Momstruck: A Love Story

((1))

Paul's father liked older women. When he married Paul's mother he was nineteen, and she was twenty-eight. This was highly unusual for the 1960s. Even more unusual, Paul's mother was a divorcee, and she already had a child, a little girl. In their small town that was downright scandalous, and their families were dead set against it, but they did it anyway. Two years later they had a child of their own, a boy. They named him Paul.

It seems that as their marriage went on Paul's father's attraction to older women diminished considerably, and by the time he himself was twenty-eight he had discovered the joys of younger women, in their early twenties. Also the joys of drinking to excess. The marriage limped along, as marriages do, for another eleven years.

And then something happened.

This is the official story: after years of neglect and bickering, Paul's parents decided to try a "second honeymoon" in Las Vegas to see if they could salvage things. Because their family had never been on a real vacation, they decided to bring along Paul and his older sister June. Paul had just turned eighteen, so it was said to be partly a birthday trip for him. But the vacation was a disaster, and by the end of it Paul's mother and father had decided to split up for good.

That was the official story, and Paul could certainly testify that the Las Vegas trip was a disaster --- at least, the part involving his father was a disaster --- so the official story was good enough for him, even though there was far more to it than that. Within a month after the family got home, Paul's father and all his possessions were gone from the house, and June had returned to her university.

Paul had just graduated from high school and was thinking about which college he wanted to attend. Again, that was the official story. The true story was that he had no desire whatsoever to go off to college. He wanted to stay in his home town. He wanted to find a good job. He wanted to stay living at home with his mother.

And in the deepest corners of his secret heart, he wanted to marry his mother, because he was absolutely, completely, positively in love with her.

If anyone had known of this, of course, it would have made the scandal of his parents' disparate ages seem like nothing; but, of course, no one ever knew about it, least of all Paul's mother.

He stayed living at home for another year, during which he longed for her the way a dying flower longs for water, and absolutely, completely, positively nothing happened whatsoever, and nothing was whatsoever was said about it. He finally gave in and went off to college. He graduated and found a good job in another town. He met a woman and got married. They went home to visit Paul's mother at least once a year, usually for Christmas. They never visited his father. Fuck him.

And so now Paul himself was twenty-eight, the age his mother was when she married Paul's father. The world was approaching the end of the millennium, and there was a feeling in the air that the world might be coming to an end. Certainly at the very least, all the computers were going to go tits-up at midnight on December 31, 1999, because of some flaw in the way computer clocks and calendars were designed, and when they clicked over to January 1, 2000 they wouldn't be able to handle it and suddenly everybody would be living B. C. again --- Before Computers. Everything would be pencil and paper again. A lot of people were convinced that this was really going to happen, and they were scared.

Paul's father was one of these people, and so six months before the end of the world he killed himself. It's possible there were other things going on in his life that also made him want to blow his brains out; Paul didn't know, and he didn't care. Fuck him.

The news of his father's death came to him from his mother, a phone call in the middle of the night. She was sobbing, nearly hysterical. He sat up in bed and turned on the light and talked to her for three hours, not disturbing his wife in the least because they hadn't slept in the same bedroom for over two years.

At the end of the three-hour phone call it was clear to Paul that he needed to get on a plane and go see her immediately, that she was a broken woman and should not be alone. When the sun came up that morning and he and his wife met in the kitchen to get some coffee, he told her that his father had died and he was going to go to be with his mother.

"Whatever," she said, and took her coffee back to her bedroom to get dressed for work.

Paul's marriage was not working out any better than his parents' marriage had worked out, and it was heading for the same dénouement. It would have ended long ago, in fact, if not for the children, but even they couldn't save that marital disaster for too much longer.

So he got on an airplane and rented a car and drove to the house he'd grown up in and was holding his mother in his arms before it was even lunchtime.

She was shocked to see him; he hadn't told her he was coming. "Oh my GOD! I can't believe you're really here! How long can you stay?" she asked, grinning and laughing and wiping away tears at the same time.

"As long as you need me, Mom," he told her, and took her in his arms again. Holding her felt to him like holding Heaven itself.

Yes, he still loved her. He'd never stopped loving her. You don't love someone as deeply and desperately as he loved her and stop simply because it doesn't work out. You just pack it away in a box and try to love someone else. Sometimes it doesn't work too well, and your wife knows something is wrong even if she doesn't know exactly what it is. Maybe she accuses you of cheating, which you've never done. Maybe, once or twice on a night lost to alcohol, she even screams at you that you must be some kind of faggot or something, why don't you ever fuck her anymore. And you know the answer, but you've never spoken of it to anyone and you know you never will, and the next day comes, and somehow you keep on going.

But now here she was, holding on to him, clinging to him, and he felt the soft lines of her body against him, he smelled the perfume in her hair that was the same perfume she'd used his whole life, and they stood in a living room that was almost exactly as it had been for decades because his mother only cleaned things, she never got rid of them. She never moved out of the house, she never remarried, she never changed anything.

She even dressed the same. She wore her hair the same. There was a little more gray in it now, of course, and there were more lines in her face, and she was a little heavier, but she was still drop-dead gorgeous to him. Her more generous curves fit against him like like two long-lost puzzle pieces coming together after being lost for ten years.

It has to be said that despite all her neurotic consistency, Paul's mother was fundamentally a happy woman. She was nearing retirement age but she was in no hurry to quit her job, which she loved and which she often said kept her "out of the bars." But this was a joke, because she hardly ever drank. It was the same with Paul. He often thought to himself, how funny we both ended up with a couple of souses.

They drank that night, though. They went grocery shopping after dinner and they strolled down the wine aisle and when they got to the checkout stand somehow there were five bottles of pinot in their cart.

So they drank, and they talked. They talked about Paul's father, and he was frankly shocked at how many nice things she had to say about the bastard. It wasn't that she usually badmouthed him, she wasn't that kind of person, she just didn't talk about him at all.

But that night, as they finished one bottle of wine and then another, as they moved from the dinner table to the back patio looking out at the new development that used to be an empty field, as they sat in the cool darkness listening to the bug zapper zapping, she spun story after story about what a sweet man he'd been when they were first married. And what a sweet man he could still be, even after their marriage was heading for the shredder and he was so obviously cheating on her, with a variety of women younger than she was.

What a bastard, Paul thought, fuming. He hated his father so much he refused to even speak his name. Fuck him.

"No, he wasn't a bastard," she insisted, topping off her glass. "He wasn't a bastard. I could live with all of the rest, I really could. He was sleeping around, it's true, but he wouldn't leave me, I knew he'd never leave me. I mean I THOUGHT he'd never leave me. I guess I was a fool when I believed him. I just thought... he needs my stability, my predictability, he needs a woman who's not a crazy young whore to come home to.

"Oops," she giggled, touching her lips. "I shouldn't say things like that. Excuse me. It's the wine talking."

"It's okay, Mom," Paul said. "They WERE whores."

She shrugged. "Well, who knows. Anyway, he could be sweet, he really could. You never saw that side of him. He certainly didn't show it when he drank."

"That's for sure."

"And then there was that vacation in Las Vegas when you were eighteen," she sighed, and a smile came over her face.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked. "That vacation was terrible. It ended your marriage, for good."

"I know. Yes, I know." She took another drink. "I've just... never really known WHY. Actually, that vacation was the most wonderful time I ever had with your father. I thought we were going to be okay, I thought we were falling in love with each other again. I couldn't understand how I could be so WRONG. I still can't understand it."

"Mom, he was drunk practically the whole time! How could that be the most wonderful time you ever had with him? That makes no sense."

Actually it did make sense; at least he believed it did, but he wasn't sure, and he needed to hear her explain what she meant. He needed to hear that he hadn't been just imagining things for the last ten years, that he wasn't just another sick psychotic wacko with a mother fixation.

"Well..." She took another drink, a long one. "Let's just say that... the time I'm talking about, a night together that was so wonderful, you weren't there. Nobody was there, it was just he and I together in our room. He was more sweet and gentle and kind and considerate and... and loving, than he'd been in our whole marriage. He showed a side of himself I'd never seen before, and I thought... I thought, if I could have THIS man for a husband, he could stay drunk and sleep around all he wanted. I thought he'd changed, somehow. I thought he loved me again. Wanted me again. I thought so. I was so sure of it because of... that night."

Paul took a deep breath. "What happened?"

"Well, we... Paul, you know I don't like talking about these kinds of things."

"You mean sex?"

She nodded. "Yes. The way I was brought up, you didn't talk about sex in the light of day."

"Yeah, but it's night time."

She laughed. "Oh, a loophole! You mean I can talk about it after the sun goes down, is that it?"

"Exactly," he said, and they clinked their glasses together, smiling. This is it, he thought.

"Well, I'm not going to go into graphic detail, of course," she said, giggling to herself, "but I will say that Roger and I had the most incredible, wonderful, and INTIMATE sexual experience together that we'd ever had. Ever. It was so... amazing... that I was sure it was going to save our marriage. I was positive of it. To this day, I don't understand how I could have been so wrong."

Her breath caught, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "For the last ten years I've been waiting, hoping somehow that Roger would come back to me, that we could find that night again, find that passion and tenderness again... somehow. I've waited for him for so long. I suppose I was a fool to believe in him, but I couldn't help it. I fell in love with him again that night in Vegas, deeper in love than I'd ever been with him, even in the beginning, and I couldn't believe he didn't feel the same, even after he left and we divorced and he married that tramp. I thought, SURELY he'll come back to me. Surely he'll come to his senses and remember everything we shared that night. And now... now he's gone, and I know he'll never come back."

She cried, and Paul got up and went over and held her until her tears went away. She clung to him the way she had when she'd first seen him that morning, tightly, almost hungrily, holding on to him and resting herself against him as she let the tears come. Gradually she let go and he stood up and went back to his chair and they sat in silence for a long time.

Finally he said, "Mom, tell me what happened. Tell me what really happened in Las Vegas."

She nodded. "I guess I should. I've been holding it in for so long, waiting for so long, never talking to anyone about it... I've needed to tell someone but I couldn't bring himself to do it. And now..." She sighed, smiling over at him. "Now, I'm going to tell my big sexual secret to my own son. Oh, boy. What a crazy life."

"I know what you mean," he said, and he did. He really, truly did. Oh boy, did he ever.

"Let's get the third bottle," his mother suggested, and he hopped up to go grab it, and the corkscrew. They finished the second bottle, and opened the third, and settled back in their chairs and looked out into the night. He waited.

At last she took a deep breath and said, quietly, "Well, to explain what happened I think I need to go back a little bit. My first husband, Frank, June's father, was... a VERY sexual man. He wanted it every night. Sometimes he'd wake me up in the middle of the night after we'd just done it an hour ago and he'd want it again. Truthfully it was exhausting, and I was relieved when I got pregnant so he'd slow down.

"But he DIDN'T slow down, he never slowed down. He was insatiable. I tried to keep up with him, I loved him, but... I couldn't. Also he was, well, he was very well-endowed and to be honest with you, sometimes it hurt. I was just RAW down there sometimes. I'm sorry to be so blunt with you, Paul."

"It's okay, Mom."

"Finally, after the baby came, I said no more. I need a break, I can't keep on going like this. So he agreed, but that didn't mean he slowed down. He just... used somebody else. Several somebody elses. Probably LOTS of somebody elses. I guess I accepted it because I had a new baby to think about, and besides, he needed it all the time, and if it couldn't be me it had to be SOMEBODY, right?"

She paused, took a drink, then continued. "Well, apparently one of his somebody elses turned out to be just as insatiable as he was. They were perfect for each other, a match made in the bedroom. So he came to me one day and said he wanted a divorce. I got to keep Junie, and he got... twenty-four-hour-a-day sex, I guess." She laughed, and Paul laughed.

"So I thought I was done with romance and love and men and all that," she went on, "but then I met Roger and he swept me off my feet and the next thing I knew, I was marrying a man almost ten years younger than I was. It was crazy. But we were in love.

"And I was happy to discover that Roger didn't need sex as often as Frank had. I was a little gun-shy, you might say. Maybe I was scared, I don't know. I just didn't get much of anything out of it. So as we settled into our bedroom routine I was relieved to find that he only wanted it once or twice a week... and that was in the BEGINNING, you know? That's when passions are at their wildest.

"After a few months we were down to once every week or two, and pretty soon once a month. Then you came along, and, for all intents and purposes, that was it. I'm not sure if we did it once a year, on average."

Paul sat up, shocked. "Once a YEAR?" This was about how often he and his own wife had sex.

She nodded. "Yes. If even that much. I didn't say anything, I didn't object, even though I'd have been willing to do it more often than THAT. I wasn't crazy about it, like I said, I went weeks without even thinking about it... but sometimes I'd get feeling a little frisky, you know, everyone does... and I'd approach him, and he'd say... no. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. And tomorrow night never came. I guess he saved his tomorrow nights for his floozies. He wasn't very good at hiding it. Once I found some letters in his jacket pocket. Another time I found a pair of panties under our bed that weren't mine. He didn't even bother to deny it."

"Wow," Paul said. "I never knew this."

She smirked over at him. "Well, why would you, honey? Good grief. There are some things you don't talk about to your children."

"Except tonight."

"Yes, except tonight." She finished her glass and poured another. "Well, so anyway, that was our marriage. I took care of children and the house, he took care of the money and... and the drinking. His drinking got worse and worse. You certainly knew about THAT."

Paul nodded. He had some truly awful memories of his father's drinking. The bastard. "So then came Las Vegas," he said.

"Yes, then came Las Vegas. We decided to give it one last try, get away from the daily drudgery. I thought it would be just he and I, that's what the whole point of it was, to rekindle our romance, but a week before we were supposed to leave he came and told me he'd bought tickets for you and June to come along. He didn't even ask me. Suddenly it was a family vacation, not a romantic getaway."

Paul sat up. "Wait. That was HIS idea? Are you serious? You mean if not for him, I wouldn't have even been there?"

"That's right."

"Oh, my God," Paul said. His head was spinning.

She went on. "So we flew across the country to Sin City, so-called, and of course he paid more attention to the bartenders and the cocktail waitresses than he did to me. He barely even spoke to me. I was devastated. I thought, well, that's it, I guess. Either we'll get divorced, or we'll keep on going like we have been, living separate lives in the same house... but the love in our marriage, the intimacy, the SEX, clearly that part was over and done with. But then, the last night of the vacation, something happened. Something wonderful. Something totally unexpected and beautiful. Out of the blue. Completely out of the blue."

"What happened?" Paul asked, his mouth as dry as the desert.

"We had a night together that... oh, my lord, even thinking about it now, ten years later, I get flustered. Suddenly Roger was loving me again, kissing, touching me... I'm not going to go into graphic detail, obviously, but it was... unbelievable. He was like a different man. We made love like we'd never done it before, like we were finding each other for the first time, and suddenly I GOT IT, what all the fuss over sex was about! Suddenly I understood why Frank had wanted it so much back when we were married! If I could have --- THAT --- I'd want it every night too!"

She took a deep breath, and went on. "I thought we were going to come back together as a couple after that. I thought things were going to be all right now, that we were going to really love each other again, even though we hadn't slept together in years and even though I knew he had a girlfriend, that same slut he ended up running off with... I thought after that one night that things might be wonderful between us, really for the first time. Because it was absolutely the best sex we'd ever had, ever. It was AMAZING. I still dream about it."

She saw the look on Paul's face. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey, I don't mean to go on and on about it, it's not fair to you. What son wants to hear his fat old mom talk about her love life?"

"No, it's okay, really," Paul gasped, gulping down another glass of pinot. "I want to hear about it, honestly, I want to know everything. So when you got home, what happened?"

"Well, it was just such a shock after all those years of no attention from him at all, to suddenly having the best sex, the best closeness, tenderness, lovingness --- if that's even a word --- of our entire marriage, in one drunken night of passion.... it took me a day or two to figure out how to put it into words, what to do, what to say to him... so after we were back and settled I remember sitting him down on the couch and leaning down and kissing him, and rubbing my hands against him, which clearly shocked him, I cuddled himself up against him and I said, 'Does what happened that night in Las Vegas mean that we're back together again?' And do you know what he said to that?"

"Uh... did he say he didn't know what you're talking about?"

She looked over at him, surprised. "Yes. How did you know that?"

He smiled weakly. "Just a hunch."

"Yes, that's exactly right. He said he had no idea what I was talking about. He denied anything even happened! He practically accused me of LYING about it! I mean, can you believe that?"

"No, it's, it's, it's... hard to believe."

"I said 'How can you pretend to not remember that night? I know you were drunk, but how could that all be a blackout? The most passionate, loving night we've ever spent together since we were newlyweds, and you've forgotten it? Or are you lying because you've decided you don't want to try and save our marriage after all, you want to go back to RACHEL?'

"And that was the first time I'd ever let on that I knew about her. I was so angry, because he kept insisting that that wonderful time together in the hotel never happened!

"And that was the night we had that big fight, that was the night your father and I split up for good. I don't think I've ever told you this. He said, 'You mean you know about Rachel?' And I said yes, and he said, 'You knew I was sleeping with another woman and you put up with it?' And I said yes, and he asked me 'How could you LIVE with that?'

"And I said because I was raised to stay with my husband no matter what, and I wanted to save our marriage, and I was crying by this time..... and he looked so disgusted that I would go on being a devoted wife even after finding out that he was cheating on me that he said he was leaving. It was over.

