Chapter 3253 - REAL ESTATE POWER COUPLE

My parents had a whirlwind romance and got married right out of high school. I came along shortly thereafter, and certainly had the youngest parents around. My dad Cliff just kept working at the local factory. He taught me how to hunt and fish and be a man, how to throw a baseball and fix cars. My mom made me feel loved and special, instilling in me values of kindness and respect. I had a great childhood.

Just before they got married, my mom had enrolled in fashion school. She had a career in modeling and design in her sights. But getting pregnant with me upset those plans. My mom spent her 20's taking care of me and her husband instead, becoming the perfect housewife. When I got into high school, she earned her real estate license and became pretty good at it. Despite the sparse population of our rural area, she found a way to be successful.

She never was able to go back to fashion school, but a shadow of those early dreams still remained. My mom's a bit of an anomaly. She takes great care of her body and is very particular about wearing stylish outfits. But she is far from flirty. In fact, quite the opposite. She is actually quite reserved and easily embarrassed. Even around my dad she can be a bit of a prude.

She and I always got along great. With a similar sense of humor, we were always teasing each other and enjoying inside jokes. She is fun to be around and great to look at. Perhaps the best thing I love about her body is her ass. Her workout routine has helped develop a nice round bubble butt that always stands out in whatever she is wearing. Even though she is shy about it, her assets are easy to enjoy. It was impossible for me to not begin to lust after my mom, living in the same house with such a beauty.

My mom was insistent that I attend college, with her and dad helping to pay the way. After I graduated, I moved into my old basement room, not too eager to begin paying rent on my own. I had a part-time online job that provided some income. But I could tell that my parents, especially my dad, was not impressed.

My mom was actually born in Canada, and had dual citizenship. We lived just below the border. She wanted to practice real estate in the more populous area north of us. Despite my dad's mild objections due to his patriotic convictions, she earned her Canadian real estate license.

"Dylan, I need you to drive me across the border tomorrow. I have a real estate luncheon to go to and hate doing the border crossing by myself," my mom mentioned at breakfast one Friday morning.

"Seriously? Can't Dad take you?" I protested.

"No, no, no, Dylan," protested my dad. "You're not pawning this off me. I have a fishing date at the lake."

Disappointed, I considered any other excuses. "But I was going to spend some time working on my online business," I tried.

Unconvinced, my dad said, "You can work on that any day of the week. Besides, it's the least you can do. Last time I checked your calendar is fairly open." This last dig hurt a little, my dad being critical of my current career status in his passive-aggressive way.

Out of excuses, we made plans for the next day. She was hoping to make a bunch of new connections in a Canadian metro area to springboard into more business. I knew she could be successful, it's just that no one in the Canadian city knew about her.

The next morning I had the car warming up in the driveway, my mom always the punctual type.

"You ready, chauffeur?" She said with a smile, slipping in the passenger seat.

It took us over an hour to drive to the golf course the luncheon was hosted at. As we walked into the lobby, there was a long table with name tags to fill out. I grabbed two for us, while my mom introduced herself to a few people, trying to break into the new area. There were a few prize drawings to sign up for as well, which of course I did not pass up.

As I sat down at a table to wait, I observed how skillfully my mom worked the room. She really was good at it. She had a vibrant personality and a beautiful smile that made others feel important. Looking around the room I could tell she also had an unfair advantage. She was by far the most attractive realtor in the room. No one would guess she was a mom from a rural town. She looked like a young executive, right out of college.

Getting bored as I waited, I shamefully began to check out my mom. I had long buried any guilt of regularly feasting my eyes on her gorgeous body. Her beautiful blonde hair was long and curled for the event. Her satin red blouse looked professional, though clung to her body in a provocative way. I was trying to guess what bra she was wearing underneath, as I often snooped in her closet when she wasn't home. She wore a C-cup, though she probably fit better into a D. When she walked around in her 3-inch heels, it appeared that more of her breasts were spilling out than staying put.

As she walked around in her tasteful black skirt, I was not the only guest with their eyes on her. With each step, her ripe bubble butt was mesmerizing to my eyes and libido. Yet she carried herself in such a way that made people comfortable around her. Her intentionally restrained mannerisms made people respect her and take her seriously.

Eventually she joined me at my table. The meal was nice and the presentation was interesting. I could tell my mom was enjoying herself. I had been nervous about coming. As we both got comfortable, it almost felt like we were back home watching a show together. Near the end of the luncheon, they began the special drawings. The last prize was a free trip to Alaska.

"Wouldn't it be great to win that one? I've always wanted to take your father." My mom whispered in my ear.

"And the winner is....Mr. and Mrs. Hart!"

Wait! That was our last name! I looked around to see if anyone else stood up. No one did. My mom looked at me both in surprise and confusion.

"Is that us?" she whispered.

"I think so," I whispered back. "I could only enter one time, so I think I wrote our name as 'The Harts.'"

We had won! But their announcement was a bit awkward, implying that my mom and I were married. I assume we could fix that.

"Would the lucky couple come up and claim your prize?"

My mom and I looked at each other for a moment, still stunned. Not wanting to go up, I looked at her and whispered, "You go!"

She grabbed my hand and we both rose and rushed to the podium.

"There they are. Mr. and Mrs. Hart!" the speaker said again into the microphone, applause starting up once more.

My mom's pace quickened as she led me toward the speaker, dragging me behind her. I could tell she was eager to clarify our relationship to the crowd. That shouldn't be too difficult, I thought. Nobody in the room had ever seen us before.

But before she got there, the speaker spoke again to the room. "Thanks for coming! Feel free to take the table centerpiece home with you. See you next year!"

She was too late. The speaker handed an envelope to my mom. As she tried to speak to him, another guest quickly grabbed the speaker's arm to talk to him. The next few seconds were a bit chaotic. The ending of the luncheon had put the ballroom into a sudden mass of moving noisy bodies. I was now a few feet from my mom. I saw several realtors she had met beforehand come up to her and give her a hug.

"Congratulations Mrs. Hart! I'm so happy for you. You and your husband deserve it!"

A couple of them came up to me and shook my hand as well. "Enjoy the trip, Mr. Hart!"

My mom was speechless, which rarely happens. She didn't know what to say. As the crowd dissipated, a husband and wife realtor team came up to us.

"How exciting you won!" The two of them introduced themselves to us. In a daze, I did likewise.

"I'm Dylan, and this is Julie," not knowing what to do.

"You make such a cute couple! It's great to meet another husband and wife realtor team. Enjoy the trip! See you around," the woman said.

Our drive home started out quiet as we processed the events.

"I'm sorry how the lunch ended, mom. I hope this doesn't complicate things for you." I said.

She didn't say much for a long time, still worried by the events.

"Just about everyone who is anyone in the Canadian real estate world was there." She sighed, summing up her precarious position.

The next morning at breakfast my dad asked how the luncheon went. My mom and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Alright, I guess," she answered.

"Did you get any new business?" my dad questioned.

My mom's face perked up just a bit. Oh yeah, she had forgotten about that.

"Actually, yes. I received an email last night about two listings another realtor wants me to take over. It's a hot market up there right now, and they can't keep up."

"That's great, honey," my dad praised her. Turning his head toward me, "See! It was worth the drive. Consider that your rent for the week."

"Not so fast," my mom corrected him. "I still have to sell the houses. I've never done business in Canada. I'm still not sure how all of this is going to work."

"Oh, I almost forgot," she added. "We won a trip for two to Alaska!"

"No way!" my dad shouted. "That's wonderful. When do we go?" Cliff assumed he would go with my mom.

"I have all the information in my car. There are a few dates to choose from. Once we choose, we can let them know and then go and sign up."

My dad was ecstatic. He began talking about all the things he wanted to do and see in Alaska. After he left for work, my mom shared her growing concerns with me.

"This is a disaster Dylan. My real estate career in Canada is over, even before it started. Those listings came from that couple we met at the end of the luncheon. They think you and I are married. I don't know what to do." A sudden sob surprised us both, as she released the tension she had been holding in.

Despite our closeness, I was uncomfortable. Being a typical guy, I was not really sure how to comfort her. She seemed heartbroken. I moved my chair adjacent to hers and put my arm around her. She immediately laid her head on my shoulder, bursting out momentarily in a renewed release of pain.

I grabbed some tissue for her and stayed silent, simply being present.

A few minutes later, our conversation resumed.

"Dylan, why did this happen? I have been working on this for years. Now in one day, it's over."

I still didn't know what to say, hoping silence was the best route.

"There is no way to fix it. All of the people I wanted to work with, all of the people who can help my career up in Canada, they all know me as your wife."

We didn't discuss the luncheon again for a week. My mom kept herself distracted with her local real estate. I focused on my online business. That weekend my dad asked about my mom's real estate progress in Canada. He enjoyed the freedom the extra income brought to the household.

