Loving with My Mother

It's difficult to define the emotions I experienced when I heard my mother's remarks. It all rushed through me in a confusing, contradictory surge. But, the one emotion I felt most of all was the potent outpouring of love.

Which is why, after swallowing down on the urge to cry, I mumbled, "Don't be silly, mum. You're lovely. I think you're beautiful."

"You're just saying that, aren't you."

The anger surprised me.

"No," I snapped, moving onto my hip and an elbow. I couldn't see her because it was dark, but I could make out her outline. "Don't be so silly. You've got a great body. I fucked you, didn't I?"

I heard her suck in breath.

"Please don't put it so crudely," gasped my mother.

The anger cooled as soon as I heard the hurt in her voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I honestly mean it, mum. You're ...uh ... Well, I suppose all I can say is, you're sexy."

She sounded so lost when she said, "Your father doesn't think so any more."

There it was. Such an obvious explanation for a self-confidence crisis. I could have thumped my own forehead for being so dense as to forget my dad had dumped my mother. Chucked her aside for something fitter and younger.

"He's a dick for that, mum," I said. "Really and truly. You've got nothing to feel bad about."

She absorbed that for a minute or so.

Then I heard her quietly ask, "What's so good about me? About my body?"

I pictured her big boobs rolling around as I'd fucked into her body.

My cock swelled again.

"I ... I don't think we should talk about that," I said.

"Why not?"

On a rush of reckless desire, I said, "Because it gets me going."

"Oh," my mother said. "You mean like ... randy?"

"Yeah," I said, choked.

"If--"

That single blurted word and the way she just closed off bounced around inside my head.

I reached out, my hand under the cover.

"Touch it again," I said when my fingertips felt her body.

"Touch what?"

"Me," I breathed.

"Your penis, you mean?" She said it so quietly I wasn't sure I'd heard.

"Yes," I muttered, curbing the urge to grab her.

"What for?"

God, the frustration...

"It's hard," I said, teeth clenched, muscles and sinews taut.

Nothing. My mother didn't move. Nor did she speak.

"I want to do it again," I finally growled.

"I was just going to ask," my mother said. "You know, if we did it again -- would we be able to stop?"

"Do you want to do it again?"

After another maddening pause, my mother eventually murmured, "It was so thrilling before. It's so wicked and very, very wrong, but I can't help myself thinking about how we were together. All right, yes, you're my son, and sex with you is just such a huge sin ... But my body ... Between my legs ... I'm so bloody turned on."

"Touch me," I told her, just about sobbing it out.

"Oh dear lord, I'm damned," my mother groaned, her fingers around my shaft once more.

Then we were kissing.

The second time together we lost the inhibitions. My mother switched roles, going from what was so familiar -- the mother I'd always known -- to this wild, sexually ravenous woman who wasn't shy verbalising her wants and needs.

She'd cranked my dick and sucked at my tongue, squirming and gasping until she flung off the covers, switched on the light, stared at me for a few seconds, and then lifted the nightie over her head.

"You only came twenty minutes ago," she said as she ran her palms over her breasts.

"Yes," I replied, nodding.

My eyes were on her body, soaking up the detail of her heavy tits, the circles of their areolae, and tight nipples. Her shape aroused me. I was hot for her body. I wanted to fuck her.

"And you're hard again."

I looked at my cock and then at her face.

I shrugged. "Yeah."

"So you're all right looking at an old lady's body?"

The mood was on me, so I stroked my cock and challenged my mother with my eyes. "What do you think?"

She looked at me with this sly smirk on her lips. "I think I want it from behind. I want it doggy."

Which is how I came to be knelt behind my mother, my hands on her hips, her big tits swinging as I fucked into her pussy, displaced cum farting out of her and over my shaft.

"We're crazy to do this," gasped my mother, swivelling at the waist to look back at me. "God, if anyone knew..."

"I don't care," I growled.

Then I curled in low and thrust into her body, nuzzling the nape of her neck and her shoulder, my hands full of her breasts.

"Make it count," my mother said. She fucked back onto my dick, grunting her pleasure. "God, it's so wrong being with you, but it feels so bloody good."

My mother then gasped and moaned, enjoying the feelings before she swivelled her attention to me again.

"If we're going to sin," she said, eyelids heavy, "make it worthwhile."

After that we gave in to the sex. There was no love in it. Not then. The love-making would come later. Once we'd settled and talked and decided to give being lovers a try. We knew we'd have to keep it a secret. That went without saying. And we knew there'd be a risk attached to us being together in an intimate, physical way, but we both -- after talking it to death over three or four days -- couldn't resist the lure of the taboo. I wanted her, and she wanted me. We were a mother and son in love, the expression of which came via our bodies.

So, while we did share loving, tender times together, that second time was all about lust.

Crazy, hot, tempestuous lust.

My mother groaned and gasped and urged me to fuck her. The language she used to express her desires was still shocking to hear, and it popped into my head as her buttocks slapped against my lower abdomen just what a fool my father must be to throw her away.