"So he packed his things and moved out. Can you believe that? I couldn't believe it, I just couldn't believe it. How could he lie to my face and pretend he didn't know what happened that night in Las Vegas? How could he do that to me? I'll never really know, but finally I came to the conclusion that he must have been scared of the emotion he showed that night.

"Your father isn't --- WASN'T --- a man who displayed his feelings, especially feelings of passion and desire. That night he'd allowed himself to show me a man that he wasn't ready to be, he was terrified of being that man. It was easier to go off and be with that little hussy Rachel than to break down and admit how much he loved me and needed me, how deep his feelings were for me.

"And when I realized this, I loved him even more, and I knew I'd wait however long it took for him to come back to me. I waited, and I waited... but he never came back. And now it's too late. I only really KNEW HIM once, that one beautiful night in Las Vegas. That night is all I'll ever have of the man I loved so much." Tears were streaming down her face, but she wasn't sobbing. Paul reached over and took her hand, and she held it tightly.

They were quiet for some time after that, and finally she wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up and said she wanted to go inside now, it was getting cold and she had to use the bathroom. He said he'd bring the wine inside and meet her on the couch in a few minutes. She said okay and went inside.

Paul gathered everything together and took it into the living room. He used the bathroom himself, then stared at his reflection in the mirror. How crazy this all was, he thought. How insane. But it was what it was, and he knew he couldn't let her live the rest of her life with the story she'd just told. He needed to tell her the truth.

He washed his hands and went out into the living room and found his mother curled up on the couch, holding her glass of wine.

She had changed into her pajamas, which were tight across her chest and low-cut and afforded an earth-shaking view of her deep, cavernous cleavage. And he could see the impressions made on the shirt by her nipples. Instantly his mouth was dry again, and he picked up his glass as he sat down on the couch with her. He took a long, deep drink.

He finally said, "Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I think I have to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"He, uh, Dad, uh.... he wasn't lying."

She looked at him again. "What do you mean?"

"He... DIDN'T know what happened that night in Las Vegas."

Then he told her.

((2))

..... It was another vacation, the four of us, Mom, Dad, me and my big sister June. Las Vegas, the big crazy city, my parents and my older sister out gambling every night, my father gambling and drinking. I had just turned eighteen a couple weeks before, so this was probably going to be the last family vacation.

It was our fifth and final night there, and we were having dinner in one of the hotel restaurants downstairs. My father was drinking heavily as usual all through dinner, and as usual when he was drunk he got loud and obnoxious and made others around us stare in disgust and horror, and my mother sank further and further into herself and I was so embarrassed for her, I had seen what his behavior did to her, I wanted to punch him..... but I was the dutiful son so I stayed, and finally my mother had had enough and she left, and then June left to go gamble, and it was just him and me.

He drank more, and he ordered me a couple of drinks too, and even though I didn't like drinking I drank them, and they felt good, VERY good, so good in fact that I finished a couple of his drinks when he wasn't looking, and later after everything was over I blamed the drinks.

Anyway, eventually I got him up from the table and got him to the elevator and back up to the floor where our rooms were. I had a room, June had a room, and my parents had a room. I helped him to their door, and he hunted for his room key but he couldn't find it. We knocked but Mom wasn't in there, she and my sister were still out gambling, here at the hotel or maybe even at another casino, who knew?

I didn't want to go down to the lobby for another key and leave him here alone, so I just took him into my room and basically dropped him on my bed. I went to the bathroom, thinking I should leave a message for my mother that Dad was in my room so she wouldn't worry.... and that's when I heard a tremendous retching sound coming from the bedroom, and I ran out of the bathroom to see my father puking his guts out all over the bed. When he was finished I couldn't believe there was anything left inside his body. Then he passed out cold, dead to the world.

Oh, great, I thought. Wonderful. Now in addition to hating his guts, I had to clean up his guts.

I managed to get the soiled sheets off the bed and tossed them into the tub, then covered him with a blanket. I considered lying down on the floor to sleep, or maybe trying to sleep in a chair, but the smell from the vomit and the booze reeking from his body was too much. I couldn't sleep. So I decided I'd go over to Mom and Dad's room and sleep there; his room key had fallen out of one of his jacket pockets when I was rolling him over to get the sheets out from under him.

I went across the hall, opened their door, and found that my mother STILL wasn't in. It was after midnight, pretty late for her, even on vacation, but what the hell? We're in VEGAS, right? That's what Las Vegas is for, to let loose and party and do things you would never normally do. So good for her! Hell, maybe she'll even get laid, I laughed to himself. And then my brain rolled the footage again, some anonymous swag humping and pumping himself into my mother, roughly kissing her and slamming himself into her and her breasts shaking, her legs wrapped around him, she reaches down to take handfuls of his ass as he drives into her again and again...

But that was a bad thought, a sick thought full of sin and forbidden lust, and the horrible guilt I always felt after I masturbated imagining thinking about my mother---MY OWN MOTHER!!!---each time I did it I felt like I should die, I was disgusting and horrible, I could barely stand to look in the mirror for days after I did it---and I did it nearly every day, so I could barely stand to look in the mirror EVER. And I didn't want that to happen on this trip, probably the last family trip we'd ever take together.

So that was it: no more thoughts about you-know-who doing you-know-what. Not 'til we get home. Period, end of story. So I settled on the bed and turned on the TV.

After an hour or so I started getting sleepy, and I turned off the TV and closed my eyes. The light in the entryway to the room was on, but it didn't shine directly into my eyes so it didn't bother me. I drifted off to sleep.......

The next thing I knew, there were hands moving around my clothes. I opened my eyes but the room was pitch-black, someone had turned the entryway light off and all the light there was in the room was the dim moonlight through the windows, which showed only the silhouette of a curvy, large-breasted short woman with curly hair leaning over me. I could smell the perfume that I knew so well; it was my mother. I started to speak, but then she spoke first.

"For god's sake, Roger, you're on MY side of the bed again," she whispered in her angry voice, a little slurred from alcohol I could tell but not much, my mother never drank to excess, probably because she saw what it did to my father.

She went on. "AND you're still in your clothes, lying in bed! Good grief, you're just..... you're just..... it just bothers me SO MUCH when you won't even TRY anymore, you just don't care at all anymore, about anything. I just...."

She let out a loud sigh and started unbuttoning my shirt. "And I'll tell you something else. I don't care if this is a wife's 'duty' or not, I don't care anymore what kind of a wife my mother taught me to be. I'm sick of taking care of you while you're drunk like this. DO YOU HEAR ME? I'm not going to keep.... keep pouring you out of your clothes every night.

"Do you hear me? Are you just going to keep ignoring me for the rest of our lives? Don't you love me anymore at all? I still love you..... even after all these years, Roger. I still love you. I still want you. I still want to make love to you, Roger....."

She thought I was my father! And of course why wouldn't she, in the darkness, in their own room, in their own bed? My father and I were roughly the same height and body type, same hair, and we were both wearing dress shirts and slacks.

I opened my mouth again to speak let her know she'd made a mistake, and then I felt her fingertips on my mouth, stroking my lips and down to my chin and then my neck, and then my chest and my stomach. Her tiny fingers stroked my skin gently, tenderly, but with a sense of urgency that was unmistakable. It felt incredible.... it felt distinctly sensual, sexual.

"This used to turn you on, a hundred years ago," she said in a quiet, disappointed voice.

It WAS turning me on, right here and now, quickly and decisively. My cock began to grow and harden immediately... and despite the fact that I knew it was terribly wrong I shut my mouth. How beautiful she was, how sexy, every move she made was erotic, and her big breasts and her great backside and her legs and fingers..... she was sexy, my mother was completely sexy to me, there was no denying it, and although I knew I should stop her now, before it was too late, I froze. I didn't move. Only my cock moved. It grew and grew.

Just then she stopped stroking me, apparently giving up, and unbuckled my belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped my pants and started to pull them off.... and that's when her fingers came in contact with my underpants, and the rigid swelling inside them. I froze again.

And SHE froze, and I heard an intake of breath above me. Then I felt her fingertips feeling around and finding the hard bulge again, and her fingers feeling around to make sure it was what she thought it was. Which it most certainly WAS, and getting more so by the second. My own mother's fingers were softly, lovingly squeezing my cock inside my underwear!

"Roger," she breathed. "Oh my GOODNESS....."

She squeezed again, a little harder this time, to see how hard it was. It was VERY hard, and getting harder by the second. She kept squeezing it and gasping, squeezing it and gasping, and for a terrible second I was afraid she was going to realize it wasn't her husband's penis in her hands---too thick? Too long? Too hard? All of the above?---and deduce who therefore had to be in her bed at two o'clock in the morning.

"Roger, oh my lord, you're.... you're hard as a ROCK," she whispered, giggling.

Then she stopped giggling, still gently squeezing my cock in my underpants, and she said, "I know this isn't really for ME, I know you were probably dreaming about HER, but.... could you just do it to me, just this once, Roger? It's been so long, I've been so lonely.... couldn't you just pretend this once that I'm her, or that I'm young and attractive again? Please? You can even call me Rachel if you want, I don't care. I just.... I..... I NEED IT, I need a man to love me again, won't you please.... just this once? It's been SO LONG since we've been together. I'm still your wife..... aren't I? Won't you please make love to me again, just this once? Please, I'll beg if you want me to. Please.... please do it to me, please. Please. I'm so lonely...."

I didn't know what to do, or say, or anything. I knew I should say something, let her know it wasn't Dad she was talking to.... but this was SO personal, SO private... in a way, so humiliating for her, begging him like this, pleading.... It was something I should never have heard, so how could I tell her NOW?

But I should tell her, shouldn't I? No matter how embarrassing it would be afterward? No matter how much it would come between us and make things awful between my mother and me, forever? Didn't I have to tell her the truth?

But she was already squeezing my dick, rubbing it, stroking it.... if I told her it was me, her own son, it was MY dick she was touching and fondling, it was ME she was pleading for sex, there would always be that between us, forever. How could she ever forget it?

She'd be destroyed by the shame of it all. Maybe even.... might she even KILL HERSELF if she knew she'd fondled her own son's penis? She was always the perfect mother. How could she live with it? What should I do?? The only answer seemed to be to keep my mouth shut, not let her know it was me. Somehow maybe the situation would resolve itself.

Then suddenly, it did resolve itself.

At that moment something switched in her and she stopped waiting for an answer to her pleading. She pulled my pants down and threw them on the floor, then she stepped back up and took hold of the waistband on my underpants and pulled it over my big, hard, long cock, and she giggled again as it sprang free and wobbled back and forth in the darkness.

She took hold of it again and I felt the electric contact of the skin of my mother's hand touching the skin of my cock, and she gasped again, and I gasped, and I grunted, and she moved her hand softly up and down, feeling the whole thing, and although I was trying not to make any sounds that might give me away, the sensation of her hand rubbing up and down by hard cock made me murmur, "OhohOH.... uuughhhh.... OHHHH......"

Again I was afraid she was going to recognize my voice and realize it was ME, or at least realize it wasn't HIM..... but no, she whispered "OH MY GOD, Roger, you're so big, so HARD, oh lord...." and I saw her moonlight silhouette move quickly around to the other side of the bed, and I watched her slip her top off, and then pull her skirt down, and then wriggle herself out of her panties. To my disappointment, she didn't take off her bra. But my disappointment wasn't THAT great.

Still giggling to herself, she slipped into bed with me --- I was lying on top of the covers --- and I felt her lean over me, her heavy breasts pushing down against me, the material of her bra pressing into my chest, the underwires painfully poking me.

I felt her breath on my face, whispering "Kiss me Roger," and then she was kissing me, real, deep, passionate kisses full of desire and lust and desperation and impatience, and her tongue, I felt her warm tongue in my mouth, pulling on my tongue and sucking it, which no one had ever done before and which turned me on even more.

I was so shocked (((((MY MOTHER WAS KISSING ME))))) that I didn't think to kiss her back for a few seconds, and then something switched in me, too: I stopped being terrified of discovery and started feeling as horny as my cock was already feeling, and I realized with a shock that I wanted this to happen, not just as my regular twice-a-day forbidden jerkoff fantasy but in real life, I wanted it FOR REAL, I'd wanted it for a long, long time but I hadn't been willing to admit it to himself..... but I admitted it now.

YES. I wanted this. I stopped thinking of her as my pretty, polite little mother and started thinking of her as the sexy, beautiful, turned-on woman that she was right now. So I jumped into the moment and I started kissing her back. I wasn't a very practiced kisser, I have to admit, and there was a lot of slobbering and teeth-clacking involved as I figured it out, but she didn't seem to notice, or mind, maybe chalking it up in her mind to the fact that I---her husband Roger---was, after all, very drunk, remember?

Her hands were on my chest, and my stomach, and then her hand found my rock-hard cock again and she started rubbing it ((((MY MOTHER WAS RUBBING MY COCK)))) and even reaching down a couple of times to gently cup my balls ((((MY MOTHER WAS CUPPING MY BALLS)))), and it was amazingly wonderful, the best thing I'd ever felt up to that moment in my life.... and then she stopped kissing me and settled back on the bed, spreading her legs and grabbing my shirt and pulling me toward her, whispering "Please Roger oh please put it in, do it, DO IT, do it to me now, please, I need it, I need you," tugging on my arms, and I allowed himself to be pulled over on top of her.

And then I was kneeling between her thighs, smelling the strong sweet scent of her cunt, my cock poking out straight and hard in the darkness toward her. I wasn't totally sure what to do----I was a virgin, this was my first time with a woman, and it was my mother---((((I WAS ABOUT TO LOSE MY VIRGINITY TO MY MOTHER)))) but she giggled again and whispered in the darkness, "It's okay my darling, let me do it for you."

She took hold of my cock in her little fingers and guided it toward her pussy, holding onto my shoulder with her other hand and pulling me forward, down to her, I inched forward on my knees until my cock made sudden, shocking contact with the wet, warm, slick softness of her swollen pussy lips ((((MY COCK WAS TOUCHING A WOMAN'S PUSSY---- MY MOTHER'S PUSSY)))), and she whispered, "Oh oh oh yes, oh my baby my baby my baby my baby," and with hardly a second to reflect that she was unintentionally correct, I actually WAS her baby --- "Oh YES Roger now just push, push," she panted, pulling at me, and I slipped inside her, inside a woman for the first time.

I was so shocked and stunned at this sudden incredible, unbelievable turn of events that I couldn't even register the fact of what was happening: two minutes ago I was sleeping in a hotel room, on vacation with my family, and now somehow for the first time in my life I was having sex! ((((I WAS HAVING SEX!)))) and I was having sex with my mother! ((((I WAS HAVING SEX WITH MY MOTHER))))

Actually I wasn't having sex quite just yet, because while I was technically inside a woman's vagina, I wasn't DOING anything, just leaning forward and propping himself up with my arms on either side of her, too amazed and confused and shocked to actually DO anything except try to remember to breathe, which came in rugged gasps for air in a vain attempt to calm himself down enough to process what was happening.

Again, my mother seemed to chalk this up to pure middle-aged drunkenness, not pure teenaged virginity, and she put her hands on my hips and started to move them forward, and then back, whispering, "Mmm yes now here we go, here we go baby, mm hm, come on, Roger, yes, uh huh... mmmmmm...." and then forward, and she squirmed her hips around beneath me while she found a rhythm for us, and pretty soon I caught on to what she was getting at and I started moving my hips with her hands.

"There, OH YES," she gasped. I was awkward, jerking my hips forward and shoving my cock further into her rather than pumping and gliding himself within her wetness, but the sounds she was making clearly indicated that she did not mind one little bit.

"OHHH..... ohhhh!..... unh, oh, oh my god OHH! Yes, oh yes baby, that way, mmmmyes..... ohhh.... oh my GOD you feel so good inside me...."

Her hands were still on my hips, holding on now as we moved together, and she gasped and grunted as I filled her, rubbed the head of my cock against her tight soft cunt walls, her pussy juices slicking all over my cock and allowing me to move faster and slide smoother within her. I was shocked that there was such stuff, nobody had ever told me about a woman's pussy juices. Nobody. It made things so much easier!

And now my head cleared for a brief moment enough to realize that now, NOW I was really having sex. NOW I was no longer a virgin, and never would be again as long as I lived. It had HAPPENED. No matter what happened for the rest of my life, I had had sex. I had fucked a woman.

So we had sex, me and my mother. My brain was too blasted-out over this sudden impossible turn of events to really think about what I was doing, but I was aware, and it felt so good, there were so many pleasurable sensations going on down there, the warm wet feeling of her pussy gently gripping me, holding me as I moved back and forth, it was NOTHING like my hand, which was the only thing that had ever gripped it before.

No amount of loving concern from my fingers, no amount of hand lotion and tissue papers, no amount of pornographic images from my father's not-very-well-hidden collection beneath the bed, none of that could even come close to approximating even half, even HALF of half, of what I was feeling right now...... and that's why, after only a minute or two of real fucking, I felt that familiar massive buildup of pleasure and pressure in my balls and my dick and I started gasping for air and moving my hips really fast to increase the friction around my cock and suddenly I was cumming inside her, suddenly my first sexual experience ((((WITH MY MOTHER)))) was coming to an end.

She put her hands on my chest and whispered, "Oh no Roger, ROGER, not inside me! You're not wearing a condom, I could still get preg---"

But I couldn't stop, I couldn't help it, I kept pumping my hips up and down and grunting in rhythm as the cum pumped out of me and into her, and after a few seconds she stopped pushing on my chest. "..... ohhhhhhell, never mind, never mind, go ahead, OH GOD it's so good, so good....."

