My mother 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 1989, I was twenty-five. I'd left home six years before but was back in the house because my mother needed support. She was fifty-two. My father had left her. He'd run off with the clichéd 'younger model' -- a fit thirty-something I boned a year after this incident I'm recalling took place. Fucking my dad's girlfriend was a revenge tactic of mine. I did it because of the upset the old man caused my mum. But that's another story, and I digress...
I'd had a call from my sister telling me what had happened and that our mother was in what she described as, "Quite a bad way." My sister had a young family and was constantly busy running around looking after the small people while I, on the other hand, had nothing to do. I was between jobs, and not trying too hard to find one.
So, there I was, back in the old bedroom, my mother 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 they'd 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.
"I ... I should put something on," I said. "I'm naked, mum."
The shadow flitted across my sight-line as my mother came to the bed.
"Don't bother," she said. "It doesn't matter."
Maybe not to her, but I had a different opinion. The grown-up me felt awkward and embarrassed, but the speed at which my mother moved meant she was under the covers with me before I could express my concerns.
"Cuddle me," she said after shifting around.
"Mum, I'm naked," I told her again.
"Please," she said.
Again, the way she said it affected me on an emotional level I couldn't ignore.
Which is how I came to be spooned against my mother's warm buttocks, whatever it was she was wearing a thin membrane of nothing between us.
I didn't mean for it to happen, of course -- but my dick thickened and grew.
My hard-on, solid and thick, pressed between the cleft of my own mother's bottom.
"Oh dear," I heard my mother say.
Heat rushed into my face. I was grateful for the darkness, mortified by my body's response.
Cold and hot at the same time, I tried to ignore the swelling, easing away from my mother as she asked, "Is that you?"
"Mum ... I ... I'm sorry," I said, stammering it out.
"It's all right," she told me. "I understand. It's my fault, really."
I protested because I didn't want her to feel bad. My mother already had enough going on without blaming herself.
"No, Peter," she said. "Don't worry. How about we change about? Turn over. I'll cuddle you."
What I really wanted was for her to get out. I was already thinking about the next day. How would I face her after getting a stiffie because she was warm in my bed?
But what I did was rollover onto my opposite side, my mother moulding her frontage against the curve of my back.
"Thank you for coming home," she breathed after a couple of minutes.
"It's okay," I said.
"I'm a mess. I'm sorry," my mother murmured into the dark.
"You'll be okay."
I felt her move as she nodded and said, "Of course."
We lay there together, me fully awake, hard-on slowly abating.
Then, two things happened simultaneously. My mother said, "I love you," as her fingers curled around my dick.
Yes, okay, a shocker. I couldn't believe it.
How could I?
My mother touching my cock? On purpose?
Deliberately?
No.
Of course it wasn't a deliberate move.
But it was.
Shocked, I gasped out, "Mum--"
At which she cut me off by saying, "It's all right. I'm supposed to help you. You're my son. This is what a mother is for. To help her boy."
I did think about telling my mother her values were somewhat off-kilter. Wanking off her own son wasn't what she was supposed to do. That was not the kind of helping hand I expected.
I coughed it out again. "Mum," I said.
"Shush," she told me.
And, as much as I've worried over it since it happened, it felt so sweet to feel her hand caressing my cock -- as damned as I am for allowing it to go on -- I just let her get to it.
Why I let my mother stroke my erection is an easy question. It's an obvious one.
The answer is very complex.
And I don't have an answer, really.
I suppose I was in shock.
But I also know it felt so good.
I was stiff with arousal. It was dark. I'd only just woken up. I was disorientated.
But it felt so good.
Her hand stroking my length.
Her body against me.
The heat.
Her breathing.
Her fingers squeezing my cock.
"Let me," my mother whispered.
So I did. I stretched my legs so her hand could move more freely.
"God, you're lovely," my mother sighed.
She worked her fist over my cock, squeezing and stroking, her breath coming in gasps as she pressed her breasts against my back.
For several surreal minutes my mother kept on at my cock. Then, without me knowing how it came to be, the bedside light was on, she had her nightie ruched up to her throat, the backs of her knees were hooked around my arms, and I was looking down at her face, my cock working her cunt as I pounded at my mother's pubic bone like I was intent on shattering it to dust.
