It was the day of my father's funeral. The reasons for his death seemed to have been connected with heavy smoking, heavy drinking, and if my mother was to be believed, heavy sexing, mainly with her, but not exclusively so. My father was a believer in sharing his talents.
When the funeral cortege set out from the town, the weather hadn't seemed too bad. By the time we got to the cemetery, which is on a bleak hillside about three kilometres out of the town, the wind had blown up to a howling gale driving sheets of rain before it. The parson was temporarily sheltered by the undertaker's umbrella, but as this blew inside out, he had to bear the soaking along with the rest of us.
My brother, standing next to me, muttered in my ear, "Just the sort of weather to conclude dad's life. He went through it like a storm, and is leaving it in one."
I grunted agreement, but said nothing.
Looking across the grave at my three sisters standing there with their moronic husbands – they'd have to be moronic to marry my sisters – I saw what might have been crocodile tears, but most probably it was the rain. I could almost feel their tiny brains working out how much longer mum would last before she fell off the twig so they could divide the spoils.
Mum was standing next to my brother. He's the oldest and so I suppose, head of the family now, whatever that means. I'm the youngest of the family.
Looking at mum, a fairly lusty lady – "Beautifully abundant" I think its called – at fifty years of age I reckoned she was good for another twenty-five years at least.
She'd married dad and had my brother when she was only eighteen. She said she got pregnant to dad after a boozy night at the local football club, but rumour has it that she could have got it from anyone of half a dozen blokes that night.
In her day, so I'm told, she was the best looking girl in town. "Could have had her pick of the blokes," they said. She's still a pretty good-looking bird given her age and if you like them buxom.
Me, I'm a bit like dad, I'm not all that fussy as long as they open their legs for me and haven't been eating garlic.
I'd come in from the gas fields up north where I worked as a fitter, to attend the funeral. Hardly any females up there, so it's hard to get a screw. "Might have a look around town for a bit of talent while I'm here," I thought. We get big money up at the fields, and the crumpet usually goes for that.
The parson stopped mumbling and they lowered the coffin – or if you're posh, "casket" – into the grave that was rapidly filling with water. A few more mumbles from the parson and we were on our way out of the rain and into the cars.
We all headed back to the old place and the keg of beer we'd clubbed together to buy.
The blokes sat around the keg in sopping clothes, drinking beer and discussing footy, while the women drank some muck out of bottles and cried, or pretended to. A couple of neighbours had come in to get the food ready while we were getting gale lashed, so we got stuck in.
After a couple of hours we had stuffed and drunk our selves stupid, and a couple of the blokes got arguing over their footy teams and went outside to settle the matter in the street. That broke the party up, not because of the fight as such, but because a nosy bastard across the street had called the police.
One of the arguers spent the night in hospital and the other in jail.
Out of all mums' kids, I'm the only unmarried one, so I'm the one who had to stay with mum. Not that I had anywhere else to go, this being the old family home.
So, they all cleared off, including the parson who was pissed out of his mind. Don't blame the poor bugger, having to put up with some of those mealy mouthed bastards who attend his church, it'd drive Saint Francis to drink.
I'm alone with mum. She's not much used to booze but had got stuck into on this occasion. So she was staggering around trying to clear up some of the ruins of food and bottles we'd been left with, and I'm turning my head this way and that to try and stop seeing double. I took a look at one of the bottles that the women had been drinking out of, and I was just able to see though the alcohol haze it was about three times more potent than the beer we'd been drinking. No wonder mum was weaving around as if she couldn't see what she was doing.
Making a mighty effort to talk straight, I put my arm round mum and said, "Leave it mum, we can fix it in the morning. You get to bed."
She looked at me with bleary soulful eyes. "Yer right, Gav (Gavin), I can hardly shtand up."
I managed to guide her to her bedroom, but at the door, and with amazing firmness given her condition, she stopped and said, "Gotta clean me teesh. Must clean me teesh." She staggered to the other side of the hallway and entered the bathroom.
I decided to leave her to it, and went into the lounge and had a last cigarette. When I finished I decided on a shower, then bed.
I showered and felt a trifle more coherent, but not much. When I finished, I cleaned my teesh (sorry) teeth, and wrapped a towel round my middle. Gawd knows why since there was no one to observe my manly assets, and even if there were someone, they would probably be too pissed to notice.
I made my way toward my old bedroom but on the way, I noticed mum's bedroom door was open, so I thought I'd pop in and see if she was ok. It was a daunting sight that met my eyes. Mum was standing starkers with her clothes dropped all round her, bawling her eyes out.
I wasn't sure how to handle the situation. I didn't want to leave mum standing there weeping. But mum, despite the nightly fucking she used to get from dad, and which could be heard all over the house, had always been modest where us kids were concerned, so I'd never seen her in her underclothes, let alone naked like now.
