I suppose it began the night my father died. He died suddenly from a heart attack, one moment a healthy vigorous man the next graying flesh sitting on the toilet. Rather undignified, but I have since learned not uncommon. I was asleep at the time, my parents carousing rather late in the evening before returning home. My first inkling that something was amiss was hearing my mother cry. I wondered if it had been a fight, but then dismissed that thought, because although rare when they did fight, my mother gave as good as she got. I got up to find out what was going on and to give my father hell if he had hurt her some way. He had, but not in any way that I had imagined.
There was a stranger standing in the living room and through her tears mom introduced me to my dad's doctor. I can't remember his name and I am unsure if I ever did know it, because through the open door of the bathroom I could see my father, in the light blue pajamas he always wore, unmoving. I knew instinctively he was dead and my own tears fell unhindered as I took my mother in my arms and yet ended up crying on her shoulder. I don't know who comforted who, and let me assure you there was not much comfort to be had that night. The police arrived shortly thereafter, much to my surprise, and guarded my father's body until morning when the hearse arrived to take him away to autopsy. Such are the joys of sudden death, not only the shock of loss but also the indignity of strangers throughout the house denying access to the one you have loved and lost. The next few days were a blur folding into each other as mother and I dealt with the loss. The one thing I do remember is that I held my mother in my arms as often as I could, or maybe it was she held me in hers, anyways, we bonded into a deeper love of each other, if that were possible. No, there was not anything sexual about it!
A few weeks went by and we tried to fall back into a normal routine. I returned to school, trying to pick up where I had left off. Mother cleaned the house, cooked meals, and generally looked after me as she had before. Money was not a concern for my father had been a prudent man and financially we were well looked after. To the eye of the casual onlooker I am sure, we appeared to be functioning normally. Mother even returned to working at the hospital as a casual nurse, picking up one or two shifts a week. Life went on. But I knew better, the sobs that could be heard from behind my mother's bedroom door hurt me terribly. Being young, I just didn't know what I should do. Finally, one night in desperation I grabbed a box of Kleenex off the kitchen counter and walked into her bedroom unannounced. I took her in my arms and futilely tried to dry her cheeks. That didn't help so I lay there with her as she sobbed, trying to comfort her. When her sobs diminished, I realized she had fallen asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, I also fell asleep beside her. It became a nightly ritual, she sobbing, my holding her, falling asleep together. As time passed the sobs stopped, but my nightly visits didn't. Mom seemed more relaxed when she was within my arms.
I suppose that this would be as good a time as any to describe my Mom. About five foot five, middle thirties, unexercised body, the beginnings of middle age sag, overall she was not a very attractive woman. Her breasts sagged, her bottom too large, her thighs thick, but she was my Mom and I loved her, and better yet, she loved me. I had often wondered what my father had seen in her being a handsome man himself, and I noticed more than once how a good-looking lady's eye would follow him. But he never showed interest in another woman that I was ever aware of. Fortunately, for me, I had inherited my father's good looks, although I was shy and retiring with the fairer sex. Of course, I was eighteen when my father died.
The nights of cuddling continued until one night, as I guess could be expected, the teenage hormones, which raged through my body, got the better of me. With a hand that shook from fear, excitement and lust I cuddled a soft warm boob as she slept. My body responded to the sensation with an instant hard-on, which pressed against her backside. I thought I could get away with the excuse it had been an accident if she awoke, and I held her most of the night feeling her nipple react to my soft caress. I thought I heard her breathing change to a deeper more uneven rhythm but fell asleep myself still holding her softness in my hand. When I awoke the following morning, she was preparing breakfast and nothing was said so I assumed I had gotten away with it. Instead of paying attention in school, I daydreamed of the pillowy softness I had held in my hand the night before.
Needless to say I waited anxiously for her to fall asleep as we snuggled the following night and when her breathing settled I again reached for the wonderful female flesh. Cuddling her breast in my hand filled me with lust for my mother as a woman and soon I began to think of other things I might do. She was wearing a nightshirt that buttoned up the front and so with great care I began unbuttoning to hear a sudden change in her breathing. It became deeper more rapid. I froze and when she didn't move I continued my slow unbuttoning until I was at her waist line. I carefully pulled the shirt to one side and once again took the soft boob in my hand feeling immediately the turgidity of her nipple. One of my fingers circled around it before two fingers rolled it gently between them. I noticed she seemed to be almost panting in her sleep. I thought myself clever in my ministrations forgetting all about any excuse I might have if she awoke. Finally, through sheer exhaustion from two nights of little sleep, I too fell asleep still holding her naked breast. The following morning I awoke with a start to find her gone from the bed. I immediately remembered the unbuttoned nightshirt and the way I had left her as I fell asleep. I lay in the bed for a few moments wondering what I should do until I realized there was nothing to do but face the music. When I entered the kitchen, she simply gave me her morning greeting and smile. Nothing was said.
At college, I realized I had been lucky and firmly resolved not to molest my mother again. I noticed mother was wearing something different when we went to bed that night. The nightshirt was shorter and held together by two ribbon- like ties. However, my resolve was clear and with hormones held in check, and two rather sleepless nights behind me; I simply put my arms around her as she spooned against me. I started to drift off to sleep, when my mother with a shift of her shoulders changed position in her sleep, and a naked soft warm boob fell into my hand. Somehow, inadvertently, my mother's shirt had become completely undone. She sighed heavily, but seemed to continue to sleep, but now my hormones ragged, my blood seemed to race hot through my body. I shivered all over.