"Well, Cliff, there is something you should know," she began. My mom burst out with all of the awkward details, how her Canadian real estate dreams were ruined. She held back her tears, but her clear disappointment was evident. My dad was obviously equally concerned.

"Ya, that's a problem, isn't it? I don't know any easy solutions. Maybe real estate in Canada was not meant to be," my dad answered softly, pulling his chair closer to hers, putting his arm around her.

The ultimate pragmatist, he asked, "What about the Alaska trip? Do we still get those tickets?"

"Not if Dylan and I don't go up there together to sign for them," she said resolutely, adding to the despair.

After a few moments, my dad rethinking his position, said, "OK, let's think about this. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. I didn't like the idea of you being so far from home alone anyway, and I know you hate doing the border crossing by yourself."

"What! What are you saying, Cliff?" my mom questioned.

"Just take Dylan up with you to Canada every once in a while. He can be your chauffeur, and you can handle all of the real estate stuff."

"Cliff, he would be my husband. I would be his wife. That is just not OK! That's not a plan. That wouldn't work."

"I don't know what the big deal is," my dad persisted, his Alaska dreams slipping out of his hands.

"No, this is definitely not a good idea," I jumped in. Visions of spending hours on the road, waiting in the car for my mom did not sound attractive. "I've got a life of my own. I can't be driving her around. And I certainly can't pretend to be married to her," I protested.

"Last time I checked, you had plenty of time on your hands," my dad countered. "At some point you have to grow up and begin living an adult life. This would be the closest thing to a real job. We can use part of the commissions for your rent."

I continued to protest. "And how would it even work? I don't look like I can be married to mom!"

"He's right," my mom agreed, surprised they were still even talking about Cliff's proposal. "I'm almost twice his age."

"Oh, it's fine," my dad persisted. "Look at Dylan. He's matured quicker than most, just like I did. You don't look much different than someone in his late 20's."

Julie looked over at her son and had to admit that her husband was right. Her son had grown into a man that certainly could pass for someone older. Unlike her husband, who peaked early at 5'8", Dylan had grown taller to a rugged 6'1". His bold facial features and deep voice could easily be viewed for someone much older.

"As for you, Julie, you still look like you're in your 20's," my dad said, winking at his wife. Despite Julie's weak objections, his point was a good one, appealing to her hidden vanity. Time and motherhood had not changed her much.

My head was spinning as my parents continued to discuss the idea further. Julie had the first sense of hope in a week, starting to see a potential solution to her problem. Cliff was proud of himself, as it looked like his idea would salvage a trip to Alaska.

Soon it was all settled. Despite my further protests, my parents were committed to the plan, and practically forced me to agree to it. My dad wanted rent and the Alaska trip, and my mom wanted her dream job. Within a few days she had business cards with our names and pictures on them. She contacted her new friends in Canada and reserved a time to show us the two listings they had offered us.

At least in the country of Canada, my mom and I were now husband and wife. I wondered what the future would hold.After being mistaken as a married couple in Canada, my mom and I were driving to our first real estate opportunity. The two of us would be pretending to be man and wife just an hour away from our American home. My heart was pounding as we drove to meet the couple who had promised to share two listings with us.

My mom on the other hand seemed composed and eager. She was rarely out of control. She had on a pair of translucent black nylons, with a snug long sweater ending mid-thigh. Her legs looked great as she sat beside me in the car, her sweater riding up, her round ass the only thing keeping it in place. Some stylish high heels were strapped to her feet. The whole package looked hip and professional.

I got more and more nervous as we approached the first house. I finally began to sense some nerves with my mom as well. Shots of adrenaline had begun to pump through our bodies as the realization set in. What we were doing was wrong. Not only that, it was in public. While nobody should recognize us in Canada, what if someone did? Living out a lie was becoming more difficult than we had thought.

Becoming more concerned as we neared the house, I asked my mom, "So exactly how is this going to work?"

"Good question, son. Just let me take the lead. I know what I am doing. I can do most of the talking. Just don't call me mom, OK?" She looked at me like I was in elementary school again, looking for comprehension.

"Got it," I replied, not sure what I had gotten myself into.

As we pulled up to the house, the couple was on the front porch waiting for us. They looked to be in their late 30's.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" My mom said, pulling a ring out of her pocket. "This was your father's first wedding ring before we upgraded. I hope it fits!"

"What finger do I put it on!" I asked in a quick panic.

She quickly shoved it on my ring finger. It took some doing, but eventually got it past my knuckle.

The names of the real estate couple were John and Angela. They seemed warm and friendly, which made things easier for us. It was exhilarating to actually be pretending that I was married to my mom. She shared some interesting made up information about us, and I tried to play the part. We entered the house and they began showing it to us. They assumed they were much older than us, and appeared to take on a mentoring role.

As we walked out on the back porch, we followed John and Angela who were now holding hands like we were all on vacation. My mom slipped her hand into mine as they led us to the pool house. A shot of electricity went through my body. We had never held hands like that. We had rarely been affectionate with each other. Her hand was so soft and tender, seeming to fit perfectly in mine.

I tried to pay attention to what John and Angela were saying, but I was distracted standing next to my mom. I had never been this close to her like that. Her perfume tickled my nose. Occasionally her body would connect with mine as we stood together. One time I felt her left breast graze my arm through her sweater, my mom quickly pulling away. Despite being somewhat terrified by the sordid ordeal, I had to admit I was getting turned on.

The couple drove us to the other house for another tour, and then the four of us had lunch together. Like my mom had said, she took the lead and helped me with all of the necessary social cues. Sitting at lunch together, she occasionally put her hand on my leg or shoulder, laughing at a joke I said. It seemed like things were going well. We had made our first Canadian friends in John and Angela. They dropped us off back at the first house and we said our goodbyes.

Entering the first house again, my mom wanted to prepare to list it. Now free from the other couple, she took off her heels and spun freely around in the home's expansive living room. Her free exuberance was neat to see, her dreams of doing real estate in Canada coming true.

As she bounced around the room, her sweater rode up higher on her legs, no longer concerned about others. Kneeling down at times, her sweater acted more like a miniskirt. My cock hardened as I feasted on her round ass cheeks, her sweater stretched tight about them, highlighting her generous curves. My eyes often wandered to the healthy gap between her toned thighs. I had lusted after her for years. Now she was my pretend wife, though I couldn't really touch her like I wanted to.

My mom was certainly enjoying herself. She had listed houses before, but never as nice as this one. In her delight, she was unaware of how her movements were putting on a show for her son. She noticed me standing still, my thoughts in another place. A place that was undressing her in my mind. She skipped over to me, her large breasts bouncing under her sweater. She put her hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eyes.

"Are you alright, Dylan? Was today OK?" she asked, with sincere concern on her face.

"Yes mom, it was fine. A little weird for sure. But I had fun with it. Congratulations."

A big smile spread across her face. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her body against mine in a grateful embrace. I placed my hands on her lower back, responding in like form. I couldn't remember the last time my mom hugged me like that!

My heart was pounding as I felt her round breasts press against mine. They were surprisingly firm. I thought they would be squished between us, but rather they were a conspicuous reminder of my mom's youthfulness. I looked down at my hands, only inches above her round ass, curving out from her body, stretching her sweater. My cock stirred in my pants, never having felt a woman like that before.

We spent another hour in the house, my barefoot mom taking notes and lots of pictures. She was in her element and excited about her new opportunity. I provided encouragement, helping where I could, my eyes watching her every movement. Maybe this new arrangement was going to work out just fine.

When we got home, we reported back to my dad our successful day. He seemed more than pleased that his idea had been a good one. He confirmed dates with her for their free Alaska trip we had won at the previous real estate luncheon. My mom spent time on her computer getting our two new listings on the internet. Within a week, we had set up a full day of showings for both houses. We scheduled another day to spend up in Canada, planning also to sign up for the Alaska vacation.

For our second trip to the north, my mom was wearing a fitted pastel knee-length dress with a stylish suit jacket over it.. As we prepared our first house for the showing, I noticed how her 4-inch heels made her hips sway when she walked. With each step, each round butt cheek would contract, mesmerizing my cock. While eye-turning for sure, she always had a way of looking professional.

We worked in tandem showing the first hose to interested buyers, quickly developing into an efficient team. During our lunch break, my mom sat on the couch at the second house, taking her heels off and putting up her legs. Her dress had pushed up to mid-thigh, and my mom looked like a queen reclining in her palace.

"Do you want me to rub your feet real quick?" I offered, something I had seen dad do occasionally at her request.

"Oh yes, please!" my mom quickly responded, surprised with my offer. "Dylan, you would do that for me?"

I sat on the coach, placing her feet on my lap, and began rubbing them. My mom closed her eyes and laid her head back in restful delight. I allowed my eyes to feast on my mom's curves, enjoying the subtle moans of pleasure slipping out of her mouth. My cock began to swell from the sight, though I made sure to keep my mom's feet far away from my crotch. Despite her inherent sexual qualities, my mom was very conservative and I didn't want to alarm her.

