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My Mother's Lover
by Ulyssa Kincaid (address withheld)

***

How well should a woman get to know the man with whom 
her mother had an affair. (MF, intr, rom)

***

I don't believe I've ever told the tale about my mother 
after the birth of my biracial son, Benjamin. That 
story is filled with some of the curious circumstances 
that happen to white women who have to usher biracial 
babies around in the diverse places in various cities—
malls, grocery stores, and downtown shops. They become 
magnets for younger men of color who see these women as 
easy sexual targets

Since I was a late bloomer, so to speak, my mother 
didn't have much time to know what the other side of 
her life might have been like until she turned forty-
six years of age. I was nearly thirty before I had my 
first child, and it was very easy to tell that my 
child's father was African American—where I was not.

As you may know, I'd been married to my high school 
sweetheart for eight years, before he ran off with a 
younger woman he'd gotten pregnant. We were both 
positive after those eight years that I couldn't have 
children. It merely turns out that I couldn't have 
children by him.

My mother hated Stephen, my black lover, at first, but 
eventually, she got used to him. Stephen died before 
his son, Benjamin, was born, and, although I didn't 
have to move back in with Momma back then, she did 
offer to watch my son when I went back to work.

That meant that there she was, a middle-aged forty-
something white woman who took a half black baby 
shopping and to the mall or whatever. Over a period of 
seven or eight months, whenever she'd take Ben out in 
public, Momma got hit on by black men—most of them much 
younger than she was. At first it made her angry so I'd 
have to hear all about the daily insults to her honor 
and decorum when I came to pick up the baby. Eventually 
she got used to the remarks enough to tolerate them. 

Then everything changed for her. Momma seemed to 
perfectly content to watch Ben and take him out on the 
town. More importantly, I stopped hearing complaints. 

It seems that one day she had met Reggie, and there was 
something about him and as she later told me, something 
about the way he treated her that was totally different 
from the get go. First, he invited her (and the baby) 
out to lunch with him. She accepted. Not just once 
either. 

They began meeting for lunch on a regular basis. Momma 
was worried about her relationship with this man so she 
wouldn't even tell me about meeting Reggie for a while. 
I learned of his existence several weeks into their 
relationship. Momma mentioned her luncheon date in 
passing one day, and I told her that it was good that 
she had someone to take her out on the town, even if 
was something as innocent as a meal together. 

Momma blushed. I asked her why she blushed and she 
shirked it off. 

"Oh, my God, Momma! Is this man black?"

She nodded. "He's a nice man."

I smiled. Nice, hell, he had to be a saint.

"Reggie's just a friend."

Some friend! When I finally met him, he was a handsome 
black machinist in his late thirties who saw something 
sexy in a forty-six year old grandmother. I learned 
that my mother was having a love affair with a black 
man who was quite adept with his hands, and Momma 
eventually disclosed that he was even more adept with 
other parts of his body. 

Naturally, I didn't think that the two of them had 
gotten serious until I found out that, like so many of 
the heroines in my fictional stories, my mother 
confided in me that she thought she might be pregnant, 
and that Reggie might be the father. 

I wasn't shocked exactly, but I was taken aback. You 
don't quite expect that from your own mother.

Apparently, Momma didn't think she could still get 
pregnant. Turns out she was wrong. She carried the baby 
for a couple of months--worried to death that Daddy 
would find out about her pregnancy. However the strain 
of hiding her pregnancy, coupled with the stress of her 
age were too much for her, and she lost her baby 
somewhere around three months. 

She felt that God had punished her for cheating on her 
husband, my father, and she broke it off with Reggie. 
They had been together for close to six months before 
she lost the baby. I know for a fact that she secretly 
pined over the loss of her baby and the loss of her 
lover for the close to fourteen years she had left to 
live. She finally passed away a couple of years back at 
the age of sixty-one.

Something in my head, a feeling of nostalgia, maybe a 
need to get close to her memory again, prompted me to 
try to get a hold of Reggie for the first time in ages-
-just to see how he was. Actually, I wanted him to tell 
me stories about my mother.

