By Jimp based on an idea by Sagar Sagar

Puff puff puff I’m worn out already and yet only half-way up the first peak of Moel Ellio, that’s a mountain in Snowdonia. I can only take a few paces before having to stop to catch my breath and let my heart beat less frantically. My mouth is also dry as I am dehydrated but I need to make the bottle of water I have in the rucksack last for the full 8 miles challenging walk. As I stand there, on a relatively flat spot on an otherwise steep incline, gasping, the sweat pours off me. The temperature must at least be in the mid twenties, far too warm to be walking up a blooming mountain and I thought Wales was meant to be wet and gloomy. Across the way, the stream engines chug their way slowly up Snowdon mocking my every gasping step to defy gravity and walk steeply up a mountain-side. I tried not let my mind linger that this was just the start of it and that this first walk of our holiday involved climbing both peaks of this mountain, Foel Gron and Foel Goch, which form a curved ridge that tracks towards and joins onto it’s more famous neighbour that gives the region it’s name. Luckily we weren’t going to do that particular trek.

“Hi dear!” comes a chirpy voice behind me with little sign of exertion. I suppress a groan. It’s mum running up the blooming mountain like she’s some kind of superwoman. Coming up behind me at a relentless steady pace, she is wearing a tight pale lemon sleeveless top and matching pair of shorts and running shoes. This only accentuates her classic although slightly plump hourglass figure with big breasts, a slim waist and wide hips. On her back she is carrying is a tiny lightweight backpack with just a small bottle of water unlike my big heavy one with food and stuff. Standing 5 foot 5, mum weighs 121 pounds and is a UK size 10 with a smoking hot figure of 36-27-35 inches and a bra size of 32D. Even in her early fifties, my mum Carol has maintained her mesmerizing body in good shape largely through jogging almost daily and a weekly swim. She never touches weights nor has she ever set foot in a gym. Running towards me up a steep slope that I had difficulty finding the energy to walk up, I found it hard not to stare at her big heaving bosom. It reminded me when the boys in my class first remarked on how big and thrusting they were and of course that started me looking at them. OK I admit it, looking and admiring. Yes, there were buxom girls at school, in many cases extremely buxom that made me very stiff if I looked too long but somehow on a mature woman like my mother with her exceptional shapely figure, they were homely and maternal yet with an uncomfortable arousing appeal too. I had left her in the Electric Mountain car-park in Llanberis almost an hour ago limbering up and stretching and now she had caught up and would soon overtake me. Her face lights up in a wide warm smile pleased to see me. It is quite oval in shape and framed by a mane of brown hair with a shaggy fringe across the top of her light brown eyes. Falling down thickly over her ears, it softly caresses a short elegant neck to tumble down mid-way down her chest. Her eyes are quite large and sultry with mascara and eye-shadow, above which arch slim eyebrows. Her nose is long and sleek sitting between quite prominent cheeks emphasised with a touch of rouge. Below this is a moderate sized sensual mouth with thin lips glossed with lip stick sitting above a shallow chin. Mum always takes great pains with her appearance even when jogging up a mountainside like a gazelle.

You don’t grow up thinking that your mum is a real hottie but as I got into the 5th form, the lads began talking about her in a suggestive way that made me uncomfortable, calling her a MILF and remarking how good looking she was and making lewd comments about her figure. The boys all seemed to fancy her calling her the hottest mum at the school. All that open adulteration for my mother made me look at her in a new light. I began comparing her to the girls at school, who in the main held little attraction for me. Yes, there were a few girls that I fancied but none of them were in the slightest bit interested in me and I wasn’t the sort of guy who could openly chat to girls. I felt awkward around girls I fancied not knowing what to say and frightened of making a complete fool of myself. I was always comfortable with mum and we did a lot together in our spare time, maybe not quite best friends but we were close. We even holidayed together as we were now even though I was old enough to stay at home if I wished. The few girls there were at the wrestling club were tomboys with shapeless boyish figures and short haircuts who acted butch and tough. They held no appeal for me whatsoever. As I compared mum against them and the other mums, I found her to be much more feminine, elegant looking and far more stylish. Although short and slightly plump in a homely comfortable way, I recognised that she had a shapely appealing figure and good looks. I began to see why the other boys thought she was a MILF and admitted that if she were someone else’s mother I’d have the hots for her too. However she was my mother and such thoughts disturbed me so I tried to put them to the back of my mind.

