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Mum's The Word
by Beating Off Bob (beatingoffbob@yahoo.com)

***

Bobby was a fourteen year old boy, who still took baths 
with his mother. He was used to it, and didn't think a 
thing about it. But the boys at school talked about 
things he didn't understand, and, when he asked his 
mother about them... bath time changed. (F/m-teen, ped, 
inc, 1st, preg)

***

You're going to think this is a sad story, because it 
starts out sad. But don't be sad for long, brothers and 
sisters, because it ends up pretty OK, at least to me 
it does. I'm Bobby, by the way, Bobby Henderson. That 
really doesn't matter to the story, except that it's 
about me and my mother, Claire Henderson. There are a 
few other people in it too, but they only matter a 
little. I'll mention them later.

My mom's story starts out like a lot of people hope 
their adult lives will start, with a good marriage to a 
good man who gave her a good baby - that's me - and 
they were pretty happy, all things considered. But my 
father was killed in an accident at the plant and 
things sort of went to shit starting then.

I was only six at the time, and I don't really remember 
too much about him. I do remember my mother crying 
every night for a long, long time after she told me he 
wouldn't be coming home any more. She told me later 
that, in my six year old style, I tried to make her 
feel better, telling her that I loved her and that it 
was going to be OK. That's what she told ME whenever 
something I thought was bad had happened. You know... 
scraped knee, hit by a baseball, stepped on a nail... 
that kind of thing. So, when I heard her crying I said 
the same things to her.

As strange as it sounds, the words I said to her when I 
was six had a profound impact on our relationship, and 
would continue to have that impact for years and years. 
More about that later.

There was a huge insurance settlement that meant my mom 
didn't have to work. She loved being a mother, and, as 
I was her only child (she had a miscarriage a year 
before Dad died) she had no one else to pour her love 
onto except me. I think all that love she had left over 
from loving my father got poured on me too, but that 
part comes later too.

It was 1956 then, and attitudes about single mothers 
were different then than they are today. A widow woman 
in those days didn't have much to hope for unless she 
was wealthy. We were, but I didn't know it then. Mom 
was approached by all kinds of gold digging guys who 
brought her flowers and candy and the like, but she 
rebuffed them all. 

Later she told me she felt like Daddy could see her and 
it just seemed dirty to do the things those men wanted 
her to do. So, being independently secure financially, 
she bent her attentions to a lot of volunteer kinds of 
things. She was a teacher aide, and a Red Cross Donut 
Dolly, and she worked at the homeless shelter 
sometimes. She went to the library, taking me with her, 
and read stories to children one evening a week. 

I loved all those stories, and her sweet mellow voice 
as she read them. She had a knack for making up voices 
to go with the characters in the stories. She even made 
up a deep raspy voice when a troll spoke, and she 
actually sounded scary! To me at least.

And in the evenings we played games and watched TV and 
she asked me all about school and my friends.

My favorite time was bath time. In those days you 
didn't take a bath every single day, like people do 
now. You took a bath when you needed one, and that was 
about it. A lot depended on what you did during the 
day. If you got hot and sweaty, you took a bath. If you 
didn't do anything except sit in class, or something 
like that, you might not. I played outside quite a bit, 
with other kids in the neighborhood, so I needed a bath 
more often than Mom did. 

The first bath I remember for sure was when I was maybe 
ten. I have vague memories of baths before that. 
Whenever mom took a bath, she put me in the tub too. It 
was really no different than it was any other time. As 
she washed herself, and me, we'd talk about things and 
she'd tell me stories. I do remember the feel of her 
soft hands sliding around on my body... across my 
chest, or back, or along my arms. It felt good when she 
touched me. And I remember that almost every single 
time she gave me a bath she told me what a big, strong 
boy I was, and how handsome I was. She said other 
things too, but I remember those the most.

What happened when I was ten that made me never forget 
it was that she was sitting down in the tub, soapy 
water just under her breasts, and I was standing up 
while she washed my legs. We'd done it this way a 
thousand times. 

But this time I got an erection. 

My little ten year old pecker reared its puny head and 
stuck straight out from my body like a flag pole off 
the facade at Macy's. It was pointing right at Mom's 
face like a little toy rifle. She never blinked an eye. 
When her hands slid down my belly they slid onto that 
stiff little thing and she washed it too.

"You're a handsome boy Bobby. And a big, strong boy." 
she said, like she'd said a thousand times before. "And 
you've got a big strong handsome penis that you can be 
very proud of."

That was the first time I ever heard the word "penis". 
All my friends called it a "dick", but the way they 
said it communicated that it was a dirty word, so I 
never used that word around my mother.

Her hand slid under my penis to the little empty sack 
that was under there, more of a bulge than anything 
else. "And someday you're going to have big strong 
handsome testicles that will be all full of nice sperm 
for some lucky girl."

Now she was talking a foreign language, but her voice 
sounded mellow and sweet, like always, and I just 
assumed that whatever she was talking about was a good 
thing.

Then it was my turn to wash her. It had been my job, 
for as long as I could remember, to wash her back, and 
her hair, and I liked doing it. Her back was smooth and 
slippery in the bath water, and her skin felt good to 
my hands, like her hands felt good to my skin. 

So I got behind her and washed her back and she handed 
me the shampoo like she had a thousand times before. We 
had a cup that we kept by the tub and we used that to 
capture fresh water to do her hair with. I loved 
pouring that cup of water over her head while she 
sputtered and acted funny. And I was rubbing my hands 
through her hair, getting up a good lather and my penis 
kept touching the back of her neck. 

It felt good doing that and I leaned forward a little, 
poking her more. She turned her head around and looked 
at what was poking her and then looked up at me with 
something in her eyes that made me feel all warm 
inside. Then she turned around and I finished up and 
poured three or four cups of water on her head while 
she sputtered and complained that she was drowning and 
called for help in a cartoon character's voice.

We dried each other off too. When she was drying me she 
dried my still-hard penis and I asked her: "Is it going 
to stay like that forever?"

She smiled and said, "No, it will get soft again. They 
always get soft again. It's too bad, really, because 
they're a lot more fun when they're hard."

I didn't understand that either, but my worry that my 
pants would stick out at school went away. It did get 
soft later, when I was in bed.

But it got hard again the next time we bathed.

In fact it got hard again EVERY time we bathed after 
that. She never acted like it was anything to worry 
about, so I didn't worry either. She started washing it 
more than she had in the past, though, and it felt 
wonderful when she did that. Her hand covered it, 
leaving about half an inch left over and, as she slid 
her hand back and forth to get that half inch clean too 
I got that warm feeling again, like when her big brown 
eyes had stared into mine. 

By the time I was twelve, she was washing my penis for 
ten minutes at a time. I had to have the cleanest penis 
in town, but I didn't care, because it felt fabulous 
when she did that. I was too tall to wash her hair if 
she was sitting down now, and she got to her knees when 
it was time to wash her back and hair, and now my hard 
dick poked into her back, I got my body right up next 
to hers when I did her hair, rubbing my dick all over 
her back because it felt so good.

Then one day she was washing my penis when I felt 
something happening in my groin. It was a kind of pain, 
but it was a pain that felt good somehow. It made me 
bend my knees. But it happened so fast that I got 
scared. I made a noise and Mom looked up at me and I 
guess my face was showing something because she 
stopped.

Something made me say, "Please don't stop."

"What's happening Bobby?" she asked me.

"I don't know. It feels funny and it hurts kind of, but 
I want you to keep doing that."

And she started again, staring up at my face. The pain 
rushed back at me again and my gut clenched and it was 
AWFUL... except that it was FABULOUS too! The pain 
streaked through my dick and it was so powerful that I 
had to sit down. I splashed water everywhere and bumped 
my head on the back of the tub. Mom was up and over me 
in a flash, worry in her eyes. I blinked and then 
grinned what must have been a funny looking grin 
because she laughed. She had the nicest, most musical 
laugh and all my worry that something bad had happened 
just fled. My dick felt wonderful.

"Don't worry. It's going to be OK. My big strong boy is 
close to being a big strong man." she said. She leaned 
forward and kissed me on my forehead. And, like I said 
earlier, those words made me feel like everything was 
fine. What had happened was strange, and a little 
scary, but if she said it was going to be OK, then it 
was going to be OK.

Not long after that Jimmy Thompson snuck one of his 
father's Playboys into school, and at recess he was 
showing it to a bunch of us boys. He opened it to the 
middle and there was a picture of a naked woman, 
standing by a bathtub. She was blond and had on a lot 
of makeup, and she looked different than my mother. 

The guys were saying things like, "Oh MAN!" and "Look 
at those TITS!" and "You can almost see her PUSSY! and 
"Shiiit she's sooo sexy." These guys were salivating 
all over this picture and I couldn't figure it out. I'd 
seen it all before, and much closer and in person, and 
I'd see again that night. But I was smart enough to 
keep my mouth shut about it.