We went at it with me behind her until she gasped out she wanted to watch us together.

"Put it back in," wailed my mother after getting onto her back.

She spread her thighs in an unashamed flaunting of her sex, even splaying her folds as she offered it up.

"I want to see it going in. Fuck me. Please, put it in and screw me. I need to come."

So there I was again. Holding myself over my mother, cock working her cunt. This time she fingered her clit, really teasing the bean until, her face tight with exertion, she snorted and groaned, her body convulsing.

After that she insisted she wanted to ride.

My mother, impatient and snarling, got me onto my back, straddling my thighs, my dick in her hand so she could slide her pussy down over the head, her sodden pubes mingling with mine as she growled at me to squeeze her breasts.

She bounced up and down, crazy for the sex as she squealed, "Do you like your mummy's big boobs?"

My mother followed up that reference to incest by leaning in low, breasts squashed between us, her face close to mine.

"You're fucking your mother," she said through a grin.

My mother paused, circling her pelvis so my dick worked in deep.

"Bad, bad boy," she said, smirking the taunt. "You shouldn't be inside me. Your cock ... Fucking," she purred.

Then, after that shocking tease, my mother got to it again, another orgasm smashing her after she diddled her clit with quick, urgent fingers.

"God, I'm going to be sore tomorrow," my mother gasped, sucking in air.

She was alongside me by then, fighting to breathe, semen seeping out of her body after her violent climax and my second go at shooting spunk into her pussy.

"I've rubbed my clit raw."

Again, concerned now that the passion had cooled, I asked, "Are ... Uh, are you all right?"

My mother hauled the cover over herself. Then she looked at me and said, "I think so. But it's all too new. Too crazy. Ask me tomorrow."

I had questions, lots of questions -- so many questions.

How did it start?

What would we do?

Was tonight the only time, or would we do it again?

I wanted to know what she was thinking.

How did she feel?

Did she regret what had happened?

What did she think about me?

With all that in my head, I looked at my mother, self-conscious because I was nude -- which was an odd state of mind considering what we'd been doing and saying. My mother had my semen inside her. Why should me being naked be a concern?

Silly, but that's the way it was for me.

Brimming with the unasked, I said, "Tomorrow?"

My mother nodded and said, "Yes, I can't even think straight right now. I'm so sleepy. You've worn me out."

She stopped speaking and showed this strange Mona Lisa smile. Then, looking shy, my mother reached out and curled her fingers around the nape of my neck.

"What a pickle we're in," she said, pulling me in to kiss my mouth. "I can't believe we're here, like this, together. If you'd have told me..."

My mother stopped talking.

Then she sighed and let go of my neck.

My mother glanced down at the cover over her legs while slowly shaking her head side-to-side.

"I wouldn't have believed it," she said, expression intent.

Her eyes were on my face, her attitude all about making me believe her. It was as though she was in the dock trying to convince the jury she was innocent. She was so serious, so determined to make her point.

"If you'd told me," my mother continued. "Today. Earlier. If you'd said I'd actually ... make love with my son..."

Her eyes skittered away as she gave this tight little chuckle.

"God," my mother said on a gasp. Her eyes were back on my face. "If you'd told me I'd actually fuck you..."

Anxious for an answer, I asked, "Are you sorry, mum?"

She grabbed my wrist, eyes bright as she said, "Sorry? God, no. I'm shocked but not sorry. I know exactly what it is I've done. I take full responsibility. I'm a grown-up. It's something huge. Something beyond which I thought myself capable. But, obviously, not when put to the test. What can I say? Maybe I wasn't myself. It's been stressful since ... since ... Well, since your father left me. And yes, perhaps I wasn't quite my normal self tonight. But that set aside, we did what we did. I can't make it go away so I'll have to get over any guilt that's coming my way."

My mother paused, squeezing my arm before she went on to say, "You don't have anything to be guilty about -- okay? I came in here. I touched you. All you did was react to hormones rushing around. Everything that happened, happened because I couldn't control myself. It's not you."

Love for her welled in my chest.

"You don't have to feel guilty," I said.

I reached out with both hands and held my mother's shoulders.

"It was incredible," I told her. "Being with you. That way. So close. Shit," I gasped, "kissing you. I've never felt that way kissing a girl ... a woman."

My mother sighed.

"That's so sweet," she said. "Thank you."

I gulped and then, shy, asked, "Will you stay here tonight? Will you sleep here with me?"

My mother chuckled and said, "You sure that's a good idea? I'm already sore."

Not realising she was joking, I said, "I won't try anything again. We ... we'll just sleep."

"I'm kidding," said my mother as she flipped back the cover. "Get in," she added. "Let's try and get at least an hour's sleep tonight."

I eased in next to her, fully aware we were both nude.

"Switch off that light," my mother instructed. "Let's go to sleep."

I did as she said and settled into the bed.

