Autobiography of a Mother Fucer

Authors note. The 'Incest' genre is new to me but having been asked to write a story I sat down and thought about where I actually stand on the issue. Whilst what follows is pure fiction, I've tried to write the story by putting myself into the main character's shoes and my mother into her character.

My mother actually passed away in early 2000 and therefore I've tried to put the action into some chronological time frame.

I expect a lot of flack to come back from this story. 'How could you defile your mother's memory in such a way?', etc, etc. My answer is this:- In hindsight, considering the lonely years that followed my father's death I really wish I had fucked her. She deserved some loving. Trouble was, I didn't consider it at the time.

An autobiography of a Mother Fucker

A short story by Jacques Boncoeur

I suppose that considering this is a biography, I should introduce and tell you a bit about myself.

I'm Shaun, I'm nearly 67 years old and I was born at the end of the 2nd World War. My father was a professional soldier and my mother had been evacuated from Singapore, when he was posted back to the UK just before it was overrun by the Japanese. I decided to pop into the world nearly a month overdue. I reckon secretly that I just never wanted to leave my mother beautiful body and considering what happened later it proved to be correct.

My childhood was happy and absolutely nothing untoward happened sexually to me. I spent one week at boarding school but both myself and my mother hated being apart so much that I became a day border and then for the whole of my school years, I followed the family from one place to another, to all of my father's postings.

I know that there are many quotations about travel but one that I think is true comes from Mark Twain, 'Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.'

It was with this background that my perception of the world and my values was formed. I don't want to give the impression that I was a mummy's boy or like many stories I have read that I was fixated sexually by my mother. This just wasn't the case. I loved her, but then all kids love their mums, don't they?

I can only remember one sexual situation or maybe asexual is a better word if you look at the situation closely, that occurred when I was eleven or twelve. I was sharing a room with my mum and dad, when we visited my maternal Grand-mother in Ireland one summer. Mum was undressing for bed when I saw her breasts. I can remember asking her, completely without embarrassment, what they were and when she explained. I asked if I could touch them and she allowed me. I don't know whether she was embarrassed, I certainly wasn't and I can't really remember my father's reaction. You must remember that this was the fifties and things that involved sex were very different then. Nothing was taught in schools, Mums and Dads didn't mention it. And, when you eventually started having sex, you learnt on the job, so to speak.

From then on, sex and my mother featured in completely separate areas of my life. Like most boys in the fifties and sixties I stumbled from one sexual experience to another. Most of my early sexual episodes were rather disappointing but when you are groping about in the dark without a torch, things tend to be so. Gradually, my technique improved and I think a turning point for me, was when I suddenly realized that you got so much more from sex when you cared enough about your partner to ensure that she got as much from it as you.

I'm pretty average I think. I've got a hard cock when it's aroused and even now in my sixties, it doesn't let me down. I'm sure that there are many bigger but I've never had a woman say that mine was too small to carry out the job it was meant for. I've always loved to fuck. I do admit that in some positions it does has a habit of slipping out at rather unfortunate times, especially when the action gets a bit too manic. But, on the whole my six inches has served me rather well and I'm not complaining.

I suppose from a little research, I have ascertained that I do like and get a lot of sex. My first wife didn't really like it much until she found out that I was going or had been elsewhere. Then all of a sudden, she woke up to the competition. Unfortunately for her, by this time, she was too late and I had found someone who was equally as highly sexed as I was. Little did she know who it was? But this is getting ahead of my story.

My sexual education continued throughout university but maybe because of our slapdash approach to sex, my girlfriend, soon to be my wife fell pregnant. Maybe she planned it, maybe not. Anyway, in those days a man fulfilled his responsibilities.

My mum and dad were too polite to say so, to her face anyway but they loathed my new wife and it has to be accepted that she was more than a little to blame. She was a socialite and expected everyone to kowtow to her. Unfortunately, my family doesn't kowtow to anyone, therefore, our full family get-togethers were few and far between and I would regularly take my, soon to follow, children to visit, without my other half. Even at special events my wife would rudely destroy any efforts for us to get together. Consequently, all of us, my parents, my kids, my wife and me, began to drift apart from each other.