Mum didn't seem to have noticed me, so I stood there looking at her. She was an interesting sight, because despite the battering she had taken giving birth to five kids, and the fact that dad never lifted a finger around the house, she wasn't in bad nick.
As I said before, she's a buxom lady with plenty of hip and heavy thighs. Her breasts, which in their glory days must have been a remarkable sight (no wonder dad and the other blokes wanted her), were still large. But they now swung pendulously, the nipples big and brown, and from the distance I was standing from her, seemed to have little knobs or pimples over them. I'd seen them like that before on some of the older birds I'd fucked.
"She fed five kids with those, so I suppose they've had a bit of a battering, " I thought.
I decided that retreat was my best option after all, so I was just turning to go when mum spotted me. She seemed completely unperturbed that she was naked in front of me, perhaps she didn't even realise she was naked, and she just stood there wailing.
"Gav, love, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?"
I wasn't sure to what she referred, so a took a punt and said, "The money'll be okay mum. You know dad left you comfortable."
"I know Gav. Ish not that, love. Ish the other."
"The other?"
"You know, Gav,…the…other…"
Light dawned. Had mum been sober she would never have spoken of sex even in general, let alone refer to her couplings with my father.
"D'yer know, Gav, the bugger ushed ter shcrew me every night, even up to a couple of weesh before he shnuffed it?"
I almost admitted to knowing about their copulating habits, but decided to try to circumvent the revelations and said, "Come on mum, let me help you put your nightdress on and get you into bed."
"Never wore a nightie after me honeymoon. Bugger jush tore 'em off, sho wash washte of money."
"All right, but what about getting you to bed?"
I moved towards her and she sort of swayed towards me. I grabbed her and found myself with an armful of mum.
She seemed to tuck herself against me and spoke in a drunken but purring sort of voice.
"Yer look like yer dad, Gav. Shpittin image you are. Come on, give yer old mum a cuddle."
I had little option but to "give my old mum a cuddle." I'm a strong sort of bloke, but like I've indicated, mum's a hefty lady. So, there I was trying to hold her up while she's starting to sort of crawl over me.
"Betcha good with the girlsh, Gav, eh? Got a big one like yer dad?"
She tried to whisper this in what I suppose she thought was a seductive voice, but it sounded like someone being strangled.
Now, I must ask you to forgive me, folks, but I feel I need to make a few explanations, or perhaps they are confessions, before I go on with the action.
I work at the gas field for two weeks straight, then I get a full week off. I admit that I'd neglected mum because I never came home on those weeks off. I went to the city. It wasn't really mum I was avoiding, but the old man. We never got on, always arguing.
When I got my week off, as you can imagine, I was really horny. I went looking for crumpet, but its not as easy as you think to get anything, unless you go to the whores, which I don't like unless I'm really desperate.
Now here comes the confession. If someone like mum was on offer when I had my week off, I'd screw the backside off her. I prefer the older woman anyway, they put a lot more into it, and they have a lot more to put in.
So there you are. And there I was, with my arms full of mum, and her pulling up against me, pressing her breasts and belly to me. Now, even though she is my mum, I started to get a stiff one, and still being a bit sloshed, the old morality wasn't working so well.
Mum felt my stiff pushing against her through the towel, and in her inebriated condition, she let nature have its head, and I felt her hand reach down and start to feel along my shaft through the towel.
"Gawd boy, got a beauty there. Reckon ish bigger than yer dad'sh. Get yer mum inter bed, then."
I struggled her over to the bed and she plonked down on it in a sitting position. I stood before her for a moment, recovering from the battle, and she reached up and ripped the towel off me.
"Thash what the bugger did to me nightiesh." She gave a cackling laugh. "Now I got you ripped off, ain't I?"
"Yes mum. Now I really must go to bed."
"Courshe yer going ter bed. Yer goin ter bed, with yer mum. Wouldn't leave yer old mum in her bere…buriv…her mishery, would yer!"
She had moved back on the bed a little, spreading legs to reveal a thoroughly wet cleft, and was tugging me over her.
"Come on, Gav. Good for ush. Yer not a man till yer'v had yer mum."
Mother or not, she'd got me really going. I had a throbbing cock that wasn't going to rest until it had found a home, and there was one right in front of me. I got between her legs and shoved towards her slit. I felt it enter a warm, wet world. If I thought about it at all, I suppose I would have expected her to be sloppy inside, but she was as tight as a drum round me.
Mum gave a long sigh and muttered, "Thash it Gav. Jush were yer belong, love."
I would like to give you a detailed, blow by blow account of this coupling, but I fear I cannot. I know I shot a fortnight's frustration into mum, but whether she had an orgasm or not I really don't know.
When I finished I must have just rolled off her and went straight to sleep. I assume much the same happened to mum.
I came to in the morning with mum facing me and her arm across me. She was still asleep, and I had a splitting headache. My mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage, and I decided that some aspirin and a glass of water was the thing.