And she took hold of my face and pulled me down and kissed me and wrapped her legs around me and held me inside her as I thrust and pumped my cum into her pussy. It was a lot. I felt it dripping out of her and onto my balls and my thighs and it dripped all over her and onto the bed beneath us.

I'd always had a lot of cum, I'd had to use lots of kleenex and paper towels to clean up until I realized I could use my undershirt, but even THAT sometimes got so soaked with it that I made a big sloppy sticky gooey mess. Now I was making my big sloppy gooey mess inside my mother, I reflected in my bliss, I had a brand-new place to put my cum: INSIDE A WOMAN!!! Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For a moment, as I moved my hips against her and felt my cum become sticky between us, as the room stopped spinning and I felt how exhausted and wiped out I suddenly was, for just a moment I did briefly reflect that I might actually have just gotten my own mother pregnant.... which would obviously be horrific beyond words.... but I was too full of sensation to dwell on it.

"Oh Roger," my mother breathed as my thrusting slowed and I began to feel weak, "that was amazing, it was so wonderful, thank you, thank you, it was so wonderful..... oh baby......."

My whole body felt like it was wrapped in a warm blanket. It was the most incredible orgasm I'd ever had, or ever hoped to have. I felt helpless, shaky in my exhaustion, and I settled himself on top of her, feeling like I wanted to fall asleep (which is no doubt what she was expecting me to do), but she was still kissing me, holding on to me, and my cock was still inside her, being expertly milked of the last few drops of cum.....

My head cleared again enough for me to realize that this was real, this was not yet another crippling-guilt fantasy about having sex with her, this had really happened, was still happening in fact, I HAD had sex with my mother and it had been incredible, if brief, and I was lying on top of my mother and kissing her, and my dick was still inside her, slowly deflating, and I realized that I could feel the thick hard straps of her brassiere pressing against my chest, the brassiere that held my mother's beautiful, bountiful amazing breasts, and I could feel the softness of them that pushed out of the top of the brassiere against me, and in the darkness, while I was still her "husband," I had the right to DO something about it, to touch them, to kiss them, after all they were MY WIFE'S BREASTS, right?

And so my kisses left her mouth and I kissed my way to her cheek, to her neck, to her shoulder, to her chest, and then I was kissing them, the soft pushed-out part of them, and kissing her bra too, the lace, the straps, everything I could get my lips on I was kissing, because these were the most incredible fantastic beautiful sexy tits in all the land!!!-----

And she gasped and giggled again, and whispered, "Roger.... oh my, OH MY, you mean you're not DONE?"

Laughing, she reached underneath her and unfastened the bra. I felt it come away, she pulled it off and tossed it into the darkness, and then she took my face in her hands and pulled me down to her breasts, moaning with pleasure as I kissed and licked them, and one of her hands cupped a breast and pushed it up towards me, pinching the nipple so I could find it, I worked my lips around in the darkness until I found it and took it between my lips and suckled it, and she gasped again, and I felt her hips move again and she was pushing herself up against me, rubbing our cum-smeared pelvises together.

After a few moments, without thinking about anything but how wonderful this all felt, my cock which had gotten softer and fallen out of her pussy when I moved down a bit to get closer to her breasts, my cock got HARDER and BIGGER again, and this time I knew what to do with it, and lifted himself onto my knees so I could find access to her again, I reached down and took my dick in my fingers and found the snug, slippery opening again and slowly guided it in.

She sucked in air and spread her legs wide for me and she said, rather loudly, "ROGER! Oh my----you mean TWICE???? Oh my!!! OH MY GOD!!!"

And yes, twice, because now I had more control over what was happening and yes, I wanted it to happen again, and I wanted it to last longer this time.

My lips left her bouncing breasts and found her own lips again and now we were kissing, now I knew how to kiss her and I knew how to fuck her, and I was fucking her for real now, I was on top of her and I was driving the motion and creating the rhythm between us, and suddenly I was having sex for the second time in my life. ((((AGAIN WITH MY MOTHER!!!))))

"Oh Roger, ROGER," she was breathing as we moved together, as I kissed her lips and her face, "oh god ROGER."

It was interesting that she wasn't bothered by the fact that I hadn't said anything; I hadn't said a word since she'd woken me up, not one word, and she hadn't seemed to notice at all. Or maybe she didn't care. Or maybe my father simply didn't talk during sex, and this was normal. He certainly didn't talk much in regular everyday life, he mostly just grunted one-word answers when you asked him a question and was quiet the rest of the time unless he was pissed off about something.

So maybe she wasn't expecting him (me) to say anything while they (we) were having sex, and my terrified silence was no big deal. It was strange to be so terrified while having the greatest, most pleasurable experience of my entire life; strange to be frightened while in such a completely intimate moment. I can say that I definitely WAS terrified, and very careful about the noises I made while I was fucking my mother, but it certainly wasn't holding me back from enjoying every second of this.

Kissing her, moving my hips against her as she moved hers against mine in rhythm, as she gasped and grunted with each thrust, as her fingers wound through my hair and on my face and my neck and gripped my shoulders, as she called out "my" name again and again, as I imagined that it really WAS my name she was calling out, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how much I loved having sex with her, how glad I was that she was my first, and my second, how much of a fool I thought my father was and right now I would marry her in a heartbeat and be her husband and fuck her brains out every night, all night, for the rest of her life.

I just wanted to lean close and whisper in her ear, "Mom, it's ME. It's not Dad. It's Paul, and I love you, and you never have to be alone again."

I wanted to so bad..... but I didn't, of course, because she'd scream and shove me away and hate me and probably never speak to me or look at me again. I knew I could never tell her. I knew how wrong this was, that I was deceiving her, even though I hadn't started all of this, hadn't intended it to happen, now that it WAS happening, even though I knew it was terribly wrong I couldn't stop. I WOULDN'T stop.

This would, I knew, be the only time in my life that I'd ever get to have sex with my dream woman, and I wasn't going to throw it away.

I was a monster, I really felt like I had to be a monster for deceiving her in this way --- or allowing her to deceive herself, whatever it was --- but I couldn't help himself. I was so wrapped up in the pleasure and the joy of this experience that I'd have given anything, even my own life, to keep it going. Was it... could it be a kind of evil, if the person you're fucking thought you were someone else? But the fucking wasn't against her will, she WANTED to be fucked, she was fucking me too, she was an equal participant in the fucking, she was simply misinformed as to who exactly she was fucking. That's all.

So I kept it going. And I did whatever I could think of to stop from cumming, I just kept moving against her and kissing her and feeling her huge soft breasts pushing against me, her legs wrapped around mine, her arms holding me to her, not wanting to let me go, whispering my name, telling me I was so good, so good, she loved it, she loved me, she never wanted me to stop making love to her..... I told himself she felt the same way I felt so I didn't HAVE to tell her the truth.... and as long as my dick was inside her, I allowed himself to believe it.

Finally, though, the pressure got to be too much and, grunting, I started to cum. I pulled my cock out this time, or started to, but she gasped "NO" and pulled me close to her, holding onto me fiercely, so I came inside her again, pumping what felt like gallon after gallon into her, until our midsections were so slick and greased with cum and her own juices that it felt like we were one person, slippery and sticky together.

I just kept moving my cock and fucking her as I slowly, slowly deflated within her and finally with a wet, sticky PLOP my dick fell out of her cunt and I sighed, gasping for air, completely spent. I relaxed my arms, which had been pinned to either side of her, holding himself above her, and I collapsed on top of her.

She wrapped her arms around me and cooed, "Baby, baby, ooh rest now my baby," and we lay like that for a long, long time, just breathing, her little fingers stroking my back and my hair.

She kissed my ear. "Oh my god, that was amazing, Roger." I just gasped for breath, breathing hard. Sex was very hard work when you really went at it, I had learned.

"Roger," she whispered, "that... was the most amazing sex we've ever had. The best I've EVER had. Oh my god, oh my god, I love you so much, I'm sorry..."

She didn't say what she was sorry about, it hardly seemed to me like she had anything to be sorry about and I wanted to tell her that but I said nothing, I just kissed her ears and her hair and her neck and she giggled her warm breath against me and we lay entangled, unhurried, loving each other.

Soon she began to talk. She talked first about how surprised she was, how I seemed so different and how amazed she was, what a suddenly wonderful experience this night was... but then she started talking about the past, about her first marriage, about her dreams as a girl, what she'd wanted for her life and how it had gone astray and time had been wasted but NOW, here in my arms, she felt that the time had come back to her, holding me she felt she knew what her purpose was, it was to be my wife and she was happy that that's what she'd done with her life... she talked on and on, I'd never heard her talk this much, and she interrupted herself from time to time kissing and touching me and I kissed and touched her whole body, everywhere, all over her, and she all over me.

And still I said nothing, nothing besides my father's usual grunts of YEAH or NO, I found I could imitate him pretty well, and she didn't seem to want anything more out of me than to listen. How long we mingled tenderly in bed while she told me her dreams I don't know... but it was long enough for my energy to reassert itself once again, and my cock started getting hard again and I let her know it was time. Again.

"Oh GOD Roger, you mean---?" but that was all she had time to say before I was inside her again, and we were finding our rhythm again, and this time it was two lovers who knew every inch of each other's body exploring the intimate familiarity of each other, giving everything we had to the moment we had together.

I even felt I knew my own body more than I had a few hours ago, I knew how to hold my climax back and how to stay calm enough to truly enjoy what was happening, and how to not focus on my own pleasure so much and focus more on hers.

We traded places and she straddled me, I saw the moonlight on her swaying breasts and I pulled her down so I could kiss them and she stayed still above me, stroking me while I kissed and nibbled her breasts and nipples, I stayed hard inside her while I enjoyed her, then she started moving her hips again, her nipple popped out of my mouth and she straightened and sat back on me, squirming circles as I filled her pussy and she held on to my cock like a chokehold.

"I want you on top of me again," she murmured, and pulled me over onto her, digging her fingers into me as I pushed my hips against her, her breathing came in gasps for air and so did mine and we both felt the explosion coming and incredibly we came TOGETHER, at the same moment, both of us shouting out in hoarse voices.

Later I wondered how she could have not recognized my voice in that moment, but I realized she must have been so lost in her orgasm that she didn't really hear it. I sure as hell was lost in mine.

So we came, and again we stayed together, dwindling down, breathing like we'd run a marathon, laughing together, and of course kissing and nuzzling each other with absolute togetherness. A man and a woman who knew and loved each other so deeply that we didn't have to speak any more.

"Oh I love you so much, Roger," my mother said into my ear.

"I love you too," I said back, forgetting himself for a moment.

I froze, waiting for her to scream "PAUL?!?!"... but nothing happened. Nothing changed.

For awhile, I have no idea how long, she just kept me there in her arms, stroking my hair, whispering kisses at me, and then finally she relaxed and gently scooted out from under me, apparently having decided that I was asleep. I let himself roll over naturally, facing the wall, and kept still while she climbed gently, slowly out of bed.

I wanted to turn over and look at her, see the silhouette of her naked body in the moonlight, the woman I'd just had sex with --- THREE TIMES --- the woman I knew I was hopelessly in love with and would be for the rest of my life.... but I didn't dare move, for fear she'd catch a glimpse of my face in that same moonlight, or start talking to me and expect me to answer now that we weren't "busy" together anymore.

She and I had gone through all of that, the most intimate act two people can engage in together, and somehow, incredibly, unbelievably, she'd believed that she had had that act with a completely different person.

Now that my brain was working again and I wasn't consumed with lust anymore, I was shocked and stunned that we'd done what we'd done and she'd never caught on that it wasn't her husband of nearly two decades making love to her. It must have been YEARS since they'd slept together, I realized, for her to be so unfamiliar with the man she was having sex with.

But it had happened, and now I had to figure out a way to get the hell out of here without her finding out. If she found out now, after the act (ACTS) was over and done with, I couldn't imagine what she'd do.

Certainly she would hate me, shun me and never look at me again; that much was obvious. To know that I had gone through with it, knowing who she was, and then started it up and done it again... and AGAIN... well, possibly I could make an argument for the very first time, that I'd just been woken up out of a deep sleep and found himself having sex before I was fully awake and realized what was going on, but the second time, clearly initiating it himself, completely awake and knowing full well who I was in bed with... and then hours lying together listening to her reveal her deepest thoughts and secrets... and then fucking her AGAIN.... there was no forgiving that, I was sure. She must NEVER find out what I'd done.

I heard her padding around the room and I waited, terrified, for her to turn on the light for some reason and expose my face. Would I just bury himself in the pillow and start pretend-snoring and hope for the best? What else COULD I do? Make a run for it? With what excuse? It was hopeless: I was trapped, at least until she got back in bed and fell asleep. Then, maybe, I could sneak out...

Finally I heard her move down the little hall and into the bathroom. There was a brief silence and I heard the toilet flush, and I waited, hyper-aware for any sounds she was making to try and discern what she might do.... then the bathroom door opened, a shaft of light came into the room and I was sure I was a dead man, but the light didn't fall directly on me, I was still covered in shadow.

I heard her slowly tiptoe over to my side of the bed. Oh Christ, I thought, what now? Was she going to wake me up to talk about what had just happened? Was she --- but even as I began to panic I felt her reach gently down between my legs and take my cock in her fingers, and then I felt a warm, damp washcloth.

She was cleaning me! She wiped off my cock, then my balls, then my thighs, saying nothing, no sounds anywhere except her soft breathing. I started to get hard again, this time against my will, because if we started fucking again with that bit of light in the room there was a much greater chance of her discovering me.... but my mother had other ideas. When she realized what was happening she took me into her mouth. (((MY MOTHER WAS SUCKING MY COCK))) It was incredible, it felt like my dick was taking a bath in living velvet cream.

Because I felt raw from overuse, every sensation of her lips and her tongue and her saliva was like an explosion, I barely had time to really relax and enjoy what was happening before I felt it coming again, and it came, it came right into her mouth and down her throat, not a drop was spilled. Another experience I'd only ever dreamed about had just happened, and again it was my mother who had given it to me.

Then she was finished and taking a moment to wipe me off again. The washcloth went away, then I heard her giggle softly, and then I felt her plant a single, tender kiss on the shaft of my dick, and she replaced the covers over me.

She padded back to the bathroom and closed the door, cutting off the light. There was silence and I couldn't believe that it was over. But what was going to happen NOW?

Just then I heard the water in the bathtub, and then the shower was turned on, and I knew I was saved. My mother was notorious for taking extremely long showers. I had time!

I had to quit fixating on this experience and get out of here so she NEVER learned who she'd really just spent the night with. Quickly I slipped out of bed and grabbed my clothes, stuffing himself into them in the darkness and nearly falling over and hitting my head twice.

I was moving as fast as I could but it seemed like I was taking forever, I kept expecting to hear the water shut off even though I couldn't remember a time when she didn't take at least twenty, sometimes thirty, minutes in the shower, and it couldn't have been more than five minutes since she'd gotten in.... could it? I was so panicked I couldn't be sure. I quickly finished dressing and quietly opened the door, stepped out into the empty, silent hall, and started to shut the door behind me.

WAIT! Fuck! What about my FATHER?

What would happen when she got out of the shower and found that he was gone? Would she come over to my room and knock and find him passed out in my bed? Why would he suddenly have gotten out of THEIR bed and come over to MY room and then passed out? It made no sense.

There was only one thing to do: I had to get him up and back over to his own room and his own bed, and get back to my room. Only then could I relax.

I got into my room and found him exactly where I'd left him. He hadn't moved an inch. There was still vomit on his face. I grabbed a washcloth and wet it and wiped his face, thinking of how I was cleaning my father and how my mother had just cleaned me, and made sure there was nothing else on him, then I shook him and shook him and pulled at his arms and called his name.

He muttered, completely out of it, but I was able to get him to his feet and, propping him up like he was a life-size doll, I got him out of the room and across the hall. I listened at the cracked-open door: what if she was done with her shower? How would I explain bringing Dad in like this? I didn't know, but fortunately I heard the water still going, so I pushed open the door and led him inside, got him over to the bed, and let him drop into the space where I had just..... well, where I had just had sex with his wife, three times. And gotten a blowjob from her.

I looked down at him --- the light from the hallway illuminated his face --- and suddenly I felt sorry for him, that he was so blind and stupid (and drunk) that he was missing what an amazing, incredibly wonderful woman he was married to.

The love, affection, and desire she had poured out onto me tonight had been meant for HIM, and he was too much of a moron to take advantage of it. What a FOOL! I wanted to punch him..... but instead I undressed him. After all, why would he have woken up after having sex, put on his clothes, then gotten back into bed and fallen asleep again?

So I worked quickly and pulled off all of his clothes, even his underpants as disgusting as that was, and tossed it on the floor as my mother had with my own clothes earlier. I covered him with a blanket and he mumbled, "Thanks, honey," and was dead to the world again.

Just then I heard the water in the shower turn off, so I quietly made my way to the door, stepped outside, and closed it without a sound. Back to my own room, close the door.

Breathe. I made it. I made it.

Only then could I stop and reflect on what had happened to me tonight. I had had sex for the first time in my life..... a momentous, incredible, life-changing event.... and it had happened with...... with my own mother.

And I was in love. There was no denying it. How could I feel anything BUT hopeless, undying love for the woman who had given and shared so much of herself with me tonight? What did it matter that she was my mother? She was a woman. I was a man. I loved her, I adored her. She was everything to me.

I went to sleep, and when I woke up the next morning I knew I would never love any woman but my mother.