That was the first time I realized that maybe... just 
maybe, the other boys didn't take baths with their 
mothers. I mean all us guys took showers after gym, and 
I washed myself perfectly well in there and didn't 
think a thing about it. But taking baths with my mother 
was just as normal, and I didn't think anything about 
that either. At least not until Jimmy brought that 
Playboy to school.

Andrew Tucker bawled that he was getting a hard-on and 
grabbed his crotch. Two other guys said they were too 
and I realized it was because they were looking at a 
picture of a naked woman.

I learned a lot that day. the rest of the day I thought 
about those hard-ons I got in the bathtub... when my 
mother was naked.

And, to my credit (as she told me later), I asked my 
mother about it as we were getting ready to take a bath 
that night.

"Mom, can I ask you a question?" I said.

"Sure honey," was her completely normal reply.

So I told her about the Playboy, and about what the 
guys had all said, and about their erections.

She had been taking off her blouse, but she stopped as 
I talked. I had already taken off my shirt and was 
standing there in jeans and socks.

She didn't say anything for a minute, and she was 
looking everywhere except at me. I remembered I hadn't 
actually asked the question.

"So my question is, do I get hard-ons in the bathtub 
because I think you're sexy?"

Now she looked at me. "You think I'm sexy?" she asked.

"I guess so. You look just like the woman in the 
magazine, and they said she's sexy."

Now I should tell you that I was about to turn 
thirteen, which made my mother thirty-two. And she DID 
look like the woman in the playboy. Her breasts were 
different. The woman in the magazine had big round 
breasts that bulged off her chest and looked like they 
weighed a lot. The rest of her was normal. I mean she 
wasn't fat or anything. 

My mother's breasts came out from her chest and then 
turned upwards almost, coming to a point. The tips were 
darker pink than the rest of her and they kind of 
looked like eyes that were looking in different 
directions, one looking slightly to the right and the 
other slightly to the left. In one way they looked kind 
of like little ski slopes or something on the tops. The 
bottoms were round, like that woman's in the magazine. 

And Mom wasn't fat either. Her waist was narrow above 
hips that spread out and then dipped back in where her 
legs started. She didn't wear lots of makeup or 
anything, so her face looked plain, but I had seen her 
in makeup when she was going to a party or someplace 
where grownups did whatever they did, and she looked 
like the woman in the magazine then too.

"Well, I knew this would happen some day," she said 
with a sigh. "I guess it's time we had a talk." she 
started buttoning up her blouse. "And I guess there 
won't be any more baths together."

I thought I'd done something horribly wrong. I felt my 
heart pounding in my chest and my eyes got full of 
tears and I said "Please Mom, I'm sorry. I won't do it 
again. Please don't be mad at me."

She looked startled and said "Whatever are you talking 
about Bobby?"

"I don't KNOW!" I wailed. "But if we can't have baths 
together any more you MUST be mad at me, and I don't 
know WHY you're mad, but I promise I won't ever do it 
again. Please don't make us stop." I had suddenly 
equated bathing with my mother as a pleasure that was a 
privilege... that could be taken away for bad behavior.

She got that look in her eyes again and she jumped up 
and hugged me tight. 'Oh, I'm sorry baby." she said in 
those soothing mother tones. "I'm not mad at you. Not 
at all. You're a fine young man, and I love you very 
much. But we need to talk about some things."

I wiped my eyes, ashamed I was crying. Boys didn't cry 
in those days. "Can't we talk about it in the bathtub, 
like always?" I begged.

She looked startled. When I later thought back on it, 
while I just thought we were taking baths and feeling 
good, she knew exactly what was going on in the 
bathtub, and she assumed I did too.

She sat down on the toilet. "Maybe we can talk about it 
in the bath. But I have to ask you a question first. 
What do you know about sex?"

"Sex?" I said. "I don't know. It's how babies are 
made?" I asked hopefully.

"Do you know what two people do to MAKE a baby?" she 
asked patiently.

I was lost. I heard the guys talking about tits and 
pussies and dicks all the time, and "getting it on" was 
mentioned a lot too, but it was all just words to me. I 
mean if somebody had never seen a car and they heard 
the words "bumper... clutch... taillight... headliner," 
would they understand how a car was made?"

So, to my credit (as she later told me), I told the 
truth. "I don't think so." 

She frowned and bit her lip. Then she said "Bobby, when 
you see me naked, what do you think about?"

Now what kind of question was that? I was trying to 
please her, to make her happy so we could take a bath 
and I'd get to wash her hair and rub my dick against 
her back, but I didn't know the right answers.

"I don't know," I started. "I think about how pretty 
you are, and about how good it will feel to wash your 
back, and about playing with the soap in your hair to 
make it stand up straight like Alfalfa’s cowlick on the 
Little Rascals."

"Do you like it when I wash your penis?" she asked.

"Sure, it feels great." I said back. "It's my favorite 
part, especially when I get that pain that feels so 
good."

"Do you know what that nice feeling is called?" she 
asked, looking curious now.

"It has a name?" I asked, surprised.

She muttered "What are they teaching kids in school 
nowadays?" and then looked up at me. I realized she 
hadn't been asking me that question. That warm look 
that I liked so much was in her eyes. I could almost 
fall into those eyes when she did that. They looked 
like big pools of liquid chocolate or something. And of 
all the things I felt my penis start getting hard.

She stood up. "Bobby, I'm going to have to teach you 
about sex. It's obvious the school isn't doing it." 
Neither of us knew that the sex ed part of Health 
wouldn't take place until the year I'd be fourteen, 
which was a whole year away. "There are things you need 
to know about, but it's complicated. And I don't want 
you talking with the other boys about anything we 
discuss. Deal?"

She was unbuttoning her blouse again and the relief 
that flooded over me was so strong that my eyes teared 
up again. I snorted and gulped and rubbed my nose and 
said "OK... deal."

So I got the lecture on the birds and the bees from my 
mother... in the bathroom... naked as a jaybird... with 
visual aides.

When we were both naked, instead of getting in the 
bathtub she sat down on the toilet seat and told me to 
stand in front of her. She reached out and cupped my 
penis and balls in her hand. "These are what the man 
needs for sex" she said, hefting them. My penis got 
harder. "The testicles are located in here" she 
fingered the sack that, a year ago had been small and 
empty, but which, since then had grown something in 
there that hurt if I squeezed them too hard. 

I had been worried about that. I was afraid I had 
cancer or something. I wanted to talk to mom about it, 
but I was afraid, so I never did. Now, just by 
describing my sexual organs to me, she put my mind at 
ease. "And, when you're old enough, the testicles will 
make sperm." She played with them a little longer. 
"Your friends probably call these your balls." she 
said. 

That was true and I told her so. 

"Now THIS," she said, putting her hand around my mostly 
stiff penis, "is your penis. Your friends might have 
lots of names for it, like cock or prick." When the 
balls make sperm, that sperm comes out of this little 
hole at just the right time."

"Like when I pee?" I asked.

She smiled. "No, dear. It comes out when your penis is 
inside the woman's vagina."

"Oh" I said. I had no idea what a vagina was.

She must have known that because she went on. "Your 
friends call the vagina a pussy, probably. There are 
other words for it too, but most of them are not very 
nice."

I was confused. My penis stuck out a good four or five 
inches. I looked down at her hand, which was stroking 
my penis slowly. "But How can something like that go 
INSIDE a woman?" I asked. "There's no room for it."

"Yes there is." she said patiently. She spread her 
legs, opening up a part of her that I'd never really 
seen before. I'd seen the hair, but there was more, 
underneath that hair that I'd never known was there. It 
looked like she had a little sideways mouth, with two 
kind of floppy lips.

"This is my pussy." she said. One of her fingers teased 
the two lips apart and there was a small area of 
darkness, like a little hole exposed. "And it forms a 
tunnel up inside me." she said. Then, as I watched 
unbelieving, she slid a finger up inside her body. A 
WHOLE finger... CLEAR up inside her! When she brought 
that finger out it was shiny and wet looking.

"It's wet!" I said, involuntarily.

"Yes, my body makes something to help a penis slid up 
inside there. It's a small place, and a man's penis is 
big. It helps if there's lubrication."

"But how do you know when to... um... make some 
lubrication?" I asked. This was starting to sound more 
and more complicated.

Mom reached out and grasped my hard cock again. "Things 
happen automatically. Your penis gets hard when it 
wants to have sex. When a vagina wants to let a penis 
inside, it makes lubricant. Then, when the penis is 
inside the vagina, the sperm comes out.

