Breaing the Duc!

An occasional series of short erotic stories and novellas about first time sexual experiences... some are funny, some are sad and some have strayed into the realms of the taboo or the unusual...mostly the stories are about people and relationships rather than just sex although there are explicit sexual descriptions in some if not all of the tales. So be warned!

*****

THE MUMMY'S BOY

Gavin's Story -- Proving that a boy's best friend is his mother.

You may well ask how it can be that a twenty year old guy can still be a virgin in the 21st century.

I often wondered the same thing myself and I was one! Twenty years old and never been laid and with no immediate prospects of the situation improving.

My father had the answer and used to say it every day "That boy is a complete fuck-up!"

I guess he was probably right. In my father's eyes just about everything I turned my hand to became a total disaster and that went double for relationships and especially so when it came to girls.

It was not that I didn't like girls or want to get laid, I did! Oh fuck, didn't I just! Much of my waking life and probably a good part of my dream time as well was given over exclusively to thinking about girls and how to get into their knickers. It just didn't seem that I was ever going to get it right. I was convinced that I was going to spend the rest of my life wanking and wanting.

It wasn't that I was ugly, or a wimp or a waster, I was none of those things. In appearance I was a reasonably good looking sort of guy, I stood just an inch or so under six foot with short curly light brown hair that went blondish in the sun and had a fairly athletic body, not terribly muscular, but I was a cross-country runner and a good tennis and badminton player so I had immensely strong legs and quite powerful arms and shoulders. I wasn't ashamed to take my shirt off on the beach!

My teachers at school had thought me intelligent and a good student, I got decent A level grades and got into Cheltenham University to read English Literature & Creative Writing.

Just getting to University to do the course that I wanted to do had been a major fucking uphill battle.

First off my father, the all-powerful, never-to-be opposed, Sir 'Billy' Butler, KBE, self-made millionaire, industrialist and development visionary finally took an interest in what I wanted to do because he saw my choice of English Literature & Creative Writing as a 'mamby-pamby' subject with no useful application in the real world.

"That boy is a complete fuck-up...!" He had shouted at my mother. "Why can't he do something like engineering or architectural design... Something that would be useful to the business."

"I don't want to be an engineer...I want to be a teacher..." I had put in but I might just have well not been in the room for all the chance that Dad would be listening to me.

"Christ...there is no need for him to go to college at all...I left school at fifteen I had made my first million by the time that I was thirty..." He bellowed in his rough northern bullish voice.

We had all heard this a thousand times, how Dad had started on a building site as a labourer, saved his wages for the first few months and then bought a load of old fireplaces and wooden fixtures from Victorian houses that were being pulled down in Bradford and sold them to fashionable developers in London at extortionate prices. It was the start of his empire. But I wasn't my father and I didn't want to follow him into his dream...I wanted to teach English literature not spend years as a storeman and site worker in his firm before joining Dad on the board of directors earning my position 'the hard way' as he had.

"Well he won't get any money from me!" He had ended. "If you want to let him stay a fuck-up all his life and become a bloody fairy teacher...earning peanuts, then you can pay for it..."

That was his first and last conversation about my future, he stormed from the room and never discussed my education again.

"Never mind dear," Mother had said putting her arm comfortingly around my waist. "We don't need your father's money... it will be just the two of as always." She had given me a warm hug. "Literature sounds nice...I used to love reading at school...I loved the Secret Garden and the Chalet School books..."

My mother was not a brainless bimbo...she just worked very hard at making people think she was! She had a mind like a steel trap but the words that issued from her full cupid lips hid that fact admirably.

Money for my fees was never going to be an issue. Mother was a wealthy woman in her own right, she was a Sinclair, old Scottish money, and was the executor for my inheritance, a decent sum which had been left by my grandmother and came to me when I was twenty-five but could be drawn on for my education.

Dad had married my mother for her social position and money, he had muscled in on the former, using her social connections, but had never got his hands on her cash. My mother might be a bit of an air-head at times more concerned with her dinner parties, charity work and her wardrobe, but she wasn't stupid. I just never did understand why she married him, they never did anything together and although they shared the house at Gloucester he had his own suite of rooms and was hardly ever at home.