Ten years later, I still hadn't. Not even for a second.

((3))

"Paul....... that..... that was YOU?"

The living room had grown so quiet that Paul heard his own breathing like a howling hurricane in his ears. His mother was still holding her wine glass but she hadn't drank from it the entire time he told his story, hadn't touched it, hadn't moved. She had sat and stared at him, listening.

Paul nodded. "Yes, Mom, it was me."

She stared at her son for a long time, then stared off into space, then down at herself. He had no idea what she might be thinking right now, no clue.

She looked suddenly, soberly up at him. "That CAN'T be true. You're lying."

"Why would I lie about a thing like that?"

Her mouth was open, but she said nothing. She just shook her head.

"Mom..."

"I can't believe it. NO. I can't believe that. I CAN'T."

"It's true. I swear it's true. I'm sorry I deceived you for so long. I never meant to lie to you, ever, I just... how could I tell you? I couldn't."

"You're LYING!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm not. I wouldn't lie about that. You KNOW I wouldn't."

She stared hard at him for a long time, and he withered under her gaze, waiting for her to speak. There was no telling where this moment was going to go. It was entirely possible --- probable, even --- that this was the last time she was ever going to speak to him. She could kick him out of her house and never see him again for the rest of her life. In fact, why WOULDN'T she do that, after what he'd just confessed to her?

Finally she said, "You wouldn't lie about it. You're telling me the truth. It WAS you."

He nodded. "Yeah, Mom. It was."

"THAT'S why Roger denied knowing what happened that night. All this time I thought he was lying to me, pretending he didn't remember because he was scared of his feelings. But he really DIDN'T know what I was talking about. He really wasn't there..... it wasn't him at all. It was NEVER him, this whole time. I can't believe it."

"I'm sorry I deceived you, Mom," he whispered weakly. "Please try to forgive me."

"Forgive you...?" she said. "I don't even know what that means right now."

Then she seemed to discover the glass of wine in her hand for the first time, and she drank the rest of it in a single gulp. She set the glass down on the table and wiped her mouth with trembling fingers.

"Why... why did you tell me this, Paul? You've kept this secret for ten years, why tell me now?"

"Because you're so sad, thinking he gave you this wonderful night and then pretended it never happened, and you waited for him to come back to you, and now he's dead, and you were going to go the whole rest of your life thinking he loved you for that one night and then never again, and it wasn't true."

"No, it wasn't true," she agreed ruefully, "it was NEVER true, I've been believing a lie this whole time, waiting for my husband to come back to me and he was NEVER going to, because the night we shared NEVER HAPPENED."

"Mom!" Paul sat up, spilling his wine on himself. "Mom, it DID happen! That's what I'm telling you this for! He didn't care, he never cared, or at least he didn't care anymore, that night would never have happened with HIM. You don't have to wonder why he never came back to you, because he was never the kind of guy that WOULD come back to you! All he cared about was alcohol and whores. That's all."

She stared at him, maybe listening, maybe not.

He went on. "But that night DID happen, and the man it happened with---"

"Don't say it. Don't say it." She put her hands over her ears. He waited, watching her sit there. At length she took her hands away. But she said, "Don't you dare say it."

"Why not?" he asked. "You know everything else. You may as well know the rest." He waited, and she just sat looking at him. There was no way to read the look on her face. He cleared his throat and said, "The man that night happened with is right here. I love you, Mom. That night meant as much to me as it did to you. I still dream about it, too. I think about it all the time. I've never told anyone this, but I fell in love with you that night, and I'm still in love with you. I've never been in love with anyone but you."

"What about your wife?" she asked.

He shrugged, shaking his head. There was nothing to say.

She took a deep breath. "So," she said in a low, even voice. "My ex-husband, who I thought I loved, who I waited for for ten years, kills himself, and my son comes and tells me that we slept together without me knowing it and he's in love with me and doesn't love his wife. What, exactly, am I supposed to do with THAT?"

"I don't know," Paul admitted. He took a drink of his wine, then finished it and set the glass down. "I'm sorry if telling you this made things worse. I didn't mean to."

"Really? You thought it would make things BETTER?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I just thought, I can't let you go on believing for the rest of your life that you had that amazing night with that bastard."

"He's NOT a bastard," his mother hissed. Then she stopped, thought a moment, and whispered, "He IS a bastard. Oh my god. If that wasn't him... then he DID dump me for a whore, and he never looked back, and he didn't care, and I waited for him for ten years for NOTHING."

"Not for nothing," Paul said. "It just wasn't HIM you were waiting for."

Her mouth fell open. "What are you saying?" He started to reply but she held up her hands. "No! Don't tell me what you're saying! You've said enough for one night. My god, I can't handle any more. I can't handle THIS, much less anything else."

She stood up, picked up both empty wine glasses and took them into the kitchen, where she washed them and then put them in the dishwasher. She came back into the living room, looking fixedly at the floor, not at him. "I'm going to bed. We'll... talk more about it tomorrow, I guess. I don't know."

She started down the hall to her bedroom and he said, "I'm sorry I lied to you, Mom. I wish I'd told you back then."

For a minute she stood in the hallway, in the warm, dim light coming from the bedroom. She said so softly he could hardly hear, "That night in Las Vegas... was was the greatest sexual experience of my life."

"It was the greatest sexual experience of MY life, too."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "It was? Really?"

He nodded. They looked at each other, then the moment passed and she went on down the hall. He heard the door to her bedroom softly close, and he was alone.

((4))

In the morning Paul awoke as his mother was leaving. She had left him a note, which she pointed to and said she had to get going, she'd talk to him later. Then she was gone, again. He made his way over to the table where the note was, and picked it up.

I'VE GONE TO WORK. WE CAN TALK TONIGHT. She had written LOVE, MOM underneath but then crossed it out. That was all. He crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage and sat on the couch.

He had a terrible hangover, of course, but he managed to make a few phone calls. He called his wife, who accepted the news that he wasn't coming back for awhile with such equanimity that he thought she'd fallen asleep. "Come back whenever, don't come back, I don't care," she said finally, and hung up.

Next he called his office and told them he was taking an extended leave of absence because of his father's death, and this too was accepted without question. "Of course. Take as much time as you need, Paul," his boss said. He was quite a guy.

He called a restaurant he knew his mother liked and made a reservation, assuming she might be more willing to discuss where things stood if they were in public and nobody could make any melodramatic scenes.

Then he took a shower and settled on the couch and waited for his head and his stomach to stop feeling like they'd been invaded by the Nazis. This took most of the day. He spent it drinking coffee and looking at the television without paying any attention, and thinking about last night.

So he had finally told her. Over the years he'd had so many fantasies about telling her, and finally it had happened, and it hadn't gone as well as the BEST fantasies he'd had, but it certainly (so far) hadn't gone as badly as the WORST fantasies. Maybe they could figure out a way to put it behind them and still be close. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without her in it. He couldn't imagine why he'd want to go on living. Even if they never spoke of Las Vegas again, even if they had to pretend nothing had ever happened and they were just a regular old run-of-the-mill mother and son, it would be bearable. After all, that's how he'd already been living the last ten years.

What he really needed to do was figure out what to say to her, and how to say it without upsetting her. It was important to be Mr. No Expectations, he figured; whatever she wanted to do, he'd do; what had happened, happened; the question now was what to do moving forward. Wouldn't it be a terrible shame if our relationship, our FRIENDSHIP, ended because of one night, et cetera. Be cool, be calm, be patient, be understanding. Listen to her. Don't argue. Don't try to convince her of anything.

He still hadn't come to any conclusions when he saw her car pull into the driveway. She got out, locked her door, and came inside. She looked at him sitting on the couch waiting for her. Nobody spoke.

Then she took off her purse and her jacket and set them in a chair and said, "I'll be right back, I have to change." And she was gone, again. Would he ever be in the same room with her for more than twenty seconds again?

Finally she came out, dressed in her regular low-cut pajamas that displayed a divine amount of cleavage. This was a surprise. Then she went in the kitchen and poured herself a glass of pinot, which was even more of a surprise. She came and sat on the couch. She took off her earrings and stretched out her legs. Her feet were only a few inches away from him.

"I got written up at work for the first time in my life today," she said, taking a sip of wine. "I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing because I was thinking about... all of THIS... and I almost ran into an old man with a forklift. They just started letting me drive the damn thing, and I nearly kill somebody with it. I stopped with about two feet to spare. My boss was so mad I thought his hair plugs were going to pop out."

The relief Paul felt at the mere fact that she was speaking to him made him laugh out loud. He immediately caught himself, but then SHE laughed, shaking her head.

"What a day," she said, looking at him. "Why don't you pour yourself a glass of wine and relax, like me."

"O-okay." He got up and went to the kitchen. "Uh, I, uh... I made us reservations at The Lakehouse for seven o'clock," he said, pouring with shaking hands.

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. But I can cancel it if you want." He sat back down on the couch, and her breasts jiggled conspicuously from the movement. Quickly half his glass of wine was gone.

She sipped her wine, contemplating. "I hadn't figured on going out again tonight, but... I never get to go to The Lakehouse, it's too expensive. That's my favorite restaurant."

"I know," he said and smiled, and she gave him a smile in return. Maybe this wasn't going to be so awful after all, he thought.

His mother looked at the clock on the wall. "So we have about an hour before we have to leave. Okay. I guess that should be enough time for us to at least start to figure out what we're going to do here." She took a drink. "Do you have any thoughts?"

Deep breath. Okay. Here we go. "Well, first I really want to make it clear that---"

She held up her hand. "Actually, wait. Let me start. A nice old man almost met his maker today because I had so many things going on in my head, so let me get a few of them out. Okay?"

"Okay."

"First of all, I've decided I'm not going to pretend that what happened between us in Las Vegas didn't happen. For the last ten years I've been twisting and turning every word Roger has said to me, examining every little movement he made, for a clue about how he felt about me. I've basically been living a lie. And I'm not gonna do that anymore. No more lies. Period. So the facts are that, on the night of April 15th, 1989, in a hotel room in Las Vegas, Nevada, you and I..." (deep breath) "... had sexual intercourse. Three times. I didn't know it was you, but I've thought about it a lot today, A LOT, and I have to say that I think I SHOULD have known it was you. Or at least that it wasn't Roger. There were clues." She counted them off on her fingers.

"Number one, Roger didn't smell like alcohol. I'm sure you remember, especially when he went off on a bender he absolutely reeked of it, and he was on a bender in Las Vegas, but that night in the hotel room I didn't smell a thing. And if I'm going to be honest I have to confess that I did wonder WHY he didn't smell like alcohol. But at the time... at the time I was having a really good... experience... so I ignored it and pretended it didn't matter."

She took a long drink of wine, then continued. "Also I wondered why Roger didn't SAY anything that whole night. I've thought about that a lot... but the fact is, he never had much of anything to say, so that didn't bother me too much. It was so wonderful that he listened to me that night in bed. He never listened to me, hardly ever. He wasn't interested in my life. But that night he WAS interested, I could tell, I could feel it. That was another clue I ignored.

"And there's another clue... without going into graphic detail, uh, it did occur to me that Roger's penis was, well, a little bigger than I could remember it being. And harder. A LOT harder. But of course it had been a long, LONG time since we'd last made love, and maybe I was wrong, so I ignored that, too.

"Also Roger KISSED differently that night than he usually did, and he made love differently too. That was odd, but I thought, well, he's drunk, he walks differently so it makes sense that he'd do other things differently, too. And another thing, he spent a lot of time..." (another long drink, finishing her glass) "... he spent a lot of time kissing my breasts, which Roger hadn't done for many years. He said they were so big they sagged, and it grossed him out."

"He SAID that?" Paul demanded, spilling his wine again.

"Would you please quit spilling wine on my beautiful couch?" his mother chided, but playfully, he knew, because she'd never liked this couch. "And get me another glass, please."

He refilled her glass and came back with a towel to try and clean up the stain.

"Forget it," she said. "Let's just spill wine over the rest of it and make it a purple couch. I don't care."

She accepted the glass and sipped it, watching him while he maneuvered himself to sit away from the wet spot. This caused his leg to press against her feet. She did not object or move away.

"Okay," he said, picking up his glass again, "so there were a few clues that it wasn't Dad."

She nodded. "But, again, I was having such a great time that I didn't pay much attention to the clues. I just didn't think about it. I mean, we did it THREE TIMES IN ONE NIGHT. I never even did that with Frank, my first husband, and he was a sex JUNKIE. So if I think about it now, I think, how could I NOT have realized it wasn't Roger? But I didn't. I swear to you, Paul, I did not know that it wasn't Roger there with me. I swear it."

"I believe you, Mom," Paul said, smiling.

"But YOU knew. You knew it wasn't Roger, because it was YOU. You knew what you were doing, and who you were doing it with. And you didn't say anything."

His smile disappeared. "I'm---"

She held up a hand. "I know you're sorry, Paul. I believe you're sorry. But it doesn't really make any difference, does it? You could have opened your mouth and told me, but you chose not to. You made that choice in the moment. And I heard you last night when you said you were asleep and I was touching you and taking off your clothes before you really knew what was going on... I'm not ignoring the fact that I had a part in this, that I didn't turn on any lights or insist on hearing your voice. I had --- well to hell with it, let's call a spade a spade --- I had your penis in my hands and was making it hard practically before you had a chance to speak. That's all true.

"BUT you still had plenty of opportunities to tell me I was making a mistake, and you didn't. Last night you told me WHY you didn't, and you're probably right, if you had suddenly told me who you were while I was kissing you and rubbing your penis I'd have probably panicked and screamed and, and who knows, maybe jumped out the window or walked into traffic or whatever. Who knows. I don't know. I just have no idea how I'd have reacted at the time.

"But the fact is you did deceive me, Paul. You did. You let me think it was my husband making love to me when in fact it was you, MY OWN SON. That was wrong, and I know you knew it was wrong because I'm the one who raised you to know right from wrong. You've asked me to forgive you, and I love you and I want to be able to forgive you... but... I don't know how I possibly could ever forgive you for deceiving me like you did. I can't."

His heart stopped beating, and his soul fell. His worst fears had just come true. She wasn't going to forgive him, she was going to tell him she never wanted to speak to him or see him again. His life was over. He wanted to climb under the couch and hide for the rest of his life. He felt cold. Subzero. Banished, floating in space alone forever.

"So that's it," she said. "I'm not going to. You are NOT forgiven. You are not absolved of your guilt, you are not let off the hook, you are not pardoned and released. You are going to have to live with what you did for the rest of your life, and I'm never going to say that what you did was okay. Do you understand?"

He tried to swallow, then gave up. He nodded. "I understand."

"All right. So now that we've got everything out in the open and you know that I'm not going to just forgive and forget... I'm also going to tell you that, without a doubt, what happened that night was absolutely and completely WONDERFUL, I've cherished it for ten years and I'm going to go on cherishing it, I'm not going to let the fact that it wasn't Roger turn the experience sour for me. I won't do that.

"What we did that night, not just the sex but the listening and the touching and the tenderness and everything, all of it... it was beautiful and I don't want to ever look back on it with regret or bitterness. So I'm not going to. I've spent last night and all day today readjusting my perception to accept that I had the most amazing night of my life making love to my son. That's the way things are. That's what happened."

She took a drink of her wine and looked at the half-empty glass. "I'm going to have to start nursing this or I'm gonna be passed out before we get to the restaurant." She set the glass on the coffee table and scooted her feet under her, facing him openly. "Okay. That's my two cents. Do you have anything you want to add?"

"Uh... I just... I'm just so sorry for deceiving and lying to you, Mom. I won't do that ever again. I understand why you can't forgive me, and I don't think I should be forgiven. But I will never lie to you or deceive you again. I swear to you, I'll earn back your trust."

She took this in and nodded. "Well, trust is a hard thing to come by, isn't it? I trusted my first two husbands and they both cheated on me and lied to me, and neither one of them treated me like they vowed they were going to treat me when we got married."

Then she scooted closer to him on the couch and reached out for his hand, and held it in both of hers. "But YOU, Paul, are not my first two husbands, and I DO trust you. I trust you with my heart and my soul and I would trust you with my life if it came to that. The deception of that one night doesn't cancel out everything you've been to me as a son and a friend and a companion over the years. You stayed with me after Roger left me for... that BITCH," she snapped, smiling. "You've always been there for me when I needed you, always.

"An argument could be made, in fact," she said with the faintest hint of a smile across her lips, "that you were there for me when I needed you that night, too. Now that my eyes are clear it's obvious, OF COURSE Roger would never have loved me the way you loved me in that room. It wasn't in him, drunk or sober. I should have known. That was the biggest clue of all that I missed. Or ignored. Whichever."

"Thanks, Mom," Paul said, loving the feeling of her caressing his hand.

A few minutes went by in silence, as they simply gazed at each other, as she stroked his palms and his knuckles and his fingers.

She looked at the clock. "We probably need to start getting ready to go pretty soon. If you're late for your reservation at the Lakehouse, they're not too forgiving."

Playfully she pinched his hand. "Just like me. Unforgiving."

But she didn't move.

Finally she took a deep breath and she said, "So I guess that's about it. Right? We both agree we're not going to pretend that night didn't happen, we're both going to accept the fact that we made love --- that we HAD SEX --- that we spent the night together and that it will be our secret. We're going to look back on that night with acceptance that it was wrong, but with the understanding that what's done is done, and with love because we shared something that only the two of us will ever know. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay, for sure, Mom. Me too."