Reggie was surprisingly easy to locate. He still lived 
in the same downtown apartment after all these years. 
He had the same phone number that my mother had in her 
little note book that I'd confiscated before Daddy 
could get his hands on it.

Reggie told me over the telephone that for a while, 
Momma was literally the love of his life. He said that 
secretly he'd compared every other woman he'd dated to 
Momma.

"We all knew that she wasn't really a redhead, Lyssa," 
he told me. "But I thought she was the most exotic 
lover I'd ever found. And every time I'd climaxed 
inside her, I dreamed that the Lord would grant me one 
little miracle."

I teared up. "Oh, Reggie," I sobbed. I remembered how 
miserable he looked sitting in the back of the church 
with members of my husband's extended family. I was the 
only one who recognized him. But I didn't get a chance 
to talk to him. He left immediately after the service.

He told me that morning that he'd been crushed by the 
loss of their baby, and subsequently by the loss of one 
of the greatest women ever to grace his life.

Dad outlived Momma by about eight months so my mother 
never really tried to get back together with Reggie 
again. But I told her lover that I believed that she 
really expected my Dad to pass away first. If he had, 
she would have returned to Reggie.

I have to admit that we both cried over her loss that 
day that I met him. This was close to four years after 
the fact. Now that I'm nearing the age Momma had been 
when he had met her, Reggie told me that in many ways I 
so reminded him of her. He told me that my mother and I 
had similar laughs [others have told me that], and that 
I have her gray-blue eyes. I also think that I have 
that extra bit of flesh clinging to my hips might have 
reminded him of the Momma he knew, as well. 

We were still crying when this wonderful man dried my 
tears with his handkerchief--yes, a real handkerchief!—
me the lady who keeps packets of tissues in her purse 
for sniffling children was given a real handkerchief. 
Afterwards, Reggie asked me if I wouldn't mind kissing 
him for "old time's sake." 

After I kissed him, I teased him and said that he just 
wanted to find out if I kissed like my mother. But then 
the cheeky devil replied, "No, that's not it. What I'd 
really like to find out is whether you fuck like your 
mother."

I blushed. Then to buy a little time to think, I urged 
him to kiss me again. It seems that Reggie's about six 
or seven years older than I am, and he's been single or 
at least left by himself for a couple of years now. 
That kiss showed me exactly what my mother saw in him 
so I kissed him once again just to be certain.

It's hard for me to explain, but periodically I get an 
itch that's very difficult to scratch other than to 
give into it. I'm pretty sure that we've discussed my 
rather sordid history, but needless to say, part of the 
reason that I'm such a unreasonable bitch has to do 
with my independent streak and, of course, a generous 
helping of bi-polar disorder--the creative person's 
mental illness.

It also doesn't help that my heels are naturally round.

I told Reggie that if I allowed him access to my body, 
then I'd demand to know more about his relationship 
with my Momma. Then I told him to drink some water. I 
made him drink a twelve ounce glass, and I had a glass 
of water as well. Since I began my research on 
rehydrating my body, one of the things I learned was 
that both men and women perform better when there is 
sufficient water in their system. For your information 
it helps men to maintain their erections and allows 
women to remain moister much longer.

We continued to talk about Momma even as we both 
disrobed, and I discovered that even as his love life 
moved on to other women, he still compared these ladies 
to my mother. "I'm telling you, Lyssa, that she was 
really terrific in bed," he said. "Probably the best I 
ever had."

We came together very tentatively, almost shyly. My 
hand seemed dainty and small as I reached down to grip 
Reggie's wonderfully thick, blunt and long black penis. 
It was a simple matter for me to guide him into the 
soft and open tissues of my loins.

I'll never forget that he moaned when we began making 
love and murmured, "Oh my God, you feel just like her!" 

At first I thought to tell him: "Reggie, you can't tell 
a woman that she feels like someone else," but then I 
realized that he meant it totally as a compliment. I 
have gained a bit of weight with my last three babies 
and I haven't taken the weight off like I'd have liked 
(although now, with the exclusive water intake, I am 
losing pounds, but in all the wrong places). So 
physically I'm built a lot more like Momma was built 
when Reggie knew her--especially since he knew her 
Biblically.