The second problem was Mother herself. To say that she was possessive would be a bloody understatement.

We had a strange relationship. I had never been 'her little boy' to be fussed over and cuddled and treated like a pet poodle, the way that her sister, Aunt Georgina had treated my cousin Bertie. Nobody had been surprised when 'Bend-Over Bertie' had been arrested in Soho dressed as a woman and subsequently had left England to live in San Francisco, his mother had always treated him more like a dress-up dolly than a boy.

Mother had always encouraged me to have male friends and do boyish and manly things, sports and outdoor activities, but had always kept me close, I guess that she felt the need to stand between me and my father when I was young. I had been a late baby, she was thirty when I was born. She didn't really fuss over me, but she always picked me as her partner for tennis, or croquet or Monopoly and we always took our summer holiday alone together, either riding in Ireland or sailing at Capri or Sorrento, and she was happy to trail around with me when I wanted to explore museums and art galleries even though I knew she got bored and would rather be shopping.

As I got older I didn't mind the shopping so much although I sometimes got horny and embarrassed in shops where there were lingerie shows I had to sit and watch or when Mother made me wait outside the changing cubicle whilst she tried on clothes and I got glimpses of her in her knickers and bra. It was as near as I was getting to seeing a girl undressing for me. It wasn't that bad at all really my mother's body was hot even in her forties.

I think that my reaching the age when I would go to university was her worst nightmare. She had fought my father tooth and claw to prevent me being sent away to boarding school at eleven. I had made my applications and was all set to look for a place at Exeter, or St. Andrews or even the University of East Anglia, anywhere far away where I would have to live on campus. I wanted my independence and I thought that getting away might finally get me the opportunity to get myself laid.

After hours of arguing, temper tantrums and tears we had finally reached a compromise which at least suited Mother. I would go to Cheltenham University, which meant that I could continue to live at home, she would buy me a car to commute into college each day and pay my fees and allowance...whilst I continued to live at home.

The worst aspect of Mother's possessiveness was that she wanted to be the only woman in my life. She monitored every contact that I had with girls and at the first sign that I was getting near to finally getting a shag she would swoop in and break it up using one excuse or another to chase the girl away or remove me from the relationship. I don't know if she was aware that I was still a virgin but she certainly wasn't going to make it easy for me to lose it!

*

My first serious crush was for a local girl called Melanie Cooper. She was the first love of my life! We never got as far as sex although I admit to thinking and fantasising about it. Melanie became the main object of my erotic fantasies when I wanked off in bed each night. I thought the world of Mel and spent most of my pocket money on sweets and cinema tickets and hanging out with her stupid, giggly girlfriends at the youth club, buying the whole group Cokes and Fantas and milk shakes and was in seventh heaven if she let me hold her hand and walk her home and kiss her goodnight on the door-step.

It all came to an abrupt and heart breaking end when I stumbled upon her snogging with Wesley Moore behind the church hall one evening when she was supposed to be at choir practice. Wesley was twenty-two and a bit of a tear-away, he hung out with the other black kids from the council estate and was known to smoke weed and pop pills, he wasn't at college and he didn't work but always had money. His brother was in prison for drug dealing and he had been up before the magistrates for thieving and was on probation. If Mel's middle class parents had found out they would have seriously freaked out at the idea of their innocent virginal daughter dating a horny black boy.

Worse than any of that stuff, Wesley boasted that he never hung out with birds that he wasn't fucking!

I didn't believe it of Mel for an instant, but she had thrown a guilty hissing fit when I caught her with Wesley's hand up her jumper and was refusing to talk to me and so I did the only thing that I could, I asked her sister if she was shagging Wesley.

"Well she sure as shit wasn't getting it from you!" Charlene Cooper had laughed, and wiggled her little finger at me derogatively. I guessed that somewhere along the road I had missed the green light with Mel and had lost out where Wesley hadn't.