"All right. Good." She let go of his hand and started to get up from the couch, then stopped. "Actually there is one other thing I need to ask you about."

Oh shit. "Okay. What?"

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, and maybe I misunderstood what you were saying last night and if that's the case please forgive me for what I'm about to say... but, did I hear you say that you fell in love with me that night? And that you've never loved anyone else? And that you're still in love with me? Did you say that?"

He stared hard at her, trying to figure out what to say, but nothing was coming.

"And bear in mind," she said, "two minutes ago you just promised me you'd never lie to me or deceive me again. Remember?"

"I remember."

"Well, DID you say that? Did I understand you correctly?"

".... Yes, Mom. I said that. It's true."

She sat back on the couch again, folding her arms over her chest. "So... we're not just talking about one night of passion ten years ago that we'll look back on warmly and fondly... we're talking about feelings you've had for me this whole time and you STILL have, despite the fact that I'm your mother and I'm pushing sixty and you've been married for almost six years. Is that... is that actually possible?"

He sat back on the couch too, and folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah. It's possible. It's true. I don't love Trish, and I never have. Since that night, it's always been you."

"Me. Are you serious?"

He nodded. "You want the truth, that's the truth."

"Maybe it's just because, you know, you were a virgin and I was your first...?"

"No. It's not that. I know what being in love feels like."

"And... you're in love with me," she said. He nodded. "Oh, Paul... what are we going to do?"

"We don't HAVE to do anything. I've been feeling this way about you for ten years and nobody knew about it. I can go on pretending, it's no big deal. I'm used to it by now."

"What about Trish?"

He shrugged. "Trish hates me. She's hated me for a long, long time. We have sex about as often as you and Dad did. We sleep in separate bedrooms, we hardly ever talk to each other. When I told her I was staying with you for awhile, she said 'whatever' and hung up on me. She truly doesn't care anymore. It's over. It never even really started, to be honest."

"You never loved her? NEVER?"

"I... I liked her, we were friends and everything, and obviously she's beautiful and sexy and all that, but no. I never felt about her like I feel about you. Not at all. I wanted to, but I never did. And she knows it. She knows I never loved her, and she hates me for it."

"Oh my God, Paul. I just can't believe this. I mean, it's obvious you've had your problems, but I had no idea... I mean... I kind of had an idea that you didn't love her very deeply, I had this feeling there was something missing between you... but I didn't know it was THAT bad."

"You weren't supposed to know, Mom. I hid it. I didn't want anyone to know what it's like. And I sure as hell didn't want anyone to know WHY. And they don't know. I've kept the secret, and I'll go on keeping the secret. I can do it."

She gently put her hand on his shoulder. "But you shouldn't have to do it, Paul. No one should have to live a lie, believe me. I know what it's like. You need to be honest about your feelings. You owe that to the people in your life."

"Well, now I AM being honest. I don't love my wife, I love my mother. I've been dreaming and fantasizing about you for more than ten years. I've relived that night in the hotel room a million times. When Trish and I have had sex, it's YOU I imagine I'm fucking, not her. I close my eyes and imagine you're there. I've been doing that since the first time. The very first time."

It took her a few moments to process this information. Finally she got to her feet and said, "We should go if we're going to go. I'll get changed."

Paul didn't know how he felt. That had been the most astonishing, incredible, mind-blowing conversation he'd had... since their conversation the night before. He felt numb. What was going to happen? It seemed impossible that ANYTHING would happen, it seemed far more likely that the world was going to come to an end before anything could be decided on, or acted on. None of any of this was new information to him, of course, but he had to take a step back and try to wrap his mind around the huge eruptions of news his mother had digested in the last twenty-four hours.

Nobody could take all that in and make sense of it right away. Nobody. It was frankly insane to even expect her to go to dinner tonight. She had to be a basket case.

When she came back out of her bedroom he would offer to cancel the reservation, and maybe he'd leave her alone for awhile to figure out what she felt and what she was going to do about it. She had to have time. HE had to have time, for God's sake!

He'd confessed his deepest secret to her, BOTH of his secrets, things he had literally never spoken aloud before. What was he going to do?

She came out of the bedroom wearing an eye-popping tight black skirt with a red blouse that accentuated all of her curves and revealed an amazing amount of cleavage, even more than her pajamas did. His eyes tried to pop out of their sockets. She was beautiful. She was beyond beautiful. She was a walking dream.

"Jesus, Mom, you look... amazing."

She just looked down at her chest and smiled. "I figured you'd approve. The thought occurred to me today, if that really was you in the hotel room then you obviously like my boobs. So here you go, just for you. Come on, let's go."

So they got in the car, she slipped into the passenger side to let him drive as they usually did when he came to visit. He pulled out of the driveway and got onto the freeway to the valley, where the restaurant was. While he drove, she opened her purse and started putting on lipstick and eye shadow in the car mirror. When she finished she sat back and adjusted the seatbelt between her breasts and folded her hands in her lap.

"So here's a question," she said. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

She cleared her throat and asked, "Are we on a date right now?"

He jerked his head around to look at her so fast that the car moved into the next lane over. He corrected and settled his speed down and, again, tried in vain to swallow. There was nothing in his throat, nothing in his mouth, nothing in his head.

She said, "I want to know what we're doing, here. I have a right to know. You've told me you love me and you have feelings for me like what you showed me in the room in Vegas, that you want that again. You've said you can go back to having a pretend marriage to a woman you don't love and just go on hiding your feelings, but I don't WANT you to do that. I want to you to decide what it is you want out of life, and stop hiding from it, and go get it. So that will be your project: what do I want? You think about that tonight at dinner. And also you're about to miss the turnoff."

She was right, he was about to miss it, so he looked to see if the next lane was free and it was so he jerked the wheel hard to the right and they left the freeway, coming to a jerky stop at the light. Then it turned green and he drove down the road to the restaurant, which was indeed situated on the banks of a lake. He pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car, and came around to her side to open the door for her. She took his offered hand and he helped her out. She was dangerously close. Her perfume was there, in his brain.

He found a microscopic drop of saliva, and swallowed it. "I have an answer," he said.

"I'm listening."

"Yes. This is a date." He licked his lips. "Our first date."

She said in a low, husky voice, "I think our night together in the hotel qualifies as our first date, don't you?" He nodded. "Okay, then... if this is a date, maybe you better kiss me."

This took the wind out of him and he lost all sensation in his hands, but nevertheless he put his hands on her waist and moved closer to her, and she slipped her arms up and gently wrapped them around his neck and moved closer to him until they were pressed together, their faces only inches apart. He didn't move. A powerful cascade of emotions flowed through him: how strange it felt to hold his mother in such an intimate way: the memories of that night that came flooding back to him, he'd dreamed of it for so long, and how familiar this felt: but how terrifying, too, because this time she knew who he was, he wasn't hiding in the dark any more. He was completely exposed to her.

"You're shaking, Paul," she whispered.

"I'm nervous."

"You've kissed me before."

"Not like this. Not for ten years."

"Well, everything's still where it was ten years ago. Come on." He noticed her fingers were gently, quietly playing with his hair, and stroking the back of his neck.

He leaned his face forward and suddenly felt the softness of her lips against his, and her breath against his cheek, and her fingers softly but firmly pulling him against her, holding his face there while her lips tasted his and her tongue took its first tentative steps into his mouth, drawing his own tongue out to play.

His hands moved, without his telling them to, from her hips up around her back and now he was pulling her close, holding her there, feeling every inch of her soft, plush body against him. She yielded to him, almost collapsed against him so that he felt like he was holding her up. There was no telling how long they stood there by his car, holding each other and kissing, but finally their faces parted, just for an inch, and she stared at him in wonder.

"My God, that really WAS you in Las Vegas," she said, nodding. "I remember your kiss now."

"Yeah. It was me."

"You're the one I spent the best night of my life with, the man I've been dreaming about. You really are the man I've been waiting for, aren't you?"

"I guess I am. Yeah."

"And you've been waiting... for me?" Her voice was so soft and shy he barely heard it.

"I... yeah, Mom. I have been."

She looked over at the entrance doors to the restaurant, then she looked back up at him. "So if we've been waiting for each other so long, what are we doing here?"

He grinned, and shrugged. "I dunno."

"Then take me home."

Quickly, with mounting urgency, they slipped back into the car and he drove back the way they had come, and it was all he could do to keep the car only twenty miles over the speed limit. Fortunately there were no cops around. They didn't speak, they didn't touch each other, they just stared straight ahead and waited as the miles back to the house fell away, and soon he was turning onto the street and then screeching into the driveway, and they were climbing out of the car and hurrying up the walkway to the front door and she was fumbling through her purse for the keys. She dropped them and he quickly reached down to pick them up and with shaking hands he unlocked the door and they went inside, closing the door behind them, and they were home. They were alone. They were safe.

He took hold of her arm and pulled her to him, she fell easily against him and took his face in her hands and their lips were together again, crushed together in their fear and desire, and their breath came in ragged gasps as her hands touched his ears and his neck and his hair and his hands pulled her tight against him, their lips smacked loudly as they kissed and they both murmured and gasped.

He quickly got hard and he was pressing it against her, and he felt her press her substantial breasts against him. He tugged the hem of her red blouse up out from the skirt and then he was pulling the blouse up over her head and she was gasping "Wait, Paul wait, wait, wait."

"What? What's wrong?"

She was already breathing heavily, holding the blouse in front of her breasts, shyly tucking herself in against him. "Honey, not in front of the window. It's not dark out yet, and... the NEIGHBORS. Let's -- the bedroom, okay?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure, sure," he said, and they moved across the living room and down the hall to her bedroom. When they were inside he kicked the door shut, which plunged the room into complete darkness because the curtains were drawn.

"Maybe this time some light," she suggested, and they laughed. He groped his way to the bed and felt up to the headboard, where he knew there was a lamp. He almost knocked it over but he caught it, then flicked the switch.

A soft, shadowy glow filled the room. They could see now, but it wasn't a daylight documentary this way.

He turned back and saw her standing there, still by the door, still clutching her red blouse in front of her like a shield. Now she was the one who looked scared.

"Mom, what's the matter?" he asked.

It took her a minute to find the words. "I... just... I'm so OLD, Paul... I mean I don't FEEL old but I'm thirty years older than you. Are you sure about this? Are you... is this what you really want? You don't..."

"Hush, Mom," he breathed, and moved over to her and took her in his arms again.

She melted against him, he wrapped one arm around her waist to hold onto her and with his free hand he gently but firmly took the red blouse and tossed it away. Then he took off his own shirt and threw it away, too. He kissed her ears, and her cheeks, and her neck, and his hands found their way around her waist and held her to him.

Her hands were on his chest as he gazed down at her, at the outsized pink melons cupped in her white brassiere, pressed together and pressed against him, trapped between them, two gorgeous separate living things. He slipped one of his hands from her waist curving up around the material of the bra and settled his palm against the warm, giving flesh of her bulging breasts, and kissed her.

Gently she broke the kiss again, resting her head against his chest and breathing heavily, and he wondered if she might not be able to go through with this after all. It was an enormous, overwhelming adjustment to make, no doubt about it. He'd had ten years to accept the idea of having sex with his own mother; she'd had twenty-four hours. As "ready" as she'd seemed in the car on the way home, and unhesitating in her kisses, what they were about to do, the line they were about to irretrievably cross... it might be something she couldn't accomplish. At least not yet.

Maybe he should take it easy and not put any more pressure on her.

"Mom..." He lifted her chin with his fingers and smiled. "Why don't we slow down? Maybe this is going too fast. I'm in no hurry. No hurry at all. I promise."

"Well, I have to say, it FEELS like you're in a hurry," she said, nodding downwards toward the sizeable erection that was pressed against her.

He grinned, but moved half a step back. "I know, but I'm okay. Seriously. It's okay. If this is going too fast for you, it's okay. Let's just relax."

She took a deep breath, her hands still on his chest. "I don't know. I know I want it, I want YOU, I honestly do... but..."

"But maybe it's too new," he offered, taking her hands in his and kissing them. "Too sudden, too fast. It's okay, Mom. I swear to God it's okay."

She moved forward and stretched up to kiss him, then burrowed herself against his chest again. She seemed to like that spot, so he put his arms around her shoulders and held her. He could feel her breasts against him, feel her breath on him, her tousled hair in his face, her smell in his nostrils. She was overpowering to him in her sensuality, her desirability.

He had his hands on her body now, on the naked skin of her shoulders and her back, and it was all he could do to keep them from roaming over her. He couldn't help his need for her, now that she was so close. But he kept himself still. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

Finally she said, "It's hard."

He whispered, "I know, Mom. It'll be okay, we don't have to---"

"No, I mean, it's HARD." She reached down with one hand and touched the bulge in his pants that he was trying to keep from pushing against her. He felt a sudden jolt of electricity that he could only compare to the moment first she'd touched him like that in the hotel room. Only this time, she knew who she was touching.

"I remember how hard it was," she said in a soft, controlled voice. "That night. Hard like a bone. I remember thinking, THAT'S what that word means, 'boner.' I'd never known what that was supposed to mean. Hard as a bone." Her hand stayed there, cupping his hardness.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't move. Seconds stretched into minutes and he waited, loving the feel of her hand on him, his hands on her back. This was enough for him, but there was so much more...

She took a deep breath and looked up at him. She smiled. "Get in the bed, Paul. I have to go in there for a minute." She indicated her bathroom, and then slipped out of his arms and quickly disappeared inside.

He stood looking at the door. Was this going to happen now? Was she ready now? Or was she going to look at herself in the mirror and ask, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS YOUR SON. He knew it was possible to overcome that hurdle, he'd done it himself in the hotel room, but it's easier to contemplate incestuous sex with your mother when your mother is kissing you and rubbing your cock in the darkness.

Not as easy now, he knew. Anything could happen tonight. He needed to be ready for whatever direction she wanted to go. He needed to not show disappointment if she came out of the bathroom and said she wasn't ready. That needed to be okay with him.

But he looked down at himself, and he felt the uncomfortable pressure that she'd just been touching, and he quickly unbuttoned his pants and dropped them. His boxer-briefs swelled outward crazily, almost comically, and he reflected how inadequate his mother's bra had been to contain her pushing, straining tits. We're both just too oversized for our underwear, he thought, and he whipped his underpants off, rejoicing in letting it free, standing in his mother's bedroom with an enormous hardon.

He pulled the covers back from her bed and slipped inside. Completely naked in his mother's bed! Good GOD! It felt so fucking good. It felt impossibly naughty. Wicked, even. Utterly forbidden to be naked in your mother's bed.

Pulling the covers over himself and laying back on the pillows, he immediately saw the problem; his erection was pushing up a tent in the covers that looked... stupid. Let's just face it, it looked stupid. He sat up, but the tent was still there. Finally he turned onto his side facing the bathroom, and the problem disappeared.

Her sheets felt wonderful. Cool to the touch. His mother slept here every night, now he was in her bed, naked. He couldn't get over it. Was this actually going to happen? TEN YEARS he'd been waiting... but not really waiting, as in expecting it to happen again, because he never did. He'd just dreamed about it for ten years, that's all. Now here he was.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A person should take a second to enjoy moments like this. They don't happen very often in a person's life. His greatest dream was coming true. In a minute she was going to come out of the bathroom and... and...

There was a click from the bathroom door and it opened, and there she was. She saw him lying in her bed and stopped, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from behind her. For a moment she just looked at him, and he couldn't read the look on her face. She was still wearing her bra, but she had taken off her slacks and was only wearing beige-colored panties. This was the first time in his life Paul had ever seen his mother in just her bra and panties. A wave of cold electrical energy washed over him. She turned out the bathroom light and came over to the bed.

"Did it go down?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head no. "Sorry," was all he could think of to say.

A familiar little smile appeared on his mother's lips, and she said, "Don't be sorry."

"Okay."

She looked down at approximately where it would be, and touched her lips with her fingertips. "Can I... see it?"

He pulled the blanket back until it was off of him, and there it was, sticking out of him like a diving board, heavily hanging downward towards the bed but not actually touching. He heard her gasp as she stared at it with wide eyes.

"Lie on your back," she said. "Like you did in the hotel room."

He turned over onto his back, and now his cock stood straight up at the ceiling, demanding to be stared at, admired, complimented. He felt an involuntary pride as he rose his hips up just a bit, knowing he cut an impressive figure, and he basked in her astonished gaze.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, still playing with her lips. He didn't say anything, just let her stare. Finally she said, "Can I touch it?"

He nodded, of course, and she walked around to his side of the bed. He noticed the way the flesh of her breasts shook and quivered as she moved. She came close and looked down at it, then reached out one small hand and her fingers touched it. Again that freezing voltage rushed through him, and he sighed.

It seemed for a few minutes that she forgot about Paul himself while she slowly, gently stroked the pads of her fingers up and down the long shaft of his cock; he didn't seem to matter much. Her fingers wrapped themselves around it now, feeling its stiffness, and she gently squeezed, as if testing it. Then, gradually, that squeezing little hand was moving slowly up and down, rubbing him, and simultaneous with that action her other hand came to rest on his stomach and she began stroking his belly and his chest and his arm, testing all of him apparently.

"It's real," she muttered, mostly to herself. "It's all real."

"Yeah," he agreed, and she looked up like she'd just discovered he was there. He said, "Hi."