After more showings, our second to last buyer did not turn up. We had an hour to spare before our last showing of our long day. My mom once again took off her heels, tiptoeing around the house one more time fixing it up the way she wanted it. There was something so erotic watching my mom's bare feet on the marble floors, her hands raised as she adjusted a picture, the coarse fabric of her dress pulled tight against her round ass cheeks.

She sat down on the end of a narrow ottoman, used as a coffee table. She rubbed her neck, clearly exhausted.

"Mom, do you want a neck rub? You have been doing most of the work today. I feel like I should do something."

"Oh, Dylan, that would be great."

I straddled the narrow ottoman, sitting behind her, and began to knead her neck. Her suit jacket was conspicuously in the way.

"Mom, do you want to take off this jacket? Your muscles are so tight. I think I can get to them better that way."

Julie was unsure about her son's request. Harmless enough, but she had never worn that dress without the suit jacket on. While not scandalous, its narrow straps and low back made the dress much sexier than she wanted it to be. The stiff fabric of the dress molded around her breasts, making them even more prominent on her chest. She was constantly covering them with the lapels of the suit jacket. But with the tight muscles at the base of her neck crying out for relief, she stood up and removed her jacket, sitting back down in front of her son.

Before my mom returned to the ottoman, I moved forward just a bit. When she returned, my body was now much closer to hers. As I rubbed her exposed neck, it was clear that her muscles were indeed very tight. Soon they relaxed, my fingers enjoying the touch of her bare skin. I allowed my spread legs to squeeze in a bit, applying light pressure to her legs, enjoying the feel of her body trapped between my legs.

I began rubbing her exposed back, subtle sighs of pleasure continuing to give me permission. I looked down at my bulging crotch, only inches away from my moms ass. As I rubbed her shoulders, I allowed my hands to slightly slip under her narrow dress straps occasionally. Then I pushed my hand in even further, going under her bra straps, sensually massaging her bare skin on her back and shoulders.

"Whoa bucko, that's far enough," my mom chastised, becoming uncomfortable with my hands.

"Oh, sorry mom. I kind of got carried away. Your whole back feels so tight."

A few moments later she stood up and stretched, not putting her suit jacket back on. My cock strained against my pants as I stared at my hot mom. Her tits were so prominently presented, majestic scenery rivaling the outside vista. As she walked directly in front of me and asked me a question, my eyes betrayed me, catching glimpses of her busty melons.

"Eyes up here," she said, pointing to her face. I had been caught red-handed.

"Charles, your face is turning red. That's what happens when you stare at your mom's body like that. My little boy should not be looking at his mother like that. Now please bring me my suit jacket."

As I brought her suit jacket to her, stealing another glance at her chest, she added, "And thank you for the neck rub," she said, covering her ample chest.

After the final showing, we made our way to the specific real estate office to sign up for our Alaska prize package. We selected our dates and signed our names to release the final package elements.

"Why did you sign your name as Cliff? I thought your name was Dylan," the official asked.

"Oh, Dylan's my middle name. But my official name is Cliff," I lied, so the tickets could be in my dad's name.

Before we left, we received a tour of their offices, a place my mom was hoping to someday work. It was fun walking around as if we were married. My mom put her arm in mine a few times, her chest at times pressing against my arm through her suit jacket, becoming more comfortable being together like that.

Before we left, they wanted to take a picture of the two of us, the big prize winners for promotional purposes. After a few poses, they had some fun with it, and suggested some more wacky photos. One picture had my mom on a stool behind me, looking over my shoulder pointing at something. As they kept coaching our pose, both of her breasts began pushing against my upper back.

We were in that position for several minutes, as they worked through some camera issues. My mom was clearly uncomfortable pressing her bosom into her son's back multiple times.

"You doing OK, Dylan?" she whispered to me. "I didn't realize this was going to be such a production," a concerned look on her face.

"No worries, mom. I'm fine," I answered. "Why don't you just try to have fun? I mean how often do we get to pretend to be models!" I suggested. A small yet cautious smile crept onto her face, considering my suggestion. Julie wished she could be more relaxed, but she could not get used to pretending to be her son's wife.

The last pose had Julie place her hands on Dylan's shoulders, looking into each other's eyes. She was taken aback by how large his hands felt around her narrow waist. She realized just how much bigger he was than her much shorter husband Cliff. As the photographers moved them closer to each other, the tips of her breasts contacted Dylan's chest.

She pulled back reactively, betraying her discomfort. Forcing a smile, she leaned back toward Dylan, her son helping press her breasts into his chest. She looked into his face, a wicked smirk appeared, her son clearly enjoying himself.

As the photographer played with his camera, Jullie whispered, "'You pervert!" just loud enough for Dylan to hear. She said it with a smile so as not to hurt her son's feelings, though hoping that her disappointment would be clear. The breasts that had fed him as a baby were now intimately touching his chest. Her son should not be enjoying the touch of his mother like this, and certainly should not have his mother's breasts resting on his chest.

Despite her internal protests to the forced affection, she wondered why her body was beginning to tremble. Was the adrenaline running through her body a result of anxiety about pretending to be married to her son? Or was her body reacting to the pleasure of allowing her son to enjoy her body? As she tried to dismiss that last thought, a slight tingle between her legs announced that the idea of her body being aroused by the situation was not untrue.

Oh my, what had she gotten herself into?

I was enjoying a day off from my mom's real estate business, a business that required us to pretend to be married when we traveled to Canada. That morning, my dad asked me to run to the home warehouse store for something he needed to finish a house project. As I was backing out of the driveway, my mom ran out of the house and jumped in.

"Wait, I'm coming with you! Your dad told me where you are going. I want to look at some rugs," she explained, out of breath.

Her hair still wet, it was obvious she had just jumped out of the shower. Seeing me go to the car through the window, she had quickly thrown on a sweatshirt and some spandex tights. She usually doesn't walk around the house in them, much less go out in public in them, but time was of the essence.

The store was a bit of a drive near the border, the only one around for miles. After parking, I began to open the door, but my mom grabbed my arm.

"Oh no! Wait!" she exclaimed with a panicked look on her face.

"What is it mom?" I wondered.

"It's Sharon Lindstrom!" she said, pointing to a woman just entering the store.

"Who's that?"

"One of the realtors I met from Canada. What is she doing here? I didn't think that we would see anyone from Canada," processing the situation out loud.

Julie's spontaneous decision to go to the store with her son had unintended consequences. When at home, her brain was always in mother/son mode. Her husband/wife masquerade with her son was only reserved for Canada. Now she was stuck miles from home but still in America, unsure what to do. She probably should just wait in the car, a wasted trip. But she had been waiting forever to pick out a new rug for the living room.

"OK, here's the plan," she considered. "Let's get in and out as fast as possible. Stay away from Sharon. If we see her, go in the opposite direction. Worst case, remember to pretend that we are married."

"Got it," nodding my head.

We jumped out of the car and moved quickly into the store. Seeing her reflection in the glass, Julie quickly realized what a bad idea this was. Her hair was still damp from her shower, hastily put up in a ponytail. She had never worn those workout tights in public before, reserving them only for her bedroom treadmill. Their pink camo pattern was certainly attention-getting. She silently cursed herself for choosing the brand that intentionally curved around her round butt deep into her crack. Always conservative in public, she wanted to feel sexy when she worked out. How dumb of her to grab the first thing available in the laundry room.

Worse than that was the sweatshirt she chose. Rather than a large sloppy one that could hide her assets, she had grabbed one that ended at her waist. Despite her efforts, it would not pull down any further. Her exposed ass was one thing, but her private parts were another. The extra small size of the tights molded around her pubic mound, outlining the swollen flesh between her legs.

Walking down the aisles, she was getting double takes from just about everyone, mostly men. She grabbed Dylan's hand, taking the lead, towing him behind her to shield her backside from gawkers. She kept her spare hand in front, swinging over her private area. Looking back at times, she saw her son's eyes focused on her butt. Was that all he thought about? She kept looking back to give him her 'mom look', one that he seemed to only temporarily heed.

Fortunately, the next aisle was empty, and Julie could breathe a little. It was near the back of the store, rarely visited. Dylan was beginning to focus on the items when he heard a familiar voice.

"Dylan! Is that you! It's me Scott. Great to see you."

I turned to see Scott and Josh. Two of my "friends" from college. They had been fairly popular, especially with the girls, but in my mind, still jerks. One of them had grown up in Canada.

My heart was pounding. This was not good. I could sense my mom hiding behind me, her gorgeous blonde hair and pink tights not easy to hide.

Taking a sidestep, Scott asked, "And who is this?" My mom still using me as a shield.

"Oh!" I said. "This is my m--"

"Wife Julie!" my mom said, stepping out from behind me. "I am his wife Julie."