She went on, explaining what the sperm did once it was 
inside a woman's body, and about how the egg, if it got 
penetrated by a sperm, attached itself to the wall of 
the womb and all that stuff. It was a lot of 
information.

I was doing fine until we got to the part where the 
baby comes out of the vagina. There was no way I would 
believe that a whole baby could come out of a tiny 
little place like that. It would kill them both. We got 
into an argument and she insisted that it happened that 
way and finally I gave up and said I believed her. But 
I didn't.

Then we took our bath. Just like always.

I don't know if it was fate, or maybe the fact that I 
now understood and my body caught up with my brain, but 
on this night, when she washed my penis and that 
wonderful feeling, which she had just named "orgasm" 
came over me, it wasn't the same. 

This time that awful sweet pain was there, but then I 
felt something going through my penis that felt so 
soothing. It all happened so fast that I just had a 
fleeting recognition of that soothing, delightful 
feeling when something shot out of the tip of my cock 
and splattered all over my mother's breasts.

Her eyes went all round and wide and she took in a big 
breath that she didn't blow back out again. I was 
afraid she'd think I'd peed on her, even though I knew 
it wasn't pee. But her other hand came up and rubbed at 
the stuff I'd shot out, spreading it all over her 
breasts. Her hand kept going, and as I looked down I 
could see more of the stuff oozing and dripping out of 
the end of my cock.

Then she was holding me, her arms around me, my cock 
pressed to her breasts and her arms on my butt. It was 
a little like being tackled in football, except nobody 
was moving and it felt wonderful. It seemed like I 
should be doing something with my hands, so I kind of 
stroked her hair.

I knew something important had happened. Then her 
lecture of only half an hour before came back to me. In 
an instant of clarity I had an idea. "Was that my sperm 
Mom?" I asked.

Those deep brown eyes looked up at me and she smiled 
the widest and most brilliant smile I'd seen on her 
face in a long time. "Yes it is sweety. You're a real 
man now."

Then she explained what had happened and I learned a 
knew word: masturbation. I'd heard of jacking off, but 
didn't know what it meant and somehow knew that if I 
asked the guys I'd get laughed at. When she put a name 
to what she'd been doing to me for a year, I completely 
understood why the guys talked about it a lot. It had 
just never occurred to me that I could do it for 
myself. That was something Mom did. Plain and simple.

But then we got into an argument because she said that 
mothers aren't SUPPOSED to masturbate their sons. She 
said that, now that I was a man, she should stop doing 
that, and that our baths should stop and all kinds of 
things I didn't like at all.

I remember at one point I said "If this is being a man 
I don't want to be a man." 

She had a tinkling laugh and it came out now. "Bobby, 
you're going to love being a man. Some day you'll get 
to slide that handsome prick you have into some lucky 
girl's pussy and you'll squirt all that lovely sperm 
inside her and she'll have your baby. It will be the 
best thing that's ever happened to you. You won't miss 
seeing your flabby old naked mother at all."

"Really?" I said, interested now, despite the fact that 
I wanted to tell her there wasn't an inch of flab on 
her anywhere. "When will that happen?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe in eight or ten years," she 
said.

"EIGHT OR TEN YEARS?!" I shouted. I have to go without 
seeing you naked, or touching your soft skin for EIGHT 
OR TEN YEARS?!" 

You know how little kids at the store bug their parents 
so much, asking for something over and over and over 
again that the parents finally throw up their hands and 
give in? Well, I wasn't little, but I could beg with 
the best of them.

My mother, though she kept saying that normal mothers 
didn't do these things with their sons, continued to 
let me bathe with her. And each time she stroked me 
until I came. She usually rubbed my semen, another new 
word she taught me, into here skin, over her breasts. I 
wished I could do that part, but I never asked.

Over the next year it began to get a little crowded in 
the tub, as I put on three inches of height and my 
muscles somehow got larger. I also started growing hair 
in places where there had been only wisps of fluff 
before. My voice started cracking and then settled into 
a baritone that I thought sounded quite good.

On my fourteenth birthday my mother did two things that 
I'll remember forever. Oh, I'm sure she got me a 
birthday present, but I don't remember what it was. But 
the first thing I remember about that day was that when 
it was bath time, and she said "Bobby, you're just 
getting too big for baths."

My first reaction was that she was going to make us 
stop. I wasn't quite as emotional on the outside as I 
had been before, but inside I was dying. My shoulders 
must have slumped, or I did something that she saw, 
because she smiled and said "Don't you take showers at 
school?"

Sure I did. "Uh... yeah," I said.

"Then we can start taking showers here at home too." 
she said simply. 

There was a big glassed in shower in her bathroom, but 
I never went in there. The bathtub was in the main 
bathroom, the one I used all the time though, come to 
think of it, the only times I ever saw her in there was 
when she was doing laundry or we were taking a bath. 

She led me into her bathroom, holding my hand like I 
was a little boy again. The shower stall was bigger 
than I'd thought it would be, and there was plenty of 
room in there for both of us. She turned on the water 
and then started taking her clothes off. 

I stood there for a minute, watching. There was 
something about seeing her take off her clothing in a 
place we'd never done it before that made it seem 
different somehow. I'd seen her naked hundreds of 
times, of course, but as her breasts came into view I 
saw again the pages of that Playboy magazine, and the 
woman standing there, showing her breasts to the world. 
I got instantly hard.

She looked at me quizzically and I fumbled with my 
shirt buttons, trying to catch up to her for some 
reason. When I slid my pants down and my cock flopped 
out she smiled.

"You always make me feel pretty." she said.

"Huh?" I responded.

"Your erections... and the way you look at me. They 
always make me feel pretty." she said, dropping the 
last of her clothes.

"You are pretty." I said. She was. It was just a 
statement of fact. "You're just as pretty as that woman 
in the magazine." I said, unthinkingly. She looked 
confused. "The woman in the Playboy I told you about." 
I added.

Her eyes lit up and she laughed. "The girls are going 
to have to watch out for you pretty soon," she said, 
still laughing. "With a tongue like that they're going 
to be in trouble."

We got into the shower, which was all foggy by then and 
soon her hands were sliding all over my body. This was 
different somehow. Maybe it was because in the bathtub 
we had washed ourselves, mostly, with the exception 
that I washed her back and she washed my penis until I 
ejaculated. But this time she washed all of me, with 
long strokes of her hands that felt fabulous, touching 
so much more of me than before. It was fantastic. I 
just stood there and shook with the emotions it caused. 
She started washing my penis and made this sound in her 
throat that was kind of like a growl.

"You've grown so much in this last year," she said, 
stroking me. "You're a man in all but years." She was 
close to me. "Your father would be so proud of you."

Her hand, sliding up and down what Jimmy Johnson had 
only that day called a "love bone", felt so good I 
moaned. Then she stopped. I made a sound of unhappiness 
and she laughed again.

"Tonight, as part of your birthday present, you get to 
wash me," she said. "All of me."

It was incredible. I had felt her back a hundred times, 
but as I slid my soapy hands all over her she felt so 
much different. I wanted to wash those breasts 
suddenly, and my hands cupped them and squeezed them, 
sliding over them. There were suddenly bumps on the 
tips of those soft round things, and I bent over to see 
them. Her nipples had always been flat before, but now 
they stuck out... WAY out... almost like my penis got 
bigger and longer and stiffer. She moaned as I tweaked 
one, feeling its texture. 

"Wash me everywhere," she said. She sounded like she 
had run some little distance, and was breathing deeply. 
When I didn't move my hands she took one and shoved it 
down, between her legs, to that place where she had 
slid a finger into herself. "Wash me there," she 
gasped.

I gave an experimental kind of rub and was astonished 
when my middle finger slid into a crevice of sorts. Mom 
moaned again and her knees bent a little as she opened 
her legs a little.

"Yes." she panted. "Right there." I moved my hand, 
feeling hair and skin and that crevice as one of her 
hands went to my shoulder and the other went to my 
chest. She pulled on my shoulder and pushed on my 
chest. I knew that when she washed my cock that it felt 
better when she went faster, so I started sliding my 
hand in and out between her legs. The tip of my middle 
finger found something deeper inside that crevice and 
slid into her body, like her own finger had.

"Yes, baby," she groaned.

Watching her face told me this was something that made 
her feel very good. Not knowing anything else to do I 
slid my finger in and out of her and washed her more 
and more. She stumbled backward, pulling me with her 
until her back was against what I knew was the cold 
surface of the tile on the wall. Her eyes closed and 
she turned her fact up as her mouth gaped open. 
Suddenly she shook all over and the flesh around my 
finger got tighter. She let out a long, whining moan 
that, had I not known was from happiness, I would have 
thought was from pain.

