Three months ago my wife of five years walked out on me. We had the most horrendous row, over pretty much nothing, but I guess it had been building up over a few months.

Since my first divorce twelve years ago, I never seemed to have found anyone that could really stick me for any real length of time! I know I can be moody, and a bit grumpy, but hey, aren't most 36 year old guys?

A short-term dilemma was what to do with the tickets for the weekend break we had booked a while back. It was only a short hop to Amsterdam, but it would be a shame to waste them.

Whilst on my weekly visit to my mum, she was consoling me over Mandy's sudden departure. Telling me how she wasn't good enough for me, and it would all work out for the best, you know, all the things that mum's tell their sons under these type of circumstances. As I was clearing my diner plate, I explained how I still had the tickets for the weekend and joked that she could join me if she was really bored. When she said that was a great idea, I kinda choked a little. Spending the weekend in Amsterdam with my mum is not really how I'd planned this trip. Anyway, what saddo at my age goes on holiday with his mum!

I was trying to think of excuses to weasel my way out of the trip. However, she had suggested that her coming was a great no additional cost option. Her surname was the same as mine (she had never remarried from divorcing my dad 20 years ago), and her name, Miriam, had the same initial as the ticket was booked under. So it was game plan over, she was coming and that was it!

I stayed at her house the night prior to the morning flight, my old room was still on standby. It was an early start and when I came down to breakfast, mum was already fully dressed. She wore a light blue, cotton dress, fully fitted with a neckline that revealed her cleavage — I had noticed mum's breasts before, obviously, but this time, they did seem very prominent. The dress fell just at her knee, and she wore tan tights and black high-heeled shoes. Despite her mature years of 59, she was still a good-looking lady. She was 5 ft, 3" tall, with a dress size of around 12, her breasts were 36 c but could vary a bit with weight fluctuations, as with many woman, this was never a constant factor. Her shoulder length, dark brown hair was always well cared for I often noticed that older people still treated air travel as something really special, whilst to me, it was a flying bus.

In the car on the way to the airport, mum was chattering away. She was really looking forward to the weekend, and hadn't been to Amsterdam for over 30 years. Whilst driving, I glanced down to change gear and was distracted by my mum's legs. Her dress had ridden up to above her knee, and I was reminded how good looking her legs were. Further during the journey, she crossed her legs, causing the hemline to slip further up her leg. I could just make out a really dark band of material on her tights below the hemline. This led me to the conclusion that they weren't tights at all. They were stockings. Now, one of my passions in life, is a lady wearing stockings. Yes, she was my mum, but still, the thought of her sitting next to me wearing stockings was still a turn on.

The flight was over really quickly, although during it I did something to confirm for me the stocking idea. A few times I had casually rested or brushed my hand on mum's thigh and could definitely fee the tell tale bump that a suspender belt makes when holding up a pair of stockings.

The hotel check in was fairly painless. Mum and I had already discussed sleeping arrangements and as I'd stayed in this hotel before, knew all the rooms had really large, comfortable sofas in them. We left our bags in the room, and as it was quite late in the evening when we arrived, we chose just to have a snack in the hotel bar.

On going back up to the room, mum looked at the large king sized bed, and insisted that she wasn't going to let me sleep on the sofa after all. She said it was perfectly big enough for two grown ups to get a good nights sleep, and would not take no for an answer.

Mum went to the bathroom, and whilst she changed, I slipped out of my clothes and got into one side of the bed. I saw mum come out of the bathroom, and could see in the silhouetted light, she wore a light blue, sleeveless nightie, knee length, low cut with a lacy bodice. She climbed into bed, turned to me and said good night, thanking me again for her weekend treat.

A while passed, and as I lay in bed, eyes closed, still trying to get to sleep, I heard the very faint noise of mum masturbating. It was unmistakeable, as I'd heard the noise before from my almost ex who would put on a show for me on a really lucky night. I couldn't believe it — the pervert in me wanted to open my eyes, pull of the duvet, and watch my mum pleasure herself. I knew she would freak out, so just continued to breathe steady, with my eyes shut. This was killing me. I needed to test her, so I made a soft groaning noise, turned over towards her slightly, and then relaxed my breathing again. Instantly, mum stopped what she was doing — dam, I had broken the spell. I waited a few moments, then was delighted to hear the slurping noises start again. My head was now tilted below the level of her head, so as my face was not in her sight line, I gently opened my eyes and got them use to the dimmed bedroom lighting. I could see very small movements of the duvet as her hand manipulated against her pleasure zone, getting ever quicker in motion. Her head was above mine, and tilted towards me. My own mum was watching me whilst she played with herself. Disgustingly naughty, but my erection was enjoying every second. I don't know how I managed to not reach out and grab her, but I did refrain. Her breathing got quicker, but she never let out a moan. I could tell by the rhythm in the bed, that she was about to climax. She took a final deep breath, and the movement of the duvet stopped. Then, to my further amazement, I felt her lips touch my forehead as she kissed me gently. She then draped her arm around me and fell asleep. An hour later, I was still wide-awake, thoughts swimming through my head.

I knew if I made a move on her, I really would break the spell and would cause all hell to break loose. She had done this under the assumption that I didn't know. I wanted to keep it that way...

The next day, we did the usual tourist things. Tram rides, Van Gough museum, boat trip down the canal. We had decided to go out for a meal in the evening, rather than the hotel, and our search for a restaurant took us past the famous Red Light district. Mum was amazed at how open and blatant everything was. Prostitutes just posed in open shop windows, enticing passing trade in for business. It wasn't seedy though because this area is now such a tourist attraction in its own right that its well lit, and very well policed. Mum joked with me if I found this one or that one attractive. I picked one that was sitting on a plush white leather armchair. Wearing a black fitted corset, suspenders, black seamed stockings, and 3" high heel patent black shoes. Mum said she knew I'd pick that one because she knows I love stockings!