Still holding on to his member she leaned down and kissed him. Her breasts settled on his chest, the underwire poking him in the ribs. He reached up and took her face in his hands as they kissed, and he held her as he kissed her face and her neck, then one hand slipped down and around behind her and found the clasps of her bra and started to work them. He quickly found that, no matter how stiff and imposing and "beautiful" his cock was, he was nevertheless hopelessly unable to unhook her bra.

"It's tricky," she said, smiling. "Let me get it." She let go of his penis and reached behind herself, and almost instantly the straps fell loose and slipped off her shoulders. Still, she held the bra to her chest and looked at him nervously. "Paul, are you SURE you--"

"Knock it off," he chided playfully, and pulled her hands away.

Oh, God, they were magnificent. Glorious. He'd never really seen them before, it had been so dark in the hotel room ten years ago... and in fact just as she'd said they DID look old, he could see the stretch marks from the weight of them over the years, and a few purple-reddish veins crisscrossing them like tiny roads on a map, and yes they did indeed sag, as his bastard of a father had apparently had the gall to tell her to her face. But it didn't matter, or to the contrary it certainly DID matter, only it made them even more beautiful to him, the imperfections (so-called) made his mother's breasts uniquely, absolutely HERS, no one else's, and therefore perfect. She was perfect, she was everything he'd ever dreamed or fantasized about.

The look on her face showed how scared she was as she watched for his reaction.

Over his life he'd heard many comments and recollections about how remarkable his mother's breasts had been in her youth, famous even, among her collection of friends. He remembered one woman telling a group of people at a party how they had once gone to a secluded, illegal topless beach in California and every man there stared at her "like they were prospectors and she had two huge bags of gold hanging there."

But now in her own words she was pushing sixty, and nobody had seen them for a long time, and were they still remarkable?

They were.

"C'mere," he told her, and she leaned over and he kissed her, putting all of his desire into that kiss, all of his love for her, all of his hunger. And she responded, she held onto him with desperate gratefulness, and laughing he pulled her down to him, up off her feet and rolled her over him and onto the bed. She cried out, laughing, as they crashed together in the blankets, and he was leaning over her and kissing her everywhere and taking a handful of his mother's big tits.

His thumb found the tiny button of her hard nipple and he rolled it around, flicking it, then his mouth left hers to dip down and take the nipple between his lips and suckle at it, nibble and lick it. She cried out again, this time without laughter, and with her fingers in his hair she held his head tight against her breast, so tight he had to gasp for air.

"OH GOD PAUL!!" she shouted. "OHHH!"

Kneeling over her he pushed her breasts together, using his thumbs to push the nipples as close together as he could and with some difficulty he took both nipples in his mouth. This drove her wild, and her fingers clutched his hair to forcefully it hurt, but he didn't care, she could rip out handfuls if she wanted, it wouldn't stop him.

As she settled herself onto her back, propping her head up on a pillow, she spread her legs for him as he got to his knees and moved over between them, and he saw how wet her pussy was already, literally drooling little droplets from between the dark bronze lips so tender, delicately petal-like and resting within a bed of tiny coiled brown hairs.

Her thighs fat and jostling tenderly as she bent her knees to open her legs wider as he crawled closer to her, his big cock bouncing up and down as he moved. When he was close enough he cupped his hard cock in his palm, lifted it, and set it down on her belly. He just let it lie there, heavy, thick, the soft purple head of it pointing at her mouth.

Her eyes were staring at it with a mixture of wonder and unvarnished hunger. Paul put his hands on her spread knees and slowly let his fingers drift downwards, between her thighs, making her gasp and shiver, and his fingers found her pussy and toyed with it, feeling the wetness and the dense, slickened lips, and she closed her eyes and breathed through her parted lips and her belly jiggled and jostled his cock.

He leaned back and his cock slid off her belly, tracing a path through her pubic hair and brushing against her pussy lips and then it fell away and swung free, slapping her thigh. He stared hungrily at his mother's cunt and was torn between twin raging desires to fuck it or shove his face down there and lick it, eat it, slurp it, devour it. All night long.

But he leaned forward, propping himself up on one arm, and took his cock in the other hand to lower it closer, closer, shifting his hips to get just the right angle.... he slipped his hand up the shaft until he grasped his penis just below the purple mushroom-head, put his thumb right on the flat spot at the top, and slowly, tenderly, slowly, slowly rubbed the tip of his cock against her pussy lips.

The electricity that he felt at the contact almost made him lose his balance, and the way she sucked in air and shivered beneath him showed that she felt it too. The room was so quiet that he could hear the soft slipping sounds as he rubbed his tip slowly up and down between her soaked petal lips. She gasped, moaned, huffed her breath, closed her eyes, licked her lips, pushed out her breasts, grasped handfuls of the sheet beneath her, looked up at him, looked down at his cockhead rubbing her.

He rubbed just a hairs-breadth harder, pushed the head of his cock in just a tiny, imperceptible depth, she inhaled then gulped in mouthfuls of air as Paul rubbed himself inside her just a little deeper, just a bit, just a smidgen, "OHH oh oh OHH," her head tilted back and she panted and moaned, "UHH ohOHoh unhhhh, unhhh, ahhh, OHHH ooooooooh ooooooh mmmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmmmm......."

And just a bit deeper inside her, rubbing her delicate little lips apart, wrapping them around him as he grooved between them, shifting his hips forward to dip himself a bit deeper, a bit deeper, half his cockhead inside the folds of her pussy lips, then rubbing it in little circles to stretch the pussy lips just a bit, just a little, then up and down some more, pushing the pussy lips apart and then the whole purple head of his cock disappeared inside her and she whimpered and shuddered pushing herself up on her elbows, her knees shaking, her belly heaving, a loud gasp then a louder rumbling grunt and he knew she was close already so he pulled his cockhead out and rubbed it against her cunt, mashing and pushing and rubbing furiously like he'd seen women do when they used their fingers.

And then it HIT HER in a sudden massive wave and her ass lifted off the bed for a second as she cried out "OH! OH! OH! OH! OH YES OH YES OH YES OH THAT! THAT!!! YES OOOOH! OOOH! OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!"

He rubbed and scoured himself against her and he saw the juices flowing out of her, he felt her cum, no woman he'd ever been with came like this, it just flooded out of her, making her so wet and slippery that his cockhead slipped inside her again and she grunted loudly again and he felt the soft spidery pink walls of her pussy gripping and pulling on him as wave after wave of her orgasm washed over her.

He fought the yearning, the NEED, to plunge his whole cock inside her in that moment and start fucking her proper, because he felt that wasn't what she wanted right now, he didn't know how he knew but he knew, she'd have let him put it in of course but he just wanted to give her the rubbing right now, the friction, the soft abrasion, and so as long as the orgasm was intense for her he kept rubbing himself against her for what seemed like twenty minutes or more, but as she started to subside, as her labored breathing began to control itself again he slowed the rhythm of the rubbing, calmed himself down while she calmed down, their movements slowed together gradually until finally, how much later he had no idea, finally she was lying beneath him spent, breathing calmly, and his (still rock-hard) cock was resting unmoving on her belly.

He put his hands on her spread knees for balance and just let his cock rise and fall with her breaths, watching her, watching her lips part with each breath until she was finally breathing through her nose again, watching her eyes flutter open then closed, and stay closed for so long he began to wonder if she was sleeping.

His mother slowly opened her eyes and looked dimly up at him, into his eyes, everything was slow and quiet now, nothing rushed, and the curl of a smile appeared on his mother's lovely lips and she took a deep breath and said in a quiet, calm voice, "You've learned a thing or two in the last ten years."

"Yeah," he agreed, smiling down at her.

"That was wonderful," his mother gushed. "That was beautiful. Thank you. Thank you, thank you." They looked at each other for awhile longer, and she said, "I just may ask you to do that again one of these days, buster. I just might."

"Any time, Mom," he said.

She closed her eyes and smiled contentedly, then she lifted her head to peer down the valley between the swell of her breasts and saw his cock settled heavily on her belly, just resting there, and cautiously her fingers found it and she began to stroke it, her fingernails playfully twirling his pubic hair and then the pads of her fingertips tracing down the length of his cock, finding the rubbery tip and making him gasp as she became the one doing the rubbing.

His mother stroked and caressed and outlined the girth of it, and then her fingers gently slipped further down and he felt her cupping his balls and stroking them too, and that made him almost fall over and she laughed tenderly.

"I know a few things, too," she said.

"You sure as hell DO," he grunted, loving the feel of her hands on him.

"But right now, what I want most is to feel you inside me. Will you do that?"

"YEAH," he said with such eagerness that she laughed, and spread her legs wider for him, and watched as he took his cock in his hands and guided it inside the liquid fleshy folds of her pussy, and then he was pushing himself into her, and her eyes closed and her mouth opened and her hands found his face and she pulled him down to her and kissed him so deeply it was like her tongue was doing to his mouth what he was doing to her cunt.

He felt a wave of dizziness, a feeling he remembered from before, and he set his hands on either side of her and slowly began moving his hips against her, gently but with mounting insistence, escalating need. She took it, all of it, grasping him by the waist and holding onto him as he moved, arching back her head and moaning with extasy and gasping for air.

"Oh my god it's you, it's really YOU," his mother breathed.

She wrapped her legs around him, holding him fast to her, and he found a circular movement he could make with his hips that seemed to drive her fairly insane, and she nearly howled as another orgasm swept over her, and he felt the need to let go himself but he hung on because he didn't want it to be over yet.

Truthfully he didn't want it to ever be over, but he knew eventually it would be and they'd have to go back to the real world and figure out what was going to happen next... but FUCK THAT for right now, he thought, grinning to himself as he drove himself hard against her, into her, and she cried out again and dug her fingernails into his back. He was in Heaven. And who cares about the real world when you're in Heaven?

Soon he saw she was looking up at him, almost with a calmness in her face, and he leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him and whispered into his ear, "Darling. My dearest. My love."

She held onto him again with her thighs, trapping him against her and gently but insistently squeezing him with the muscles of her vagina, holding on to him with the sweetest, softest grip he'd ever known. He remembered her doing that before, in the hotel room. He'd thought of it so often that over the years he'd begun to wonder if he'd only dreamed it. Now he knew it was no dream.

"I want to do something for you," she said, looking deep into his eyes.

"You already ARE," he gasped, overcome with the sensation of her milking him from inside her. How did she DO that??

"No, but I want to pamper you a little bit. Would you mind if I was on top for awhile?"

His eyes went wide and she giggled at the shocked expression on his face. She freed him with her legs and he slipped out of her, his cock bobbing drunkenly as she sat up and guided him onto his back, puffed up the pillows for him and moved the blankets around to make him comfortable, all while her breasts swayed and he stared at her, gaped at her with amazement.

Resting on her knees a moment, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and leaned down over his hips to take him into her mouth. Now it was his turn to howl as his mother sucked him, expertly and lovingly, her other hand moving over the surface of his belly and his chest.

For a few minutes her mouth was very busy grazing his penis, slurping and pecking at the taut skin, bathing him with her saliva and cleansing him off with her tongue, sensations he'd never felt before that made him realize his mother really did have more than a little expertise in the act of sex, which in itself was shocking...

... but there was no time to think about it because suddenly he was out from between her lips and she was straddling him, taking him in her hand and shepherding him inside her as she settled onto his hips with hers, he stared up at her from the bed in amazement as she found her own tempo, writhing around and tickling herself inside with his cock. Another giggle escaped her, a sigh, and a throaty purr that drove him insane.

She sat atop him, imperious, like a naked queen bathed in a golden shadow, majestically beautiful and totally in command of him as she arced her back and flattened her palms against his chest, pushing her own hanging breasts tight together, only inches from his face, her nipples just millimeters from his hungry, gasping mouth.

But she denied them to him, focused on the pleasure of her impalement on his cock, raising her hips almost imperceptibly and then sinking down on him again, pushing him ever deeper inside her. She could see what she was doing to him and she smiled knowingly, actually reaching down to tweak his nipples with her fingertips.

"All in due time, tiger," she whispered to him, and increased the movement of her hips, working him, riding him, rising her hips to nearly draw him out and then softly pushing down to sheath him in her warm pussy, again and again. She was magnificent.

"It's really you, isn't it?" she asked again, and he gasped yes, yes. "You're really here with me, aren't you?" she asked, yes, yes. "It was always you, wasn't it?" Yes, oh jesus yes, yes.

Yes. She smiled, content with him held fast beneath her, and so she leaned herself forward to lower her breasts against his face, feeding him a nipple; he felt her soft belly on his and he gripped her tits in his big hands and pushed them together, he suckled her and, his air nearly cut off from the mounds of flesh pushed against him, he breathed in the thick, doughy scent of the sweat between her heavy breasts. Yes, Mom, your big boobs are still magnificent. Still famous. Yes, yes. Yes.

Then it was happening, the sensations of being inside her and nursing at her again overspilled and the force built faster than he could contain and he let go of her nipple and he panted, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming," hoping to give her enough time to--

But it was happening already, he instinctively shoved his hips up against her and he burst into her, it flooded out of him and he buried his face grunting against her. They pounded their hips together as he came and his cum oozed and dripped and dribbled out of her even as more filled her. He was still young, he still had so much in him to fill her with.

Finally he was spent and his movements subsided, he settled back onto the bed, letting go of her and his arms falling uselessly to his sides. For the moment he was still hard, though, and she kept slowly, gently moving her hips over him and she held onto his head, kissing him, mothering him. She gripped him with her cunt and squeezed the last drops out of him.

She stayed on top of him for awhile, just holding on to him, keeping him there. At length he softened enough that his penis fell out of her but she still didn't move, she just stroked his hair and kissed his face and loved the feeling of him beneath her.

She whispered to him not words, just cooing sounds, and eventually his eyes fluttered closed and he fell asleep to her soft kisses, completely exhausted, finished. Over and out.

Only then did she climb off him. She sat next to his sleeping body, looking down at him, loving him, touching her breasts and nipples where his lips had been, touching herself between her thighs and feeling the wet stickiness he had left her, touching her hips and her ribs where his hands had held her, his big powerful hands, God he was a big man, a MAN, her MAN. She was absolutely content now, fulfilled in every way she could think of, and she wanted nothing. She looked down at the gooey mess of his soft but still hefty penis and she thought of her duty, a wife's duty, and dutifully she slid off the bed and padded naked into the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water and then returned to clean him off, unhurriedly, serenely, tenderly. That done, she pulled a blanket over him, then went to clean herself off, though she didn't really want to. She put on her panties and reached for her regular pajama shirt, but she noticed his tossed-aside shirt and smiled, YES, she slipped it on and happily smelled his scent on it. Then she turned off the bedside lamp and slipped into bed beside her son, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing him on the cheek. She had not gone to sleep beside a man in ten years.

((5))

I awoke in the darkness. I felt my mother beside me, heard her snoring lightly and knew she was asleep. A glance at the bedside clock told me I'd only been asleep for an hour or so; it wasn't even midnight yet. I had to seriously pee, so I gently moved away from her and out of the bed, without disturbing her.

I felt my way to the bathroom, did what I had to do, and then I decided I was hungry so I went down the hall and into the kitchen. I thrilled in my nakedness, in my dick swinging freely as I walked through my mother's house, where I had grown up.

Inside the refrigerator were the usual. I picked up the half-full gallon of milk, unscrewed the top, and drank straight from the jug, which had been seriously forbidden all my life. That felt thrilling, too. Everything did.

Finally I settled on making myself a sandwich with slices of ham and turkey and cheese, I hauled out the mayo and mustard and lettuce and tomatoes and pickles, damn near everything I saw, to build myself the ultimate midnight snack. I laid it all out on the counter and started to work.

"... Paul? Paul?"

"In the kitchen, Mom," I called out. Just hearing her voice made me start to get hard again. No! Take it easy! Be cool! Focus on the sandwich! Spread the mustard! Slice the tomatoes! Layer the pickles, goddammit!

I heard her moving around, then she appeared out of the darkness wearing only panties and my shirt from last night, and seeing my mother in my shirt got me going even more, because there's nothing sexier than seeing a woman wearing your own clothes. I suddenly felt very naked... which, of course, I literally was.

"Hi," I said, smiling over my shoulder at her, trying to hide my rising interest from her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. I could hear the worry in her voice.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

She moved into the kitchen, which was lit only by the light from the open refrigerator door. "Well, when I woke up and you weren't there, I thought maybe... you'd changed your mind."

"Oh, NO, Mom, no, not at all. I was just hungry." I showed her that I was making a sandwich without turning around to face her. Her brassiere-less breasts swayed enticingly as she moved, and my problem started to get serious. "I haven't changed my mind about anything, I promise. Tonight has been amazing, totally amazing."

"Oh thank goodness," she sighed, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, Mom, I promise, I still feel everything we talked about. I love you completely, totally, one hundred percent... and even MORE, now, after... you know. In there." I pointed back to the bedroom with the knife, dripping mayonnaise on the floor.

Now my cock had risen and was pressing imperatively against the oven door, which I hugged closely, facing away from her, when what I really should have been doing was holding her to show how I felt. I could have shown her more directly by simply turning around, of course, but I was still afraid of scaring her off with too much direct horniness. She was still MY MOTHER, after all. As if to prove that she was, she wet a paper towel and cleaned up the tiny splotch of mayo on the floor.

"How about you?" I asked, stalling for time. "How do YOU feel about what happened?"

There was silence, and I looked over at her. She was smiling and almost hugging herself. I could see that she was crying. "Baby, I'm... I'm so HAPPY," she said finally.

"I can't believe I really found the man I've been waiting for so long."