Something told me to stop rubbing and I froze, my 
finger still deep in her body. Her eyes opened and I 
saw something there that was almost scary. It wasn't 
that loving deep look she had given me so many times. 
Her eyes looked almost cat like somehow... intense... 
like she looked when she was really, really mad, only 
the rest of her face wasn't her 'mad' face.

The hand she had on my chest went up to my other 
shoulder and she pulled me to her. I wanted to be up 
against her, but my hand was between us and I pulled it 
out from between her legs. Her breasts crushed into my 
chest, soft, yielding but somehow firm too, and her 
lips came towards mine. I knew she was going to kiss me 
but I'd never kissed anybody and didn't know what to 
do. So I just leaned against her and waited.

When her lips touched mine they moved apart and then 
together again, almost like she was trying to take a 
little bite out of my lips. I had this insane thought 
that she was going to bite me for some reason. Then her 
tongue forced against my closed lips and I opened my 
mouth in surprise. 

She turned her head a little sideways and I felt her 
tongue go inside my mouth and dart all over. It was so 
strange. I thought I should be grossed out, but I 
wasn't. In fact, something made me want to stick MY 
tongue into HER mouth. And when I did she crushed me to 
her with strength I wasn't aware she had in her light, 
slim body.

I wish I could tell you more about that kiss, but the 
fact is I don't remember much more about it than that. 
I got kind of light headed and my mind sort of flitted 
off somewhere else for a minute. 

When it came back she had stopped kissing my lips and 
was kissing my chest... then my stomach... and then she 
was on her knees in front of me, with the water pouring 
over both of us... and something hot engulfed my iron 
hard penis. I looked down.

It was her mouth.

I wish I could tell you more about how her mouth felt 
on my penis, but the fact is that my mind flitted off 
to make sure that wherever it went the first time was 
still there. When it came back I was spurting. Her 
mouth was sucking then. I felt like my whole insides 
was shooting out through my prick into her mouth.

Then I fell down. 

I know it sounds stupid, but I did. I didn't trip or 
anything. I just suddenly fell down. I felt myself 
going and sort of caught myself with my hands just as 
my tailbone hit the tile floor. It would have hurt a 
LOT more if I hadn't been able to do that. It still 
hurt a lot.

Mom was all scared and concerned looking and crawled 
over to make sure I was OK. The feeling of weakness 
passed and I told her I was OK and she turned off the 
water and helped me stand up.

"Are you SURE you're OK?" she asked, dripping and naked 
beside me.

"Yeah," I responded. "I think it just felt so good for 
a second there that I didn't want to stand up any 
more."

She laughed and I felt better. She got a big fluffy 
towel and dried me off, and then herself. I was 
watching as she dried herself, and her breasts and 
everything were so beautiful. I looked down and my 
prick was standing straight out from my body again. I 
couldn't believe it.

Mom looked over at me and that look in her eyes came 
back. She stood up and said "I'm worried about you."

"No... really... I'm fine." I stammered.

"Well I'm still worried. I think you had better sleep 
in my bed tonight," she said.

OK, now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 
that a thirty-something woman who just blew her son in 
the shower wasn't worried at all, and that he had to be 
completely stupid not to know what she REALLY meant. 
But YOU aren't fourteen, with no experience... well 
with ALMOST no experience... who just went through 
something that was still sending aftershocks through 
you.

But I was all those things. And I really didn't know 
what she meant.

"OK," I said. "But where are YOU going to sleep if I 
sleep in your bed?" 

Remember... I TOLD you I was completely stupid.

She smiled a tight little smile. "The bed's big enough 
for two, and I think I need to keep an eye on you. At 
least for tonight. You know, like they say at the 
hospital when they make somebody stay overnight for 
observation? I'm going to put you under observation 
tonight."

It sounded reasonable to me and, when she took my hand 
and led me to her bedroom, I followed. She let go of my 
hand and turned back the covers. 

I said "I'll go get my PJs."

She laughed that delightful laugh that sounded like she 
was SO happy. "In my bed you don't need PJs."

So, naked as a jaybird, I crawled into my mother's bed 
and, after she turned out the light, naked as another 
jaybird, she climbed in with me.

***

I know that, to you who are reading this, many years 
later, it seems I was an incredibly stupid young man. 
To have my mother first masturbate me and then put my 
penis in her mouth as it spurted seems clear and simple 
to you as an indicator of where things might be headed. 
But remember, I was fourteen, in a small town that was 
pretty conservative, and where talk of sex was 
restricted to the playground, or the infrequent 
sleepovers we had in those days. 

Sex education was just beginning to be talked about as 
part of the health classes taught in those days. And, 
for the most part, "Health Class" meant instruction on 
the importance of hygiene in combating disease. Those 
were the days when people didn't take baths every day 
like most do nowadays. 

The 'ration mentality' of the war and the Korean 
conflict that followed had only begun to abate in the 
last ten years, and many people of my mother's age were 
very frugal when it came to household expenses. Even 
though my mom was well off, due to the insurance 
settlement, we didn't live a grand lifestyle. Other 
than the fact that there was no man coming home at the 
end of the day, you couldn't have told us apart from 
any of our neighbors.

But a vibrant young woman, whose dreams of a family, 
dreams which, only a few years ago were ripe and ready 
to burst like buds on a tree in spring no longer 
viable, couldn't be blamed for trying to revive those 
dreams. Those dreams wouldn't have been understandable 
to a fourteen year old boy, with his own set of 
problems and dreams. And the fact that she never told 
me, at least not then, how she was feeling and what she 
wanted out of life, is completely understandable now 
that I'm older.

She knew what we were doing was something that society 
would lambaste us for if anyone found out. She resisted 
what was slowly happening inside her as her passions 
grew and grew. She tried to find a man to sate those 
passions with, in the way our neighbors would have 
called "normal". 

But the men she met were always compared against the 
standard of my father. And all were found to be 
wanting. She later told me that, as she spent time with 
these men, the thoughts uppermost in her mind was 
"Would I want to bear this man's children? Would I be 
thrilled to welcome this man into my arms each day? 
Would this man be a fitting father for my future 
children? Do I LOVE this man?"

And each time she found, much to her dismay, that the 
answer was "No." to all of those questions. And, 
inevitably, after finding those answers, she'd find 
herself washing a boy... ALMOST a man... who she DID 
love. A man she admired, who had a good heart, whose 
innocence was something that fed her passions. A man 
she'd ALWAYS be glad to welcome into her arms at the 
end of the day.

Can she be blamed so harshly for looking at me as a 
possible donor of the seed that would fulfill her 
dreams?

That night, as I felt her warm, naked body slide 
between the sheets of her bed, and press against mine, 
she was feeling that... maybe... her dream was back 
within reach. She wasn't a predator. She wasn't being 
mercenary about it. She just wanted what every woman 
wants... a man to love, and to cleave to, whom she 
feels safe with and loved by. And the emotions that 
were raging through her that night didn't leave room to 
think about the ramifications of what she was thinking 
about doing. 

I suppose a psychologist might say that the desires 
uppermost in her mind were so strong that they blocked 
out that part of her intelligence that would have told 
her she mustn't do what she was planning at all. AND, 
if she just HAD to do what she was planning, she 
mustn't do it without taking the appropriate 
precautions. 

I, for one, think that the fact she had never been on 
any kind of birth control in her entire life had more 
to do with it than anything else. When she'd married my 
father she was a virgin, and they had wanted to start a 
family immediately. After he'd died she assumed that, 
if she decided to let a man into her inner sanctum, it 
would happen slowly... would evolve... that she'd have 
plenty of time to think about what to do BEFORE the 
gates of that inner sanctum were breached.

Now I know that you, the reader, who have had time to 
assimilate all that had happened thus far, are 
fidgeting in your seat, leaning forward... saying "What 
do you MEAN? She's been playing with you sexually for 
YEARS! She had YEARS to prepare for this night."

But you must understand that she never intended for our 
play to go as far as it had. She never anticipated 
wanting to swallow my prick... to take my semen inside 
her body. And when it happened it was as unexpected as 
when a virgin, thinking she's going to the Prom only to 
dance and perhaps flirt with a boy, suddenly finds 
herself in the back of a car, Prom dress gathered at 
her waist, as something completely unanticipated 
thrusts through her barrier and penetrates her to her 
very core.

What I'm saying is that she was just as surprised at 
sliding between those sheets to join me as I was.

And her sigh of "Oh Bobby" as she did so was NOT a sigh 
of acceptance, or passion, or even lust, as you might 
expect. It was a sigh of remorse as that little part of 
her brain that knew she was doing something that would 
turn our life together on its head tried one last time 
to penetrate her passion and lust.