I was devastated and spent three days in my room refusing to come out, not even to eat. Finally it was my mother who persuaded me that losing Mel was not the end of the world and tempted me back into the real world with promises of driving lessons on my seventeenth birthday with my own car to follow.

I still went through several months in the wilderness with every girl that I tried to date giggling and crooking their little finger at me, and then I met Kellie.

It was my eighteenth birthday party. I had finally finished my driving lessons and passed my test and Mother had bought me a brand new arctic white Ford Focus 1.3 hatchback and had insisted on throwing an extravagant party for me to celebrate my getting into university. I say that the party was to celebrate my birthday but in reality it became an excuse for Mother to put up a marquee in the garden, hire a band and caterers and invite a hundred or so of her friends to come and drink my father's booze for an evening and talk charity donations. In fairness I did get to invite a handful of my friends, the ones that Mother approved of, after all it was MY birthday party. My father even deigned to put in a brief appearance, shook my hand and passed me a cheque for £100 before using the party as an excuse to spend the night at his club in London.

Kellie Flanagan wasn't a guest at the party she was one of the caterers. She was pretty, with dark auburn hair and looked really sexy and neat in her white blouse and tight short black skirt which rode right up her thighs every time that she knelt down to pick up glasses from beside the garden chairs which had been put out for the guests. It was a warm July evening and people were glad to be able to wander about the garden. I had been attracted to Kellie from the time that I first spotted her and spent most of the evening discreetly following her around watching that rising skirt hem and trying get into a position that I would be able to catch any little up skirt moments that might occur and get a glimpse of her white cotton knickers.

Yes, I was still a bloody virgin, and a frustrated and horny one at that, willing to settle for cheap thrills if nothing else was available.

I think that my mother had cottoned on to my little endeavour with Kellie and had intercepted me a couple of times and tried to divert my attention by sending me to talk to various guests and had even got me to dance with some of her female friends.

Most of them were old and the younger ones were dogs! Harriet Latimer was OK, she was about thirty-five and very attractive wearing a low cut, off the shoulder dress showing virtually all of her tits and was married to some guy that worked for my father from time to time. She seemed a bit disgruntled when my mother dragged her away from a man she was obviously flirting with to dance with me and although she made polite noises was only too glad to get away when the music paused.

Dancing with Mrs. Pope was a bit more interesting. Felicia Pope was a widow and probably fifty-five with a pretty if somewhat florid face and dyed blonde hair. She had a rounded firm figure and seemed only too pleased to be dancing with a young man, clinging close with her large soft tits pressed against my dinner jacket and made sure that our thighs made contact whenever the music allowed. At one point my hand accidently strayed to cup one of her rounded generous buttocks and I was a bit surprised when she let it remain there without complaint. She made no attempt at polite conversation but hummed quietly to the tune that the band was playing and positively reeked of gin. When the music stopped she thanked me for the dance.

"Come and find me later...we can take a walk in the garden and you can tell me all about your work for the Foreign Office..." She said with a big confidential smile and patted my arm before weaving away towards the pavilion bar. I guessed that she had mistaken me for somebody else, all the guys looked alike in their dinner jackets, but she had given me hope and I thought I might seek her out later. Perhaps if I could escape my mother's surveillance Mrs. Pope might be willing to help me break my duck. She did seem almost as desperate as I was.

As it happened instead of meeting up with Felicia Pope again I ran into Kellie, quite by chance.

I was trying to hide from Mother and absolutely gasping for a cigarette and so had sought out a bit of privacy in the rockery maze. Turning a corner I came upon Kellie sitting on one of the little stone love seats which were scattered about the Victorian rockery garden. She had obviously slipped away for a quiet smoke as well and was hiding where her supervisor couldn't see her.

As I approached she started to get up to leave.

"Please, don't go...stay and finish your cigarette..." I said.

"I shouldn't really... My boss doesn't like us mixing with the client's guests..." She said. Her voice was soft and had a rolling Irish brogue which was so sexy that it made my balls tingle.

"It's my birthday party..." I told her, "So I guess that you are working for me in a way...and I would like you to stay..."