"What? You got married, Dylan. You sly dog!"

Now with Scott and Josh feasting on the flesh of my wife, there was little chance of getting out of the store fast. Wanting to continue looking at my mom's hot body, they kept asking questions. My mom, quicker than me, fielded most of the questions on the fly, which only made them talk longer.

I looked at my phone. "Shoot guys, we are late for an appointment. We gotta run."

I put out my hand and shook each of theirs, saying farewell. My mom tried to do the same, but each one of them went in for a hug instead.

Those perverts! And they went in for the good kind of hug. Keeping their arms low around her waist, they pulled my mom toward them. She had to place her arms around their shoulders, opening up her body to them. Once they got a hold of her, they pulled her tight to them, enjoying her too long for comfort. As the embrace ended, Scott let his hand wander, brushing the slick fabric on the top of my mom's round ass.

My mom was more flushed than I have ever seen her. I grabbed our last item, we paid, and rushed out of the store, never running into her friend Sharon. We rode home in silence, both a bit traumatized by it all. We got home to an empty house, my dad was out working in our shop. My mom seemed visibly upset.

"That was a close one, Dylan. You almost called me your mom," breathing out an audible sigh of relief.

"I know, you really saved the day. You came up with so many good answers to their questions so quickly. I know a lot more about our marriage now!" I smiled, but my mom was still withdrawn.

Suddenly my phone rang. I stepped out and came back in 15 minutes.

"Who was that?" my mom asked.

"Scott, from the store. Can you believe it? He already wants to go on a double date with us."

"No!" my mom shouted. "We are not seeing him again," visibly upset.

"Totally agree," I said. What was up with her, I thought. "I'm glad you said you were my wife. His mom is a realtor in Canada. Our paths might cross again."

Still looking sullen, I asked my mom, "Why are you so upset?"

A blank look was on her face. Finally she said, "Stand up, Dylan. Pretend to be Scott and give me a hug."

"OKAAAY," I replied, a bit confused. Remembering Scott's hug move, I moved in and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her up on her toes, and pressing the length of her body against mine.

It felt amazing, I'm not going to lie. Full frontal hugs are rare in our house, so this was a treat. So intimate. I could hear my mom's heart pounding against my chest, her firm D cup curves so pronounced and sensual against my chest.

Suddenly I dropped her from my arms, and took a step back.

"Nooo!" I said, pointing a finger at her.

"Yes." she replied, resolutely, nodding her head.

"You're not wearing a bra!" I proclaimed.

In her haste to join my outing, she had skipped the bra, and just thrown on the loose sweatshirt. Little did she know that Perv 1 and Perv 2 would show up to cop a feel. No wonder she felt horrified and never wanted to see Scott and Josh again.

I decided to lighten up the moment, wanting to cheer up my mother. I started making fun of Scott and Josh, and some of the things they said. My mom joined in, both of us laughing as we imitated their comments with disdain. Our banter with one another seemed to really cheer her up.

"It's sooo nice to meet you Mrs. Hart," I said standing in front of my mom, doing an impression of Scott. "I hope to see you again sometime soon," I continued, with an exaggerated wink, holding my hands out for a hug.

Taking my cue, my mom stood up, doing her own melodramatic impression. "It was soooo nice to meet you too!"

I was pleased to see my mom playing along. Without hesitating, I moved in for a warm embrace, just as we were doing minutes before. I wrapped my arms around her, more prepared this time to fully enjoy her body. The familiar impression of her loose tits on my chest initiated a biological response in my crotch. I held her as long as I felt I could without her becoming too uncomfortable.

Not wanting to miss out the opportunity, I played along again, as Josh this time. "Oh, Ms. Julie, how nice to meet you. Dylan sure is a lucky man!"

"Oh Josh, you big hunk. Come and give me a hug!" my mom said, playing along perfectly.

Julie allowed herself to fall into her son's arms one more time. By this time she realized that she had gone too far, crossing a line she did not want to. She considered ending the hug prematurely, but her body resisted her mind's moral compass. She liked being in Dylan's arms. It was such a good fit. It was fun pulling herself up on her tiptoes, her son's frame enveloping her own. She knew it was not proper, especially with what she was wearing, or not wearing. But it made her feel so much like a full woman, knowing her son appreciated her so much.

Without warning she felt Dylan's large hands suddenly fully squeeze her two butt cheeks. Electricity and panic rushed through her veins. Her hands reached to his chest immediately, shoving him away. Furious, she slapped him on the cheek.

"Dylan, what are you doing!" She gasped. "How dare you!"

And just like that, Dylan had gone too far. "I'm sorry mom. That was disrespectful. I got caught up in the fun."

"You certainly did!" Jule said, stomping out of the room.

That night Julie shared some concerns with her husband. "Cliff, I'm worried about Dylan. This whole pretend marriage thing has him acting weird."

Putting his book down, he asked, "How so, Honey?"

"Well sometimes he can be a little inappropriate, taking the marriage thing too far."

Real concern showed in Cliff's eyes. "Give me an example."

"Tonight he touched my butt."

"What'd you do?"

"I slapped him."

"Good for you, Cliff responded, chuckling to himself.

"It's not funny, Cliff," Julie hitting him with a pillow, holding back a smile.

"It's not a big deal. If I was him, in his position, I'd probably try to do the same thing. Still, I don't want my son touching my wife like that. I'll have a talk with him tomorrow."

For the next few days Dylan avoided his mom, keeping to himself. Julie was worried. Had she made a mistake? Finally she cornered him in the basement one evening.

"Dylan, are you mad at me? I know you have been avoiding me."

"Why'd you tattle to dad about me?" he blurted out. "It was so embarrassing to have him talk to me about it," he explained.

Indignant, she responded, " I talked to him because what you did was wrong! I wanted his support."

"Fine. I'm tired of giving you my support. I'm done."

"What are you saying, Dylan?" a growing panic building in her body.

"I'm done being your husband! If you're going to go to dad with every little issue, then let him be your husband!" Neither of them comprehended the absurdity of his statement.

Full blown panic immediately set in for Julie. What was she going to do? The past few weeks had been the best of her life. She didn't want anything to change. She just wanted to keep her son in check. Why had she talked to Cliff? She had to make this right.

"I'm sorry, son. You're right. I shouldn't have talked to your dad about us. That was unfair. You're doing a lot for me and I should be grateful. Will you please still help me be a realtor in Canada?"

Dylan's genuine anger was slowly subsiding. In his subconscious, driven more by sexual satisfaction than honorable intention, he saw an opportunity for leverage.

"I don't know, mom. That really hurt. I'm not sure I can continue."

"Come on, Dylan. Do it for your mother. I need you to do this."

Dylan paused. "OK, but with some conditions. First, promise you will never talk to dad about us again. I don't want this to hurt my relationship with him. Promise?"

Lifting her hand up, she repeated "I promise."

"And give me a little more slack when I mess up. I've barely even had a girlfriend. One second you're hugging me and the next second you're slapping my face. I barely know how to be a good son, much less a good husband."

Julie nodded, thinking about what her son had said. Maybe he did need a little more grace. What an awkward position to be placed in. Still, she was firm that a son should not touch his mom in certain ways.

"That makes sense, Dylan. I won't overreact again. But you're my son. My body is still off limits."

"What does that even mean, mom? See! I'm so confused. What if we need to hold hands or hug in public?" Dylan wanted to push it just a little more, maximizing this small opportunity.

Once again Julie acknowledged how the situation was more complex than she thought. Her own concerns and discomfort about the situation was growing just talking about it.

Dylan caught on to his mom's apprehension, knowing it was time to move on.

"Mom, I'm happy to help you out. I just need you to be more understanding and forgiving. Neither of us know what the future holds, what situations we may be put in. If I mess up, I need you to be more understanding. I need you to always forgive me. Can you do that?"

Nodding in agreement, "Yes son, I will always forgive you."

"And not days later, after talking to dad. In the moment, OK?

"OK, son."

In order to change the subject, I said, "You know, when I was talking to Josh on the phone, he did say something that might encourage us."

"Yeah? What was that?"

"Well, he wanted to know where you went to college, how old you are, what your major was, and other stuff. Basically, he thought you were the same age as me."

My mom pumped her fist, giving herself her own little pat on the back, proud that she still looked younger than her age.

Not wanting Josh to get a pass, I said, "Ya, he said a lot of other things that were a little too nice. I think he said how hot you are, like 15 times!"

With this, my mom gasped, "That pervert! What did you say? Did you shut him down?"

"Remember mom, I was talking to someone who thinks you're my wife, not my mom."

"Oh yeah, good point. So what did you say?"

"As you say, 'the best lie is always the truth.'" I responded.

She stared at me, not quite understanding what I was saying.

"I agreed with him, mom! I said that you were hot! I told him how lucky I was to have landed you!"

