When my parents divorced I urged my mother to buy a new town house that came with a maintenance contract. But mother insisted that she wanted something with a little more character and finally chose a 70-year bungalow in Fairfax County, Virginia. I must admit the house had a certain retro charm but it did require several major improvements, including a new roof, attic insulation, and, to avoid putting in an expensive new furnace, electric baseboard heating.
I'd try to get by to see mother about once a month when I would sleep on the couch in the living room. Although I was no Mr. Handyman, I did have a pretty good sense of how things worked so I could make minor repairs, proud to show mother that I had learned a few things after four years of engineering school. Two perennial problems were the old plumbing and the fireplace. The latter, despite having been cleaned by a chimney sweep (who also replaced the flue), remained temperamental when I would try to get a fire going in the winter.
Because mother loved to watch the Turner Classic Movies channel, especially when some sophisticated 30s or 40s comedy or drama was featured, I gave her a DVD player that first Christmas in her new/old house so she could rent the oldies she loved. Often in the winter, after dinner, I'd light—or try to light—a fire and we'd curl up side by side under a blanket on the couch to watch the latest DVD mother had rented. We both loved the great actresses and suave men who appeared in these films. The dialogue was always snappy, sophisticated, and often filled with double entendres. I remember remarking once to mother how I loved the actresses with their slinky dresses and elegant cigarette holders. She agreed, remarking how the sense of subtle seductiveness had seemed to disappear from modern movies.
The weather when I came to see mother on the first weekend of February was nasty. It was cold and rainy all day Saturday making it impossible to any of the little repairs I had promised to do outside. About all I could do inside was fix a couple of faulty plugs on lamps and make sure that all the weather stripping on the doors and windows was tight. "Come warm weather," I told mother, "we've got to get these drafty windows replaced by new ones with double thermal-pane."
Mother made spaghetti for dinner, I started a fire, fixed a salad, opened the bottle of good Bordeaux I had brought as a gift, and we sat down to eat. After dinner, mother had a cigarette and then cleared the table while I loaded the latest DVD mother had rented, "They Met in Bombay," a comedy-drama from 1941 starring the incomparable Clark Gable and the beautiful and sultry Rosalind Russell. I tried to get a fire going, too, but it did not look promising.
Mother had a flair for the dramatic, having acted in several amateur theatricals, so it was no real surprise to me when she announced that she was going to slip into something that would get her in the mood for the movie. While she was changing in her bedroom I ventured outside to try to stop the banging of a loose shutter. The weather had gotten worse: the wind had picked up and the rain was turning to sleet.
As soon as I came back inside mother emerged from her bedroom dressed in sheer white silk pajamas. "You look fantastic mom," I exclaimed, "you could have stepped right out of a movie set. All you need now is a cigarette holder to complete your outfit."
"Well if you buy me one, Sweetie," mother purred, "I'll use it."
"That's a deal, kiddo" I quipped.
We settled down under a blanket and I clicked the "play" button on the remote. It was a great movie, a wonderful bit of pre-World War II fluff before America was engulfed in a horror. Mother nestled close to me under the blanket and I could smell that she had put on perfume "It's so nice to be next to you, warm and snug," mother said, giving my hand an extra hard squeeze.
At about 9:30 the electricity went off. Fortunately, mother had left burning the two candles she had set out on the table for dinner so we weren't completely blind. "Well, I guess there's nothing to do but go to bed," I sighed. Mother agreed, although neither of us was all that sleepy.
In a winter storm, a poorly insulated cottage with leaky windows and no heat—the fire had petered out by then—doesn't take long to get cold—so cold that without heavy bedding, it becomes impossible to sleep. I had only one blanket on the couch. Mother had a down comforter, which wasn't a whole lot better. At what must have been about 11:00 o'clock, I called out, "It's just too damn cold to sleep. I'm going to come get in bed with you and maybe between my blanket and your comforter we can generate enough heat to get some sleep." Mother agreed and I felt my way along the wall, through the door to her bedroom, and into her bed, dragging my blanket behind me. It was pitch dark because the candles and long since burned out.
I lay facing mother's back with my arms encircling her. Although we were both shaking at first, it didn't take long for our two bodies, pressed together under two layers of insulating bedding, to warm up. And as I warmed, I hardened. Mother, of course, felt my cock between her legs. I began to kiss the back of her neck and whispered in her ear, "I love your silk pajamas. You don't know how sexy you look in them. And I love the way the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume mingle in your hair. It's intoxicating."
Mother and I are not big people. Mother's breasts are small which I find tremendously appealing in a woman and my cock is not large by any means. It's in proportion to my body and, thank god, fully functional and easily aroused as it was now. If I was slow, gentle, and loving, I was sure that it would fit snugly into mother's rectum.
"I've got to dash to the bathroom," I suddenly announced.
"Please come back as quick as you can, Sweetie," mother implored, "I need you to keep me warm."
"Oh, I will, believe, mom," I answered.
The bathroom door was near the bed and easy to find in the dark and the sink with the medicine cabinet above it was right across from the door. I had seen a small jar of Vaseline there and with a little fumbling found it, opened it, scoped up a gob of Vaseline in my right hand, and smeared it on my cock from head to root.
As I climbed back into bed and assumed my former position, I whispered into mother's ear. "Drop you bottoms, mom, because I don't want to stain them." Surprisingly, she did so without comment. I gently opened her mouth with my left hand and began to massage her gums and the inside of her cheek.
"I'm going to be very slow and gentle as I penetrate you," I whispered, giving her ear lobe a nibble. "If you feel that I'm hurting you, just bit down on my fingers and I'll stop."
But mother didn't bit me but rather lowered her left hand and began stroking her pussy as I slowly entered her rectum. At the same time, I ask mother to raise herself slightly so I could cup my right hand ove one of her lovely breasts and caress the now erect nipple. I was in total ecstasy.
"I want you to feel warm and loved, mom" I cried, "I want you so much. I want to fill your little ass with my cock and make love to you all night."
If only I could have, but I soon reached sensory overload and shot off again and again into that forbidden tunnel. We then fell asleep with me still cupping mother's breasts and my now shrunken cock still in her rectum, though barely.
