I’m Eighteen With A Bullet!

It was after I’d finished-up at college that afternoon. I’d come home to find Mum alone on the sofa, softly sobbing to herself? It was one of those strange moments when you get a premonition that it would be a moment you remember.

The theatre of it, seeing my mum, Shelia Blake, as a damsel in distress. It was oddly unsettling. She was an executive with her company; and known as Shelia the Dealer, who gave those around her guidance she expected to be followed.

Add to that this scene had a backdrop of music added; The kitchen radio was drifting in a bluesy pop track; Eighteen With A Bullet.

I noticed the empty glass in her hand; she had been alone, and drinking. Although 38, she was still in fine shape and at 5’8” wore a skirt to perfection; with lush tits- not to big - but taunt and spiky; a slim waist leading to those sexy thighs; which were now over-exposed.

I’d stood there, wondering why she was home so early ... and drinking morbidly?

She looked up saying, “Oh, Jonathan! I’m ... I’m so sorry about this.” ... as she self-consciously tugged her skirt towards her knees. Like she didn’t want to look sexy in front of me ... she didn’t want to chance triggering anything like that; not Shelia the Dealer.

And the darndest thing was, it did turned me on! I suddenly saw her in a sort of new light. In place of ‘She You Obeyed’ ... their was a yummy mommy! ... my mother was a very yummy momy!

I wanted to say, don’t hide up your juicy thighs mommy! ... pull your skirt all the way up to your hips; let me see the gusset of your panties - yea! Now mommy; don’t stop crying; I like seeing you cry ... just stick one of your nice long fingers ... all the way up into your creamy cunny - while you watch me get my cock out for you ... that’s what you want; isn’t it?

Yea ... seeing my mother softly sobbing ... and apologetic; it seemed the ideal time to take hold of her and fuck her. But it wasn’t the first time I’d considered the possibility of fucking her!

I remember her crying when my Dad died three years ago; in a horrible accident at the meat-processing factory. It had been a quick yet bloody end for my father. Mother had been inconsolable; and I had been jettisoned into a no mans land of numbness.

And after the funeral; when we were finally alone together back home, she gave me a warm milky drink with something to make me sleepy; and we had cuddled together on her bed; and as I wept into her bosom, she comforted me by letting me suckle, saying that I had to be brave; because I was to be mummy’s little man from now on.

I clung to her warmth for comfort and then simply fell asleep ... and when I did wake up, my small cock was very sore?

As time moved on I had to grow up quicker than normal-having to do things that dad would normally have dealt with - little things - and sometimes a bit more than little.

Mom would turn to me; when it would have been dad. It was all part of being Mom’s little man about the house. I’d found that Mom was easier to handle at the end of the day when she’d had a bit to drink. I would sneak into her bedroom and go through her undies, unloading my spunk in her panties while I imagined her legs wide open and moaning for me.

But then came the day I found a large plastic dildo in her bedside drawer! ... which really stunned me ... because it was much bigger than my own cock! ... It made me feel so feeble and out of my depth.

So now ... comming back to this present situation, ... suddenly seeing her as a damsel in distress, her bravado evaperated, was a sort of strange turn-on for me. Naturally I sat down with her and asked what had upset her, but she shrugged me off with embarrassment. I felt out of my depth.

After all she was an executive with her company; used to giving those around her guidance, rather than receiving comforting gestures from others. We hadn’t been here before. So I sat there feeling awkward for a while before she turned to me and surprisingly began softly sharing the source of her sorrow.