"You can touch me, you know," my mother said. "We can cuddle. It's not like you haven't been inside me already. I can feel your cum coming out. Just get in close. Relax. Go to sleep."

The last vague memory I have of that night is my mother's body curved in as I spooned behind her.

"I love you," I mumbled.

"I know," she replied, shoving her bottom tighter against me. "And I love you."

Two weeks later my sister was at the house. My mother was upstairs, my sister and I in the kitchen.

I'd made tea and had handed my sister the cup. Then I'd sat opposite her at the old kitchen table. Michael my nephew was toddling around as my sister spoke. She focussed on her son, a blessing to me since I couldn't stop the heat rising in my face when she said, "You're a miracle worker. Mum's so much brighter now. I thought she'd never come out of it after dad left."

Paradoxically chilled by what she'd said, warmth suffusing my cheeks, and as I felt my scalp prickle with sweat, I got up from the table and turned my back.

"Yeah," I said, pretending to pour more milk into my tea. "She just needed company, I suppose."

After I said it, the memory of having my mother bent over the very table my sister sat at popped into my mind. The sex was fantastic. Exciting beyond anything I'd experienced before. We were wild and free, spontaneous as we tumbled around in bed, fucking in front of the TV, loving when my mother wanted to love. There was no awkwardness between us. No embarrassment or shame. We'd discussed the thing every which way.

What if I wanted to marry?

If I met a girl.

What if she met a man she liked?

The difference in age.

Having to be so careful to avoid public displays of affection.

Causing suspicion in a loose word.

What about the future?

Were we exclusive?

"Well, you must be good company," my sister said. "She's changed so much. It's funny but she seems brighter now than she was with dad."

My face was still hot as I turned to face my sister.

Feigning nonchalance, I said, "I think she's realised what a wanker he really is."

My sister berated me for that lack of respect. We bickered, like we'd always done, the small argument deflecting from any closer examination of my mother's refreshed attitude towards life.

Time passed.

Weeks and months slipped by.

Years.

We were lovers. A hot, intense honeymoon period followed where we were mad for each other. My mother and I even took a holiday together, our absence layered in deceit as we hid our simultaneous absences from my sister. Later, in an autonomous move, I seduced my father's girlfriend into sex. It was a grudge-fuck. Revenge on my mother's behalf -- although my mum, being the lady she was, wouldn't have sanctioned the action. By then, with her equilibrium restored, my mother would have been about live-and-let-live. She wasn't exactly over the break-up, but she had a new focus. Me fucking dad's girlfriend wouldn't have gone down too well if she'd known.

When the super-intense newness passed, my mother and I settled into a casual thing. We were together for as long as it lasted. We had no expectations. It would be what it was.

Ironically, one effect of us being together was me settling enough to find a job.

I was surprised to find I enjoyed it. The result being a high-flying career which one day meant I'd re-locate to a city overseas.

After that, despite us being mother and son, our relationship suffered.

My mother was the one to end the physical side to the love we shared.

At the time, it hurt. It was heart-breaking to go through. But, in time, as I grew older and a little bit wiser, I came to see why she'd cut the incestuous tie.

I met a woman. Got married.

My mother had a boyfriend or two.

It's more complicated than I describe but, after seven years, my wife decided she'd fallen out of love with me. We divorced. I kept on with the job, by then occasionally sleeping with my mother when I was home for Christmas or some other family event. It suited us both. It was comfort and love.

My sister also divorced.

By then her children were adults. Michael, the boy toddling around the kitchen way back when it started with mum was flying aeroplanes for Ryanair. His sister had her own business.

Then, at seventy-nine, our mother passed away.

We'd known it was coming. Her death wasn't any surprise. But, when it happened, it was still a huge shock.

Two years after that I was back in that house. It belonged to me and my sister but she lived there full time.

She'd just split from another unsuitable man. Was down in the dumps. Moody and depressed.

My sister came to my bedroom in the middle of the night. I don't know what time. It was dark, and I was fuzzy with sleep.

It was the same bedroom I'd had as a boy. But then, in 2018, I was fifty-four. I'd left home decades before but was back in the house because I had business in the UK.

So, there I was, back in the old bedroom, my sister a vague shadow.

When I asked what was wrong, she said, "Can I get in with you?"

It had been a single bed when the room was my domain, but my parents had put in a double when I gave up the space.

Surprised yet still bleary I asked her why.

"I don't want to be on my own," she said.

It was the way she added the, "Please," which made me tell her it was okay.

After several uncertain minutes, my heart pounding at the déjà vu my sister said, "I know what you and mum did."

The shock of what she said into the dark paralysed me. My mind shut down, cogs of logical thought jammed by my sister's awful revelation.

"I know," whispered my sister.

The bed moved. Her fingers tightened around my wrist.

My sister brought my numb, useless hand to her body.

When I touched her my fingers found bare skin.

"You're naked," I said, croaking it out.

"Yeah," said my sister.

Her hand found my cock.

All the questions I had to put to her about how she knew evaporated when my sister started to crank my cock to full stiffness.