The night after my 35th birthday, my wife of 10 years presented me with a post dinner glass of scotch and divorce papers. I'd anticipated one of them. The divorce on reflection shouldn't have been that much of a surprise either. We'd been living separate lives under the one roof for months, more housemates than lovers. Amanda had come from money and excelled in making it. She was a senior executive for a mining company and reveled in her (our) wealth. I had come from little money and excelled in keeping it. Keeping it from the government that is. You see I'm the bastard who ensures the tax, billion dollar companies like hers pays is minimal, if any and I'm good at what I do.
Amanda and I had met in our home city, fallen in lust, then love, then married. I'd followed her career interstate and admittedly used her status in the industry to ensure my own success but believe me I pulled my own weight and was paid accordingly. Her company for one saw my value, when after recording an annual profit of 4.5 billion dollars, I managed to organize the books to enable a tax refund of several hundred thousand. That's right, a refund. Like I said I'm good at what I do.
Amanda was a year older than me and the typical blonde bombshell. If she wasn't at work, she was at the gym, interspersed with social events and business functions. Her (and by association, my) acquaintances were the elite of the corporate and entertainment world. Vacuous snobs the lot of them, oblivious to the real world and of course entirely apathetic.
I'd become weary of the scene months before, which of course added to the breakdown in our marriage but was not the sole reason. I wanted to go home. Our home city. I wanted to see my mother (my father had passed away some years before) and my old friends, I longed to reconnect with who I was, not the toff I'd become.
So when the divorce was finalized and I came out with a more than reasonable settlement (remembering that Amanda made a lot more than I did, and I got half) I gave notice to my firm, called my mother and said, "Momma. Clean out my bedroom, 'cos I'm comin' home!"
I drove back from interstate, taking my time, seeing the country as I went. The first night I thought I'd get right back with the people and stay in the seediest roadhouse I came across. The next night, having learned my lesson I paid a few more dollars and booked a more classy establishment. As I lay on the bed sipping bourbon and watching the adult channel on the in-room cable I thought I'd call my mother and let her know when to expect me the next day.
I turned down the sound as she answered and informed her that depending on traffic I'd arrive late tomorrow afternoon. A mature woman was getting fucked from behind on the TV and I absently loosened my hardening cock from my pants as I spoke to her, feeling an undeniable shame and also some excitement. So there I was, watching porn, jerking off whilst chatting to my mom. When she said "I love you honey, see you tomorrow," and hung up, I shot my load along with the guy on the TV. Me, all over my chest, the guy in the movie, all over the mature woman's ass.
Now I have to get this straight. I wasn't fantasizing about my mother at the time. My feelings towards her were based on love but I did accept the taboo of masturbating whilst talking to her was quite a turn on, although I was pretty sure I wouldn't go to hell for it.
My relationship with my mother had been a topsy-turvy one over the years. As a boy she'd been the world to me and the love of my life, as a teen I grew aloof to her (possibly blaming her for the faults in my father, who I'll tell you now was a son of a bitch.) As an adult we'd just grown apart. I still saw her on most of the holidays but my life had become so removed from hers, we just had nothing but blood in common.
Turning into the drive of my old house I saw her tending to the front garden. She was on her knees, her back to me, a large straw sunhat atop her head. On hearing the car she stood and approached as I left the vehicle. "Hello stranger," I said. "Fancy seeing you here."
Pulling off her gloves and hat and throwing them to the grass she beamed at me and held out her arms. Apart from being dressed in a large unflattering khaki shirt and blue "mom jeans", she hadn't changed a bit to the last time I'd seen her.
"Give me a hug honey, my god I can't believe you're here!" She reached her arms up over my shoulders and I wrapped mine around her upper and lower back. It was the most intimate cuddle we'd had in years. Her breasts and stomach pressed against me. I kissed her on the cheek and smelt her hair which was tied back in a loose ponytail.
"Well if I knew this was the welcome, I should've come home more often," I mused.
"Yes you should've young man," she chided. Fixing me with a sarcastic scowl. She knew if it was up to me I would've. It was Amanda that called the shots in our marriage and her priority wasn't visiting my mother, a woman she had never got along well with in the first place. "Are you really staying Daniel, you're back for good?"
"Well, as long as you'll have me. I suppose, yeah." I replied, still in her embrace.
"Then I'll just have to keep you here. Just like this, forever"
"Well I hope there's a bucket handy Mom, 'cos I'm busting for a piss," I laughed.
"Oh you.." She giggled, kissed me on the cheek and seemingly not wanting to let me go, took me by the hand and led me into the house.