"Me too, Mom," I said, and I knew it would be unforgiveable not to go and take her in my arms right now. Finally I took a deep breath and said, "Mom?"

She sniffed and wiped away her tears. "Yes, honey?"

"Um... would you mind, uh, closing your eyes for a second?"

"Sure. What for?"

"Well, I'd like to go get some clothes on. I'm kind of naked, here."

"I've noticed that," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "It doesn't bother me."

With my hips still pressed firmly against the oven door, I cleared my throat and said, "Well, I just... I'm kind of having a little... tumescence problem right now, and I'd--"

She laughed. "Tumescence?"

"Yeah, it means, uhm..."

"No, I know what it means. Where did YOU pick it up, I'm wondering?"

"I went to college."

"Oh. Of course."

"So I'd like to go put on a pair of pants so I can give you a hug and kiss you and tell you how much I love you, and all that."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, is there any particular reason you can't give me a hug and a kiss and tell me you love me, while you have a hardon?" I looked over at her with surprise. She smiled and said, "I went to college too, buster. For a semester, anyway. Long enough. So why don't you quit making love to my stove and come on over here?"

At least I had tried to do the decent thing, I thought to myself, and stepped back from the oven. Freed, my penis sprang upwards and banged against the underside of the oven door handle, which hurt. "Ow! Shit."

"Oh, baby! Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," I said, and walked over to her, my aching cockhead leading the way. I stood as close to her as I could without bumping her with it, then leaned in to give my lovely mother a kiss.

She kissed me back, then looked down at my situation. "You don't have a LITTLE tumescence problem, buddy-boy, I hope you realize that. But hey, are you sure you're okay down there?"

"Yeah I'm fine, thanks."

"You don't need me to kiss it and make it all better?"

I grinned and said, "Now that you mention it, you know, it does sting a little."

She nodded, then bent forward and took my hard, erect penis in her hand and planted a lingering kiss on the helmet-shaped mushroom head. The sensation made my cock jump in her hands, which made her chuckle, and she kissed it again. God it felt incredible. What a woman!

She straightened up then and opened her arms to me and said, "Now give me my hug and my kiss and tell me you love me."

So I stepped forward and my cock bounced gently against her belly. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me closer, and with a shift of my hips I aimed my cock downwards and it slipped comfortably between her thighs.

We kissed again, deeper this time, and I hugged her to me as I'd originally intended to do. I looked into her eyes and told her I loved her, and that I was very, very happy about what had happened between us tonight. "And I want it to go on way beyond tonight," I added.

She whispered, "Oh Paul," and pulled me in for more kisses. We stood in the dim light for a few minutes as our mouths and tongues tasted each other, and then she looked down at my cock tucked against her panties and said, "Let's go back to the bed."

But I took gentle hold of her wrist and said in a low voice, "HERE," then I reached behind her and pushed a phone book and a few papers aside, and I put my hands on her waist and lifted her back onto the counter. She squealed and almost fell backwards, laughing.

Without a word she pushed herself up enough with one hand that she could pull her panties off with her other hand. I helped her take them down the rest of the way, then she spread her legs and opened her arms to me again... I stepped forward, but the angle was wrong. The counter was too high for me to slip right inside her; it wouldn't work.

"God dammit," I mumbled, but she shook her head and pointed to the sink. "What?" I asked. She pointed again, urgently, specifically to the cupboard under the sink, so I went over there and opened the cupboard door and found, next to a package of sponges and multiple bottles of cleanser, a small wooden stepstool. What a woman! I rejoiced.

I took the stepstool and put it on the floor beneath her feet and then stepped up on it, and -- lo and behold! -- our midsections were level again. I put my hand behind the small of her back and pulled her toward me as she leaned backwards a bit and parted her thighs, and with a bit of trial and error, working to keep my balance on the stool, I rubbed my distended, inflamed cockhead against her glistening cuntlips and slowly worked my way inside.

"MmmmmmmmmOOOHHHHHH," she gasped, pulling me to her and held on to me with her legs. I began working my hips, slipping halfway out of her and then pushing back in. I couldn't get too elaborate in my movements without falling off the stool, but I held on and we made it work, locked together tightly, her fingers moving from my hair to my back, to finally actually grabbing my ass and dragging me forward with each thrust, and sometimes just holding me there pressed against her, as her pussy did its magic squeezing on me.

It all felt so good that it didn't take long before I felt that familiar compression in my balls, and I broke our kiss long enough to grunt into her ear, "It's coming again, I'll pull out," but she made a rasping, incoherent sound with her throat and held me fast to her with her legs and her hands, trapping me tight against her as my hips bucked and cum spewed from me and into her.

I gasped and humped and drove deep into her, she cried out her own hard climax and dug her fingernails so deep into my shoulder I could feel her breaking the skin in one or two places. I didn't mind. Pain intensified the pleasure, but it also made the guilt stronger, reminded me of my shame as it liberated me. I wanted more; I hoped I was bleeding down my back, like the cloistered monks a thousand years ago who whipped themselves to atone for their sins but who surely got a sexual kick out of it, too. The more agony, the more forgiveness, the better the orgasm.

We stayed locked together like that for a few minutes, just clinging to each other as thick warm cum dribbled out of her around my slowly deflating member; I would have been content to stand there with her longer, but balancing on the stool took effort and the muscles in my legs ached.

So finally, with great reluctance, I let go of her and slowly pulled out of her, disgorging more of our juices onto the kitchen counter beneath her, and I stepped down off the stool. My sticky penis slapped lightly against my thigh.

Gasping heavily and watching me with half-lidded eyes, she put her hand on her chest to calm her breathing and I realized she was still wearing my shirt. Why hadn't I taken it off while we were fucking, so I could've taken the opportunity of a handful or two? I had no idea. Sad.

I reached up and helped her off the counter. Her legs were weak, apparently, and she held on to me, burrowing against my chest again. She was still gasping for air.

"Are you okay, Mom?" I asked.

"Mmmhmm," she replied, and presented her pleased face for me to kiss. Which I did.

"Let's go to bed," I whispered into her ear.

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'll be there in a minute, okay honey? I'm going to fix you your sandwich... in fact I'm starving too, I'll fix something for both of us."

"And you want to clean up the mess, too," I said. "It would drive you crazy to leave it overnight, admit it."

"Guilty as charged. What can I say?"

I gave her one last kiss and padded back to the bedroom, which in the last few hours had come to feel like OUR bedroom, then further on to the bathroom and I stepped into the tub for a quick hot shower. Every inch of me ached with the satisfaction of complete sexual exhaustion, a feeling I hadn't had for a long, long time. Had I ever even had it with Trish? I supposed so, we'd been together for eight years in total, after all... but truthfully I couldn't remember ever feeling happy and tired like this, ever. My mother may have been thirty years older than me, but there was nothing elderly or worn-out about that woman, at all.

After drying myself off I got into bed. For a moment I contemplated putting on a pair of underpants, but with my mother you never knew when you might need to be rapidly naked, so I played it safe and slipped unclothed into the sheets and sank into the pillows.

I could have easily fallen asleep but I was waiting for her, already eager to see her again. I felt like a high schooler with a crush. I'd known her all my life, but suddenly tonight she was brand-new to me. I guess I was brand-new to her, too. We were beginning something, that was clear, but I had no idea what. I wondered if she already knew what she wanted. It wouldn't surprise me.

After awhile my mother came into the room, carrying a glass of milk and a plate with a sandwich and other goodies on it. She had put her panties back on, I noted. She saw me sitting in the bed and smiled, came over and handed me the plate, then set the glass on a coaster on the nightstand.

"Are you sleepy?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Not really. Too blissed-out to sleep right now."

"Me too, baby," she said, and leaned in for a kiss. "Eat your snack."

So I sat and ate the sandwich, was about a thousand times better than anything I could have whipped up myself, and drank the milk, and nibbled on the crackers and candies that my mom always threw in with any meal she made, just as a treat. I tried to get her to have some, but she wouldn't.

While I ate, she fussed around the bedroom, picking up the clothes we'd tossed aside in the heat of passion, and scooped up jewelry and other odds and ends lying around. I watched her, totally smitten, amazed how beautiful she was and astonished that I'd just had sex with her a few minutes ago.

Everything in my entire life had changed tonight. Everything.

When I finished she wordlessly took the plate and waited while I finished the milk and then she took the plate into the kitchen. I settled back on a couple of pillows in the bed, wondering if we were going to do it again before we slept. I was willing, certainly, and I could feel the readiness working its way through my bloodstream. At a moment's notice I could be ready to go.

But I wouldn't push it. That was the key. If she was tired we could go to bed, no problem. This was a no-pressure situation. I'd never been happier in my life than I was in this moment.

((6))

She came back into the room and closed the door behind her, she gave Paul a smile but there was something behind the smile he couldn't identify, which he took to be sleepiness. Fine, he thought. Sleep it would be. In the morning, who knew?

"Paul," she said, "I want to... I need to talk to you about something, okay?"

Quickly he sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey," she said as she climbed into the bed with him, scooting herself back against the headboard. "I'm very happy, I'm not having second thoughts about what we did tonight, I'm not panicking, so don't worry about that. Okay?"

".... okay..."

"But there's something... I guess to start with, the question is, is tonight... IT? Did we do this to put a bookend on what happened ten years ago, to recreate that night but this time we both know who... you know, who we were with. You see?"

Paul nodded. A new wave of shame and guilt lapped at his feet, threatening to overtake him. Was she saying that's what she wanted tonight to be, a one-time thing, never to be repeated?

She went on. "And if that's all tonight was, well, I can live with that because it's been the most wonderful, fantastic experience of my life since... well, since ten years ago. You are amazing, Paul. You are... amazing. Okay? I mean, WOW. My toes are officially curled."

He blushed and grinned. "You're amazing too, Mom."

She reached over and took his hand. "Personally, I think we're amazing together."

They sat like that for a minute, then she let go of his hand and took a deep breath. "So anyway, if this is all there is then I'll survive. It'll be hard to find the man I've been waiting for all this time and lose him again, but..."

"Mom, why would you lose me? Do you WANT tonight to be all there is?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't. I really don't. But what about you?"

He wondered, how could she not already know the answer? "Mom, for God's sake, I LOVE YOU, I've been telling you that since yesterday. I'm in love with you, I want to BE with you, not just tonight but every night, every day, forever. I MEAN it. You're the greatest lover I could ever hope for, and you're already I love you."

A tear rolled down her cheek and she smiled and said, "I love you too, baby. I never realized how much I loved you until tonight. And in how many ways. I think I've always felt this way, but... I never allowed myself to admit it until now."

"So you don't want it to end tonight?"

"No. I don't. Of course I don't. It's... you're perfect, to me. Why would I want to give you up?"

He nodded. "Same here."

"Okay, so... all right, that's wonderful, I'm very happy about that, but what are we talking about, then? I mean, you know, whether you're my son or not, you're married. You have a wife. What about her? I'm not sure I want to carry on a long-term affair with a married man, no matter who he is. I wasn't raised that way."

"I know, you're right Mom. We'd have to figure--"

"I'm not saying I definitely wouldn't DO it," she continued, letting it all out in one continuous stream, "if that was the only way to be with you, but we'd really have to think about that, the implication of all of it. Also, not to mention, you live three hundred miles away. Are we talking about you flying down here once a month for a night of passion and romance, and then fly away again?"

"No, no, of course not. Once a MONTH? If we were just going to be together once a month, I mean, that's practically you and Dad, and me and Trish already! I couldn't take only seeing you once a month, or twice, or even three times a month. No way."

"Well, what are you saying, then? Are you proposing to fly down here every DAY? That could get a little expensive. How many frequent flier miles do you have, exactly?"

They laughed, weakly, for a second, and he said, "You're right about all of this, Mom. I haven't thought it all through yet and I need to figure it out. I WILL figure it out. Because you mean so much to me, you mean EVERYTHING, and I'm not going to let you go now that I've..."

She smiled. "Now that you've got me." He nodded. "Well, you've got me, that's for sure."

"You've got me too. Forever."

He leaned over and kissed her, and continued doing that for awhile, and then he whispered in her ear, "Hey. Are you up for tying our Las Vegas record of three times in one night? Or maybe even breaking the record?"

She smiled. "Oh, boy. That, uhm, that would certainly be an idea I'd be willing to entertain," she said, and he leaned in to kiss her again but she pulled her head back just a bit. "But... if we're going to make this a permanent, long-term... THING... then I have something that I have to tell you. You had the courage to tell me the other night about what really happened in Las Vegas, so I need to have the courage to tell you this. I didn't want to... but like you said yesterday, I think I have to."

He sat back on the bed. "Okay, Mom. What is it?"

She started to speak, then stopped and apparently decided she couldn't be in the bed while she said what she had to say, so she got to her feet and walked around to the other side of the bed and paced a little circle in front of her nightstand. She picked up her brush and started picking at the bristles, then put the brush down again. This took some time.

"Mom?" he finally said, quietly.

She turned to him. "Do you remember... ten years ago, a couple of months after we got back from Las Vegas, I got sick and went to the doctor, and I was in bed for a few days. Do you remember that?"

He thought a moment. That had been a hard time, for everyone. They'd returned from the vacation and almost immediately his parents had decided to end their marriage and his father had moved out, taking much of their furniture with him, so she had to get a job and keep the house going. Meanwhile Paul was deeply confused about the feelings he had for his mother after their night together, which of course he could never tell anyone about, and he hated his father for abandoning her but also was thrilled that now it would just be the two of them living together, and maybe somehow something could happen... which of course it didn't.

His mother getting sick, in the midst of all that? He vaguely remembered... "I think I remember that, yeah," he said. "You had the flu, right? The doctor gave you medicine and you kind of had to be back here by yourself so you didn't spread it to me. Right?"

She nodded. "Right. That's... what I told you. But I didn't have the flu. I lied about that."

"Oh. Okay. What did you have?"

"Well, I was very depressed about your father leaving, of course, so I was in bed a lot anyway... and then about a month after he moved out is when I got 'the flu.'" She sat down at her nightstand and picked up the brush again. Picked at the bristles again.

Deep breath. "How do I say this?"

"Just say it. You can say it."

"Okay. You're right. Paul... I found out that I was pregnant. And I had an abortion. That's what was wrong, that's why I was sick in bed for a week. I never told anyone about it, not a single soul. And then last night when you told me it was you in that hotel room and not Roger, I realized... it was your baby, not his."

There was absolute silence in the room. Neither of them moved.

"I didn't really want to be the mother of a newborn again at forty-six," she said, "but I certainly knew I couldn't do it alone. Of course I had you there, and I knew you'd have done anything and everything to help me, I had no doubt about that... you were always there for me, Paul, like a rock in my life I could always cling to, and I remember actually thinking to myself, why can't PAUL be the father? He'd be a wonderful father. I'd have the baby in two seconds if I had a man like Paul as a husband.

"And for a minute I really thought about having the baby if I could have you here with me. You and I raising a child together, I thought how the baby might call YOU 'Daddy' instead of Roger... my God, I had all these fantasies about actually going through with it... but I'd been trying to get you to go off to college ever since you got out of high school, and how could I tie you down here with another man's baby?" She looked up at him. "Isn't that ironic?"

He didn't say anything.

"I knew I really didn't have any choice, so I made the appointment and I got the abortion and I stayed alone in bed and said I was sick with the flu... and I just wanted to die. That was the lowest point of my whole life, Paul, that week. But do you know what happened?"

"What?"

"YOU happened. You took care of me. Even if I wouldn't let you in the room because I was 'contagious,' you made me breakfast and lunch and dinner and you took my dirty laundry and washed it and you moved the TV into my bedroom. You put it right here." She patted the surface of the nightstand. "Do you remember that?" He nodded. "You did EVERYTHING for me. You talked to me, standing in the doorway so you didn't get too close, you made me laugh... you brought me back, and then I was ready to come out of the bedroom and pick myself up and go back to work and face life again. That was all because of you."

"I remember." He remembered his intense, overwhelming feelings of love for her, and his intense, overwhelming guilt for deceiving her in the hotel room, and wanting to do whatever he could for her to make up for it and simply be around her as much as he could. He remembered all of that.

"I'll always remember," she said, smiling at him. "And when you kept telling me how much you wanted to stay here living here with me, I found I couldn't say no to you, so I let you stay even though I felt guilty for not making you go sign up for school and start your life. I wanted you in MY life, I needed you so much... when you weren't around, when you went to work or when I went to work, I missed you so much sometimes it was an ache, but then I thought how I'd get to see you tonight and fix you dinner and we'd watch TV together and I got so giddy at the idea of being around you. I felt like a high schooler with a crush on a boy."

He blinked, taken aback. That's exactly what he'd been thinking about her just a few minutes ago. "Really?" he asked.

"Really. I even... this is all SO STRANGE, in light of what I know now and what's happened between us, but I even had sexual fantasies about you."

"You did not."

"I did! I really did. I wouldn't admit to myself that I was thinking that way about my own son, but the truth was, the young man I thought about when I had my little sessions with my vibrator... he looked an awful lot like you. And he sounded like you, and he smelled like you... he WAS you. He was definitely you. And after awhile... sometimes I'd get so tired of waiting for Roger to come to his senses and come back to me, sometimes when I'd dream about that night in Las Vegas... sometimes I'd imagine it was you, not him."

"Mom, are you serious?"

"I'm extremely serious. Of course I felt horribly guilt-ridden thinking that way, but that didn't stop me. I think... this may be just hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I think it's possible that if you had told me back while we were living together that it WAS you in that hotel room... who knows? I might have been able to accept it, and we might have..."

