My name's Karen Wilkins. I've just turned 50 years old, I'm white, generally considered quite good looking for my age, with brown eyes that match my hair, which hangs to my shoulder blades and which I usually wear in a ponytail. I'm five feet seven tall, my figure's still reasonably trim, though my boobs have swelled to a DD cup and I do have a little bit of a belly on me and chubby thighs. I live on the outskirts of North London, I work in a local convenience store, I've been divorced for eight years, and separated for three before that, and before what I'm about to tell you happened I hadn't had sex for seven years.
Like, I imagine, a lot of women in my position I think about sex occasionally, like when I'm watching Mark Harmon in NCIS, but only in a sort of detached way. I do give my pussy a nice little vibro-massage now and then, but that's as far as it went. My 20-year old son Peter and I were quite settled in our own little lives and the last thing I wanted or needed was some new man wading in and upsetting that.
Things started to change last summer. I was sitting on the loo one morning, still half-asleep, and I must have forgotten to slide the bolt on the bathroom door, because in walks Peter stark naked with a towel over his shoulders. Yes, he's my son, but before my brain switched into gear my most basic instincts clicked in and my eyes went straight to his rather impressive cock and forest of pubic hair. A split second later my brain did catch up and I screwed my eyes shut and squawked "Peter!"
Seeing his mother doing her business I expected him to back out the door but instead he just half-turned away from me (giving me a view from eight inches away of his shapely bum) and said "Sorry mum, I need a shower and I'm in a rush, I'm due in class in less than an hour. Anyway, it's not as if I haven't got anything you haven't seen before." Peter's studying bookkeeping at the local college. And as for his comment, of course that was technically true, but the last time I'd seen him in the all-together he'd been about nine years old. Anyway, he stepped into the shower and closed the door, so all I could see was his vague outline through the frosted glass.
I finished off as quickly as I could, and as I closed the bathroom door behind me I heard Peter leave the shower. I don't know what made me do it, but I opened the door again to see him drying himself, the towel held under his balls which swelled up, with his cock rearing above them like a flagpole. My mouth went dry, and I mumbled "Erm, Jenny phoned, she said she'll be round about seven tonight."
Jenny's his girlfriend. Totally unfazed by my return, and doing nothing to cover himself up, he grinned and said, "I know mum, you told me last night," shaking his head as if he thought I was going demented. The way my cheeks were burning as I shuffled back to my bedroom, I wondered if perhaps I was too.
Shameful though it felt, for the rest of the day I couldn't get the sight of my son's cock and balls out of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes I saw them. I didn't see him again that day, but in bed that night as I played with my vibrator I caught myself fantasising that it was Peter's knob pushing between my pussy lips. When I saw him at breakfast the next morning I knew my face was turning as red as a beetroot but he didn't seem to notice.
It was really hot that summer, and Peter took to wearing just tennis shorts around the house and nothing else. Literally nothing else - he sometimes sat opposite my chair on the sofa, with his legs splayed, and if I scrunched down a tiny bit I could clearly see his wedding tackle up the loose leg of his shorts. I'm quite sure he wasn't doing it on purpose, and I'm certain he had no idea what affect he was having on me, but I'd never felt so sexually frustrated in my life as I did those few weeks. I was using my vibro every night, sometimes in the morning too, but nothing seemed to be able to drive the thought of cock, and my son's in particular, out of my mind. I really felt as if I was going round the twist, and I seriously considered going to a pub or club dressed like a tart and offering to fuck the first man who looked my way. Then fate seemed to play a part.
I'd been having trouble with my home computer, and Peter had promised to ask a friend from the college football team, who was studying IT, to have a look at it for me. One night out of the blue the front door bell rang and I opened it to find a young black man standing there. He smiled and said "Mrs Wilkins? I'm Jase, Pete asked me to call round to look at your PC."
Taken by surprise, I said, "Oh, well, Peter's not in this evening but if you don't mind that I'd be grateful if you would." He was a nice looking kid, very dark skinned, very polite, a couple of years younger than Peter, an inch or so shorter than me and slightly built, dressed smartly but casually. I realised I knew him slightly - his parents are big wheels in the local Baptist church, and his mother's a regular customer in our shop. I showed him the computer in the corner of the front room and left him to it. After about half an hour he called me over. "Right Mrs W, I've had to reboot your hard drive but I saved your data to..." He grinned as he saw my eyes glaze over and said, "Anyway it's working fine now, and all the stuff you'd saved is still there."
I thanked him and asked how much he wanted but he refused to take payment. As it was a really hot night I offered him a drink, and he asked for an orange juice. I poured myself a sherry and we sat opposite each other making small talk. We soon ran out of things to say though and, as we sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence, I realised Jace was trying, and failing, not to stare at my boobs. He finished his juice and put the glass down, obviously looking to escape, when I burst out, "Jace, would you like me to suck your prick?"
I'd had no idea I was going to say that, and it shocked me as much as it did him. He obviously couldn't believe what he thought he'd just heard and yelped "Sorry Mrs Wilkins?"
What happened over the next few minutes felt for all the world like an out-of-body experience, as if I wasn't myself but watching me turning into a middle-aged vamp. I rose from my chair and, as Jace stared at me open-mouthed, crossed to the sofa and sat next to him. I heard myself murmur "I haven't done it for a while but I used to be very good at it." I rested my hand on his groin, feeling him stiff inside his jeans and, hearing no objection from him, I undid them and, pushed them down to his ankles. Seemingly in the same dreamlike state, he lifted his bum off the sofa to push his white Y-fronts down.
His dick was altogether smaller than Peter's, with just a few tufts of pubes, but it was ramrod-stiff. He gasped and shuddered as I wrapped my hand around it, stroking it gently up and down a couple of times before dipping my head to take it between my lips. I had never even seen a black cock before but there I was sucking one, belonging to an 18-year old boy I hardly knew from a deeply religious family. He curled his fingers tightly in my hair and whispered "Oh my god." After no more than a minute or so he began to pant, and as I tasted his pre-cum I wrapped a hand around his small, soft, hairless balls. Within seconds, with a huge gasp he started bucking at me and his jizz exploded into my mouth. I sucked hard and licked his length to hoover up every drop.
