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If this were a fairy tale, it would start out with the words "In a cabin by a lake, Richard of Leeds..." Actually there is a cabin, a lake with a body in it, and a young man named Richard Claymore who was born in Leeds Maine. In the fairy tale, the young man and a woman fall in love. Richard and Vivian did fall in love. Reality intrudes and the center may not hold, because she is his mother. Illusion and reality blur when the tale is about you. And when you're living it, you're far from certain that it will end "happily ever after." I should know.
I guess it doesn't happen often but it does happen; that's why there are statistics. The odds against a mother and son becoming lovers are lots higher than the odds of someone getting killed in an automobile accident. 42,862 people were killed last year on the roads; my father was one. The driver wasn't speeding; he just couldn't stop. My father didn't stop; he just wasn't looking.
I was Eighteen and my mother Vivian was thirty-seven and neither of us was terribly unhappy when it happened. When a tyrant dies, there aren't many mourners. He left us both with remnants from years of subtle, and at times overt abuse...but with enough money to live on...and a cabin in the woods...not far from the lake.
We went to the cabin for a week after the funeral. It was early spring but there was still some snow on the ground. We had stocked up and ended up not going into town at all.
For the first two days we prepared our meals, walked, read and talked, talked, talked. After exhausting the subject of what a bastard my father was, I asked my mother a question that led us into the unforeseen. I had seen very little affection pass between my parents and I was curious...maybe too curious. Perhaps what happened between us would have happened anyway but I remember the quiet space between the question and the answer. She could have brushed me off or told me off, but she just gave me a half-smile and looked into the black of my eyes and answered, "It wasn't very good Ricky, it wasn't very good at all...almost all of my orgasms came when he wasn't in the room." She laughed, and so did I after getting over the surprise of the intimacy she shared with me.
The tenor of our talk changed after that. We were conspiratorial allies. She shared and I shared. We were tied in a new way...her head rested against my shoulder in a new way...she held my hand as we walked...I looked at my mother...and I saw a woman.
If this were a fairy tale, Vivian would be perfectly beautiful...she was close. Her legs were long at five foot seven. Her breasts, which had not escaped my attention even before that, were fuller than almost all of the 'natural' women I knew; and I had always heard what a pretty mother I had...and in my 'new' assessment, she was wonderfully rounded from behind.
In close proximity to her, I scrutinized her form, her movements, and her fragrant heat...all day long. I became an aggressive pursuer of my mother. I was determined to drive through the small psychological opening she had given me. My talk became filled with compliments and innuendo and I felt the pleasure she took in them. I had no idea how far I could go before I was rebuffed...or if I would be.
The first night we held hands in a 'new' way, we had some wine and were watching an old horror film in black and white...certainly not a 'sexy' movie. After a few minutes I laid our hands in her lap. I pressed gently. I could feel the hair on her pussy through the satiny pajama bottoms she wore. I was sure she had no panties on. I thought my heart had moved to my neck as the pounding made it's way up to my temples.
I wasn't sure what to do. If it were Janice or Carol, I would have done what I always did...but this was my mother. I turned to look at her face and I saw my own desire reflected back. I kissed her. Her two hands cradled my face as our lips met and the first kiss was soft and her gentle moan was covered by the sound of both of us breathing deeply through our noses. She kissed my eyes and when our lips met again her arms went around my neck and her tongue went into my mouth...my mother's tongue...in my mouth.
With her soft slippery tongue on mine, I was sure of one thing. I didn't want Carol or Janice and it had nothing to do with older or younger; I wanted her. I reached under the pajama top and the shock of her bare breast and erect nipple in the palm of my hand caused me to press hard against her mouth. I fondled my mother's satiny tit and pulled the long nipple a little too hard between my fingers. I started to think, "Are we really going to..." and then my mother pulled back and put her hands on my shoulders.
"Wait baby..." Had my pinching her nipple awakened her to the reality of what we were doing? At any rate, "no" was the answer to my unfinished question. "Honey...I ...I had too much wine...I'm sorry Ricky." She was obviously confused and I could see the flush of embarrassment across her chest. She said, "We'll talk in the morning." She gave me a kiss on the cheek and went to bed. I was left with more questions than answers...and a raging hard-on...a hard-on that wanted satisfaction in the most forbidden place...inside my mother.
As I stroked up and down the longest distance I ever had to travel along the iron pipe my cock had become...I thought of my mother. I thought of her coming into my room to suck on her son's aching cock...she didn't. I thought of her coming in to spread her long legs to open the pussy her son would enter...she didn't. I thought of going in to her room and forcing my way into every one of her holes whether she wanted me to or not...I didn't. What I did do was cum so hard I thought it would hit the ceiling...I came with the taste of her tongue in my mouth and the feel of her breast in my hand.