"We might not have wasted the last ten years," he said.

She nodded. In a very quiet, almost inaudible voice, she said, "And our child would be turning ten years old in... probably January of 2000. Four months away." Breathing. "The child we lost, and you never even knew it. I never knew it. Nobody ever knew it."

He saw his mother sitting on the nightstand bench, her shoulders folded in, clutching the hairbrush, as her tears came.

There was no hesitation. He threw the covers off himself and jumped down off the bed, his naked member swinging as he strode across the room to her. He reached down with his big hands and took the hairbrush out of her hands, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet before she knew what was happening, and with one smooth motion he picked her up in his arms.

He took her back to the bed and set her down, and without a word he pulled his shirt off of her and kissed her, kissed her hard, desperately, with a passion verging on anger he pushed his mouth against her and his tongue into her mouth and he held her head there, and she was so shocked that she forgot to cry anymore and in seconds she responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling the familiar need for him flood through her.

He laid her down on her back, climbing over her, and he moved his mouth from her mouth to her neck and down to her lovely heaving breasts, her big mother-breasts, he grasped one in his hand and squeezed it while he licked and sucked the nipple and she gasped and held his head there, pulling his face down against her, and she pushed her other breast against his cheek, wanting to smother him with them, cloak him inside her deep cleavage and never let him out.

There was no telling how long he feasted at her breasts, or how long his cock had been as hard as the rock she'd said he was, or how long her pussy had been slippery with her juices inside her panties, but there came a moment when one of them, or both of them, tore at the panties and threw the sodden material away and her legs were spread and he was slipping inside her and they were riding each other, working at each other, making the same sounds and gasping for the same air.

He held her hips in his powerful grip and moved them in time with his own thrusts so that they were smashing together with force and he was holding himself fully inside her, keeping her unmoving when she wanted to squirm with delight and desire. He held her hips still while he moved his own hips against her, using her as a toy, creating so much friction with his cock inside her cunt that it was a small wonder he couldn't smell smoke.

It was good, very good, but it wasn't very long before he felt the pressure building in his balls and he knew he was going to cum --- but then he stopped.

She opened her eyes, startled at the sudden stillness. "What's the matter?"

"I -- I'm not wearing a condom," he said, his voice shaking. "We've done it twice already and I didn't have a--"

"Oh baby," she said, reaching up to take his face in her hands. "I went through menopause almost five years ago. And besides, just to be extra safe I put my old diaphragm in while I was in the bathroom before we started. Nothing's going to happen. I promise."

"Oh."

She pulled him down for a kiss. "Don't worry."

And so he didn't worry, he began moving himself again, sliding in and out of her with greased precision, grunting as he pushed his pelvis against hers as hard as it would go, as deep as he could go within her, feeling the clutching walls of her cunt working on him, grasping him the way her fingers grasped his shoulders, the way her mouth worked at his mouth with a cool, severe purpose.

She wanted him inside her, as much of him as she could get, his cock, his tongue, his fingers, his fluids, everything, all of him back inside her where he belonged. And he wanted to go there, he worked with rough desperation to get there again, they struggled together to put him there and keep him there.

They felt intense pleasure but also ache and determination, they labored at it together and breathed hotly on each other's face and kissed as though all time was running out on them.

... But gradually it seemed that, in fact, time was NOT running out on them. At some point Paul came out of his distracted, furious reverie and realized they had been fucking for a long time now, maybe an hour, maybe more, he couldn't see the clock... and though he'd felt about to cum earlier he had no such feeling now, he just felt an aching numbness in his cock as he drove it inside her again and again.

And he realized that his mother was getting dry down there, he saw a frown on her face that indicated more than simple pleasure, that she was aware something was wrong, too. Their movements slowed and she opened her eyes and kissed him.

"It's okay, it's okay," she gasped, and gently pushed him up off of her, and then got up on her knees and turned so her back was to him. She opened a drawer in her bedside dresser and pulled out a bottle of lubricant, she squeezed a dollop of it onto her fingers and reached down between her legs to apply it, then she squeezed another dollop into her hand and twisted her hips to reach around and rub it over his straining bronzed member, hanging there between them like a droning bar of lead.

He barely felt her hand on him now, he just waited for her to be done and then she went forward on hands and knees with her big, shaking white ass facing him. He took his cock in one hand and with the fingers of his other hand he parted the reddened, raw lips of her cunt and he guided himself inside.

His mother huffed and groaned and moved her hips as she took him in, pushing her ass higher in the air for him. He took each big fleshy pale cheek in his hands and squeezed, and pulled her hips back and forth against him, moving her, keeping himself still.

It felt good, and the sight of his mother splayed out on all fours in front of him was good, and the sight of his fingers digging into her asscheeks was good, and the purring and heavy gasping sounds she was making were good. He was fucking his mother, his one true love, his dream woman, the love of his life and now he could admit it and she could admit it to him, they were together now with total freedom, and it was good.

But he kept at it, and he didn't feel the familiar pressure in his balls and his midsection. He wasn't cumming. He wasn't going to cum. He felt it in the skinned-blue indifferent dullness of his cock as it went back and forth inside her, back and forth, in and out, on and on, the labia clinging to him as he pulled back, then sucked inward like a kid's pouting lips when he pushed forward. He began to realize it wasn't going to happen. For the first time in his life, he wasn't going to finish.

She realized it too, and she looked over her shoulder at him and nodded that it was okay and he pulled completely out of her. His cock was still hard as stone, still heavy and hanging there between his legs in full readiness, and it ached so bad it hurt.

She got to her knees facing him and put her hands on his shoulders. They were both breathing hard, sweating, full of fatigue. She kissed him, he felt her breasts against him. Everything felt so good, so wonderful. Her fingers caressed his face lovingly.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said.

"Stop saying you're sorry," she replied, touching him, kissing him. "Don't feel bad, Paul. It's fine. I promise. Everything is fine. This happens, it's not a big deal."

"I don't know why I can't..." He shrugged. "I don't know what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, baby. NOTHING. This just happens sometimes."

"This has happened to you before?"

She nodded. "Yes. It's not the end of the world. Not at all."

"So what do we do?"

"Do you want to keep going and see if we can make it happen another way, or do you just want to lie down and rest awhile?"

"What other way do you mean?"

"Well, this would sometimes happen with Frank."

Paul didn't particularly want to hear about his mother's huge-dicked, sex-addicted first husband, but he nodded for her to go on.

"When that happened, what we would do would be to put it... here." She touched her breasts, the line of dark cleavage between them. "That always worked."

"Oh."

"Would you like to try it?"

He nodded vigorously. "Sure, hell yeah. I mean, I've been wanting to do that for a long time anyway. Let's go!"

His enthusiasm made her laugh as he started to help her lay down, but she playfully pushed his hands away and whispered, "No no... I'M in charge here," and she moved him around and she calmly, firmly pushed him onto his back in the bed. His big cock still lifted valiantly, swaying as he moved, but it hung low, heavy, tired.

She drew her leg around so she could scoot off the bed, her hefty breasts swaying gently together with every movement, she plumped up a pillow and slipped it under his head, she took a couple of tissues from the box by the lamp and wiped away the sweat from his face, she moved the covers around so they were out of the way.

"Let's get you nice and ready," she cooed, and padded off to the bathroom, her big white ass jiggling as she moved. She came back with a wet washcloth and a hand towel. Tenderly, carefully, she took his penis in her hand and expertly cleaned it with the washcloth, which was wet with warm water and soap. It felt delicious. For good measure she cleaned his balls and his thighs and his belly. When she was done she leaned down to kiss him and whispered, "Did that feel good, baby?"

"Mmmmmmm...."

"Yes, honey, yes. You just relax, let Mommy do the work now."

At last she climbed back into the bed with him. Pushing his legs together, she straddled them and sat her bum on his knees, looking down at him with that catlike smile he now recognized, which meant something wonderful was about to happen.

Her naked breasts, now as well-known to him as his own cock, there in the light of the lamp appeared as astonishing and unbelievable as the first time he'd seen them, as they always would.

Every time Paul looked at his mother's tits he couldn't help but think, just for a half-second, It can't be possible to have breasts that fucking beautiful. But she did. And she knew how amazed he was by them, how much he loved them. Kneeling over him she ran her hands over them, cupping them, she even rubbed her nipples for him with her thumbs which drove him crazy, which she knew drove him crazy and she giggled again.

His fingers quickly found their way around his member and he started to rub himself, but again she playfully batted away his hand. "No no. You wait. I'm in charge."

She scooted closer, her breasts rocking back and forth, and then once more she took up the bottle of lubricant and squirted some in the palm of her hand and then wrapped that hand around his bone-hard penis and slowly, gently started to rub it.

Her grip was so soft as to be barely there, but his cock was so sensitive it jumped in her hand and he gasped, and her hand moved the thin layer of skin covering the stone of his cock, and then she leaned over him and she spit directly down onto the tip of his cock, then spit again, and her spit drooled down his shaft and mixed with the lubricant between her fingers as she rubbed him and stroked him, gazing lovingly down into his eyes as fireworks went off inside his midsection and explosions rocked his brain.

Despite her playful warning, Paul couldn't control himself and he reached up to touch one of her hanging breasts, and once again she batted his hands away. "No no no. BAD boy. Not for you."

His mother continued to rub his cock. She leaned over it, her hanging breasts swaying inches away, as stroked the goo all over the shaft, mothering him. His standing member glistened in the lamplight, numb but ready, waiting for what was next. She reviewed her handiwork, and finally she seemed satisfied. She leaned forward some more, putting her hands on his hips for balance, and he felt her big hanging breasts brush against his straining wet cock, batting softly against it like it was a toy, and she smiled down at him.

"I'M going to do it to YOU," she purred, and she used one hand to pry her heavy breasts apart and slip his cock between them burying it. "And one more thing. When it happens, when you feel it starting to happen... tell me, and we'll switch places and you put it in so you can do it inside me. Okay?"

"You mean... you WANT it?" he asked, confused.

"Of course I do, baby. I want all of it inside me." She paused, looking down at the rubbery head of his cock sticking out from between her plunging breasts, and she leaned down to kiss it. "I want EVERYTHING." A pause while they looked at each other, then she said, "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Give me your hands."

He offered them to her and she placed one on each side of her breasts. "Now," she said, "push them together. That's YOUR job."

Paul did as he was told, he pushed her amazing soft tits together so that they tightly hugged his slimy, sloppy cock. She spit down into the crevice a few more times, then she put her hands on his hips again and said, "Okay, HANG ON," and started to move herself up and down so that she was, indeed, fucking his cock with her breasts.

It was magnificent, watching her bounce herself up and down and around, finding the perfect rhythm to fuck him with. It took a few minutes of lovely practice until she found what she wanted, and pretty soon she was moving her torso with a pace that made his cock slide up and down between her pale, milky-white breasts with complete abandon.

Waves of pleasure washed over him and he grunted, pushing his hips up to meet her downward pushes, her knockers so heavy on him that he couldn't move them; he was trapped beneath her, inside her cleavage, helpless, so he just pushed those melon breasts together as she pumped her chest up and down, and every time he'd see just the tip of his cock appear between her thick cleavage, lost in all that pale flesh, like a baby in its mother's arms.

Her eyes were closed and her lips pressed tightly together in a kind of frown, concentrating on keeping the rhythm and doing it just right, that was another of his mother's little quirks that turned him on, and he redoubled the pumping of his hips against her heavy tits, loving every sensation of her warm, soft, slickened flesh enveloping his hard penis, and his breathing came faster and faster, harder and harder, moving with purpose and deliberate speed, and at long last the numbness fell away and he felt that familiar congealing pressure in his belly and balls, pushing up into his cock as the friction finally drove him over the top and he grunted, "Oh SHIT I'm cumming!!" and thrust his hips deep between her breasts as she stopped moving and just let him rub hard himself against her until it exploded out of him--and onto him.

The one thing he hadn't anticipated in his rush for orgasm was that his cock was now pointed squarely at himself, and it shot a massive boiling wad of white viscous cum right onto his own face. It went in his eyes, his nostrils, and his wide-open moaning mouth.

He coughed and choked and spat it out just in time for another eruption of it out of his cock and onto his face, in his hair, his cheeks, his chin, everywhere. When he came he came A LOT, he had splattered all over the faces of several women in his life and he loved the look of it dripping from their shocked faces... but now suddenly he understood what it really was, a messy dump of warm slush all over them, sexy as hell to him but maybe not so much to them... and certainly not to him right now.

He spat and blew slimy ropes of it from his dripping lips, shaking his head aggressively to get it out of his eyes and off his cheeks... it hadn't yet occurred to him that he could use his hands for this because they were still tightly gripping his mother's huge breasts, he was still squeezing them tightly together and still pumping his hips back and forth to urge one more shot of cum out of his jumping cock... and sure enough there came another long squirt of it, not violent enough to hit his face again but landing squarely on his chest and quickly dripping down to his neck and shoulders. He was covered, glazed in his own sloppy spunk, still mindlessly milking the cum from himself by squeezing her tits together, unable to stop until every drop was out of him.

At last his orgasm was finished, and his mother opened her eyes with a smile, only to witness the scene of her lover's face dripping with whiteness. It took a second for her to register what had happened.

"Oh no, oh Paul--my goodness, baby!" She quickly sat up and his hands fell away from her breasts, though he could only dimly perceive all of this because his eyes were awash in cum.

He clawed at it and spit more of it out of his mouth, and now his fingers were dripping with it... he started to sit up but his mother quickly put her hand on his chest to push him back down, and then the cum was on her hand, too. It was like an X-rated Three Stooges cartoon.

She said, "Wait, baby, wait, I'll clean it up, you just wait."

And she climbed off his legs and slid off the bed, taking a fistful of tissues to clean her hand, then finding a teeshirt and slipping it on before scooting out the bedroom door into the bathroom.

Paul remained there on his back, smothered in his own spunk, half-disgusted with himself, his cock deflating, tipping slowly over his leg, itself covered. Soon his mother came bustling back with another dripping washcloth and a towel, and she quickly and skillfully began cleaning him off, wiping the spunk from his eyes and forehead and down to his nose and lips, and his chin and cheeks, muttering to herself as she worked, "Oh my goodness, oh goodness, look at this mess, oh boy, oops let me get that, oh poor baby, my poor baby..."

She retreated to the bathroom twice to get clean washcloths, pausing once to slip a pair of panties on, but in about ten minutes he was washed clean and dried and good as new. She stroked her fingers around his face and his lips and his chest, smiling down at him. "Everything okay now, baby?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. Then he said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry again? Why? What for, now?"

How could he say this? He took a deep breath, wishing he'd never said anything, but it felt important to say, so he said, "I'm sorry that you had to... clean me off like that. That was so..."

His mother put her fingers on his lips, shaking her head. "Don't ever apologize, baby, I did it because I love you and I love taking care of you. There's nothing in the world I love more than taking care of you. It's been that way your whole life. Now, I just have a brand-new way of taking care of you."

She laughed, then leaned down to kiss him. "Nothing to ever be sorry for," she repeated, then turned off the light and slipped into bed beside him. Her body cuddled up against him, and in about a minute she was fast asleep and snoring quietly.

For a long time he just lay next to her, naked, relaxed, breathing. He was utterly exhausted, absolutely spent. He waited for sleep to envelop him as it had her so swiftly.

But sleep didn't come, and he simply lay in the dark feeling her against him, and at some point for no reason he could consciously think of he picked up her hand and placed it on his penis. Just set it there, nothing else... and in her sleep she took gentle hold of it, stroking it, and quickly he grew hard yet again.

Her little fingers whispered over the sensitive skin tight as a drum, carefully stroking him like a flock of butterflies, feeling the rubbery head, feeling the thick vein along the underside, twirling in his pubic hair, her short fingernails dancing lovingly back up the shaft to find the engorged tip and tickle it lightly. It felt amazing.

With a little sigh and no words at all in the darkness he got to his knees and pushed his mother's legs apart and he slipped inside her like a dream and he groaned with pleasure as she panted and his hands were on her wide hips. He took hold of one of her breasts and pinched the nipple. It was all slow and easy at first, comfortable, and gradually the intensity built again, the layers of heat added one by one until it he just took hold of his cock and slammed it rudely into her, grunting and gasping with the effort, he put his hands on the headboard and slammed his hips against hers and started to pump himself against her hard and fast. This was four times. FOUR TIMES. Was it real? Was he dreaming everything?

Her hair danced and her breasts jiggled violently each time he thrust himself into her, he did it, yes, he did, giving it to her hard and fast like he wanted and pretty soon it was happening and he pulled his cock out of her and exploded cum on her reddened, abused pussy and her heaving belly and her shaking tits and even managed to shoot a stream at her face and slapped white goo across her cheek and ear and her hair, he squeezed the last bit out of him onto her and then he took his not-quite-deflated cock and stuffed it back inside her and her mouth went wide and he just moved his hips and he kept slipping out in all that sticky funky wetness and pushing himself back in, not hard anymore but still big enough to make a difference, this went on for awhile and finally he couldn't hold himself up anymore and he fell on top of her and his poor cock plopped out of her one last time. He breathed against her neck, exhausted and spent, at last. He thought they should probably both take a shower in the morning before she went off to work, that sounded good, he imagined her up against the shower wall and he's shoving it into her from behind while the warm water sluices over their naked bodies, that sounded really good and he wondered what time of night it was and he finally drifted away, and together they slept the sleep of the damned.

THE END