Mik was out with his girlfriend, Sophie. They had been going out for around three weeks, and I guessed that wild oats had been sown. I didn’t ask; he didn’t say. I had given him the talk a few years before, just after I found evidence of his masturbating when I did his bed laundry. I know that it should probably have been Paul, his dad, but no, it had been me.

“I know that you are pleasuring yourself in your bed,” I had said to him. He blushed and began to protest. I stopped him.

“Mik, it is okay, I am not telling you off, and I am not going to tell you to stop, okay, but can I suggest that you put a sock over your dick when you do it? It makes less mess, and a sock is easier to wash than your whole bedding.”

He had blushed even more; well, yes, of course he did.

“Now,” I said, “have you been with a girl yet?”

He blushed even more and looked down at the floor.

“Okay, well, there will come a time when you do. A girl is built differently. She has an opening between her legs that you push your dick into, and, well, you move back and forth, like you do with your hand, and you finish inside her, okay?”

“Yes, I know,” he mumbled.

“Well, the difference between doing it with a girl and inside your sock is that your sock won’t give you a disease, nor will your sock get pregnant. So, promise me, when you do get to do it with a girl, use a condom. Next time I am at the chemist, I will buy you a box of condoms and put them in your sock drawer, okay? Oh, and it is probably a good idea to practise using them.”

And that had been that, all very straightforward, and I don’t think that he was terribly embarrassed, and I started getting several socks a day in the laundry, so much so that I went to M&S and bought him a few more packs of socks; well, it saved him running out.

And now, here he was, going out with girls. I kept an eye on his condom supply, and I topped it up, at least weekly, so that was good, and he was being a lucky and a good boy. Oats were being carefully sown. I was sitting in the conservatory, minding my business, drinking a cup of tea when I heard the front door open and then close.

Odd, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I put my cup down and went into the hall and called out. “Mik, is that you?”

“Yes.” Short and curt.

“Oh, okay,” I called back and went back to my tea.

It seemed he wasn’t going out with Sophie anymore, as I found out a few days later when I asked him how Sophie was. Apparently, he didn’t know, as they had finished. Oh, okay. Hence the coming home early the other day.

Mik was going out to meet a new girl, Julie, in town; could I give him some money, as he hadn’t got any? We negotiated some chores that he would do, and I handed him a ten-pound note, and he was gone. Things seemed to be going well with Julie for about three weeks, and then, again, home early, no talking for a few days, and then, yes, he wasn’t going out with Julie anymore.

Mik came home, the front door slamming, and he was straight up into his bedroom, no greeting, nothing. I shrugged, teenagers. He was in a gap year from university and had been out seeing his girlfriend, Connie. I had expected him to be out for longer; I knew that Connie’s parents were both at work during the day, and so I had expected them to spend the day there and to come back so soon, and in what sounded like a mood was, to be honest, unexpected. As I thought about it, it seemed that there was a bit of a pattern: he would go out with a girl for a few weeks, and then, suddenly, upsets occurred and the relationship finished.

Oh well, I am sure it will all sort itself out. I carried on scraping carrots. I was doing pork chops, mashed potatoes, peas, and carrots for tea, and the vegetables do not prepare themselves. This morning I had made a trifle for afters, and that was just sitting in the fridge. Mik still hadn’t appeared when Paul, his dad, got back from work, just around 5 as expected.

“Hello, baby,” I said, turning to hug him. Ooh, someone was pleased to see me; that was very apparent. “Goodness, hello, what’s this then?” I said, squeezing his hard dick through his trousers.

“I know, can we delay tea?” His hand around my back, sliding down, slipping between my buttocks.

“Mik is in, and he is in a mood; we’ll have to wait until later.”

Paul pushed me back against the work surface, and his lips crushed mine, his hand pushing my dress up and pressing at my crease through my knickers. Oh, God, it was so tempting. He slid my knickers to one side, and his fingers were in my crease, touching, sliding through my wetness. God, I so wanted him, but not with Mik around.

“Wait, baby,” I managed, pushing him away, but it was so difficult. I really wanted him, but I needed to be firm; this was not the time for a quickie.

Mik eventually appeared after I called him twice for his tea. He sat opposite me and just picked at his food. He just looked so utterly fed up; it wasn’t like him. I wasn’t going to ask him, not today, if he wanted to volunteer his problem; then that was up to him. As soon as tea had finished, he was gone, back into his room behind a closed door.