"Oh, oh baby," my mother squeaked as her big tits rolled and shook. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't expect us to start doing this."
It was an odd experience. Strange and dreamlike. I was there in body but distant from inside my head. On one level I knew exactly what was going on. I understood who the woman beneath me was, but part of my brain refused to believe it. I recognised her face and her voice. I was aware of everything but somehow divorced from reality. I'd never considered my mother as a sexual being before. I mean, why would I? But there she was, ostensibly naked, her body exposed, her most intimate place gripping my cock.
It surprised me to notice she had quite a figure. My mother was soft where a woman is meant to be soft. She was well-padded in a way which pleased my eyes and my cock, her body ripe and rounded, her thick pubic bush as black and thick and glossy as the hair on her head.
I also knew in that very vague and distant way that we shouldn't be together as we were. Coupled like lovers. Her body taking my dick.
I had no right to be inside my mother, my shaft smeared with her lust.
But, at the same time those thoughts rushed through my head, no power on Earth could have made me stop fucking into her pussy.
It was sublime.
A joy so sweet I wanted to go on and on and on.
Enveloped in the sense of strangeness I looked down at my mother's face.
"Love me," my mother said, catching my stare.
She looked up at me, her face twisted up with what looked to be absolute pleasure, the expression a mirror for the delight I felt inside.
Then she asked, "You wouldn't leave me like your father did, would you?"
Emotion clogged my throat when I heard her say it.
"No," I groaned, pausing with my dick inside her up to my balls. "He's an arsehole," I added.
Love boiled inside me when my mother continued to gaze at me.
"God," I muttered, "you're beautiful, mum. I ... I didn't get it before. I never saw you properly. But you ... like this ... I see how lovely you are."
My mother started to move again. Slowly at first.
"I'm so confused," she said, inner troubles clouding her eyes. After a pause, our bodies locked together, she added, "I'm sorry for being this way. Tonight. I ... I just needed a cuddle. I didn't mean for this. But in the dark. You were so warm. And then I felt your ... your ... Well, you know. I can't explain why I did it. I really don't have a clue."
We were moving together at a robust pace by then. I was up with my weight on my hands as my mother offered her body, all maternal decorum gone while I worked my dick in-and-out.
"I can't believe it's you," I said, grunting with the sensations.
"Oh, darling, it's me all right," my mother replied. "And I don't believe it either. I know we shouldn't be like this together, but I don't want to stop."
"Me neither," I told her. "It feels fantastic."
My mother's eyes moved from my face. She looked over the front of her body, then gulped as she stared at me again.
"We're fucking," gasped my mother, like she'd only just realised.
I kept on going, the bed protesting at the abuse to its frame.
"Oh God, you're my son! That's you inside me!"
My mother closed her eyes once more, gasping and moaning for a few moments.
I was excited by the sight of her body, boobs free and rolling, her thatch shocking my senses.
"Fuck me," she said, face twisted up in a snarl. "I don't care if this is wrong. Just fuck me."
To hear my mother using bad language came as one more shock -- wave after wave of surprise.
Despite that we were fucking, that I was actually thrusting my cock into my mother, her use of the F-word had a profound effect. So much so that I felt the tell-tale tickle. I could feel the cum starting to boil. If we kept it up at the pace we were going, I had less than a minute left in me.
"I don't think I can do this for very much longer," I said.
My mother stared at me while shunting her pelvis so her pussy moved over my cock.
She asked, "Are you going to come?"
At which I grimaced and nodded.
"So soon?"
"Yeah," I groaned. "It's too exciting. You ... Your body."
I grunted and snorted and tried to ignore the desire to let it all go.
Then, in a moment of anxiety I asked, "Is it safe? I mean, you know ... inside you."
"I won't get pregnant," answered my mother. "But try to hold on. I'm not anywhere near finished with this."
I don't know how long I managed to keep going. Not long at all, I suppose. I tried but lost it because of the look on her face, the sounds she made, the way her body moved beneath me, and, most of all, because she whimpered out, "Love your mother the way she should be loved. Kiss me, my sweetheart."
I moved in to kiss her when my mother offered her mouth.
Then her tongue was between my lips, her pussy squeezing my dick, our bodies squelching before the cum burst from my cock.