As the weight of that statement settled into Julie's mind, her heart almost quickly doubled. Her body was almost trembling. Why was she feeling that way so suddenly? Was it because she had just heard her son genuinely call her hot? As she busied herself cleaning up the room, sensing her son's eyes on her swaying curves and bouncing breasts, a deep sense of satisfaction flooded over her. Something she hadn't felt so deeply since dating Cliff. And even then, she had been in high school. The feelings her mind, body, and heart were now feeling were much more intense and mature. Wheels were spinning in her head. She certainly felt flattered, but also concerned, no knowing what to say.

"Good work, son," was all she said as she walked out of the room. Her few final steps had a little extra bounce to her step and wiggle in her hips. Her mind blind to her body's little sensual dance, almost like an animal in heat drawing the attention of a virile mate.

My mom's real estate business in Canada continued to take off. We spent more and more time up there, representing both sellers and buyers. My mom and I learned how to work seamlessly together. Rarely did I get a hug from her, but we held hands a lot, and I always got to view her beautiful body in pleasing outfits.

We spent more and more time with John and Angela, the older couple team, who helped us with getting our footing in the new market. We enjoyed their company, and spent more time socially together. They had secured four tickets to a popular country concert coming up and had invited us to join them. As lifelong country fans, both mom and I enjoyed the headliner, and were excited to accept the invitation, our friendship with them key to my mom's real estate dreams.

The night of the concert, my mom came downstairs looking very much like the sexy cowgirl. I think both me and my dad were a little surprised at how she looked, unsure what to say. She always looked good in her realtor outfits, but this was a new level. She had on a pair of tight blue jeans, with a few threadbare holes exposing her tan skin. It looked to be real denim, not that fake stretchy material. The low-cut waist highlighted her sexy curves. As she made a coffee for the road, I noticed my dad staring at her ass. Her jeans were squeezed tight around her narrow waist, as her ass curved out away from her body. Her butt cheeks looked like two small volleyballs perfectly curved into her toned thighs. Her denim jeans fell into her crack, lost deep in her crevice.

"Wow honey! You look great!" My dad said nervously. "Where are you guys going tonight? Maybe I should come," he chuckled, his way of giving her a compliment and also warning her maybe she had gone too far. His wife looked like a 25-year old hottie for sure.

"Just an event with another Canadian real estate couple," she replied. "Country is the theme!" Julie was less than honest with my dad. The guilt of going out looking like that without him rested heavily on her conscience.

"Well, don't stay out too late. Son, take good care of her!" Dad looked back at me sitting at the kitchen table, my eyes quickly averting from staring at my mom's ass.

By the time we got to the concert stadium, the place was already crowded. We caught up with John and Angela, clearly country fans like us. As we stood in line, the couples held hands and talked freely, much like a double date. I caught John taking extra glances at my mom from time to time, proud that she was my date for the night.

Once inside, finding a seat was a challenge. We went further and further up the stands until we were at the top back wall. The view was great, but we were a bit far from the stage. There was standing room only. Suddenly a couple left nearby and John and I quickly snagged the seats, and the ladies joined us, standing nearby.

"Here ladies, you take these seats," I quickly said.

"No, you guys stay put. "Angela said. "We can just sit on your laps." John and I grinned at each other, liking the sound of that. Though a bit more sturdy than my mom, Angela also was sporting a curvy backside under her denim jeans.

Our two wives stood in front of us, Angela quickly planting her wide backside onto John's eager lap. My mom looked at me visibly unsettled, her eyes searching mine. I smiled at her, gave her an assuring wink, and placed my hands loosely on her waist. I nudged her 180 degrees so that her amazing ass was right in front of me at eye level. I put my hands on her curvy hips, catching her off guard. She immediately put her own hands on mine, visibly alarmed by having me touch her like that. With my heart pounding, I slowly drew her down into my lap. She wiggled herself more comfortably on my lap, my hands remaining on her hips like John's.

Nothing had ever felt so good. She seemed a bit uncomfortable, her hands on mine, constantly looking back at me. It was a new awkward position for us, unable to communicate as mom and son, needing to act like husband and wife on the fly. John and Angela's affectionate displays required us to adjust accordingly. Soon my mom removed her concerned hands off of mine, and even began bouncing a bit to the music.

I allowed my hands to move forward until they were resting on her mid-thigh, as John was doing. My mom at times would grasp my hands, not as a sign of affection, but as a warning I had gone too far. Often, someone would need to walk down our aisle, and the ladies would need to stand up to give them room. Then we would once again sensually pull them back onto our laps, securing their body's once again. This concert idea was a good one.

While we listened to the opening acts, a beer vendor came by. Normally my mom does not drink alcohol, but John quickly purchased four beers for all of us. I saw mom's face turn sour after her first swallow, though she kept pace with Angela, soon becoming accustomed to the taste. After she had finished her drink, she asked me to go to the bathroom with her.

After both using the bathrooms, we huddled together at an unused emergency exit hallway. My face full of enjoyment and excitement, my mom's beautiful makeup punctuated by her concerned look.

"Dylan Hart, what are we going to do?" She only called me that when she was upset.

"What do you mean, mom? I think you're doing great. Am I messing up?"

"No, no, you're doing fine." She started pacing, trying to clear her head. I watched her round ass cheeks flex in and out with each step. Even at this moment, she was turning me on.

"I just..I just...I don't know." My mom was struggling to make sense of it all.

"Do you want to leave mom? Are you OK?"

"No, no son. I'm just worried about tonight."

I put my arms on her shoulders. "It's OK mom. You are at a concert with your son, pretending to be his wife. You just drank a beer for the first time in years," my mom nodded, following my narrative, "and you are dressed up more sexy than usual." Her eyebrows perked up, a bit of shock in her eyes.

"You have every right to be worried, mom. This is crazy for sure!"

"OK, Dylan, but what do we do?"

"Mom, we are already doing it. Simply have a good time. You are not a mature mom tonight. You are a young carefree housewife with nobody at home waiting up for you. You came here tonight to have a good time with your husband."

"You're right, Dylan. It's been awhile since I cut loose. I guess I've forgotten how."

My mom, always in control, was less sure of herself in this situation. I continued my guidance, "Let's do this. The main reason we're pretending is because of John and Angela. Let's just follow their lead, and do what they do. That's been working so far."

We had been gone too long and hurried back to our seats. When we arrived, John and Angela were making out in our two chairs, unaware of our presence.

My mom leaned up in my ear, "'Do what they do?' I don't think so!" A smile formed on her face. At least she was having fun with it.

John and Angela soon noticed us and we returned to our original positions. John got us all another round of beers. We were all buzzing pretty good, singing along with any song we recognized.

A popular song was played, and Angela began doing an almost sensuous lap dance in front of John. She put her hands on the guardrail in front of her, and was grinding on his lap. The stadium lights revealed her show with occasional flashes. John had his hands on her hips, helping guide her movements.

Angela looked over at my mom, "Come on Julie. Dance with me. Give Dylan a show."

What choice did she have? Julie considered that her cover could be blown if she could not match the affection of this older couple. She put her hands on the guardrail, the very movement pushing her butt further into her son's crotch. If it weren't for the beers, she would have been out of there, she told herself. As she raised her butt slightly off her son's lap, she felt his hands on her wide hips, helping move her rhythmically on his lap.

John slapped Angela on her butt, a joyful yelp coming out of her. My mom looked back at me, a warning on her face, confirming what I already knew. 'Do what they do' had its limits. The lap dance went into a second song, and by the time it was done, my cock was rock hard. I had tried to adjust it as best I could, but when my mom settled back down, she immediately could feel it.

"Son! Are you getting turned on? What is that in your pants?" Turning her back to John and Angela, Julie whispered to Dylan.

I simply shrugged. Unsatisfied, she grabbed my hand and once again went to the restroom.

In the emergency hallway, she asked again, "What was that in your pants, Dylan?" She was clearly angry. Her pacing resumed, her body's movements maintaining my erection.

I gave her some time to cool down. What was there to say? Was that a rhetorical question?

"Answer me, Dylan."

"I don't know, mom. What do you expect? I'm not a boy anymore. I can't control what's going on in my body. What do you want me to do? Close my eyes and pretend you don't look sexy?"

"Yes!" she shouted back.

"Really mom? Is that even practical? Why are you even freaking out?"

She kept pacing, though began to slow her pace. Her head was spinning, both from the beers and from the situation. Eventually she stopped in front of me. She put her hands on my shoulders.

"OK, your right son. This is a bit unfair to you. I need to settle down. Just promise me one thing."

"Yes mom. What is it?"

"Promise you won't jerk off to me?"

"Eeeww, mom, gross!" Despite the beers, asking that question had awkward written all over it.

"Promise me, Dylan!" she commanded. One of Julie's greatest irrational fears was her son viewing her in any sexual kind of way.