I stayed with Reggie all afternoon and into the early 
evening. At fifty-something, he's not really up to more 
than one or two encounters in an afternoon, but we 
tried several times anyway. It's amazing what a little 
patience and an application of enthusiastic lips and 
tongue can do to revive a limp soldier. It all seemed 
very sweet and gentle, and it felt very poignant for 
both of us.

I don't usually get "the guilts" concerning my little 
indiscretions, but I also get terribly chatty--so I 
have to share these things with people I trust, until I 
find a way to integrate my feelings into a story. Of 
course I usually make it a more dramatic rendition than 
real life, but as I said I have a need to tell 
somebody. I had a good time learning about who my 
mother really was from her boyfriend. The rest of the 
evening was, well--you might say it was gravy.

***

After Easter Sunday:

Once again that strange itch got under my skin. I got 
my kids off to school this morning, I called Reggie to 
see how he was doing.

He had to work all morning, but he was able to get off 
in the afternoon; so I asked him point blank if he 
wanted to meet at lunchtime. He too was a bit taken by 
surprise, but then let's face it, I said the word 
**meet** as if I meant **fuck,** and I'm pretty sure 
that's how he took it.

There's an Amerihost Inn north and west of Grand 
Rapids. It's about halfway between him and me so we 
agreed to meet there. I arranged for a neighbor to 
baby-sit my three little ones, as I wanted Reg all to 
myself today.

The drive took less than twenty minutes. I arrived 
first so I reserved the room with cash and then called 
him on his cell to let him know the room number. Then I 
went to the mirror and freshened my make-up and decided 
just how I wanted to greet him. You can imagine 
Reggie's surprise when he let himself into the motel 
room and the only thing he could see waiting for him 
was a naked five-foot six white brunette partially 
draped in a hotel towel and wearing four-inch high 
heeled open-toed sandals. No, they weren't satin 
slippers.

Reggie's fairly tall, balding, with close cropped hair, 
and his face is usually clean-shaven. His deep cocoa 
skin looks almost unblemished, yet still a bit rugged. 
He has these big dark brown eyes that you always 
remember fondly once you meet him. 

Needless to say he let this huge smile cross his face 
at the sight of me. "I see subtlety is the key word for 
today."

I kissed him, and then he kissed me. I began to 
unfasten the buttons on his shirt. We kissed several 
more times, as I continued to disrobe him, but today 
Reggie was all about exploration. He asked me if it 
would be all right if he kissed his way all up and down 
my body.

All right? Wow! Let the kissing begin!

Oh, ladies, you would have enjoyed all the attention I 
got. I stopped thinking about time after about fifteen 
minutes and just let his wide lips and probing tongue 
find all the places on my body where he wanted to go.

We got a bit carried away, and he bit me on the fleshy 
inside of my breast. I yelped. 

"Hey," I said. "How would you feel if you glanced down 
and saw your wife with an impertinent little bite mark 
next to her areola?" The bite didn't hurt in the least, 
but it sure as hell looked sexual in nature.

We snuggled together for a while, and he crawled up 
over me, still exploring. Reggie started slipping a 
probing finger up into my cunt. Then he put in two 
fingers and then three. I felt a dizzying high while 
his fingers probed me--totally disorienting. He 
caressed my pussy very lightly outside, and then he'd 
probe inward and then pull his hand out again. 

He must've made that switch at least a dozen times 
before I just closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the 
delightful feeling. He put his hand on my cheek, and 
then his other hand traced my breast where he'd bitten 
me, and then another finger started to probe up into my 
openly moist pussy again.

Wait a minute! I opened my eyes and saw his hand close 
to my face, and then I saw his hand at my breast, but I 
realized that the touch of the **finger** at my pussy 
couldn't have been a finger at all. I squealed and 
giggled! With both my hands, I grabbed his buttocks and 
pulled his thick cock deep into my body. Then I 
greedily grinded my naked hips and abdomen into his 
exposed front.