Had I said, "Yes?" or "What Mom?" or any of the other 
possible things a normal boy might respond with when 
his mother says, "Oh Bobby," things might have been 
different, and her conscience might have won the day... 
or night, as it were. But my response to feeling her 
warmth and nakedness and all that smooth skin against 
me was more of a "Mmmmmmm." And THAT response struck 
her conscience a slap on the face that knocked it back 
into the dim closet that her lust and passion wanted it 
to remain in.

The result was that I found myself being pulled on top 
of all that lovely naked skin. I felt her breasts 
flatten against my chest and her legs spread to make a 
comfortable saddle for me to lie in. I felt her lips 
find mine in a hot, wet kiss that sucked the breath 
from my lungs and made me light headed. And... I felt 
her hand between us on my rock hard penis... just 
before the tip of that penis sank into something so hot 
and so slippery and so... AMAZING. 

There is an instinct in every man, when he feels that 
first tentative penetration, to push for more. I did, 
and in an instant, my whole prick was sheathed in that 
fabulous heat. My mother's groan as, after years of 
having nothing in her, and as she was suddenly filled, 
was a sound I'll never forget. And even though I have 
heard that sound many times since, that first one is 
the one that makes my blood boil every time I replay it 
in my mind.

Our first coupling was like the first French kiss a 
person experiences. It seemed to last only seconds, 
but, within those few seconds, it was like a raging 
wildfire in a hundred year old forest choked with fuel 
after a decades long drought. Her shudder of completion 
came as quickly as the sperm in my balls boiled over 
and exploded from my penis like a geyser at 
Yellowstone. 

I don't even think we had time for me to withdraw and 
thrust, something I did AFTER the first two explosive 
spurts of my ejaculation entered her body. And even 
then there was no rhythm to what I did. I just jerked 
spasmodically as my body tried to shove every drop of 
my seed available out into her hot sheath.

I gave a wrenching sob and my body pummeled hers as I 
emptied. I think her own climax was as complete a 
surprise to her as mine was to me. I don't know how 
long it was after that - it couldn't have been an 
entire minute - but her second sigh of "Ohhh Bobby," 
sounded like a thousand birthday cards rolled into one 
to my ears. Her gratitude for what I had just given her 
was astounding, and it struck into my brain like fire. 

I was hard again almost immediately, and now the urge 
to shove and withdraw was strong. I assuaged that urge 
by rocking my whole body on top of hers, sliding toward 
her feet and then back toward her head. Her hands came 
to my back and helped me, and her little murmurs of joy 
at the feelings washing over her were like gasoline 
thrown onto a fire.

Again, I can't tell you how long it lasted. Now it 
seemed to go on and on and on, and I wished for it 
never to end. I got my knees into a position that let 
me use them to shove forward and her legs opened wider 
as her knees drew up and pressed against my sides. I 
found that if I pushed up on my arms I could bring more 
force to bear on slamming my prick into her, and I 
wanted to slam it as hard as I could for some reason. 

She began whimpering with little soft, short high 
pitched sounds and I felt that hot flesh surrounding my 
cock press on it, tightening. That felt good and I 
stayed in for a few seconds, loving the feel as, 
somehow, that flesh moved, almost like a ripple. I had 
never, of course, felt anything like that, and it was 
fabulous. It made me want to spurt again, and I 
suddenly found that I could do that. Staying deep 
inside her, feeling her vagina stroke me, I let 
everything in me surge through my penis. A pain I 
hadn't even felt was suddenly soothed and I sagged back 
down on her breasts as my essence flowed into her 
again.

We both lay there, as if dead, except for labored 
breathing on both our parts. I rose and fell as she 
dragged air into her lungs and I tried to raise my body 
off hers again, to let her breathe, but her arms across 
my back tightened. Her unspoken command for me not to 
move let me sag back.

Sometime later she kissed my cheek, murmuring little 
'Thank you's into my ear. I was content to lie there as 
I felt little drips ooze out of my softening prick. I 
wanted it to last forever.

But, of course, it couldn't. Eventually our combined 
body heat caused us to begin sweating, and that was 
uncomfortable. I finally rolled to one side and she 
caught my hand as I lay beside her, the sheets somehow 
thrown back, our naked bodies cooling in the air. For 
whatever reason there was no need for speech. I don't 
know what was going through her mind - she never told 
me - but in my mind was the fervent hope that this 
wasn't the only time that... whatever had happened... 
would happen. Some part of me knew that sex had taken 
place, but I don't think it had sunk in yet.

We slept.

I don't know what woke me, but it was very dark, so I 
knew it was still the middle of the night. I felt my 
elbow against my mother, and it was warm there. 
Everything else had cooled off, and I shivered a little 
bit. I realized that my penis was hard again. Achingly 
hard, standing up off my little fluff of pubic hair, my 
penis seemed to be searching for something. 

And now... I knew what it was searching for. I didn't 
even think about what I was doing as I climbed back on 
top of my sleeping mother. Her legs had closed and I 
had to put a knee between them to spread them so I 
could get between her legs. I felt her head move and 
she made a sound in her sleep. I still didn't know how 
to make happen what had happened before, so I simply 
did what felt good and that was to rub my stiff prong 
against her. 

She was still slick, though that slickness was now cold 
against my hot cock. I felt the bottom of my prick 
slide between those same two lips of skin that my 
finger had found in the shower and their warmth felt 
wonderful. Again I slid up and then back, feeling the 
whole length of my cock glide along her skin between 
those lips.

She woke up. I could hear a change in her breathing. 
Her hands came up to my sides and lay there lightly as 
I moved. Then her knees came up again, taking the place 
of her hands as they slid up onto my back.

"Feels nice." she murmured.

Her right hand slid back down my side, between her knee 
and my side, and tried to force its way between us. I 
lifted a little and felt her find and grasp my 
hardness.

"Mmmmmm" she crooned. 

Her knuckles pressed against my abdomen, almost 
painfully as she pushed me further and I felt her bend 
my penis downward. Then there was that fabulous heat 
all around the tip again and I surged into her. She 
made that sound again and her hands came to my head. I 
could smell her... us... on her hands. As I strained 
forward, to be fully inside her, she pushed my head 
toward her breasts and I found my face full against one 
of them.

"Suck," she said in a moaning sound.

I found a long, stiff nipple at my nose and adjusted 
until I could close my lips around it. I sucked and the 
sound she made caused my balls to tighten. It was hard 
to move in and out of her and suck at the same time, 
but I didn't want to stop doing either. 

Her hands had moved to my butt cheeks and she pulled on 
them, and then moved her hands and what little give 
there was in my cheeks in a circle. I found I could do 
that and suckle at the same time. I didn't know what a 
clitoris was, but she managed to make me crush hers and 
then massage it with the base of my cock while I sucked 
like a starving baby.

Her whimpers started again and they shot clear to 
something deep inside me that answered by grinding 
harder against her. Then that rippling feeling started 
up again as she gasped and cried out. It was like she 
knew where the switch was to make my balls empty 
themselves and I groaned as I felt that rush of 
soothing fluid flash through my penis again. there 
wasn't anything in the world I wanted to do more than 
squirt her full of that milky looking stuff.

In the morning she woke me and said "Once more before 
breakfast."

I knew what to do then and, before I was even fully 
awake, I was seated in her heat again. This time, when 
her muscles started working on me I could see her eyes. 
They were wide open, staring into my face with that 
soft look in them that I had loved for so many years. 
And, as I felt my penis begin to jerk and spray inside 
her she said to me "Yes, cum in Mommy... fill Mommy up 
with your magic potion."

Breakfast was almost surrealistic after what had 
happened. She wore her robe, like she'd always worn, 
and, though I don't remember what we had that morning, 
she fixed it like nothing had happened. We sat and ate 
as if nothing had happened either, though inside I was 
boiling over with emotions. The thought that that 
mysterious thing called "sex" had happened to me filled 
my brain. That it had happened with my own mother 
wasn't uppermost in my mind. 

I know that sounds strange, but our relationship was so 
close already that this step didn't seem that big a 
thing in that sense. But I knew that, despite their 
posturing and bragging, most, if not all of my friends, 
who "knew" so much more about sex than I did, hadn't 
done what I had done last night. And THAT was huge to 
my fourteen year old mind. Suddenly I was at the front 
of the pack. Or would be if I told them what had 
happened. 

But I didn't WANT to tell them what had happened. It 
wasn't because it had happened with my mother. It was 
because what had happened was SO special, and SO 
precious, I wanted to keep all of it for myself.

Mom put down her fork and stared at me. Her fingers 
picked the fork back up and fiddled with it. "How do 
you feel?" she asked.

I was young and not all that bright, but I knew what 
she was talking about. I felt like my answer was the 
most important answer of my whole life. And, unable to 
put everything that was threatening to break my skull 
open into words, my mouth just said "Good." 