"Yes, mom. I promise. I won't jerk off to you," I lied. I had jerked off to her often in the past, and certainly would again in the future. Feeling guilty, I added, "But I can't promise that my body won't be aroused by you!"

Normally that would have set her off, but the beers and the circumstances had changed things for sure. Hopefully permanently. "Fair enough. Let's get back to the concert."

John and Angela were visibly anxious for our return.

"We've heard they are going to open up the pit in front of the stage for more concert goers. The headliners are going to start soon. Let's go!"

My mom and I grabbed each other's hands, as John and Angela led us through the stands. Here we were, a mom and son running through the crowds like two teenagers. Julie began to squeal with excitement. The combination of the beers and the music began to awaken a joy that she had missed out on as a young mom. Dylan simply could not believe that his date for the night was the woman he had lusted over for years.

The two couples sneaked into the pit just as they were closing the gate.

"We made it!" Angela shouted, jumping into John's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. John's hands cradled her ass, as they began making out once again.

My mom and I looked at each other. Adrenaline was running through both of us, our chests both heaving from the sprint.

My mom felt compelled to wrap her arms around my neck, pressing her body into mine. The feel of her firm tits on her son's chest becoming more natural, even enjoyable.

As I noticed John and Angela continuing their PDA, and John's hands roaming over his wife's ass, I whispered in my mom's ear, "Can I put my hands in your back pockets?"

What? Julie thought to herself. Did I just hear him correctly? "What'd you say?" she whispered.

More slowly, I whispered, "Let me put my hands in your pockets. John and Angela are going to start getting curious. We aren't treating each other like lovers."

Lovers! What was her son talking about?

A shiver went through Julie's spine as her son's hands wiggled into her tight denim pockets. With his thumbs still out, he gave her cheeks a little squeeze, causing a tremor in his mom's body for a second time.

An audible gasp escaped Julie's throat. "What are you doing? I didn't say you could do that!"

"Gosh, mom. It's OK. I'm barely touching you," I whispered in her ear. But my heart was pounding. Her ass was so round and soft, yet when she moved her feet, they became firm as they flexed.

"It's not like you jumped in my arms and we started making out," I joked, provoking a nervous giggle from her.

"I'm not sure you could hold me up!" She quipped, joining in the fun.

We continued whispering in each other's ears, trying to make the awkward enjoyable. My mom was still furious with me for my presumptuous move, but was confined by the social expectations of the situation. She adjusted her arms on my neck, letting out a sigh as she laid her head against my shoulder, getting used to my hands resting on her ass while her breasts resting on my chest.

John and Angela finished their celebratory kiss, and we all slowly tried to get closer to the stage. We ended up near the front, but off to the side a ways. It was nice as there was just a bit of breathing room. The headliners started and we sang along with just about all of the songs.

My mom was getting warm and took off her jean jacket. I had brought a small backpack and put her jacket in it. I hadn't realized how much it had been a shield to hide her busty chest. She had an attractive white half-cup bra clearly visible under the yellow lycra tank top conforming to her skin. Without her jacket on, her tits looked like gorgeous mounds just wanting to be touched.

We continued enjoying the concert. The dark night provided shelter for my mom's conservative nature, while the bright strobe lights regularly exposed the absolute babe at my side. As the night continued, I focused less on the music and more on my mom. When at her side, I decided to put my hand around her waist at times, and she followed suit. She looked at me approvingly, as we tried to blend in with our friends.

Side by side, I had a perfect view of her ample breasts, waiting for each blitz of light to get another glimpse at them. Eventually a slow song came on, and John and Angela began dancing together. My mom put her arms around me, and we followed suit.

Once again, I placed my hands in her pockets without permission.

"Dylan, what are you doing?" My mom whispered in my ear in response.

Squeezing her ass as I responded, I said, "Come on mom, look at John. His hands are all over his wife."

Glancing over at them, she had to admit her son was being tame compared to John's assault on his wife Angela's flesh. Julie loved to dance, and though illicit, the feel of Dylan's hands was electrifying. She continued swaying to the music, enjoying the experience. She felt pressure on her tummy as a bulge in Dylan's pants returned.

Always a mom, she whispered into Dylan's ear, "Stop staring at my chest, son. Those belong to your father. And maybe you should let go of my butt. Seems you're struggling to control yourself." Julie was feeling a bit of guilt and shame knowing that playing the role of her son's wife was arousing him like that.

The band played a couple of famous slow songs at the end of the night. At times, I snuggled up behind my mom, following John and Angela's lead. The heels of her tall boots uplifted her round ass right into my crotch. At first she was alarmed, stepping away from my embrace. But she could not escape being under the watchful eyes of our friends, realizing she needed to play her part.

She no longer resisted my advances, but only glared back at me at times in frustration. She began to sway her hips to the music, subconsciously grinding her ass against my crotch. I kept readjusting my swollen member to not alarm her by my increasing libido.

Glancing over, it was clear that John was groping Angela's breasts, massaging them from behind. I moved my hands around my wifes flat tummy, her tight stretchy tank top smooth beneath my fingers. My mom's hands quickly covered mine, her body suddenly tense.

Leaning down to her ear, I confidently whispered, "Don't worry mom. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll be a gentlemen." My calm conservative plan assuaged her fears, her body relaxed, and she leaned her head back against my shoulder. Her hands remained on mine, continuing to guard against any further advance.

A wicked thought came to my mind. Leaning down again into her ear, as my eyes feasted on her exposed chest, I again whispered, "Besides, mom. Your gorgeous tits belong to dad."

With that she spun around, anger on her face, and slapped me on the chest. John and Angela turned our way laughing, assuming something much more sexual had occurred. My wicked grin never left my face, my mom unable to stay mad. She grabbed my neck violently as a mother would do, and pulled me toward her, her mouth now at my ear.

"Don't ever say those words to me again Dylan!"

My hands were on her lower back, maintaining our close posture. I whispered back, "What words?"

"You know which words Dylan!" Ironically, her full tits were now pressed against my chest, providing me further pleasure.

"Mom, I won't know which words unless you say them," I teased. She leaned back a few inches to look in my eyes. Her jaw set, the shadow of a grin showing.

"Gorgeous tits! Don't ever call my tits gorgeous again." She tried to keep her face serious, but those words coming off her tongue broke her stoicism.

I snuck a glance down at her gorgeous tits, now on display right before my eyes. My conspicuous glance made us both burst into laughter.

"Ooh. You mean 'tits'. You don't want me to say the word 'tits'. Or to say that your 'tits' are gorgeous. Or that you have 'gorgeous tits'. You got it mom. No more tits talk."

She pulled me tight. "You're incorrigible!"

The final encore song began, and we continued our embrace as a slow dance. I took one last chance, and slid my hands over my mom's ass, failing to slide them in her confining denim pockets. I could feel her body tense, but she said nothing. I was wearing her down.

As we swayed to the music, her head resting on my shoulder, I began to spread out my hands, allowing them to touch more of her round ass cheeks. As I increased pressure, my mom's head perked up, aware of what was going on.

She tried to actually step away, but my more substantial grip on her ass made it easy for me to keep her in place as she tried to lean away from me.

"Mmmmm, thanks for leaning back mom. Your ass feels even better in my hands now!" I teased.

She tried to cross her arms in front of me, but I had her lower body pinned to mine, so she let them hang loosely in defiance. Knowing my pleasure was almost over, I squeezed her ass a few times, rubbing her torso against my crotch, before her hands pressed up on my chest and pushed me away. I could tell I had gone too far, but just barely.

Standing in front of her, I put my hands on her shoulders, lowered myself just a little to be eye to eye. "I'm sorry mom. I didn't mean to hurt you. Remember, I'm only 22. I still get to do stupid stuff from time to time."

Her face remained furious. "Oh know you don't! You don't get to play that card again!" She was mad.

"Besides," I continued. "That gorgeous ass belongs to my dad!"

With that, she finally grinned and slapped my chest hard, my boyish teasing reducing her anger. I grabbed her waist and began tickling, pleased to feel her body gyrate uncontrollable under my touch. The concert ending, John and Angela came beside us, watching their young married friends enjoy being together. We put on a good show.

The four of us went out for a quick bite at a local restaurant, sitting at a booth sharing which songs we enjoyed the most. My mom sitting next to me was beaming, simply being ourselves, enjoying our new relationship. We began to feel like a real married couple.

We pulled into the driveway after 2 am. Still in a playful mood from the night, we acted like teenagers quietly trying to sneak into our house undetected. We took off our boots at the door, and whispered to each other good night without turning on any lights.

As my mom hit the stairs I whispered, "Mom!" and walked over to where she waited, standing on the first step. The moonlight shone on her body, her barefoot appearance looking so innocent.

I stood in front of her and whispered, "Thanks for a great night." I wanted to hug her, and reached out around her waist.

