My Mommy's Good Boy

I was just a few months past my 22nd birthday when my mother and I became lovers. Having recently been discharged after serving four years as an Army paratrooper, I had returned to my hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, and also to my childhood home, to begin building a life in the civilian world. Living at home gave me the much-needed opportunity to save money -- I had spent pretty frivolously during my military service, and would need several months of steady paychecks to get on my feet.
Mom was glad to have me. All three of her children (I'm the middle child, and the only son) were grown and moved out. Both of my sisters had married while I was overseas, and mom missed having a houseful. In truth, I was always my mother's favorite -- I wouldn't say this to either of my sisters, but then, I wouldn't tell them what I'm about to tell you, either!
I have to say that mom had adjusted very well to me becoming an adult. She simply asked that I be respectful of her home, and that I phone her if I, as she put it, 'got lucky and wasn't coming home until the next day'. Yeah, it was an agreeable situation. And to be honest, it was the first time in my life that I ever had my beloved mom to myself!
We shared household responsibilities such as cleaning and cooking, and I was happy to contribute to our household. It was so nice to be cared for -- for the first time in years, I was regularly being fed all my childhood favorites! I realized pretty early how lucky I was, and wanted to make sure mom knew how much I appreciated her. One night, after she had served my all-time favorite meal, we both stood to clear the table. I put my hand on my mom's arm, signaling that she should leave the dishes.
"I've got these tonight, mom," I said. "You sit down and turn on the TV." I stepped close to her, drawing her into a deep embrace. "Thank you," I said into the top of her head, "for everything. I feel so welcome here. I wasn't sure what coming home would be like, and you've made it wonderful." I kissed the top of her head (I'd reached my full height of just under 6', and mom was all of 5'6".
She had tears in her eyes as she pulled back and looked into mine. "Min gode pojke," she said, reverting to the Swedish epithet of my early life. "Min gode pojke" (my good boy), "I am your mother, and this will always be your home. With you here again, I'm happier now than I've been in years." I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, the same kiss we'd shared as long as I can remember. Firm and tender at the same time, our mouths together, and lasting for several seconds. Another hug, squeezing her firmly against me, before releasing her.
"Go," I said. "I'll put on some tea and bring you a cup when it's ready." She pulled me close again, briefly squeezing me as I had her, before thanking me, letting go and settling into the family room.
*****
I suppose some background might be in order. Like so many other children, my parents divorced when I was young. I was 11 when my father moved out after 16 years of marriage and three children. This was in the mid- to late-1970s, when divorce was still a word whispered.
My parents did not have an amicable divorce. Frankly, I don't think either of them ever spoke a civil word about the other as long as they lived. Mom got custody and dad got visitation. It was always strange when we went with dad. He had traveled a lot for work during their marriage, and preferred to spend his time in the bars rather than at home, so he really seemed a stranger to me.
He soon was living with another woman (to their credit, their marriage lasted the rest of dad's life -- I guess he eventually found the right woman).
Money was tight after the separation, with mom working three part-time jobs for several years. She hadn't worked during their marriage, and returning to the workforce couldn't have been easy.
Eventually, she managed to get back full-time with the phone company, her employer before her marriage, and things got a bit easier financially, though we were a decidedly working-class family.
I started working illegally the summer I was 13, hauling cinder blocks for a friend's dad, who owned a small construction company. The work was grueling, but handing cinder blocks up overhead repeatedly for 8 hours a day put me in great shape to play football that fall.
I'd always been close with my mom, as so many of us with a stay-at-home parent tend to be. Mom was the one consistent presence in my life, and was like deity to me: the source of my life, my provider, my healer, and my protector.
I remember a line from the movie The Crow: 'Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.' That line still evokes fond memories of my mother. Can there marmaris escort be a love purer than that between mother and child?