She stayed and we smoked another couple of cigarettes, talked about favourite pieces of music, we were both fans of Clannad, books we had both read and shared sips of scotch from the hip flask that I had in my dinner jacket pocket. Actually it was one of my father's silver flasks but I made me feel grown up to have the weight of it comfortingly in my jacket.

Close up she was even more attractive, she was probably mid-twenties and so a bit older than me, but I thought that she was gorgeous, I got a hard-on just sitting talking to her and by the time we left to rejoin the party I was head over heels in love with her! Well, head over heels infatuated, at least, and certainly head over heels in lust.

True to form we were pounced on by my mother as we walked back through the garden but she was too late as we had already exchanged telephone numbers.

"I hope that you are not thinking of seeing that woman again!" Mother had scolded me as Kellie walked out of earshot. I was beginning to believe that my mother's main objective in life was to stop me from getting laid.

"Why not Mother, she is very nice... we like a lot of the same things..."

"I won't have my son dating the hired help!" She said haughtily. That was my mother, still living forty years in the past. She knew better...these stupid words just tumbled out of her mouth to embarrass you.

"Mother! This is 1998, catering contractors are not the 'hired help' or servants anymore!" I stated and stormed off indignantly.

The party was breaking up, a handful of my mother's more privileged guests had retreated to the house and were settling down for late night drinks, or perhaps they were going to play bridge, either way I wasn't invited but I wasn't sufficiently pissed or tired that I wanted my bed yet. My friends had long ago got bored and left for the pub except for 'Holy Michael' who didn't drink and had to drive his father home.

The caterers were packing up their things and I noticed to my disappointment that Kellie had boarded the mini-bus with the other waitresses and bar staff. I had cherished a randy fantasy that she might stay on and that I would be able to smuggle her up to my bedroom without Mother catching us, but it was just a pipedream, she was leaving and I was alone again...naturally!.

I lit a cigarette and wandered across the lawn to the rockery garden, I could sit there without being seen from the house, drink my father's whisky from his flask and wallow in my sexual frustration and misery.

"Hello again, young Gregory..." A voice slurred close to my ear. I had not heard Felicia Pope creep up on me until she sat down beside me. It felt like a gender reversed Miss Muffat and the spider. A very gin soaked spider. I desperately wanted to get laid but I wasn't sure if hers was the web that I wanted to fall into.

"It is Gavin, Mrs. Pope... Gavin Butler... Pamela's son, remember!" I reminded her.

"Yes, of course you are dear..." She said, her gin soaked words running together in a liquid verbal slurry. She nodded at the cigarette between my fingers. "Do you have another one of those, sweetie?" I lit a cigarette for her and waited until she had smoked it then suggested that I should take her home.

"Do you need me to drive you home, Mrs. Pope?" I asked. She was as pissed as a newt and Mother would go bloody snake eyed if she found her passed out on the lawn somewhere in the morning. She grunted non-committedly and so I took her arm and steered her towards the drive.

Getting her into my car proved a bit of a trial. I had coped with friends who were pissed in the past but this was a mature lady and a friend of my mother. Eventually I managed to shoe-horn her into the front passenger seat of my car, just praying that she wasn't going to throw up or piss herself on my brand new upholstery. She was quite limp and didn't object when my hands wandered to places that they should not have been whilst trying to get her comfortable, her tits were large and soft and I could feel the hard points of her nipples through the fabric of her dress and bra and her chubby thighs felt cool beneath my hand which accidently slid beneath her dress as I helped swing her legs into the car.

I leant over her to fasten the seat belt and nearly jumped off the ground banging my head on the inside of the car roof when I felt her hand cup my balls and gently squeeze. Christ, she was going to give me a hard-on doing that!

"H-m-m-m-m-m, you have grown into a big boy, Gerry!" She slurred.

"It is Gavin...Mrs. Pope..." I corrected again and tried to disentangle myself. I was terrified that she was going to put some real effort into her grip in her drunken state. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all, her hands looked strong enough to crack walnuts.