"No, Dylan. That's enough," placing her hands firmly on my shoulders. I held onto her body tightly, my grip attempting to encourage her to give in. After a few seconds of the standoff, she grabbed my arms and pulled them from me, successful in her resistance. She turned around walking up the stairs, my eyes imprinting the view of her gorgeous ass in my mind, knowing that I would break the promise I had made to my mom earlier in the night.

Julie entered her room quickly, almost fleeing from her son. That was close, she thought to herself. She had considered wrapping her arms around her son just then, giving in to the pleasures of her body. Her mouth was flushed with saliva. She had actually wanted to kiss him! How depraved! What was she thinking?

Julie needed to get herself under control as she crawled into bed with her husband. Dylan was her son. She needed to stay strong. Yet she knew she was weakening, as her conflicted mind replayed the memories of the night over in her head. She could almost feel her son's hands on her firm butt, his eyes feasting on her curves.

It was nice to have someone make her feel this way. The way Dylan looked at her with his eyes made her feel attractive, even sexy. The fact that he was her son provided a heightened sense of intimacy. Julie chastised herself for her scandalous thoughts, failing to fall asleep for an hour. She was concerned for her future.The following weekend my dad took my mom and I to one of our favorite camping spots. He loves to fish and there is a great lake nearby. We've been camping there for years and have a nice RV to stay in. I have a lot of great memories doing this as a family and was looking forward to keeping the tradition going.

It was a bit strange being out of the house with my mom and simply just being her son. For weeks we had been pretending to be married at times, a necessary ruse to support her real estate business in Canada. But at home in America, we were just mother and son.

When we arrived at the campsite my dad quickly parked and then took off to the lake to get some evening fishing in. My mom and I finished setting up, walking around the campground, paying our fees, getting our firewood. A few times I put my hand in hers, walking several steps before she quickly let go.

"Dylan! Not here. People can't see us like that. I'm your mom this weekend, not your wife."

"Old habits are tough to break," I joked.

Despite the change of roles, I still greatly enjoyed being around my mom in public. She is a ton of fun, and easy on the eyes. She was wearing flip flops and a knee-length casual summer dress. Especially after having my hands on more of her body at the concert, my cock was awakened simply by watching her hips sway under her dress, her round ass stretching the fabric with each step. While I had seen her wear the dress before occasionally, I wondered if she had picked it out just for me.

Her round tits bounced tirelessly under the fabric of her dress, their narrow straps doing little to support them. As we walked down a private trail, I grabbed her hand intentionally, enjoying feeling her touch again.

"Dylan!" she protested again. "We can't be seen like this, not with your dad around."

When she tried to pull away her hand, I just held on. Using her other hand, she tried to pry our hands apart, but I was too strong.

"I'm not joking Dylan, let go of my hand!" Her voice sounded so sexy, yelling at me while trying to still whisper, afraid of being overheard.

"Relax, mom. No one can see us," trying to soften her a bit. "See that big cedar tree down the trail. I'll let go once we get there, OK?"

"I don't care that no one can see us!" she protested. "This isn't about other people right now. This is about you and me. I'm your mother, for pete's sake. We shouldn't be holding hands like this!"

I could see a combination of panic and fury in her eyes. I suppose this situation was different. We weren't on assignment in Canada, play-acting with a purpose. Rather we were mother and son, holding hands as adults, which had my mom's moral radar going crazy. I glanced down, my eyes moving past her chest heaving up and down, her manicured nails clasped around my own hand. My cock stirred, enjoying the moment, absorbing my mom's coerced public affection.

Refusing to let go, I took a step forward and said, "C'mon slow poke. Let's go! Let's continue our nature walk as friends."

Finally giving in, she responded to my tug and we resumed walking hand in hand.

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Just two friends holding hands, enjoying the park," I playfully commented.

"Don't forget!" she warned. "Two friends who happen to be related to each other," the edges of her mouth beginning to curl up, slowly warming up to her son's banter.

"And related how, you might ask?" I said in my best radio voice. "Who really knows? Maybe they're siblings? Maybe that's his mom? Maybe they're married? Who really knows?"

Julie reached over with her spare hand and whacked her son's stomach lightly and squeezed his arm. She had to admit that being around him was a lot of fun. He certainly was a good friend. It made her feel young again. Despite her protests, she was glad Dylan kept pushing their friendship in new directions.

As they passed the cedar tree, Dylan felt a slight tug from his mom's hand, indicating a subtle request to let go. But Dylan held on, convincing his mom to extend their PDA. A few minutes later, they came around a corner and another couple was a few hundred feet ahead, coming their way.

Julie quickly jerked her hand, trying to get out of Dylan's grasp. But Dylan would not let go. Quickly realizing her son's perseverance, and becoming panicked over their public display of affection, she pulled him with her behind a nearby tree, out of sight of the oncoming couple.

Still pulling madly to escape his grasp, she said, "Dylan, what are you doing? Let go of me! I'm serious."

"Oh, now you're serious?" I said, tickling her with my spare hand.

Giggling uncontrollably, she tried to say sternly, "Yes, I am serious!" Trying to talk while being tickled only made her feel more ridiculous.

"Isn't this what best friends do? Hide behind trees together?" I said mockingly.

"Not funny Dylan!" my mom replied, smiling while she said it.

"Or are we more than friends, Honey?" I asked.

"I am not your honey!" She looked around the tree, the oncoming couple getting closer.

"Or are you just my mom, needing to spank her very naughty son?" I suggested.

Dylan's comment gave Julie the idea she needed. She began wacking his bottom with her spare hand, effective in getting him to release his grip. They stumbled back onto the path, like two lovers returning from a tryst in the woods. Just before they passed the couple, Dylan reached for his mom's hand. Julie instinctively pulled it back from him, embarrassing herself in front of the passing couple.

"You are evil. Simply evil!" she said several steps later, whacking him again on his stomach, her large reluctant smile matching Dylan's wicked grin.

That night we stayed up late by the campfire, telling stories and joking around. My dad enjoyed a few beers and was in a good mood. He was leering at mom, and it became clear what he wanted.

"Son, why don't you enjoy the fire a bit longer. After it burns down to coals, you can join us in the camper" my dad announced.

I could hear my parents giggling in the RV, my mom shushing my dad's semi-drunken lack of volume control. After a while it got quiet, and then I could hear the distinctive sounds of sex. The RV was slowly rocking, and I could hear my dad grunting, still unable to moderate his volume.

I quietly walked over to see if I could peer through the blinds. I saw my mom's tanned legs spread wide, my dad on top of her in the missionary position, pumping his cock into her. My dad blocked any clear view of my mom's body. If I was married to my mom, I would definitely be doing her doggy style. My dad was missing out for sure. His thrusting seemed to be increasing in tempo.

I returned to the campfire. I heard a short gasp come from my mom. A moment later I heard my dad provide a loud final groan.

After a few minutes, I could hear the soft snoring announcing that my dad had gone to sleep. The RV door swung open, and my mom came and stood by the fire, the light illuminating her luscious figure. She had on an oversized forest green t-shirt that ended mid-thigh, revealing her toned legs. She crossed her arms under her tits, causing the shirt to ride up a couple more inches. It was obvious she was not wearing a bra; not because her tits were sagging, but by the clear imprint of her nipples.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly, a bit embarrassed at it all.

"No problem mom. Dad's a lucky guy. Best friends don't get to do that. Only married people do."

Standing across the fire, she put her weight on one foot, sticking her hip out, placing her hands on her waist. I wonder if she even understood how provocative she looked at the moment. Was she doing that on purpose? My cock, already alert from their sexual sounds, ached just looking at her.

"Don't worry, son. You'll get married someday. She'll be a lucky girl."

"Thanks mom. Hopefully I'll be as lucky as dad."

The white of my mom's teeth glistened in the moonlight, an obvious smile greeting the dark.

"Well, goodnight Honey. I had fun with you today. See you in the morning," my mom said, turning to walk away, almost reluctantly.

I just had to get my hands on her. My body was having withdrawals after our evening concert.

Standing up I whispered, "Mom!" and motioned her over to where I was waiting. Her unsupported tits jostled sensually before my eyes as she quickly tiptoed over.

"I'm sorry about holding your hand so much today," I apologized. "It's just, it's just, well, I had so much fun at the concert. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you're still just my mom. It's fun having a girlfriend for once."

"Or are we siblings?" she mocked. "Or are we best friends? Or are we more than that? Who really knows?" She said, leaning forward and tickling my waist, always a jokester. Finding my weak spot, my startled body convulsed uncontrollably.

Eventually getting my body under control, I returned the favor, putting my hands on my mom's narrow waist, digging in my fingers. Her body jumped in immediate distress, propelled into mine, her loose tits flailing around my arms and torso, making contact multiple times.