When the stuff spurted into her body my mother fell back, eyes wide as she yelped, "Oh! You're coming!"
I emptied myself.
My seed flooded my mother.
I gasped and grunted, tongue in my mother's mouth as the insane joy took me away.
Then, even as the last couple of spurts pulsed out of me, I felt the rush of horror at what I'd just been part of.
Mortified, appalled, anxious, and fearful I rolled away from my mother.
The lust which had overwhelmed had run out of me on the surge of my climax. Logical thought returned.
As my lay sprawled, her pussy a scarlet flash amid the dark patch of hair between her legs, my cum sliding from the gape of her opening, I experienced a deep and abiding sense of shame.
Complex emotions swirled inside me.
"Mum," I croaked, "what have we done?"
She looked at me for a few seconds. A weird look. Like she didn't know who I was. My mother's eyes clouded over as she frowned. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and hauled down the over-sized tee-shirt she used as a nightie.
While she did that, my mother was also moving around. She got up onto her knees a hand reaching for me.
"Don't get anxious," said my mother.
She had a tight grip on my wrist, like she wasn't sure I might try to run away.
"Calm down," she added. "Deep breaths. Stop thinking too much."
My mother, her recent meltdown notwithstanding, was a pragmatic, cool-headed person. She had the capacity to accept the realities in stressful situations. She could cut through all the potential for drama, dismissing emotions sometimes as she focussed on fact.
It had been more than a week since I'd seen a hint of her true personality. But here she was, facing the incest and staring down any sense of humiliation or awkwardness which dared to confront her.
"But--" I said.
"It's done," my mother put in. We did it and can't ever take it back."
She kept hold of my wrist with one hand, using the other to pull the bed cover over my legs and rapidly diminishing cock.
As the stone dropped into the pit of my stomach, I gasped, "How did it happen?"
It was all so unreal. A sudden nightmare.
The images rushed across my mind's-eye: my mother's breasts shivering while her eyes gazed up at me; her pussy taking my cock, the dark fur matted with her arousal while her pink core glistened. I heard her gasps and moans.
"Ah, fuck," I groaned in despair. "Not you. We can't have done it. This is all made up."
I was starting to babble as effervescent panic fizzed inside me.
"No," I snarled, wild and desperate. "It isn't real. I'll wake up."
My mother's hands went to my shoulders.
She shook me while saying, "Stop it. For God's sake, listen to me. You think you're the only one affected by this? Do you really think I'm not in a state of shock, too?"
My throat felt clogged. I struggled to breathe. My world was in chaos.
I mumbled stuff I can't recall, thoughts tumbling around while my mother shifted on her knees, her face right in front of mine.
Her hands were still on my shoulders, but she'd stopped with the shaking.
Speaking slowly and very deliberately, my mother said, "Pack it in. You're being ridiculous. This is NOT going to help us."
"But you're my mother!"
She winced when I wailed it out.
"Yeah, I know," my mother replied, sarcasm in her tone. "I was there when you were born, you know."
What I took to be disgust at my emotional display curled her lips.
"I know who I am," sighed my mother. "I know who you are. I know what we are to each other. I didn't plan for this to happen. I'm as surprised as you. I have no idea how we came to be ... to be..."
Her voice tapered off before she heaved another sigh.
"Shit, what a fucking mess," she spat. "Jesus! What the hell was I thinking!"
At that point I went into some sort of mental lockdown. I could see my mother's face and recognised her but couldn't make sense of what she was saying. All I heard were random sounds as her mouth moved. Her expression looked fierce as her eyes stared right through me to the back of my skull. I don't have any idea how long I stayed in that weird state of altered perception. It couldn't have been long because when the words once again made sense, my mother was still kneeling in front of me, her hands down in her lap and not on my shoulders.
"We just need to calm down and talk through this," my mother was saying. She shrugged and even, to my amazement, gave a wry chuckle. Then she said, "We haven't hurt anyone, have we? It's only you and I know. This doesn't have to get all blown up. We can contain it."
My mother stopped talking and gazed at me with this intense, earnest look on her face.
Her eyes examined me for several long moments.