It was at this time that my father was killed in Ireland, before the' troubles' began. Things in Ireland were beginning to turn sour but even though he was a high ranking officer in the British Army, he wasn't targeted as such. He was travelling in a helicopter that hit a hillside in the fog.

Strangely, even though I hadn't been terribly close to my father, due I think because he had been away so often, I was as crushed by his death, as was my mother. He had always been so much larger than life and it seemed that he had always been there, even when he wasn't. And now, he never would be. That was a void hard to fill.

It took me a year to get over it but time heals and I gradually pulled through. My wife, Sheila, didn't help me or my mother. She didn't even come to my father's funeral, begging a prior engagement. Little did she know that she was sowing the seed and nurturing the plant that would cause our final break?

Not only did it push mum and I together but I suddenly found that at functions I had to take my father's place and mum was my partner.

Nevertheless, mum took much longer to get over her grief and I could see her going into freefall. I was spurred to action.

Maybe it's time to tell you a little more about mum. Unlike most of the stories presented in this genre, mum is not a blonde bombshell. She is attractive but in a classically 'mum' sort of way. Not in a 'big tits and blousy manner', sort of way.

She was an Irish colleen, born in 1920 and had met and been wooed by my father when she went to work as a housemaid in his family's home. My father's family was protestant landed gentry.

I should imagine that a match between a young, handsome subaltern from a rich titled family and a housemaid would have been frowned upon. But then my mother was just so perfectly nice and rounded in her ways, that it would be hard for anyone not to just fall in love with her. Not that the family did fall in love with her but that is another story, my father did and that's all that matters here. They married during my father's first leave in late 1939, when she was nearly 20 years old and he 23.

He had been fortunate to be brought home before the main evacuation of Dunkirk following a bullet wound he received during the retreat. It took several months for him to recover in hospital but when he returned home, he demanded that mum marry him immediately. I haven't a clue what their sex life was like but my mum followed the mould in some ways. She had flaming red hair which just didn't seem to go with her quiet nature but as I was to find out, this merely disguised the furnace that filled her heart and her cunt.

I didn't come along until four years later, conceived during another wartime leave, I figure.

At the time of my father's death, she was as trim and attractive as she had been when she married. I think even more so, looking at the old photos, as the style of clothing then did little to stir faith in a fashion industry and swimming costumes were functional rather than sexy. Within a year of my father's passing, despite my attention, she had begun to let herself go and this was partly the cause of my thoughts and actions. Goodness me, I haven't even told you her name, Molly.

Whilst I had followed another career path than my father, I was very much the action man. I had taken an academic path and was now beginning what was to become a distinguished research career in embryology, which was in its infancy at this time. You could say that I had got in on the birth.

Although my sort of action didn't include fighting or espionage, I thought and planned most of the things that came before me meticulously. The issue with my mother was to become my new quest in life. It was clear to see that somehow she had to fill the void that my father had left, and fill it fast.

When I questioned her she outright said that she didn't want and couldn't bear the thought of being with another man but it was also clear to see that sex was part of the issue. She was fanciable, crumbs, I fancied her myself. Then the bombshell hit, I realized that I really did fancy her.

At first this caused me some problems. But, as I said, I'm a thinker as well as an action man and when I looked at it rationally; my perceived problems were simply superfluous. I had long since ceased to believe in a God or Religion, so there didn't seem to be a barrier for me morally. When I looked at the question with regard to the 'law', this was even less of a concern. Having dealt with the law in relations to me research, I basically thought that the law was an 'Ass' and just a means of state control. I had already had a vasectomy so we couldn't conceive a child, so even the biological barriers, fell.

All of a sudden I realized that what my mother needed more than anything in the world was to be fucked by someone that really cared for her. And, I realized that I wanted that person to be me.