Reggie chuckled. "That trick always worked on your 
Momma," he said. "It's nice to find that I can still 
charm a woman that way."

Charm? Wow! Try seduce. "It's a wonderful surprise," I 
told him. "Thank you."

We didn't talk much that first time. We just carefully 
matched our muscle movements until both of our rhythms 
became totally compatible. We didn't cum at the same 
time, but as my body shifted into my own climax, I 
heard Reggie grunt and gasp. My mother's lover began to 
pant frantically over me, and suddenly, warmth flowed 
and seeped up where I couldn't see the result of his 
climax, but I sure knew he was in there.

"Thank you for letting me come inside of you Lyssa," He 
whispered. Then he lightened his tone. "So did you take 
the kids on an Easter egg hunt yesterday?" he asked.

I was caught totally off guard. "What?"

"I saw on the news where swarms of children were 
combing the grounds of St. Bartholomew's looking for 
Easter eggs."

I giggled. "Did you?"

"Uh-huh." he replied. "So anyway, I thought maybe we 
could do that, today."

"Huh?"

"Sure," he said. "If you want to supply the egg, I'll 
send a swarm of little ones out to hunt for it!"

I threw my arms around him and hugged him close. I just 
couldn't stop laughing, and each laugh caused my vagina 
to gyrate and tense inside. I laughed until I softly 
came one more time.

We made love one more time before we both had to leave, 
but I had to get out of the hotel and head for home by 
three-thirty. I didn't hear much more about my mother, 
but apparently, I'll do just fine as a stand in.

***

You know, I hadn't really thought about it before, but 
the living often celebrate death with a grasp for more 
life. I think that it's much more than the beer 
commercials might call gusto.

We went to Mass Sunday morning to take the children and 
to pray as a congregation for John Paul II, and we all 
had a tearful, individual cry for his Holiness. Sunday 
afternoon Perry asked me if I'd like to go to bed with 
him and, of course, I said yes. I cried softly as my 
emotions switched back and forth between this intimate 
celebration of our marriage, and some of the sadness 
that reverberated through the day.

I took care of my children on Monday and a good part of 
this morning, when I got a call out of the blue from 
Reggie. He knew Momma was a devout lady, and he was 
worried as to how I was taking the Pope's passing. I 
told him how I'd been feeling, and he asked me if I 
wanted to come and visit him on Tuesday so that we 
might spend some time together.

It made me grin. A lot of people were trying to cheer 
me up and they all wanted to cheer me up he best way 
that they knew how. Of course, sex is often the best 
way to cheer me up.

***

I hadn't worn fishnet stocking in ages, but I was dying 
to try out a new pair I saw at the store. So during my 
Sunday shopping at one of those superstores, where you 
can get groceries and a thousand other things, I picked 
up some real fishnet stockings—you know the kind that 
are actually pantyhose with a very wide and trashy bad 
taste mesh.

To say they made me look like a tart was a bit of an 
understatement. Once I got the kids off to school and 
arranged for a babysitter for my toddlers, I finished 
off my wardrobe with a satiny gray blouse over a black 
bra and my charcoal gray skirt--not quite a mini, but a 
short skirt by anybody's standards. Finally I decided 
to wear a set of black business pumps and a charcoal 
gray suit jacket.

Reggie and I met at a hotel restaurant for breakfast. 
He was dressed very businesslike as well. We ordered 
lightly--I told him to make sure he drank water to 
offset that coffee he ordered, and we chatted. I think 
my waitress was a bit confused, she was polite enough, 
but since this place was more of a "White Customers" 
hangout than a big place for diversity, and since I was 
dressed like I was dressed, she couldn't quite decide 
if I was a whore or some little thing from the typing 
pool that one of the black bosses picked up.

"I think she's trying to decide if I'm going to let you 
fuck me," I said.

"Are you?" Reggie grinned.

I smiled. "Of course, I am, silly."

Somewhere around eleven o'clock, we drove to Reggie's 
apartment and as you can guess Ulyssa got out of her 
clothes--well, everything except for the black fishnet 
pantyhose and my black high heels--very quickly. I 
strutted around for Reggie like some sort of internet 
tramp for five or ten minutes. We fell into a lovely 
pattern of both kissing and heavy petting.