“See you later sweetie” she calls with a wink showing little sign of exertion as she passes me. I’m blooming knackered yet superwoman looks as fresh as a daisy with not a strand out of place in her immaculate hair and her face not red and drenched in sweat. How she managed to look so cool and not be out of breath was beyond me. I haven’t even the energy to reply. All I can do is watch in hopeless resignation at that low V at the back of her sleeveless top that shows off her firm lightly tanned back as it tapered wonderfully to her waist before curving back out again to her hips and fully rounded backside as she leaves me in her dust. For a moment my eyes lingered on her calves which are quite short, thick, shapely and toned. For the most part they don’t look muscular unless they are powering her up a hillside or wearing high-heels at which point they become wide thin plates of hardness with nice sharp defined edges at the bottom. I must admit I find them rather sexy and always make me go PHROAR!. “Mum with the hottest rear” that’s what the boys at school kept calling my mum after parent’s evening. The more they kept on about her great arse the more I found myself looking at it. As she ran past me she looked over her shoulder and caught me staring and gave me a wide knowing smile as I felt myself blush. It was quite ample and pleasantly rounded and enjoyable to watch in shorts as she ran off ahead into the distance. Of course it was humiliating watching my middle-aged mother leaving me well behind struggling to even walk up the mountain let alone run it. To be honest I didn’t know how she did it but it made me feel strange knowing I could never compete with her like that. It’s not as though I’m out of shape because I’ve always been sporty and on most of the school sports teams including my speciality, the wrestling team, at which I excel and am the captain. I used to have no problems keeping up with her on the rambles we used to do each weekend until she began jogging then running. At first I tried to keep up but it was too knackering. I went back to walking while she ran on without me. How can anyone take the time to enjoy the scenery when you’re running along all sweaty and out of breath, not that mum ever was. Besides it can’t be very good on your feet and ankles, all that pounding around. Then she got more and more addicted, running during her lunch breaks and in the evenings. It annoyed me that mum would leave me to complete walks on my own but somehow doing so on a desolate mountainside seemed reckless. Luckily I found a middle-aged couple also struggling on the walk and Mr. and Mrs. Priest let me tag along. Like me they preferred walking but normally on flat ground not mountains.

Barely an hour later the elation and feeling of accomplishment I felt when the first peak came within reach was shattered by the approaching figure of superwoman running back from the second peak. Her hair perfectly coiffured and make-up in place, she seemed so cool and unaffected by the exhaustion I felt as her short buxom slightly plump figure bounced up to me with a wide smile on her face. “Hi-yah. See you at the bottom. Keep going. Not far now” she chirped in what she thought was encouragement while the sight of her effortlessly running did the exact opposite. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if superwoman passed me several more times by the time I’d returned to the car park. My mum could probably run up and down this mountain all day without barely breaking into a sweat, or so it seemed. I didn’t mind her doing running to keep fit but showing me up like this passing me several times before I’d even reached the first peak was humiliating. Alone with my thoughts on the smoother section between the two peaks, I began to think about mum’s stamina and fitness and her really being some kind of superwoman. Apart from the running, mum was a normal typical shy middle-age mother. During the day she works as a mathematician at some scientific research laboratory doing stuff that I just didn’t understand. Although a smart-dressing attractive woman who certainly caught the eye of many a man, if her shy nature didn’t put men off, her IQ of 154 certainly did. Maybe that was why Dad left us and maybe why she began running thinking she was overweight or something. She certainly had a lot of stamina to run the way she did. As I reached the second peak and had something to eat for energy for the return journey, I kept thinking about my mother being some kind of superwoman, fit with boundless stamina. For some reason I found the idea very appealing and I began wondering what would it be like to wrestle a superwoman like her. Apart from the tough girls on the team, I had wrestled a few girls before at school for fun and enjoyed the experience of the close physical contact with their feminine bodies and the softness of their skin as I made them squeal while I put them into hold after hold. As I made my return with a lot less effort than the outward climb, I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to wrestle superwoman mum. I began to imagine how it must feel like to be rolling around the carpet wrestling with a buxom mature woman in possession of a curvy hourglass figure. The fact that I was fantasying about my mother just added a strange sense of forbidden taboo that made it all the more appealing. The more I walked, the more vivid my imagination became to the extent that I could feel every sensation as I grappled on the floor with my fit superwoman mother. I enjoyed the idea of her giving me a hard resistance as she fought against me. I visualised my hands roaming all over her appealing mature body as I won out with my superior wrestling skills and strength putting her in hold after hold to make her submit. The thoughts were so vivid that I had a bona-fida hard-on in my pants that bounced around as I walked down the mountain side forcing me to try to think about something else to let it go down. But my mind kept returning to the idea. By the time I got back to the car park, I was so obsessed that I wanted to ask her right out to wrestle with me but I didn’t know how to frame the words so she would buy into the idea and not think it weird.

