All characters engaging in sex are over 18.
All constructive criticism will be happily accepted, all grammatical errors will be giddily ignored.
Enjoy and as always, five stars are appreciated, even if you don't read it all the way through...
especially
if you don't read it all the way through... nudge, nudge, wink, wink... but seriously five stars.
One of the tags I left off was humor. So feel free to laugh, jerk, diddle, rub, all of the above, or whatever it is you do while reading this story. Personally, I hope someone is going down on you right now and your laptop or tablet is resting on their head as you read them these words. Remember, sharing is caring but swallowing is love.
*****
My life changed in my thirty-third year of life. I know, what a weird way of saying I was thirty-three when my life changed forever, but it was a weird time so... Anyway, I was an average guy living an average life. I was married to a woman, Allison, who still loved me but wasn't in love with me and hadn't been for a while. Our sex life, unlike our marriage, wasn't even on an average level but more of a perfunctory obligation to each other.
Then there was my sibling and other relatives. They all lived nearby but for one reason or another, we didn't see each other as much my grandmother would've liked. Grandma, wanted us all to get together once a year, but none of my family could get along with each other long enough to have a civil conversation let alone a meal.
And then there was Mom.
I loved my Mom, as all boys do I guess, but she'd always been a bit... absent in my life. Not neglectful, never that, but more like she had better things to do. Especially after I got old enough to fend for myself. Personally, I enjoyed hanging out with Mom for no other reason than, even at almost sixty, she and her friends were still attractive. Not only attractive but imagined themselves to be cougars and therefore flirted with me.
However, lately, I stopped being welcome in their little circle and Mom said I had called their bluff once too often and they were embarrassed.
"Dear," she only called me dear when she wanted something or when she was about to tell me to fuck off for a while, "these ladies just want the illusion of a younger man without the need to fulfill that illusion. And you were the safe choice because you're married, but the other day, with Mary Sue... well, I think it freaked her out. Now, the ladies understand it's at least half their fault since they'd been putting it out there, but, well, you can see why you're not invited over when they're here anymore."
I should've known it would, but all that flirting had been the same kind of torture of taking a starving man to a buffet and telling him he could look but not touch. And to be fair, I'm not sure I would've done too much more, but dammit, I had been tired of getting rejected at home and I got lost in the fantasy a little too much. I said I understood and stayed home.
That's the way it was throughout all aspects of my life. I just seemed to be there and not really living it. And then that fateful night on the backroad home.
I had gone to Mom's house because she thought she'd heard a bear or something. Technically, there could've been a bear, but if there had been there wouldn't have been any need to guess. I figured raccoon and went over to see. It was her cat. I smiled, listened to about two hours of her telling me what the ladies had been into, then left.
It was close to ten at night and for some reason, truckers loved using that road as a shortcut from one interstate to the next. It was shorter, but at the posted speed limit, it was the same time distance. Of course, no one ever went the speed limit, and that is how I found myself coming around a corner and sliding to a stop before running into a flipped-over tanker.
It was straight from a bad eighties horror flick. I was in my car under the spray of some kind of purple glowing chemical that I never did find out what the name of it was, but since I got a hefty, hefty check to keep my trap shut about the whole thing. According to the news, and to the mysterious figures who gave me the check and the threat, I had been thoroughly douched with ordinary gasoline. I repeated that line so much I almost started to believe it myself.
The effect wasn't immediate, at least not to where I could control it, but my life seemed to get better, incrementally, over time. Yes, the money helped take care of my wife and me financially, but it did nothing for me emotionally. She was still the same neglectful wife she'd been before, just richer.
Of course, anytime a camera was near, she was the most attentive and loving woman in the country. I swear, if I could've gotten those reporters into our bedroom, I'm pretty sure I could've gotten sex, or at least some head, more often than once a month. Unfortunately, it was just us and most of the time, if she wasn't in the mood, I would barely get a "Night," before she rolled over and fell asleep, and sometimes not even that.
Then, as I said, little by little, I noticed things changing. I think the first time I really noticed was when I got up for work and she'd fixed breakfast. To be honest, I was the cook in our house and she was the... well, the guy. It was very fifties, in a reverse kind of way. We both worked, at least until the check cleared then I retired, but she still kept going in. I don't blame her, she was doing well and moving up quick, but I was stuck so retiring for me was a blessing.
Of course, we still kept to our normal routine of her coming home and relaxing while I cooked. We both did our own laundry, but after my retirement, I noticed her clothes made it more into my hamper than into hers most of the time. And while we picked up after ourselves, if it hadn't been for me vacuuming, we would've been growing corn.