It was a typical sounding fourteen year old response to 
a very atypical question. Those of you who are parents 
knew what I'm talking about. You ask for information 
and you get a one word response that sounds flat and 
unresponsive. I saw her eyes change and her mouth 
tighten up so that the corners made little creases. 
They were the only wrinkles on her face and I usually 
only saw them when she smiled. But she wasn’t smiling. 
Intuitively I knew that my answer had fallen flat.

I tried again. "Good isn't the right word." I set out 
tentatively. "I don't know the right word... words." I 
said. "There are all those words they teach us in 
school. They call them superlatives. But none of them 
are superlative enough." I floundered, unable to 
communicate.

Her eyes changed again and I saw the wrinkles almost 
appear again... this time because of the beginnings of 
a smile. "So... what happened... would you say you were 
glad it happened?" she asked. Now she was frowning a 
little bit... worried.

"Oh yes." I said. "I wish it could happen a lot."

"Really? With your mother?" she asked. Then she looked 
like she wished she hadn't reminded me it had been with 
my mother. She looked more worried.

I said. All my life I had been taught the nicest thing 
you could say to someone. I had been taught it was 
important to SAY those words, because people needed to 
hear them. So in my young mind, those words had a 
special power. I said them now. "I love you Mom." 

I could see confidence flow back into her face. "What 
if I told you we shouldn't have done that?" she asked. 
"What if I told you people would think what we did was 
wrong?"

That was simple for a young teen boy. "Are YOU sorry it 
happened?" I asked.

She looked startled. "No," she said. She looked like 
she was going to say more, but didn't.

"Me neither," I said. "I don't really think it's 
anybody else's business if you're happy and I'm happy." 
I added. I got that fearful feeling in my throat... 
that feeling of peril, like when I thought she was 
going to stop the baths. "Do you think we could do it 
again?" I asked.

She gave me a level look. "You're my son," she said.

"Duh," I said before I could stop it. It was another 
typical teen response and I felt stupid for saying it. 
"What I mean is I know you're my mother." That didn't 
sound much better.

She frowned again. "I AM your mother, and you aren't 
grown quite yet. That means I'll still be making 
decisions for you... about what you can and can't do. 
You aren't going to like some of them. You'll get mad 
at me sometimes." She looked earnest. "I mean I still 
have to act like your mother."

"Of course," I said. "But I don't get mad at you very 
often. Most of what you MAKE me do makes sense. I just 
don't like doing it sometimes. I'm usually not mad at 
YOU, really. I'm just mad because I have to do 
something I don't want to do."

"Well, that's nice to know." she said. She looked 
startled again. "But still, there will be times when 
you're mad at me."

I thought about that, and what had happened, and the 
last few years, when I had gotten mad at her and it 
made absolutely no difference at bath rime. "Mom, I 
don't think there's any way in the world I could be mad 
at you and do what we did last night. It would be 
impossible. Even if I WANTED to be mad I couldn't stay 
that way if we were doing that."

"Do you know what that was?" she asked. She blushed. "I 
mean what we did?"

"It was sex, wasn't it?" I was sure... but still 
nervous about being wrong.

"Oh yes, my darling, it was most definitely sex." she 
laughed. She told me later she started to tell me it 
was GOOD sex, but decided not to.

"And we can do it again?" I asked, leaning forward. I 
had high hopes for her answer.

"And when do you think you might want to do that 
again?" she asked. She was teasing, but I didn't know 
it.

It was Saturday. I didn't have to go to school or 
anywhere else. "Now?" I asked hopefully.

My mother laughed, and her laughter made my head want 
to explode. It was a laugh of pure joy, that I knew I 
was responsible for. It was the kind of laugh a child 
burns to hear when they are performing for their 
parents, wanting approval. But this laugh made my cock 
stand up straight and strong.

She stood up. "We're all stinky from last night. We 
need a shower." she said. 
That was just fine with me.

While the shower warmed up we stood there naked, 
looking at each other. I really examined her this 
time... all of her. Her hair was mussed, but she had a 
rosy healthy look to her that I'd never noticed before. 
I stared at the nipples I'd chewed on and sucked. They 
were long and stiff, which looked different than in the 
past. She opened the shower door and stepped in, 
holding the door open for me. 

This time when we washed it seemed hurried. She stroked 
my stiff cock a few times and then kissed me on the 
lips. She said, "I don't want to feel it on my skin 
right now. I want to feel it inside me." 

That was just fine with me too.

I don't think we were really dry when we ran to her 
bedroom. She jumped on the bed and I was on her like a 
lion on a lamb, climbing on top of her before she even 
got settled on the bed. 

She giggled and laughed and pushed at me, calling me a 
bad boy, but I knew she didn't mean it. She made me 
fight to get between her legs and I suddenly realized 
it was a game. I swooped with my mouth and captured a 
stiff jutting nipple, sucking hard and her hands came 
to my head, holding me there, instead of fighting. But 
her legs were still closed and I had to force one knee 
between them.

I had a sudden flash of her, on her knees in the 
shower, her mouth sliding along my rigid pole and I 
thought of the boys in my class talking about "eating 
pussy". I had a sudden urge to taste her and I jumped 
off, licking down her body from her breast, across her 
abdomen to the beginning of her hair. She gasped and 
made a sound in her throat and her hands pushed my 
head. Her legs opened, as if springs had suddenly been 
released and I dipped my tongue down to those soft 
flaps of flesh at her opening. 

My head didn't fit in there and I couldn't get to them 
like I wanted to, so I scrambled across her leg and, 
knees firmly on the bed, leaned in to lick and suck and 
probe with my tongue.

She tasted wonderful. It was tangy in a way, but it 
tasted like nothing I'd ever had in my mouth and I 
loved it instantly. One finger slid between my face and 
her body and it stopped.

"Lick there," she gasped. "Suck there."

I didn't know what she meant, so I reached in with my 
fingers and spread her open, pulling those loose lips 
to each side. She was so pink! I hadn't expected her to 
be so pink. Her fingertip was rubbing circles around a 
protrusion at the top of her opening. It almost looked 
like a picture I'd seen in science class of a pupa, 
with the resident forcing it's way out to become a 
butterfly.

I nosed her finger out of the way and sealed my lips 
around the lump she'd been rubbing. Her squeal of 
delight was electrifying. I didn't know what this thing 
was, but I could tell she loved having it sucked on, 
just like her nipples, so I sucked with a vengeance. 
Her sex got wetter and wetter until my face was sliding 
around, all slippery and covered with juice, but her 
reaction to what I was doing was so much fun that I 
kept on.

Her hands grabbed my hair and gripped painfully as her 
hips lifted up off the bed and she cried out in that 
grunting, gasping, yipping way that I knew now meant 
her muscles were rippling inside. Her hands left my 
hair and beat on the sheets beside us as she thrust her 
sex up into my face over and over again in rapid jerky 
movements. I lost my grip with my lips on the thing 
that was so much fun to suck and licked at it instead, 
wiping my tongue across it as many times as I could 
until her hands pushed me AWAY from her.

She was gasping for air, but managed to get out "Ohhh 
Bobby... baby... nobody's ever done that for me 
before... Oh sweety, come here."

She pulled me up, grasping for my prick, which was wet 
from stuff leaking out of it. She brought it to where I 
had been licking and I knew what to do this time. I 
shoved and she moaned "Yeeeesssssss," as I sunk into 
her.

Then she talked to me. I don't remember everything she 
said, but it was things like "Cum in me baby... shoot 
in Mommy... give Mommy your special present. She never 
mentioned the word "baby" - not then. But she told me 
that was all she could think about at the time. She had 
crossed the final frontier and wanted me to impregnate 
her. I have no idea what I would have though at the 
time if I knew that. But my instinct was to give her 
exactly what she was asking for, and it didn't take 
long.

And as I spurted deep inside her she cooed in my ear. 
"Yes, baby... yes... give me all of it... shoot it 
deep."

After that, my mother made herself available to me any 
time I wanted her. That sounds tacky or something, and 
it wasn't like I'd walk in and say "OK, Mom, strip and 
spread 'em." It wasn't like that at all. There were 
times when she was horny and let me know it, and asked 
me to love her physically. And there were times when I 
was agitated and wanted to be next to her, or in her, 
and she always seemed to be ready then too. What seems 
odd now, but not then, was that we maintained separate 
bedrooms.

It seems odd now, because when I look back on it, our 
physical relationship was more that of a husband and 
wife, than of a son and mother. But I think she always 
thought of me primarily as her son, and secondarily as 
her lover. She knew I'd be bringing friends home, and 
that there needed to be a "boy's bedroom" for me to 
take them to. I suspect that she thought I'd meet girls 
and want to bring them home too... that maybe I'd try 
to get them into my bedroom to do what all boys and 
girls do when they get a chance and don't think they'll 
be caught.