I'm not a devious person and I knew that I would be unable to carry through any type of ruse that might lead me to my goal. So I adopted a straightforward approach.

I called her and asked that she get dressed up that evening as I needed her to be my partner at a dinner dance function. This was my one untruth, we were going to dine and dance but not at a function. I had somehow to persuade her to become my lover and knowing that she would not want to cause me problems, knowing my wife wasn't interested in my career or in fact anything where she wasn't the centre of attention, my mother agreed to accompany me.

Dressed to the nines and in the middle of a few hundred people, I knew that what I was going to say would not receive a fight/flight reaction, mum just wasn't like that. If I dealt with it properly she would hear me out quietly and then come to a rational decision, even if it was conventionally, a rather irrational issue.

She looked around at the other diners in this very up market restaurant but, before she could say anything, I butted in, "I'm sorry about the subterfuge but I needed to talk to you about something really important and I wanted to say it in a place with the right ambience." I paused and then dived in. "You know I love you, don't you?"

She nodded, so I continued. "Mum, I'm getting really concerned about you and I know that you won't call on me to help, so I'm going to say and propose something that you may consider really inappropriate. I'm going to say it anyway and all I ask is that you hear me out before making any sort of decision or before leaving. After due consideration, if you don't like or want what I propose I promise you that it will not damage our relationship. I love you and I always will, I promise."

She looked really worried but she nodded again, so I continued, this time with a nervous quiver to my voice. "Mum, you are the loveliest person I know. You have a great personality. You are vivacious. You have a great body. Mum, you need to finally get over your loss of Dad, before you lose some of the light than shows in the things you do and the way you are." I hesitated and took a huge gulp of air before I continued. "Mum, you need to be fucked."

She reacted with a start at these words. In our family we just didn't speak like this but before she could say anything I continued in a whisper, that only she could hear. "Mum, please don't react to this, off beam. I don't want you go to any Tom, Dick or Harry. I want you, I want you, Oh fuck it, that's it, I want, you! I want to be the person that fucks you, I want to suck your tits and cunt. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. Let's admit it, we are hardly conventional. Will you please think about what I've said whilst we eat our dinner. Then, at least talk to me about it, even if you find it hard to consider?"

She had an unfathomable look as she considered what I had said and several seconds passed before she replied. When she did I was a little taken back at her reply and especially her language. "How the fuck do you expect me to eat, after dropping that on my lap? No, take me home. I'm not upset and I will think about what you have said but dinner and dancing is out of the question, my tummy is full of butterflies. Please take me home."

It was with a bit of embarrassment when we left the table without ordering, especially as I nearly forgot to pay for the drinks we'd consumed at the cocktail bar. But, leave we did.

Silence ensued on the taxi ride home. I hadn't taken the car, because as courageous as I was, I had resorted to a few glasses of 'dutch courage' before picking her up.

When we arrived home, I led the way into the lounge and immediately poured two stiff drinks. I'm not sure who was shaking most, her or me. Neither of us needed a cocktail shaker, of that I'm sure. My drink was mixed in seconds and as I passed her glass, the shaking hand that received it confirmed that hers would soon become well mixed.

She seemed to compose herself, sat upright and drew her lovely long legs together. "I'm sorry Shaun; I need to get something clear. Did you just tell me that you wanted to fuck me? And that you wanted to spend the rest of our lives together?"

I almost choked. How do you reply to that? "Err, yes I suppose I did. Yes, fuck it, I did. Yes, I want to fuck you. I want to suck your tits and lick your cunt. I want you to suck my cock until its fit to burst and I want to fill you full of hot spunk. Mouth, cunt and arse. I didn't realize it until Dad died but yes, that's what I want."

How I'd managed to get it out I don't know but, out it was, and it was followed by what seemed like a year of silence but of course, was only a few seconds.

"I see. What about your wife? Won't she have something to say about this?"