Then she pouted and shrugged and said, "Let's take a little time for it all to sink in. Then we can talk. Yeah, it'll be a huge embarrassment," my mother went on, eyes going wide. "But we'll have to set that aside and think about how we're going to be."
As everything continued to swirl in my head, I managed to croak, "How we're going to be?"
My mother nodded. "Yes. We could try to supress it. You know, bury it. Don't ever talk about it again. Erase it."
The recollections burst inside my mind again.
Choked up by conflicting sensations -- horror and arousal -- I heard myself gurgle, "I ... I'll never be able to erase it."
"Me neither," murmured my mother.
She sighed and looked at me through soft eyes, a tiny smile curving her lips.
"But we do have to talk it through and decide what to do. If we don't you're likely to dwell and stew and say something you perhaps shouldn't. Your sister ... Your father..."
The enormity of what had passed between us established itself inside my head. A huge neon sign blazing with accusation as it flashed between two words: INCEST ... SECRET ... INCEST ... SECRET.
Then the sign switched to: YOU ... FUCKED ... YOUR ... MOTHER!
I gulped down on the quick rush of panic which rose up my throat.
"Ah, shit, no, I'd never tell," I groaned.
Pragmatic as she'd ever been, my mother said, "Easy to say."
She slumped down onto the bed, laying out, legs bare as the nightie hitched up to the tops of her thighs.
Desire flashed when I caught a glimpse of my mother's tender skin.
"I'll stay here tonight," my mother insisted. "Turn out the light. I don't know why you turned it on in the first place," she added, eyebrows arched. "God," my mother breathed, "when I think about what you saw..."
After shaking her head, eyes closed, another sigh coming out of her, my mother looked at me and said, "Let's just get under the covers and lie in the dark. We can talk about it without seeing each other. That'll take out some of the sting."
I wasn't sure about us both being in the same bed, under the covers, me naked, but my mother insisted and so that's what we did.
It took some time, but after a while, comforted because the darkness concealed the embarrassment -- just like she'd said -- I began to loosen up.
We talked, both of us amazed, both filled with a sense that we'd done something terribly wrong. Neither one of us could pinpoint the moment of transgression. My mother took all the blame for starting it off, for touching my dick and stroking its length, for starting the fire which then consumed us.
But we couldn't decide who'd instigated the sex.
In the end we agreed it was just something which happened. We'd done it. I'd fucked my mother and she'd fucked me.
"I ... I couldn't have stopped," I stammered, face burning as I said it.
Silence for a couple of beats.
"Me neither," murmured my mother. "Once we were ... Well, you know what I want to say."
"But it was a bad thing to do, wasn't it, mum? We were wrong, weren't we?"
More silence.
Longer this time.
"Yes," my mother finally sighed. "But we didn't hurt anyone, did we? The only people affected are you and I."
"So, do we forget it?"
For some reason I couldn't explain, I was shaking when I asked.
"What do you think? Would it be best if we just put it down to a huge lapse in judgement and put it to bed?" Then I heard my mother chuckle before adding, "No pun intended. About the bed, I mean."
"We could talk about it sometimes, couldn't we, mum?"
I could hear her breathing as I waited and waited for a response.
"Why would we do that?"
Even though she couldn't see me, I shrugged. "We might need to talk, mum. And there's nobody else."
I felt the bed move and sensed my mother had shifted position to face me.
"How--?" she started, then fell silent.
I left it for about thirty seconds, then asked, "How what?"
"Uhm ... How do you feel about me now? You know, after..."
Not knowing what she meant, I asked, "I don't know what you're asking. Feel about you?"
"Well, yeah, feel about me. Tonight, before all this, I was your mother. It was simple. I loved you because you're my son, and I hope you loved me. Now it's all sort of mixed up. We ... er... know each other more intimately. You've seen me in a sexual way. I said some things a mother wouldn't and shouldn't say to her son! God, I had you inside me. I ... I've still got your semen leaking out."
My cock thickened at the reminder. Arousal flared inside.
"I loved you before and I love you now," I said, trying to supress desire.
"Weren't you disgusted?"
Surprised, I blurted, "Disgusted? Disgusted by what?"
"Well, me. My body. I'm over fifty. You'll be used to something fitter. Young women with tight gym-bodies. Not a saggy old woman."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.