Chapter 1
It was a sunny afternoon in Boston and I was planning to go to the gym, my favorite time of the day. I was looking forward to seeing Francesca, my fitness advisor. I know there's no chance that Francesca would ever go out with me because I am much older than she is, but she was nice enough to let me write a story about her. She is slim with Asian eyes but she isn't all Asian. She's a mix of German and French and Japanese. That's why she is so beautiful.
My thoughts were interrupted by my mother who had just finished making dinner -- a chicken cacciatore and enough to feed a horse. Yeah, I doubt a horse would eat that stuff, but it was an expression I used a lot.
Mom did not have a job, since she called herself self employed. She did horoscopes, mostly for the ladies in the church choir. The girls (as she called them) would come to our home, and she'd give them a cup of tea, and she would open her act by reading tea leaves. She'd look into a lady's cup and tip it a bit to the side until it resembled a Rorschach blob. With this information she'd tell the woman about her love life and that there was good news coming. Stuff like a relative dying and leaving her a ton of money. Since our church had a big membership, there was no shortage of lurid predictions.
As long as I lived at home, Mom never made serious money because she charged only few bucks and that included doing the woman's natal chart and reading tarot cards.
I asked her about my marriage and whether I should divorce Pat, because Pat was in a mental hospital and had been there for over two years. My mother's advice -- be patient!
We were sitting in the living room and she was reading a magazine, but not really reading because her eye's weren't moving. I'd just finished checking the Red Sox season schedule.
"Junior," she said, because she always called me 'junior' even though my dad died a long time ago, "your mother stories are nice, but I'd like you to write a story about me."
I understand you have to write about life, and your experiences, but my mother wasn't the kind of mom that I wrote about. My mother was a big woman, like her sisters, and she didn't mess around with guys and I doubt she even masturbated. All my mom did outside the house was go to church and sing in the choir. Her voice was weak so they stuck her in the second row, just behind the soloist, a woman with huge boobs and a fat ass.
"Well, OK, Mom. But I'll have to make you look slutty -- a hot-assed female, who spends most of her time looking for ways to get herself off."
She just smiled at me. And honestly, she wasn't that type of woman.
"How do you know I don't jerk off? Or finger my butt ..."
She surprised me, because we never spoke about sex.
"When I was younger, you'd be surprised how naughty I was."
"Really?"
"You better believe it. My pussy was always throbbing, and I had to sneak ways to pleasure myself." She was using words I'd never thought would come out of her mouth.
"And now, I am more horny than ever. You know, as a woman gets older her sex drive get stronger ..."
She hesitated, then decided to tell me more. "I used to masturbate to a specific fantasy. I had lots of smut I made up because when you're really hot you can have ten guys fucking you. Without a good dream there's no point in trying to make it. But I had a girl friend, Amy, and I knew she did it at work. She'd go into the ladies' room and she'd tell me about it later. My pussy would burn up and my clitoris grew hard and hot, and my nipples throbbed. Amy seemed to be in heat all the time. She was married to some nerd who worked sixteen hour days. They'd been married less than a year and the marriage was already in the toilet."
"OK, you win ..." I relented. Mom was close to sixty years old, and I was over thirty myself. "What kind of story do you want? Mother and son?"
"Exactly. Make me a mother who seduces her son. He's eighteen and he's a college freshman, and can fuck for hours. And give him a huge cock!"
The possibilities were endless. With mom's guidance I wrote the story which follows. Mom is Ellen and her son's name is Robert.
Chapter 2
On Thursday morning, Ellen Preston kept her son Robert home from classes. .
After Bob Preston, on his way to work, had taken Jane with him, so he could drop her off at school, Ellen was alone at last with her young son.
It was a moment which she had anticipated for some time. Ellen was in her late thirties, a mature adult female. She was strikingly attractive and arousing, full-bodied, with a lovely face and an alluring physique.
Ellen's good looks were the fresh, natural, wholesome kind, not dependent on glamour. She was a pretty and voluptuously developed suburban housewife and mother.
She had her own ideas on the proper way to raise her children, especially where their sexual development was concerned.
It was roughly nine o'clock, nice and early. Ellen felt lazy and relaxed as she finished putting the washed breakfast dishes away in the formica cabinet.
She wore a pink housecoat, made of a soft fuzzy fabric which clung to her womanly curves. The robe was belted at her waist with a sash.
Ellen was a big woman, and stood a few inches over five and a half feet tall. She had a magnificent bosom, almost flat belly, and wide hips.
She was in splendid condition, not just for her age, but for any age. Her body was well toned and developed, taut and firm, without sagging.
Her auburn brown hair was styled in short and attractive coiffure. She had a heart-shaped face, penetrating blue eyes, a bold wide mouth.
She reached behind her back, her plump breasts pressing against the soft cups of her gown, and the quilted covering of her robe.
At the small of her back was a knotted apron string. She opened and untied it, took off the apron and hung it up, and went upstairs.
Yellow morning light slanted through the east windows on the second floor of the spacious suburban home. Ellen went down the hall to her son's room.
She was surprised to discover that her hands trembled. She smiled to herself. Now that the big moment had arrived, she was very excited.
She paused outside his closed door. Each of her two children had their own rooms. Linda's room, unoccupied while she was away at school, would be used by her when she returned this weekend for her monthly visit.
Ellen took a deep breath, her heart pounding. She let out her breath slowly, calming herself, composing herself.
She was amused by her own reaction. With all the lovers she had taken, she should be calm and cool as a cucumber. But her excitement was palpable, firing her passions.
She opened the door and went into her son's room. Robert sat up in bed, his back against the headboard. The curtains covered the window, while the small lamp on his night table softened some of the shadows.
Robert was almost nineteen, a freshman at USC. He was handsome, fresh-faced and had just showered. He was the youngest of her two children, the only boy.
He had brown hair with yellow highlights, which fell across his forehead, the tips falling across his alert green eyes.
His features were smooth and clean, with a scattering of freckles across his face. He was beardless, but he was sexually mature. He had no tattoos.
He had been mature enough for her purposes for a few years -- physically mature, that is, given the amount of times she knew he jerked off every day.
He was like a delicious peach, and Ellen had longed to take a bite out of him. But she had restrained her desires for more than two years.
She waited until he had the necessary emotional maturity. He had to be trusted with family secrets which would be dangerous to reveal to outsiders. Now that he was ready, Ellen would initiate him in her own special way.
Robert squirmed when he saw what she was wearing. His face told her he was embarrassed. Ellen was inwardly amused by his innocent reaction, but she did not smile, for fear that he would misunderstand the smile, and mistakenly think that she was laughing at him.