I was a pretty good kid, in hindsight. I got good grades (honor society all throughout high school), was active in sports and other activities, and had a path for my life planned in the Army at an early age. Sure, I liked to party a bit -- beer and weed, mostly, but nothing that ever caused any legal trouble.
A lot of that, I credit to my mom. Ours was a "you're going to do it anyway, so I'd rather you and your friends did it here" house. Mom was, in many ways, surprisingly permissive, though in other ways, she could be surprisingly rigid, too. She was a product of her own upbringing, I suppose.
I remember once during my senior year in high school, mom walked in on me while I was masturbating to a porn mag. I swore that my bedroom door was locked, but it suddenly swung open and she stepped in to the sight of me laying on my bed, pleasuring myself. I quickly tried to cover up and remove the magazine from her sight.
She ducked out quickly and closed the door without a word, but later told me that I shouldn't touch myself, that it was wrong. I was confused by this; snooping in my mom's closet years earlier, I had found a book of Scandinavian erotica. I had seen mom on multiple occasions, laying in her bed under the covers, reading the book, which was called Love 1 even if she didn't ask for anything, I'd poke my head in, asking if she might like a cup of tea while she bathed, all the while gaining the mental images of my lovely mother, naked and dripping wet in the tub.
As you can imagine, there were many times that I pictured mom as I masturbated. Did I feel guilty over this 'wrong' behavior, and fantasizing about my mom? In a way, yes. I always wanted to be her 'gode pojke', her good boy. But I also didn't want to change what I was doing. I could keep a secret.
*****
After returning from the Army, I got a job working for a fairly large local employer. Dozens of young adults in our 20s worked there. As such, it was very common for co-workers to become romantically or sexually involved. That was the case with Wendy. One Friday night, as was a typical custom, a group of us would meet for drinks after work.
This night was no different than others; some folks would stay for a while, drifting off to whatever else they did on the weekends. Eventually, only three of us were left: Wendy, another woman, and me. Wendy asked me to dance at one point in the evening, which actually surprised me. Since we'd met, she'd been standoffish toward me. I thought perhaps I'd done something to give her a bad opinion of me, but didn't quite know how to breach the divide I sensed.
Happily, I'd misread things with Wendy, as she showed by grinding on me on the dance floor. Not flirtatiously, not in a 'I'm young and sexy and like to tease' way -- Wendy dirty danced with intention, pressing one leg between mine as we danced, sliding up and down against my cock, which hardened immediately. She left no doubt in my mind how this night would end.
Wendy was a cute blonde, a little chubby, with perky tits and, as I could see as we danced, nipples so big they were visible through her bra when they were erect. We spent several songs pressed together on the floor, crotch to crotch, then me directly behind Wendy, my jean-clad erection rubbing up and down over her full, plump ass as she ground back against me.
After we returned to the table, Wendy was very matter-of-fact, not showing any indication of what we'd been up to. I guessed that she was discrete, not wanting our co-worker to know what was taking place between us. As soon as our co-worker left, Wendy pulled me close and kissed me. I slid my tongue between her lips and our mouths expressed what our bodies had been saying as we danced.
"I like you, and I want to spend the night with you," Wendy said. I asked her what would happen on Monday when we were at work. "Hi, Jim", Wendy replied with a shrug.
You know, I really appreciate a woman who can accept sex simply for the sake of pleasure. I was turned on and looked forward to fucking this horny girl. I asked if she wanted to go to her place. She told me she couldn't, as she lived with her dad. I told her we could go to my place. We left, and she followed me in her car. The club we had been at was less than two miles from my house, so it wasn't long before we were enjoying drinks in my living room.
"Who all lives here?" Wendy asked, looking around at the room, which definitely did not look like it was furnished by a 22-year-old guy. I told her it was my mom's house, and that I was staying here until marmaris escort bayan I could get my own place. She asked if it was cool that she was there. I smiled and told her "You haven't met my mom. This is no problem."