And... she brought men home. Even though I filled her 
with my prick almost daily, she told me she needed to 
date. I didn't understand it, but she told me quite 
seriously that these dates she had didn't affect the 
way she loved me, and never would. As a boy who, every 
time I kissed a woman - my mother - ended up in bed 
with her, I didn't understand how this could be. 

But even though I saw her kiss several of them, I never 
saw her take one into her bedroom. And believe me I 
peeked. But, while she might make out a little on the 
couch, and while I saw one or two of them caressing her 
in places I didn't like their hands to be, I took her 
at her word that these men were not competition for me. 
Eventually I was able to go to a friend's house when 
she wanted to bring a man home and think of other 
things than what they might be doing. Part of what 
helped me with that was that very few men got brought 
home more than twice.

But for me there were no girls. Not for the next three 
years, anyway. And that's because of several things. 
First of all I had the dream lover that all boys want, 
but few ever have. My mother was an accomplished lover, 
even though the only other man she'd ever had was my 
father. 

She was aware of things they'd never done, and her 
willingness to experiment led us to hours and hours of 
cum-spurting joy. All I had to do was tell her what I'd 
heard about, and we tried it. She even let me take her 
anally one time. She liked it, but I didn't care for it 
much. I couldn't get around the idea that she'd be 
putting my cock in her mouth sooner or later each time 
we made love.

Another thing happened that caused me not to look at 
other girls for more than just friendship. It happened 
about three months after that first wild night we spent 
in her bed. I got home from school and she had cooked 
one of my favorite dinners. That, in itself wasn't 
strange. She did that often when she was horny. In 
fact, she taught me to cook because that MADE her 
horny. 

Whenever she suggested that we have a cooking lesson I 
knew I'd be in for some hot sweaty sex, often in the 
kitchen itself, before the meal was served. And then 
more thrusting, rutting fun after we'd done the dishes. 
As young as I was, I could get it up five or six times 
before my penis lay limp and dead for hours.

So, when I smelled a roast in the crock pot, my dick 
got stiff. She was making a salad as I came in, and had 
on an old sweat shirt and sweat pants. That was another 
signal that she gave me sometimes. She knew I could get 
my hands inside those garments easily and when she had 
them on, that was all she had on. That day was no 
exception. I walked up behind her and slid my hands up 
under the shirt to cup her naked breasts. 

She sighed and put the knife down she had been cutting 
carrots with. Then she turned around and kissed me, 
long and deep. 
"Supper will wait." she said. Then she took me by the 
hand and led me to my bedroom. Making love in my bed 
was one of the things we did relatively rarely, usually 
when she was extra passionate about something. In my 
bed there was a lot of what I grew to think of as 
"Mommy talk", when she'd call me her son and herself my 
Mommy, and urge her son to put his thick young spunk in 
her pussy. 

When we were in her bed, she called me man names and 
herself a wide variety of things, not necessarily all 
complimentary. I think she worked out her frustration 
with the taboo nature of our relationship in her bed.

At any rate, on this day she wanted me on the bottom 
and she rode me gently, obviously trying to make it 
last. Her muscles were so well developed now that, if 
she wanted to, she could make me spurt within a couple 
of minutes after getting me inside her. But today she 
didn't use those muscles. She just rocked and leaned 
over, asking me to suck her nipples. 

It was while she was doing this that she said, "Bobby, 
my baby, you know I love you."

My mouth was full of turgid tasty nipple and I made a 
sound something like "Mphfft," meaning "Of course Mom."

"And you love Mommy too, don't you sweety? You want 
Mommy to be happy, don't you?"

This was different. Her voice sounded different... 
nervous somehow... maybe worried. I let the nipple pop 
out of my mouth.

"What's wrong Mom?" I asked.

"Ohhh Bobby honey... I'm pregnant," she moaned.

I went cold. 

Don't laugh. At that moment all I could think about was 
those men she had brought home. I didn't think even 
once about the gallons of young, potent sperm I'd 
packed into her womb.

I got ready to ask her if she knew who had made her 
pregnant. I was running over the tone I would use in my 
head, trying to decide what tone would be right. I'm 
really glad I thought about that, because if I'd have 
asked that question I know now it would have broken her 
heart.

She began rocking harder, and those muscles of hers 
started rippling. She could do that now without having 
an orgasm, and it meant she wanted to feel me spurting 
in her. I didn't feel much like spurting at that 
precise moment though.

She leaned over again, looking at my face. That soft, 
"Mommy loves you more than anything," look was in her 
eyes. "Bobby made a baby in Mommy's tummy." she sighed.

I thought I'd never be able to breathe again. My breath 
just stuck in my lungs like it was glue. My heart, 
however, started trying to tear its way out of my 
chest.

"Is that OK, baby?" she asked, her voice a whine. 
"Please tell Mommy you still love her."

Now you have to understand where I was in life at that 
time. This story makes it sound like I must have been a 
man. After all, I did manly things... at least in bed 
with my mother. But remember that this whole 
relationship had been a series of... baby steps... no 
pun intended. 

I was still a fourteen year old boy, even if I was one 
who got to do things that were normally reserved for 
men. And all the time I was DOING those things, to me 
it was just something that Mom and I did that was 
wonderful and felt great, and that I loved. 

I hadn't been trying to make a baby. I'd just been 
loving my mother. It had never occurred to me that I 
even COULD make a baby in my mother. Sure, I knew that 
it was how babies were made, but I just assumed that, 
like lots of other women, she'd do whatever women did 
to AVOID making a baby. And I knew women COULD avoid 
making a baby if they wanted to.

And it was suddenly crystal clear to me that my mother 
had gotten pregnant... on purpose. and I was smart 
enough to know that a woman who had multiple partners 
couldn't exactly CHOOSE which of those partners made 
that baby. Which was why I said "But what about those 
men?"

It was the same question I am glad now I didn't ask. 
But it wasn't asked in the way I'm glad I didn't ask 
it... if you know what I mean. It was an honest 
question, not loaded with accusation or spite or anger.

She kept milking my cock, which had hardened even more 
for some reason. "Silly boy. If a woman gets pregnant, 
people expect there to be a man in her life. I had to 
make it look like there were men in my life. None of 
those men got to do what you do. They didn't get to do 
this." She rocked harder, impaled on my rod. "I wanted 
Bobby's baby, not some other man's. But I didn't ask 
you first sweetheart. I should have asked you if it was 
OK. Do you forgive me? Do you still love me?"

I answered her by flushing her full of my teenaged 
semen, bucking upward, now TRYING to make the baby I'd 
already made. And her response was gratifying. 

"Ohhhh baby, thank you, I want your baby sooooo much. 
You've made me a very happy mommy."

Talk about growing up fast. As the last of my sperm-
laced semen oozed into her clasping pussy, I tried to 
imagine me... a father.

Well, to make a long story shorter, I just couldn't. 
And she didn't expect me to, really. She wanted a baby 
and I gave her one, and that was enough for her. Single 
mothers weren't all the rage in those years, but she 
didn't seem to mind what other people would think. That 
they thought it was because of one of the men she'd 
been seen ushering into the house was enough for her. 
She could now watch her belly swell with a child she 
already loved and be happy.

And swell it did. Being pregnant did nothing to dampen 
her enthusiasm for getting my pants off. If anything it 
made her even more horny. And, now that she didn't have 
to bring men home any more, we had even more time to 
lie in bed, loving each other. 

One thing I noticed was that her taste changed. She had 
always been tart and tangy before, but her taste was 
more mellow now, and the fluids she produced for me to 
lap and suck up were thicker somehow. They were just as 
slippery though. My fourteen year old penis wasn't all 
that huge, and her pussy was still tight, expanding 
only enough to accommodate my teenaged girth, but the 
lubrication she made while her belly grew bigger and 
bigger with our child was so slippery that I could 
often slide in and out of her hot tunnel for as much as 
half an hour before the friction brought her what she 
craved. 

I could cum faster than that if I wanted to, or if she 
wanted me to, but I gained a little control over things 
as our baby grew to make it difficult for us to fit 
together comfortably. In the end I had to be on the 
bottom all the time, which was OK with me, because I 
could cup and caress that bulging abdomen while she 
sucked the cum from my balls.
And I had grown to love that baby too. I didn't know 
exactly how to think of it... as a brother or sister... 
or as a son or daughter. Son or daughter was much 
harder for me to get my mind wrapped around.

But when the day came, and she drove herself to the 
hospital, telling me to stay home and take care of 
things there, it was almost unbearable. The next day 
was my birthday, and I was excited because of that. Not 
because it meant a present or anything. But because she 
had warned me that her labor with me was long and hard, 
and that she might actually have our baby on my 
birthday.