So, to have her fix breakfast usually meant one of two things, it was my birthday or she wanted something. It was still at least four months from my birthday so I expected a favor to be asked. None ever was and when I asked, she shrugged, "Guess I thought it'd make you feel better. I can stop if you want."
"No," I said quickly and laughed, "no, I love it, thank you."
I swear she gave a sigh of relief when I said I liked her runny eggs and slightly charcoaled toast. "Well, that's good. Okay, I'm off to work, love you, wish me luck."
"Love you, too, and luck," I called out.
It'd been years since she'd said our little thing in the morning. Most of the time, if I was up when she left, she'd leave with some instructions or something as she shut the door. I mean, I guess I understood it, two people trying to remember stuff was better than one, but the problem was that she never did anything and that's why I called it instructions.
But the morning of the breakfast, she left no instructions, just a pleasant feeling. I was riding high for the rest of the week, especially since she began doing little things just so I'd feel better. Her words, not mine. Really, that should've been my first clue that something was a miss, but it wasn't until Mom called asking me to fix her laptop that I knew my life was completely changed.
"You've got to stop clicking through to these sites, they're corrupting your computer."
"Well, I didn't know that." Yes she did, I told her all the time. "And besides, it should be illegal to put stuff on the internet that could harm your computer."
"Agree," I said not even trying to explain the nature of the internet.
She puttered around her house chatting the entire time while I fixed her computer and before I knew it, almost four hours had passed. I swear I was more stressed from her talking than from having to restore her computer. I ughed when I was done leaned back in the chair and heard Mom call out, "Thank you, if there's anything I can do to make you feel better, let me know."
I didn't know it at the time, but those words became both my curse and my blessing. Of course, at the time, I was feeling a bit sassy, so as I leaned back with my eyes closed I mumbled, "A blowjob would be nice."
Honestly, it had been a while since I'd had sex, and even longer since I'd gotten sucked off, and I meant it as a bitch to the universe. You know, like a blowjob in general, not one from my mother, and I thought I had said it low and under my breath, but within minutes, I felt her hands on my pants. I started, but Mom, I discovered, was an old pro and had my cock out and in her mouth before I could tell her to stop.
Now, I don't want you to think I was some low-life degenerate walking around hoping his 'Mommy' would suck his cock, which came later, because I wasn't. I was a good person who didn't have fantasies of blowing a load into my mother. Unfortunately for me, my body was of another mind. All it cared about was a warm mouth, a flicking tongue, and almost six decades of experience nom nom nomming me to the quickest orgasm I'd had in years.
To be fair, I should've stopped her immediately, but fuck, it felt good. However, after I blew down Mom's gullet, and she swallowed every last drop, I jumped up and acted all indignant.
"Mom, what the hell," I said as I stood over her as I put my drained cock away.
She looked confused for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, I thought that'd make you feel better. I can do it again if you want."
I honestly thought about it for a long moment and my dick thickened, but when she reached for my pants again, I clamped down hard on my want. "Mom, I know we live in the country but we're not some toothless inbreeding hillbillies."
As I stormed out the door, she called out, "Come back and Mommy will make it all better. We can fuck if you want!"
To say I was freaked out would've been an understatement. I thought about going to Allison's work but knew that would've been a bad idea, especially since all I could say was, "Mom blew me today and it was better than anything you've ever done."
I had to find someone to talk to, someone who might understand without condemning me for what I'd done. I mean, what Mom had done, but I'd allowed it to happen. My mind was going in a thousand directions and as I spun, I could only think of one place to go, my sister's.
Knowing what I know now, going to see my twenty-eight-year-old yoga instructor massage therapist sister probably wasn't the best idea, but that's where I went and that's where I lost my mind. Not in a bad way, mostly, but that's where I was when I said fuck it and gave in to whatever was happening. Sorta. I mean, I gave in to my very flexible, very tight, little sister.
I was almost out of control when I slid into the parking lot of her apartment building. I ran up the stairs and began banging on her door screaming her name. When she opened the door, such a look of sympathy was planted on her face that I immediately felt better.
Maybe all that namaste stuff she's always preaching will finally come in handy,
I thought as I pulled her into my arms.
"Hey, what's wrong? How can I make you feel better?"
The words she used meant nothing, at the time, but I would soon learn they were the words that I'd have to be very careful when using.
"I think I did something very bad."
She gave me her beatific smile I associated with her hippy-dippy lifestyle but in that moment, it was a balm to my soul. "Alex," she said softly, "you are one of the most caring men I know. I seriously doubt you would ever do something that could ever be considered bad."
That should have been the biggest red flag that something was wrong since whenever she got pissed at me, she still brought up the time I tied her Barbie doll to my rocket and I launched her into space, or in the raging river near our house we lived in as kids, but again, I was not thinking straight.