Wendy accepted that, and we headed to my room, which was at the opposite end of the house from my mom's master bedroom, so we had two bedrooms between us. I soon found out that Wendy was very vocal during sex, especially when she climaxed. Not so much words as just unusual sounds. I never had to wonder if anything I did with Wendy worked for her. Her sex sounds were a dead giveaway.
Even our first night together, she made enough noise that I held my palm over her mouth to silence her, thinking she could wake my mom. Kinky little minx that she was, the restraint turned her on even more, and her noises got louder and louder. Wendy and I fucked three times that night, and I deposited each load into her eager cunt. I enjoyed her plump curves, as well as her pussy, which got tighter and tighter each time she came -- and Wendy had a greater capacity for orgasm than any woman I'd known to that point!
When I woke the following morning, I was the only one in the bed. My first thought was that Wendy left during the early morning hours to get out without my mom seeing her. No big deal. I didn't mind at all the thought that Wendy used me for sex and took off without a word. I don't think most young men would mind!
I slipped on some shorts and went out to get morning coffee. When I got to the kitchen, I found mom and Wendy drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes while they chatted like old friends. That was a first for me. This was shaping up to be a pretty entertaining hookup!
Wendy was back to being pretty matter-of-fact, and I followed her lead. She finished her coffee and said she needed to be going. I walked her to her car (mom raised me to be a gentleman) and watched her pull away. Returning to the house, I poured a refill and sat down in the barstool across from mom, who had a strange smirk on her face.
"So," she began. "What the fuck were you doing to that girl that she made those sounds?" She timed it perfectly that I almost spit out the mouthful of coffee I'd just sipped.
"Well, if you really want to know," I said after I stopped coughing, "there's a special thing I do with my thumb that drove her absolute...."
"Stop", mom laughed, covering her ears and shaking her head 'no' playfully. "I don't need to know. I'll just say one thing: you sure as hell didn't get that from your father!" Have I mentioned that mom and I were close? There really wasn't anything we couldn't talk about with each other.
The weekend that followed was pretty uneventful. I went out to a local bar with live music Saturday night with my best friend, something we'd done each week since I got home. Sunday was pretty much a chore day around the house. I was still in the habit of ironing my clothes, a habit I picked up during my Army years, so there was a lot of laundry and ironing going on.
Sunday night, mom and I had dinner together and settled on the couch to watch TV in comfortable silence. As the night grew late, mom stood up and stretched. "It's time for this old lady to turn in", she said. I noticed as she stretched that my mom's nipples were erect, and clearly visible through her white nightgown. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of her dark nipples. It had been a long time since I'd seen my mom's body like that, and now, even at age 56, she was sexy as hell.
"Old, my ass", I said. "You know you have a better body than Wendy, right?" I forced a laugh, hoping mom wouldn't think the comment inappropriate.
She smiled and reached out her arms to me. I willingly stepped into the circle of her arms, and enjoyed being close to my mom. She tilted her head up and, expecting our typical kiss, I bent down to her. Her lips were moist, which was unusual and she parted them as our mouths met, taking my lower lip between hers. The kiss seemed to last a bit longer than usual, as well; long enough that I felt my cock stir in my jeans.
I wrapped my arms firmly around mom, trying to draw her closer, but she placed her palms on my chest and softly pushed away. "Goodnight, min gode pojke", she said, turning to go to bed. As she walked away, I dropped back to my seat on the couch, a rush of emotions and hormones causing my mind to churn. Wow! I thought. Did mom really just kiss me like that? I unbuttoned the fly of my 501s, and pulled out my cock, already almost fully hard.
*****
So, maybe you're wondering about my cock. Sure, I could tell you it's a 11" hose the thickness of a grown man's wrist, but I don't escort marmaris want to lie to you. I suppose I have a pretty average cock. It's a bit over 6" long, not especially thick, but definitely not a pencil dick, and it has a large mushroom head that my lovers tell me rubs them just right. It will tickle the back of a throat, has been at least adequate for the majority of women I've been with, and isn't too big for anal sex. I'm pretty content with what I've got, and more so with how I use it.