Mom hadn't done much to the house in the time since I'd been there. As I said, we saw each other on holidays but Amanda and I would send her the airfare and she would come to us. Walking around I actually couldn't remember how many years it had been since I'd come home. My room had been cleared of all my childhood. Mom informed me everything she thought of value was all stored away in the garage for safekeeping but much she'd given to charity. My immediate thought was had she found any porn I'd accidentally misplaced.
While she'd maintained the front yard exceptionally the back yard was a different story. The trees and shrubs were all overgrown and the lawn unmowed, it did make it peaceful out there though and provided a great deal of privacy. Almost like a secret garden, hidden away from all the surrounding neighbors. The pool was in a pretty sorry state. It was full of leaves, badly needed cleaning and the water needed chlorine and balancing. "First thing tomorrow Mom, I'm fixing this pool. What do you think, ready for a swim?" I asked her as she joined me with a drink of iced tea.
"Oh honey, I don't even think I have a costume anymore it's been so long!" She replied.
"Oh well, second thing I'll do is take you shopping for some bathers then. What do you say?" I think she was just so happy to have me home she would've agreed to anything I proposed and told me she thought it a great idea.
Over dinner and a bottle of wine I told her about the break-up with Amanda and the reasons for me returning home. She told me she was sorry about the divorce and despite her testy relationship with my wife, I knew she meant it. When we got on to what my plans were, I was unsure. She told me that no matter what, I'd have a bed here and if the time came for me to move back out she'd be happy to help me find a place.
Later that evening I found a movie for us to watch and mom and I sat together on the couch. After some time she threw a cushion on my lap and lay her head upon it in an effort to get comfortable. We joked about how bad the film was as I innocently stroked her hair, running my fingers through the silky strands and massaged her scalp. My mother, Madeline, I have neglected to inform you, was 54 years old. She grew up in Australia and met my father whilst working as a flight attendant. Falling for him and moving here she soon had me and settled down. It wasn't long until my father showed his true colors and from what I remember treated her pretty badly. He died when I was 14 and she raised me alone from then. She didn't look her age, or what I thought a woman in her fifties should look like. She kept herself in shape, her strawberry blonde hair showed no signs of gray and her lack of wrinkles proved she obviously cared for her skin.
She had let herself go in the clothing department from what I'd seen so far. As I described, her gardening attire wasn't attractive and she hadn't improved, going from that ensemble to a dowdy nightdress and full length dressing gown. Now I wasn't expecting Armani but having lived with a woman for ten years that was always dressed impeccably it was somewhat of a comedown.
As I sat there, a glass of wine in one hand, caressing my mothers hair with the other I began to feel the weight of where her head was positioned. The cushion covered my upper thighs and groin and my penis was responding to the downward pressure by gradually hardening. It was becoming uncomfortable. Not only the sensation but the fact I had a hard-on only an inch away from my mother's face. Her right hand was under the back of my knee and the other wedged between her upper thighs, almost making it look like she was masturbating.
"Ooh, cramp," I exclaimed and Mom sat up.
"Oh no honey, would you like me to rub it?" She asked, concerned.
"No!" I blurted out. "It's OK, I'll just stretch it."
Mom took the cushion and placed it on the other end of the couch and lay down in the opposite direction.
Her feet, in white ankle socks now rested up against my thigh where her head had been and I began rubbing one as we continued watching the movie.
"Mmm, that feels nice Daniel." She sighed.
This continued until her breathing changed and I realized she'd fallen asleep. I now noticed her dressing gown had come open and revealed the backs of her bent legs to me, only covered by her white cotton nightie. I, without thinking casually took my hand from her foot and gently lifted up my mother's nightdress to reveal her bottom. In the light from the television screen her panties appeared to be beige or flesh colored, clasping her firm buttocks nicely. Rubbing my cock through my jeans I fought the desire to slide a finger along her ass crack and between her thighs to her pussy.
An explosion in the movie caused me to startle and my mother to stir. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and stated that as she was working in the morning, (at the real estate agency she'd been part-time for a number of years) she had better go to bed. She pecked me on the cheek and wished me a goodnight, leaving me there to ponder what had just happened. I'd just been turned on by my own mother and god did it feel good.
I stayed up for a while on the net and checking my emails. It seemed I had already been the subject of headhunters. Knowing I'd left my previous position and moved to this city, I had a number of job offers from firms looking for my expertise. I filed them for later perusal. I wasn't ready to get back into it just yet. That night in my old room, with my mom only a few feet away, I slept soundly and without stress for the first night in what seemed to be years. I was home.
I arose before my mother and had breakfast made when she entered the kitchen. She had makeup on and had fixed her hair up in a bun. Her uniform consisted of a light brown knee length pleated skirt and white shirt, medium heeled tan shoes and a red cravat around her neck. I had to admit, she did look better than yesterday.