Julie's hands were clasped around her son's wrists, fighting him to be released. Her shirt began riding up, her lower body feeling the draft of the cool air. Soon her white panties were visible to Dylans prying eyes. Feeling exposed all of a sudden, she was not sure what to do. There wasn't enough space between them for her to slap him, and pushing his chest would do nothing. Her panic increasing, she took one hand, curled it into a ball, and bonked Dylan in the crotch.

Dylan folded over like a newspaper, while Julie grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it down.

"Aaaah," Dylan moaned in pain, finding a seat on the picnic bench, still doubled over.

Julie just stood there, not knowing what to do. Her motherly instincts wanted to propel her to comfort her injured son. Her righteous anger prevented her from apologizing for the pain she inflicted.

"Jeez, Mom! Why'd you do that to me?" Dylan asked moments later, still grimacing in pain.

Julie didn't know how to respond. Her son was looking up at her, an expectant look on his face.

"I, I, I don't know. I, I was just wanting to..." Julie paused, trying to find her words.

Finally she confessed, "My shirt was riding up and my panties were showing!"

"You didn't have to hit me in my nuts. You could have just asked me to stop," I reasoned.

Julie's barefoot foot drew circles in the dust, her fingers pinched together in front of her, feeling a bit guilty.

"Ya, that's a valid point. I, I, didn't think of that."

"Uuugh," Dylan groaned, rising to his feet. His mom looked down at the ground, like a little girl recently chastised for stealing a cookie.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she muttered.

"It's OK mom. I might have done the same thing if my panties had been showing." Dylan's witty comment caused his mom's chin to quickly rise. The sparkle in her eyes returned, knowing that her son was not holding a grudge.

Relief in her eyes, she leaned up on her tiptoes, placing one hand on his shoulder. She quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, one of her loose breasts pressing against his chest.

"Thanks, son. Let's go to bed," she suggested.

Julie's heart was pounding now as much with her son as it was just a few minutes ago with her husband. While her body was not necessarily stimulated, her soul had been refreshed. The new arrangement with her son had brought a heightened level of gratification. All of the fun that she had with her son was now packaged with deeper meaning. The sexual tension that Dylan often introduced added a disturbing layer of complexity, one that her body subconsciously responded to eagerly.

The next morning my dad woke up with a slight hangover. My mom made breakfast on the outdoor skillet, wearing loose sweats and a thin flannel shirt. Our family hung around the campfire for much of the morning, talking about our plans for the day.

One of our camping traditions was always spending a day in the nearby town. So that afternoon my dad and I played for an hour at an arcade, enjoying their antique pinball machines. We caught up with mom who had been shopping. All three of us took turns trying on sunglasses, striking our best pose in the mirror.

We went to our favorite ice cream shop to enjoy some double scoop cones. My parents were sitting opposite each other, and I sat down next to my mom. She had traded her sweats for jean shorts, her tan legs now rubbing up against my own as the three of us shared our favorite camping memories.

My mom kept pulling one of my favorite pranks, pushing my ice cream cone into my face every time I went to take a lick. Holding my cone with my left hand, I put my right hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it gently, looking at her face with a warning in my eye. Each time she pressed my cone into my face, I would squeeze her thigh, my mom immediately squealing like a little girl. She is so ticklish.

Even my dad was enjoying the game, watching either his son's face get coated with ice cream, or his wife get a tickle torture. Every time I squeezed her leg, she would press her body against mine, almost climbing up on me. Losing control of her body, begging me to stop, made this a fun game for me as well. Each time I could feel her warm breast press against my young body through her thin flannel. I figured my mom would soon stop, but it seemed both of us were addicted to the playful affectionate horseplay. Combined with my hand on her bare leg, all while dad was watching, made it all highly erotic.

As the game ended, we began to argue about the best flavor of ice cream. Julie noticed that her son still had his hand on her leg. It was no longer squeezing, but resting gently half way up, cupping her inner thigh. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Her husband obviously couldn't see it, but without the playful game going on, it was definitely now an inappropriate touch for anyone but her husband.

She wiggled her body, hoping to wake up her son to the fact that he should move his hand. But in doing so, she only caused his hand to curl up her leg a bit farther. She didn't want to make a scene, conspicuously moving her hand down to move her son's hand. But it was getting hard to concentrate on the conversation and look at her husband, all the while her son's hand was claiming her thigh as his own.

Dylan turned his head, looking at his mom and said, "I can't believe you think mint ice cream is the best!"

Julie looked at her son, inches from her face, her husband observing their harmless dialogue. But as they talked, she could feel her son's hand readjusting on her bare leg. He had moved it further up, the edges of his fingers grazing the denim hem of her short cutoff jeans. She felt his fingers curl in between her legs, palming her inner thigh. Her body felt like it was going to explode. Both from indignation, and from a new sense of evil arousal. How could her son be doing this to her with his dad watching them only feet away!

"There are so many other flavors that would definitely be better than mint," Dylan continued his ice cream argument. Unnoticeable to Cliff, a mischievous grin flavored his words, something his mom had noticed. She had also noticed how his hand was now gently massaging her naked thigh, a pleasant burning sensation ignited deep inside her. Her leg began to tremble at times, quaking under her son's touch.

As Cliff turned to talk to the waitress, Julie pulled Dylan's hand away. She was immediately relieved, though her thigh suddenly felt empty and cold. She secretly admitted to herself that despite the impropriety, the feel of her son's hand had been pleasurable, even exciting. Her heart skipped a beat, as she dwelt on her scandalous thoughts for another moment. But then she immediately chastised her weak mind for thinking like that about her son.

That night Cliff went to bed early. He was mad at himself for missing the early morning fishing from his hangover the previous morning. He wanted to get up early for their last day at the campground. My mom had changed into some shiny black yoga pants with a long sloppy sweatshirt over the top. The two of us sat around the fire, enjoying the evening. I spotted an extra 6-pack of beer that my dad had forgotten about.

"What do you think, mom? A little beverage?"

"No thanks, son. I don't even like the taste of beer." My mom knew that was partially a lie. She preferred the taste of wine, but at the concert, the hoppy fragrance and buzzed feeling had certainly been enjoyable.

Ignoring her refusal, I popped the lid of two beers, and placed one next to her. I began to drink mine slowly, as we continued our conversation.

Julie knew she should resist drinking alcohol alone with her son. Yet each time he took a drink, her own mouth watered, her body remembering the pleasant feeling at the concert. What's one little drink, she thought to herself. Eventually she succumbed, grabbing the open bottle, and joined in with her son. The first drink of the bitter cold liquid made her body shiver as a warmth slowly filled her insides.

Julie and Dylan continued chatting around the campfire, their typical jovial conversation gaining momentum. It was the weekend with no commitments, just a mother and son enjoying the evening.

After they had both finished their first microbrew, Dylan said,"Hey mom, let's walk around the campground loops." He knew that was something his mom loved about camping, and something his dad rarely did with her.

"Yes! Great idea," she responded, rising out of her chair.

Dylan quietly opened two more bottles of beer, carrying them with him. As they got about 100 yards away from the campsite, he handed one to his mom.

"Oh no! I'm good," Julie said, lifting her hands in protest. Now that she was upright, she was already feeling a buzz from the more potent microbrew.

"Well, I can't drink it!" Dylan said. "I brought an extra. Come on mom, two beers is nothing. You're an adult now."

She grabbed the bottle, but didn't take a drink. As they walked into another loop, darker than the others, Dylan grabbed her free hand.

"No, Dylan," she responded firmly, whispering in the dark. "We can't do that. I"m your mother. Let's not play this game again."

Not releasing his grip, he said, "Mom, it's completely dark. No one can see us. Besides, it's my job to protect my mom."

Despite her son's clear attempt at manipulation, she confessed to herself that it was mostly harmless. Her hand did feel good once again in his, and she did feel better having him close to her in the dark. This loop was mostly empty anyway she reasoned. Without realizing it, she was soon taking sips on her second beer in rhythm with Dylan.

The couple wandered into another loop, still holding hands, Julie forgetful of her previous concerns of PDA. Her mind and body slowly being conditioned to the natural feeling of Dylan beside her, not just as her son, but as her affectionate partner. The alcohol caused her body to tingle, feeling like she was gliding on a cloud. Embracing the pleasant feeling, she allowed her curvy hips to swing side to side suggestively, bumping into her son at times. This was fun!

They heard some rowdy noise ahead of them, and came upon a campfire with a large group of people around them. It looked like several campsites had come together for the evening. A guitar was out, and chairs were scattered everywhere.

"Cheers!" someone shouted in our direction, seeing the beers in our hands, lifting up their own.

I moved my feet in their direction, pulling on my mom's hand despite her resistance. Her protest of "No! Dylan," I ignored.

Soon we were in a circle of friendly campers, introducing ourselves, making new friends. My mom had a polite smile on her face, but her body was tense. Underneath she was seething, mad at Dylan for putting them in that situation, and mad at herself for allowing it to happen. As they were still holding hands when they entered the campsite, it was clear to everyone that they were a couple.