***** Right now, I had a sudden need to relieve myself of a load of hot, sticky cum. I grabbed my cock harder than usual and stroked quickly as I remembered my mom's kiss as it was, then fantasized that she opened her mouth as we kissed. The tip of her tongue, I imagined, ran left to right along my lower lip, then pressed into my mouth, dancing nimbly against the tip of my own tongue.
Our tongues intertwined, circling each other and darting forward and back. Eventually, my tongue penetrated my mom's mouth. I felt her lips close and her cheeks suck in as she drew my tongue deep into her mouth.... then slid her mouth up and down, sucking my tongue as though it were my cock.... and yeah, that's when I erupted, letting fly a load of cum, barely pulling my t-shirt up in time to shoot all over my chest and stomach.
I don't think it took a full minute to achieve what was one of the most intense orgasms I'd ever had. I'd spent four years away from home, and was sexually active during the last two years of high school, so it had been a very long time since I'd included thoughts of my own mother during my stroke time. But damn! That was fucking intense! I sat there, panting, my heart pounding in my chest as my cock still throbbed after my orgasm. Fuck, I thought, what the hell was that about? My mind raced, and I realized for the first time as an adult: I want to fuck my mommy.
*****
When I was young, after my parents divorced, I had a hard time adjusting. I really felt abandoned by my dad, and I blamed him for my struggles for many years. There I was, a boy of 11 or 12, dealing with abandonment issues (which we didn't have a term for at the time). As I mentioned earlier, mom was the only constant: my North Star, my guiding light. My fear of abandonment was so great I would sometimes be afraid to be alone at night, and would ask mom if I could sleep in her bed. She never denied me, and it was always a source of comfort to me to feel her warm body next to me; to be held close in her loving arms, drawn fully up against her body. Her body heat alone was comfort; it helped to ground me so my fear could be kept at bay.
I remember reaching out to mom at night, placing my hand on her stomach, being comforted by the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily in her peaceful sleep. Still, it was eventually confusing for me. My love for my mother was tied up in feelings of longing and desire that I didn't really understand. I imagine many people can relate to that. Relationships between parents and children are always complicated; perhaps it's more so when the involved parties have a shared emotional trauma- like surviving divorce.
***** Lying in bed that night, my mind whirled. I could not deny the power of my attraction to and desire for my mom. I knew the word for my thoughts: incest. I knew the societal and legal prohibitions of what I was thinking. I imagined that to even broach the subject meant risking rejection, ridicule; if I could even find the courage to attempt to raise the idea, which part of mom would react? The permissive, open side, or the side which had been societally conditioned to be uptight, that had told me masturbation was wrong?
I tossed and turned, my mind trying to determine a course of action which could lead me to my goal. Something came to me -- a saying about taking on a big endeavor: how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I realized that the proper way to approach this wasn't to proposition mom directly, but to push boundaries, to see what I could get her to accept. I began laying plans to seduce my own mother!
Mom was in the habit of bathing (she only took showers when she washed her hair) in the evening after work. She always said she preferred to climb into bed clean. I determined to use her bath time as a way to test her limits. That night, I had gotten home first. When she got home, I was cooking dinner, and told her there was a good hour before the roast would come out of the oven. I suggested she relax in the tub and offered to bring her a red beer (her preferred after-work libation). She thanked me and began getting ready for her bath.
I held off on bringing her drink until I heard the water in the tub shut off. I waited nearly 10 minutes, knowing she would have had plenty of time to slip into the tub and let the warm water work on the stress of the day. I mixed her drink, then, in a flash of inspiration, I took off my t-shirt so I was dressed only in a pair of shorts. I knocked twice on the closed bathroom door, slipping right in without waiting for an answer.