Just a warm story of how I came to love my mother more than any son should.
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My Mum had always been the rock for me when I needed strength; the soft pillow to bury my weeping head in; the wisely spoken adult who could explain things to growing me; the storyteller and above all, the mother to look up to. As I grew up she was my everything and while I could hardly ever have been called a 'mummy's boy' I'd always have done anything for her. I always loved her dearly, as any son should and my admiration for her never ceased.
Of course my Dad had done his bit too -- he'd always remembered to praise my successes and taught me the manly things of life but he'd also chastise me firmly and suitably when necessary. Of course he also had to spent too much time working and therefore came second to my mother.
I grew upwards quickly, or so my parents kept repeating and by the time I'd secured myself a place in the business world and left home at the age of 21 I was taller than either of them and had a far better physique than my father ever had apparently. In later years all the time he spent behind a desk did nothing for his shape -- whereas I did my best to avoid that fate and exercised rigorously and often.
My wonderful Mum managed to retain her naturally good shape by exercise, regular visits to the gym, a healthy lifestyle and a good diet and of course she also instilled those guidelines in me so I'd join her in her exercises whenever possible -- which is why I was always proud to be able to display my well-formed body. It was definitely her guidance that had done so much to make me what I was and I was always pleased to remind her what I'd achieved and it often seemed that I'd made good use of some genes from her family side.
"You remind me so much of my brother," Mum would murmur, usually gently stroking my cheek or chest in passing, "You're so much like him -- you know, tall and strong and good-looking and successful. He was wonderful."
Her brother had unfortunately lost his life to some drunken motorist but the memory lived on and on...
Her words would always make me smile inside as well as outside -- because they were always spoken with such warmth and they made me all the more determined to live up to her expectations -- and to the best of my knowledge I succeeded.
But the one way I failed my mother was that I hadn't any interest in getting married. Oh, I always guessed that would come later in my life, but nothing was further from my mind. Naturally I kept finding girlfriends who insisted that they'd be perfect for me to marry but somehow I managed to enjoy their delights while avoiding their clutches and their wiles and although I'd occasionally party the weekends away I actually preferred to head back across town to spend time with my parents, settling down for all the world as if I'd never left home. It was so relaxing and comforting to be with them, idly chattering about all and everything, discussing sport or the business world with Dad and kneeling or standing alongside Mum as she gardened or cooked -- or perhaps joining in as she went about her daily exercise routine.
And it was that routine that always caused my mind to twist -- from being that of a dutiful and devoted son to the warped mind of a lusty beast, because watching her working out was more than enough to make juices rise in every part of me.
The way her back would bend and cause her ass to strain tightly; the way her generous breasts would stretch her leotard as she turned and twisted around. The smooth tightness of her midriff and belly along with the sleek lines of her lovely legs. The way she could stretch her legs so wide apart and bend her body in all directions. Even the occasional grunt of exertion was completely erotic to me and I'd find myself captivated and unable to move away and yet full of lust for her body at the same time. Much as I should have curbed my thoughts I just wanted to tear her skimpy clothes off and ravage her amazing body with my throbbing straining cock. Of course I was also captivated because she was my Mum and I was proud of her, but equally so she was a woman of exceptional physique and beauty whose body would have been very welcome in my bed had she not been my mother. It was well worthwhile watching her, not least to provide me with some very erotic memories for later in bed.
For a good number of years that was our routine -- Dad and I would work or chew the fat, Mum would keep fit and provide a lovely home for us; I'd exercise my sexual needs with the local girls and everything was calm and lovely. That was until I arrived back at home one day to face tears and sadness and as I held my weeping mother she managed to explain that Dad hadn't been feeling too well in recent weeks and after visits to the doctor and the hospital they'd been told that he had an inoperable tumour that seemed to be growing quickly and aggressively.
Suddenly things turned around and it was now my turn to be the rock; the calming voice; the helpful son and the man Mum looked up to as Dad quickly sank into a mere shell of his old self and I now spent more and more time helping Mum to care for him, then being the one for her to unburden her heart to. It was a very sad time, the only vague consolation being that Dad didn't linger for long. Inside four months he was gone, leaving Mum and me with a big hole in our lives.
But not that long after the funeral it was once again Mum who became the strong one and one day, after I came back from work I found that Mum had seemed to have lifted herself and for once she smiled at me again.
"Come on darling, this won't do, will it?" she rhetorically asked as she let a wry smile form, "We can't go on moping, can we?"
I shook my head, then encompassed her in my arms, holding her tightly as she mourned briefly, then she stiffened and straightened up.
"Thank you darling, I needed that," she said, then reached up and kissed me.
"You're so wonderful Chris, how on earth would I have managed without you?" she said, her eyes boring into mine.
"No, I'm just being me, it's you who've been so strong," I said, "You'd have got through if I hadn't been there -- you'd have managed."
She sighed heavily then took my hand and held it tightly.
"Yes, but without you I might have cracked up -- it was you who pushed me through I think," she added, "Come here, let me hug you again."
A moment later we were cuddling tightly once more as Mum tried to rebuild her renewed brightness.
It took a while for us working together to remove all unnecessary traces of Dad. Of course, Mum retained loads of mementos and personal things but they remained inside a cupboard, away from her daily gaze.
"It's nice to know he's still there but his body's gone now so I don't want to be reminded all the time," she said wisely, "But I can always take a quick look when I need him, can't I?"
It was in those times when she dwelt on her memories that I'd admire her for what she was. A fairly tall well-formed woman with amazing locks of wavy mid-brown hair and a pleasingly rounded face. She was my ideal woman on whom I based many of my desires, a woman with a ready smile, warm soft lips and bright happy eyes that were often full of expression.
And then, soon after we'd set everything in it's proper place we came another watershed moment when, as we relaxed after dinner one day, Mum reached across and put her hand on my arm.
"Darling..." she began, "Oh dear, I don't know how to say this, but why don't you come and live with me?"
I think that my eyebrows spoke for me and Mum laughed, shattering the seriousness.
"No, silly, not like that!" she said with a wicked stage wink, "I think I'm scared that if I stay here alone I'll get old and boring and lose interest in life -- whereas if you're here, I'll never get bored and perhaps you'll be able to help, you know, put a spring back in me."
"I can try to do that anyway," I argued back, "I'm not far away and you can see me any time and have your peace when you need it."
"No, I mean, here we are -- you have to pay rent on your place and all of this house is just for me," she added impatiently, "I'd much prefer it if you lived here; this place needs a man to help fill it out -- so how about it?"
It certainly made sense in many ways and Mum pushed on quickly.