In the end, it turned out that my passage had made it 
easier for my daughter, who was born at 11:42 PM, the 
day before my own birthday. 

In those days women stayed in the hospital longer after 
having a baby than they do nowadays. I couldn't stand 
it. I got on my bike and rode it down to the hospital. 
The nurses knew my Mom was a widow and single, and that 
she had had an "accident" as they called it then. But 
the fact that her fifteen year old son - I proudly made 
sure they all knew it was my birthday - had ridden his 
bike to see her and to stare in awe at his "little 
sister", made them all make those "Awwwww" sounds that 
tend to stiffen a boy's prick. 

Two of them flirted with me a little. They were 
probably no more than twenty years old, just our of 
nursing school, and had no idea how dangerous their 
flirting might have been had they taken it a few steps 
further. But I have to confess, seeing my son in that 
bassinette made me look at those young women with a 
man's eyes, and the thought of making THEIR bellies 
swell with my children flashed through my mind.

Of course they wouldn't let me hold my little sister. 
But Mom did. I was in the room with her, just sitting 
as we talked about nothing, when they brought the baby 
in for her to feed. The nurse asked her if she wanted 
me to leave so she could feed the baby in private.

"No, he's going to have a major role in taking care of 
her," said my mother. "We are family, and I'm not 
embarrassed that he see what happens." 

The nurse, whose name was Nancy, and who was one of the 
ones who flirted with me, smiled widely. She looked at 
me and said "Fifteen today and you get the best present 
a woman has to offer." I tried to look suitably awed 
that I was going to get to see a naked breast. Nancy 
had no idea. Then again, maybe she did. I noticed that 
her own nipples had suddenly pushed through her sturdy 
bra and made dents in her uniform shirt. She closed the 
door and my mother fed our daughter.

It was different seeing her breast in this situation. 
They had gotten bigger, of course, as her pregnancy 
progressed, and they looked so full that I thought they 
must hurt. My daughter knew exactly what to do when 
that fat nipple was presented to her and she latched on 
just like I did.

My mom shuddered and her head fell back as she let out 
a little sound. "It stings" she said. "But then it 
feels good. "I'd forgotten about that." The baby ate 
noisily and I fidgeted, my prick hard. Mom looked up at 
me. "I named her Dawn." she said. "I hope that's OK 
with you."

I hadn't even thought about her name. It was all too 
new and strange. "Dawn." I said the name, letting it 
roll around on my tongue.

"She's the dawn of our new family." said my mother. 
"But mum's the word" she cautioned. "If we're going to 
have more babies we need to keep the origin of this one 
a secret."

Like I was going to go tell all my buddies I knocked my 
mother up.

-----

I rode back home, after being chastised by my mother 
for having ridden over ten miles on busy streets on my 
bicycle, and all the time smiling at me. I cleaned the 
house and made up some dinners I could freeze so 
there'd be things to eat when she first got home.

Dawn was loud. That's what I mostly remember about her 
in the early days. That and that I got to do something 
new. Dawn was a lusty eater, but even she couldn't 
compete with Mom's overflowing breasts. As a 
consequence, not long after she came home, Mom called 
me into the living room where she was feeding our baby.

"Bobby, honey, would you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Sure Mom." I said. I always said that.

"Your daughter only emptied one breast and then fell 
asleep. The other one hurts. Would you be kind enough 
to suck the milk out of it for me?"

I have to admit I was hesitant at first. My mind 
recoiled a little at the thought of getting milk from 
my mother's breast. I didn't know what it would taste 
like. I knew it was kind of... well milky, but it was 
more clear than it was white, or at least it looked 
like it to me when I saw drips of it on her nipples. 
But I had learned to think about things differently 
than most fifteen year old boys, and it occurred to me 
that I loved sucking those nipples, and that suggested 
it was a natural thing for a man to do.

So I did.

I lay down on the couch on the side opposite of the arm 
she was cradling our daughter in and latched on. I gave 
a tentative suck and tasted sweet, but not much. Then I 
heard her make that sound... kind of a whine... and her 
head arched back like it had in the hospital and tasted 
just FLOODED my mouth. Man-Oh-man, I was hooked almost 
instantly. It was warm and sweet and there was so much 
of it. It just slid down my throat and I began making 
noises myself.

I loved it so much that she almost couldn't wean Dawn 
when it was time. Dawn got less and less and I got more 
and more. By then, of course, we were making love 
again, almost daily, and if we did it before she fed 
Dawn she leaked all over the place. I didn't mind, 
because I just lapped and sucked her milk as her pussy 
sucked MY milk out of me. But it was a hassle for her, 
because I'd be at school and she'd be full and hurting, 
so we agreed that that part of our fun was over for a 
while.

It turned out to be about eleven months. When she quit 
nursing and dried up, I promptly put another baby in 
her womb. She was giddy because she only had one period 
after Dawn was born before I made her stop having them 
again. And this time I was trying. It took her longer 
to figure it out, because she wasn't expecting her 
periods to be all that regular. She was at a well-baby 
checkup when she asked the Doctor if he could run a 
pregnancy test... just in case. 

Doc Carter had taken care of her through the first 
pregnancy, and had gotten to know her better than most 
people as a result. He didn't know who Dawn's father 
was, but he knew there was no regular man in her life. 
She told me about what he said when he came back with 
the news that there was another bun in her oven.

"You know Claire," he said gravely. "It's possible to 
have sex and NOT get pregnant."

She said she blushed, but then firmly told him that she 
had wanted a big family when Dad was alive, and since 
he couldn't give it to her she'd just have to make do, 
even though she wasn't interested in any of the 
potential 'donors' as potential husbands. She said he 
shook his head and then grinned. "Well, it's your life. 
I kind of wish I wasn't married Claire."

Did I tell you already she was Playboy Bunny material? 
Even after Dawn was born she kept her shape. We went on 
long walks pushing Dawn's baby carriage, and then 
usually burned off even more calories having hot, 
sweaty sex afterwards. When men looked at her on the 
street... and men DID look at her... it made her horny. 
It made me want to do such a good job that she wouldn't 
think about those other guys.

We decided to name this one Dodge if it was a boy and 
Chastity if it was a girl. That's because of Mrs. 
Hornblower, who lived next door. Mrs. Hornblower was 
about eleventy-nine years old, all wrinkled and dried 
up looking. She still wore hats every time she went out 
of her house, even if it was just to check up on me to 
see if I was mowing her yard the way she wanted me to. 
She'd sniffed a lot when Mom was carrying Dawn, but she 
went on the moral offensive when our second baby began 
to show. 

She reminded my mother of all the reasons it was a sin 
to have children out of wedlock and said how 
disappointed she was with Mom and things like that. It 
got so Mom tried to dodge her every chance she got... 
hence the name Dodge. We couldn't think of a name for a 
girl that would meet those requirements, but Mrs. 
Hornblower talked about chastity and purity so much 
that it was kind of obvious when I mentioned it. What 
little girl would want to run around being called 
"Purity"? Especially when she was about sixteen or 
seventeen, which we knew would happen at some point.

We decided that the powers that be had opted for Dodge 
because she had a boy. We laughed about it when she 
said she was neither pure, nor chaste. Not around me 
anyway.

Well, I could go on, but you're probably tired by now. 
I'll cut to the chase and tell you that, by the time I 
went off to college and met the woman who would bear my 
official children, I had impregnated my mother a total 
of four times. She had exactly seven periods from the 
time I crawled into her bed the first time, to the time 
she tearfully kissed me goodbye as I drove off to start 
my degree in Biology. Naturally, I followed that up 
with an M.D. with a specialty of... Obstetrics.

It just seemed to be the thing to do.

Mom went on the pill after I left. She had her hands 
full and said four - five counting me - was enough to 
satisfy her. I asked her why she was going on the pill, 
kind of jealous like, and she just smiled at me.

"You're going to come visit me sometimes aren't you?" 
she said, trying to sound injured.

I did, too, as often as I could, at least until I met 
and married Darla. Since then? Well, I'll leave you 
with a little bit of mystery in the story.

I now have seven children, four who call me brother, 
and the three my wife Darla gave me who call me Daddy. 
They're all great kids, and I love them all to pieces. 
We made the world a better place by bringing those kids 
into it.
We have no regrets at all. 

Gotta go. Mrs. Abernathy next door is going to watch 
the kids while we go on a little trip. Darla is giving 
a lecture series about how to combat Dutch Elm disease. 

Mom has graciously offered to let us use the spare 
bedroom to save on motel costs, since the lectures are 
at the State Agricultural College ten miles down the 
road from where she lives. Darla thought that was a 
great idea, since with all my brothers and sisters 
there I'll have something to do while she attends all 
those boring meetings.

I don't think I'll be bored at all.

END

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 42