Paul and I sat on the sofa; we were watching that GOT spin-off on, the one about Dragons, but we were just struggling with it, mostly because the names were all difficult to get our heads around. Paul took my face in his hand and kissed me, his tongue delving and seeking. I kissed back, my tongue attempting a waltz with his. I suspect we would not have got high marks; our hands were in the wrong position.

Paul’s hand was up my dress, pushing my hem up above my crotch, his fingers tracing my crease. The dragons on TV were forgotten; my only thought was the fire in my groin, the heat in my fanny, and the cramp in my buttocks. Paul got up and knelt down before me; he gripped my knickers at the waist, and he eased them down my legs, me having to lift my bum to help them move. He lifted my knickers to his face and inhaled deeply.

“God, I love the smell of you,” he said.

‘Good job,’ I thought. ‘I’ve been wearing them all day; they will definitely smell of me.’

He dropped my knickers and bent forwards, his hands pushing my thighs to widen my legs. He blew along my crease, my petals slightly parted due to my legs being apart, and then his tongue traced me from my nubbin to my entrance.

“Oh, God, Jesus,” I gasped, pleasure screamed from my groin, my pressures ramped up and my fingers screwed into the cushions of the sofa.

Fingers eased my petals apart, and my valley was exposed; my eyes were closed as I experienced the delights of my husband’s play. Paul blew slowly along my valley floor, his hot breath concentrated first at my entrance and then at the small dimple of my urethra and then, finally and excruciatingly, at my nubbin; my breath now just gulps as I struggle to breathe.

A fingernail traced around my entrance, drawing circles in my skin, so sharp, so thin, so defined. The fingernail slowly moved north; I had expected the finger to enter, but it did not; it moved on. It pressed at my urethra, circled the small exit and then moved up, stopping a hair’s breadth from my nubbin. My breath was caught; I needed air, but I couldn’t get it.

I felt the heat of his breath on my nubbin and then the sharpness of his teeth as he gripped and pulled at my centre of pleasure. I wanted to wait until we were in the comfort of our bed, but this made me feel like I was a teenager again, making out with my boyfriend on the settee whilst my parents were out.

I opened my eyes, and in the corner of my vision I saw Mik standing in the doorway watching. I wanted to scream at him to go away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t say anything because an orgasm was exploding, my mouth was fixed in a wide-open O and my body was planking and then jerking.

Mik’s hand was holding his dick through his shorts, and the outline that I could see seemed pretty impressive. ‘That’s my boy,’ I thought, but at least it was hidden behind clothing. There is one thing a mum never needs to see, and that is her grown-up son’s dick. He was moving his hand, wanking through the fabric of his clothes. How good would that feel, I wondered.

Slowly my body returned to normal, my heart slowed and my jaw returned to normal. I turned to tell Mik to go away, but the doorway was empty; he had already gone. Paul stood up and slowly undid the button and zip on his chinos. They fell, snagging on the bulge of his engorged dick, and then they were below his knees.

His dick was bulging his underpants forwards almost obscenely. I knew exactly what his underpants were hiding; I had seen it so many times that I could describe it, I could pick it out of a lineup, and I wanted it naked and in front of me right now. As I looked, his dick jerked and the pee hole popped open and his pole of flesh popped through.

I did not want to get up close to his underwear, the underwear that he had probably been wearing all day. Men have a different aroma to us girls, and I was not going anywhere nearby. I grabbed his waistband and pulled downwards, his dick bouncing as the elastic waistband flicked his dick as if it were an ancient trebuchet.

His foreskin was pulled back slightly, his pee hole showing through the small gap. I leant forward, opened my mouth and surrounded the end of his dick, sucking hard. I pushed forward, the suction of my mouth pushing his foreskin back, revealing his glans, his rim scraping across my tongue. I reached up and held his balls in my hand and squeezed them slightly.

He groaned; he always did when I squeezed them, and to help him groan even more, I ran a finger along his perineum and then pressed at his crinkle. I heard his gasp as I pressed, his sphincter holding fast. I stopped sucking and relaxed my grip on his balls; he sighed, his sphincter eased, and I was inside with two fingers.

His body tensed, his balls jerked in my hand, and his dick seemed to lengthen in my mouth, pushing past my tonsils and through my throat. I couldn’t breathe, his dick blocked my airway, and he started to shag, his dick sliding back and forth aiming at my oesophagus. I squeezed his balls and pulled them back, easing the pressure on my throat, letting needed air into my lungs.