"Did you know I pressured your mother into having 
bareback sex with me that first time?" he said, as we 
kissed.

"Just the first time? I know she thought she was safe 
from getting pregnant," I replied. "I would have 
figured you went bareback every time."

"Most of the time." Then he sighed. "We both liked it 
that way."

"Like mother like daughter," I said.

"Why didn't you come along years ago?"

"I wouldn't take you from Momma," I answered. "I'd 
never do that to her."

Eventually Reggie took a pair of scissors and he very 
carefully cut a large hole in the crotch of my black 
fishnet pantyhose. I could tell that he was fighting 
the urge to dip his face, lips and tongue into the soft 
flesh just beneath where he'd snipped open the hole.

Then he asked me to leave my black heels on as he 
picked me up and carried me from his living room. I 
wasn't so worried about falling, as I was worried that 
he'd over exert himself, but he was fine. Reggie took 
me into his bedroom so we could snuggle and play on the 
bed. We obviously did more than play.

For one thing he no longer fought the urge to sink his 
nose and lips into my intimate tissues. But he cut that 
short. There was something in the air that made both of 
us demand the other person's body subvert to both of 
our needs. We hadn't seen each other for over a week—
and we wanted to fuck.

It was a curious sensation feeling the weight of his 
thighs and hips through the mesh of my fishnet 
stockings. However, it had been a long time since I'd 
experienced crotch-less underwear the way it was 
designed to be enjoyed. Reggie loved that foot fetish 
look of me there with my legs spread, but with my high 
heels still on.

He seemed to have no problem determining just where he 
wanted to place his dick. Like I said, it had been ages 
since I'd experimented with crotch-less pantyhose. 
Reggie moaned as he snaked his cock deep inside of me.

It's always the other person who's important during a 
sexual encounter. You're only as good as your lover. 
Reggie told me that I bring out the best in him, which 
was kind of funny as I had "the best of him" probing 
deep inside my loins mining for wet lubricated gold--
showing me all the mobile advantages that a piston 
engine has over other forms of energy.

"I still wish I had met you years ago," he murmured.

Reggie's thrusts were starting to speed up naturally as 
his body was determined to expend every ounce of energy 
that he produced. As his pulsing penis hardened even 
more and straightened and lengthened in an attempt to 
fulfill himself by filling me, he murmured. "I'd have 
loved to have the chance to fill you up with a baby 
myself--"

"You got Momma," I reminded him.

"But I never got to see--" Suddenly he gasped aloud and 
made a noise like a sheet of steel being bent.

That was all before he lost his breath and began to 
grunt and groan with a shuddering climax. He sweated 
and trembled over me and the next thing I knew, he went 
wet and warm and flowing inside of me.

"Still I'd loved to give you a baby, too."

"Aww, Reggie, that's so sweet," I whispered. "I'd 've 
loved to have tried with you too."

I didn't want to tell him that now all we had was what 
might've been. I'd never told him that I'd had my tubes 
tied after my last baby was born. But Reggie was 
enjoying the moment—enjoying his fantasy and I let him. 

"We'd have some sweet little nappy haired, maple cream 
skinned honey just lapping away at your breast, sweet 
cheeks," he murmured.

He'd seen me nurse Leon at my breast, and he dropped 
his lips to tug gently at my nipple. I think my breast 
rewarded him with a few drops of mother's milk.

Of course, by the time we were finished, my fishnets 
were dripping and partially soaked with dribbling sperm 
trails that stayed with me even as I left that day. I 
probably should have taken the pantyhose off, but quite 
frankly, I felt really slutty. Reggie walked me back to 
my car and gave me a long--long kiss in the parking 
lot.

"I gotta go, Reg," I whispered. "I'm dripping semen 
everywhere."

"That's what I love most about you," he said. "You take 
certain invitations so literally."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled. "Cum as you are."

I made a face at him, kissed him one more time, and 
left.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 35