We decided to treat ourselves by eating out at a local restaurant that evening. Mum put on a fashionable grey business suit with a hip-length jacket that fit a little too snugly with a single large button above the navel which held it wide open at the front over her large breasts which just brought attention to how large they were. I certainly had a hard time not staring at them but fortunately she wore a high-necked pink top beneath. Below the waist was a matching grey knee length pencil skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and legs. Her lower legs were bare with stylish slip-on red high-heeled shoes. I thought she looked eye-catching and felt proud of having such a good-looking mother. I had some beer with my meal while mum had wine. Actually I still felt so dehydrated after that walk that I had to keep filling up. “Gary, that’s enough beer. I don’t want you all tipsy” mum told me. Maybe it was the beer but as we ate and drank I could hardly keep my eyes off her. The way the front of that jacket tightly followed the shape of the outside curves of her bust with the tantalising wide gap in the middle causing my imagination to run riot thinking what it would like without that pink top before with horror realising it was my mum I was thinking about in that way. Trying to focus on her face was little better as with each sip of my beer, I found myself studying her sultry eyes, the elegant slim nose, stylish hair and sensual mouth. Jeez get a grip, maybe I shouldn’t have had the beer. Mum suggested we try running up Snowden together the day after next by the Llanberis trail, a round-trip of 9 miles. “No way, mum. I am not a runner, I’m a wrestler. You’re good at running and I’m good at wrestling. I have to admit that I can’t keep up with you running but then you’d wouldn’t be able to keep up with me wrestling”. That kept her quiet about that for a while but we continued our meal the idea of getting this hot-figured mature woman onto the floor and grappling with her kept going around in my mind and becoming more appealing by the minute, even though she was my mother. I just wanted to get my hands on that body and pin her to the floor in as many ways as I could think off. It felt so wrong but it felt so good. Maybe the beer had lubricated my brain because I suddenly heard myself saying “Once we get back to the chalet, let’s have a playful wrestle. Just you and me. It will be fun”. “You’re drunk. That beer has gone to your head” she admonished but I didn’t give up. All the way back I kept pestering her and challenging her accusing her of being too scared to wrestle her own son because she knew she would lose. She sighed deeply “Gary. Civilised women don’t wrestle and certainly not with men and definitely not with their own teenage sons. Especially those who’ve had too much to drink”. My eyes stole to the top of her bare thighs as her tight skirt slid back as she drove the car imagining what fun I could have with my hands on those. “I’m not talking about a proper fight, just a bit of fun between a son and his mother. Oh come on mum, lighten up” “That’s the end of the subject, it isn’t going to happen. You’ve had too much to drink and are beginning to sound like a pervert” she accused. I was beginning to feel a bit like a pervert the way I was watching her bare legs admiring the curve of her short thick calves and higher up, the impressive forward-thrusting curve of her bust. I didn’t give up, I wanted this badly and kept pestering her. “Gary!” the clean lines of her face seemed to emphasise her annoyance “You are far too grown up to have wrestles with your mother. It’s not as though you are a little child. I know what you are after and that’s bordering on perversion”. She was right. I was no longer a little child but a young man who could appreciate the good looks of his mother and who would love to get his hands on that plump hour-glass figure and good legs to have an exciting touch of what a grown woman felt like beneath my hands. It was daring, I knew, but it wasn’t anything sexual. Well maybe a bit, I don’t know, I felt a bit confused. I didn’t want to bonk my own mother, that would be sick but she did awaken feelings inside of me, an awareness of the attractions of fully-grown women rather than the silly schoolgirls I knew.