I was stunned. Mum hadn't clobbered me. She was actually considering my proposition and looking at pitfalls.

"I applied for a divorce, yesterday. No matter what you were going to say, I was divorcing her. She doesn't want me anyway and I'm sure she has found someone much more fun than me. She only fucks me because I'm an adequate lover and I make her climax a lot. Otherwise she has no use for me. I want you mum, I'm sorry if it shocks you but I've realized that I've fancied you for years. It was only Dad and convention that kept me from realizing it."

She seemed to be pondering on it when suddenly she rose from the chair and said, "Well, I suppose we had better start in the bedroom then, it's more comfortable there and as I haven't been fucked for ages I want to try every position possible. I also want to be fucked every day in a different room, including the kitchens, toilets, laundry room, all of the walk in cupboards, the garage, shed, the gazebo, the stables, all of the living rooms, the loft and basement. You've got your work cut out son. I'm a horny woman and I need lots of satisfaction."

That first time, I don't remember our clothes coming off. I was in a daze. I do remember the half hour I sucked her glorious tits. The tits I hadn't sucked for so many years. Her nipples were sore by the time she had had her trillionth orgasm, or so it seemed, as she was thrashing around the bed.

Then, she had a million or so more, as I sucked on her beautiful ginger gash. Her juices poured from her. I actually stopped so we could place a bath towel under her just to soak the juice up that I couldn't swallow and also to give her a drink as I was sure that at any minute she would have run dry.

Bear in mind, at this point I was 23 years old and she was 46. Current research said that we were both at our peak of sexual endurance. I had played with her body for over an hour before I put my cock in her sodden cunt. I wasn't entirely sure that she was still conscious. I pulled her legs over my shoulders. If it was comfortable I didn't know, or to be honest care. I admit it took me less than a minute of frantic thrusting before I unloaded and filled her already dripping cunt.

I'm an embryologist, and I know that men don't generally eject more than a spoonful of sperm but I've seen donors give up to half a cupful if they haven't ejaculated for several days. I had been so worried about her and our situation, that I hadn't cum for over a fortnight. It certainly felt like I'd come a bucket full.

It was not to be my last ejaculation that evening. An hour later she was on her knees with a pillow stuffed in her mouth to stop her screams. It took me nearly half an hour of pounding into her before I filled her once again and nearly fainted with the exhaustion.

I'm not sure how long we slept but around mid-night she sucked my cock back to full erection and asked me to take her anal cherry. She even handed me the Vaseline. Who was I to argue? Even though I was very careful and took it in stages, one then two fingers. Using copious amounts of lubricant, it took over an hour for me to eventually gain entry with my cock. After a few minutes, I knew that I wasn't really enjoying the sensation. She was just too tight. I know it's hard to believe but I stopped asked her what she was getting from it and we discussed it and decided that it wasn't our thing. I washed us both really carefully and she gave me head. Certainly my first time to full ejaculation and when she swallowed the little cum I had left she told me that this was her first time of swallowing to.

I think that one of the finest things that had ever happened to me was when I woke in the morning and she was cuddled up beside me. I felt like crying, I was just so happy. She looked absolutely radiant.

I must be honest and admit that no sex occurred that first full day together. We were both to sore.

Needless to say, over the next year I fucked her on every piece of furniture, every appliance, in every room of the house and garden. I even fucked her over the garden fence. In and beside the stream at the bottom of the garden.

I also have to admit that I did more than commit the crime of incest. I began to long for us to have our own child. Sheila and I had divorced as soon as possible and she had taken our children just to spite me. She married a guy from Florida and took the kids with them. I got to see them two or three times a year when I had them fly home to be with me and mum but I felt that we both needed more. Bear in mind I was a research embryologist. I was before the days of test tube babies but we knew the technique. The problem was that my university research regulations forbade going the final step and actually allowing someone to give birth. Artificial insemination was a bit hit and miss but we did consider it and I could easily get the sperm and inject it into her.