she said. She looked like she was going to say more, but didn’t.

“Me neither.” I said. “I don’t really think it’s anybody else’s business if you’re happy and I’m happy.” I added. I got that fearful feeling in my throat ... that feeling of peril, like when I thought she was going to stop the baths. “Do you think we could do it again?” I asked.

She gave me a level look. “You’re my son,” she said.

“Duh.” I said before I could stop it. It was another typical teen response and I felt stupid for saying it. “What I mean is I know you’re my mother.” That didn’t sound much better.

She frowned again. “I am your mother, and you aren’t grown quite yet. That means I’ll still be making decisions for you ... about what you can and can’t do. You aren’t going to like some of them. You’ll get mad at me sometimes.” She looked earnest. “I mean I still have to act like your mother.”

“Of course” I said. “But I don’t get mad at you very often. Most of what you make me do makes sense. I just don’t like doing it sometimes. I’m usually not mad at you, really. I’m just mad because I have to do something I don’t want to do.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” she said. She looked startled again. “But still, there will be times when you’re mad at me.”

I thought about that, and what had happened, and the last few years, when I had gotten mad at her and it made absolutely no difference at bath rime.

“Mom, I don’t think there’s any way in the world I could be mad at you and do what we did last night. It would be impossible. Even if I wanted to be mad I couldn’t stay that way if we were doing that.”

“Do you know what that was?” she asked. She blushed. “I mean what we did?”

“It was sex, wasn’t it?” I was sure ... but still nervous about being wrong.

“Oh yes, my darling, it was most definitely sex.” she laughed. She told me later she started to tell me it was good sex, but decided not to.

“And we can do it again?” I asked, leaning forward. I had high hopes for her answer.

“And when do you think you might want to do that again?” she asked. She was teasing, but I didn’t know it.

It was Saturday. I didn’t have to go to school or anywhere else. “Now?” I asked hopefully.

My mother laughed, and her laughter made my head want to explode. It was a laugh of pure joy, that I knew I was responsible for. It was the kind of laugh a child burns to hear when they are performing for their parents, wanting approval. But this laugh made my cock stand up straight and strong.

She stood up. “We’re all stinky from last night. We need a shower,” she said.

That was just fine with me.

While the shower warmed up we stood there naked, looking at each other. I really examined her this time ... all of her. Her hair was mussed, but she had a rosy healthy look to her that I’d never noticed before. I stared at the nipples I’d chewed on and sucked. They were long and stiff, which looked different than in the past. She opened the shower door and stepped in, holding the door open for me.

This time when we washed it seemed hurried. She stroked my stiff cock a few times and then kissed me on the lips. She said, “I don’t want to feel it on my skin right now. I want to feel it inside me.”

That was just fine with me too.

I don’t think we were really dry when we ran to her bedroom. She jumped on the bed and I was on her like a lion on a lamb, climbing on top of her before she even got settled on the bed.

She giggled and laughed and pushed at me, calling me a bad boy, but I knew she didn’t mean it. She made me fight to get between her legs and I suddenly realized it was a game. I swooped with my mouth and captured a stiff jutting nipple, sucking hard and her hands came to my head, holding me there, instead of fighting. But her legs were still closed and I had to force one knee between them.

I had a sudden flash of her, on her knees in the shower, her mouth sliding along my rigid pole and I thought of the boys in my class talking about “eating pussy”. I had a sudden urge to taste her and I jumped off, licking down her body from her breast, across her abdomen to the beginning of her hair. She gasped and made a sound in her throat and her hands pushed my head. Her legs opened, as if springs had suddenly been released and I dipped my tongue down to those soft flaps of flesh at her opening.

My head didn’t fit in there, sideways like I was, and I couldn’t get to those floppy lips like I wanted to, so I scrambled across her leg and, knees firmly on the bed, leaned in to lick and suck and probe with my tongue.

She tasted wonderful. It was tangy in a way, but it tasted like nothing I’d ever had in my mouth and I loved it instantly. One finger slid between my face and her body and it stopped.

“Lick there,” she gasped. “Suck there.”

I didn’t know what she meant, so I reached in with my fingers and spread her open, pulling those loose lips to each side. She was so pink! I hadn’t expected her to be so pink. Her fingertip was rubbing circles around a protrusion at the top of her opening. It almost looked like a picture I’d seen in science class of a pupa, with the resident forcing it’s way out to become a butterfly.

I nosed her finger out of the way and sealed my lips around the lump she’d been rubbing. Her squeal of delight was electrifying. I didn’t know what this thing was, but I could tell she loved having it sucked on, just like her nipples, so I sucked with a vengeance. Her sex got wetter and wetter until my face was sliding around, all slippery and covered with juice, but her reaction to what I was doing was so much fun that I kept on.