Gordon Maes a Baby

I awakened by the sound of mother moving about the house. I had heard it many times before. It always occurred when my father went away to one of the construction jobs, sometimes-leaving mother and I alone for several weeks.

I have a suspicion mother deliberately made noises to try to waken me so I would get up and she could have company in her late night restlessness. If such was her intention then for a long time she failed to dislodge me from my bed.

Mother is a timid sort of person – what I believe is sometimes called a “Mousy little woman.” She always spoke and moved very quietly, except when she was engaged in her midnight crashes and bangs. She is little more than five feet tall, pretty in a delicate sort of way, slim and from what I could see, having small breasts. Her legs could hardly be described as long and sexy, but were in fact reasonably shapely. She gave the impression of a small, soft brown mouse that would scuttle away at the first sign of danger.

When father had to go away to work mother became very miserable. She missed him terribly. I often felt that I might do more to alleviate her loneliness but as so often with youth, self-interest would intervene. Then on the night in question things changed.

I was awakened by an unusually loud crash even for mother. I thought that this time there might have been an accident, and decided to investigate. My search for the source of the noise led me to the kitchen where I discovered mother sitting forlornly at the table with a cup of tea in front of her.

She looked up as I came in and gave what I can only think was a welcoming smile.

“What was all that noise?” I asked.

“I just dropped some saucepans,” she replied.

What she was doing moving saucepans around in the middle of the night I don’t know, and seeing no obvious signs of mess or damage I said, “Oh, I thought you might have had an accident. I’ll go back to bed.”

“Stay with me for a little while, darling,” mother said. “Have a cup of tea.”

I glanced at her and she was giving me a pleading look. Unable to resist the appeal of a distressed maiden, even if she was my mother and no longer a maiden, I sat down at the table with her.

There was silence for a while, neither of us seeming to know what to say, then I tried to break the ice.

“You miss dad really badly don’t you, mum?”

“Yes,” she said, and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. “Especially at night. It’s so lonely in that bed I can’t sleep.”

Embarrassed by mother’s tears, I tried to make a silly joke of the situation and said, “Perhaps you should buy one of those blow up dolls from the sex shop.”

Mother blushed and seemed to take my joke seriously when she said, “It wouldn’t be the same as having a flesh and blood person to snuggle into.”

Like many people when their joke has gone awry, I tried to reinforce it by extending it. “Perhaps I should keep you company?”

Mother had been looking down at the table, but now her head came up slowly. “My God,” I thought, “Now I’ve put my foot right in it. There’ll be hell to pay.”

She looked at me for nearly a full minute in silence, then said very quietly, “Would you really, darling? That’s a lovely idea sweetheart.”

Anything else she might have said could not have astounded me as those words did. I didn’t know what to say or where to look.

Mother rose, came round the table to me and kissing me on the cheek took may hand and said, “Thank you my love. Come along.”

From my early childhood, as my father left for one of the distant construction sites, he used to say that rather silly thing that fathers do say to their male children: “Look after your mother, you’re the man of the house while I’m away.” I somehow don’t think that going to bed with mother was included in his idea of “looking after your mother.”

I was led in a daze to her bedroom and bed. I stood by the bed not moving until she said, “Well get in my love.”

I obeyed. I felt as if I was dreaming – or was it having a nightmare. I could have protested, fled, but I didn’t. I meekly got in beside her.

I turned my back on her and she snuggled up to me with one arm thrown over my body. I thought it would be impossible for me to go to sleep, but I must have dozed off, because some time later I came to.

Mother was still cuddling into my back, but her arm had changed position. Her hand had found the slit in my pajama bottoms and was fondling my penis. She was murmuring apparently to herself, “Fuck me Gordon, fuck me my lovely son, fuck mummy.”

The stimulation and these words brought me fully awake, and my penis hardened under her hand.

She probably thought I was asleep when she began to play with my shaft, but with its hardening realised, I had wakened.

“Oh darling,” she said in a gasping sort of voice, “Put it in me. Please my love. It wouldn’t have to mean anything to you, but it would mean so much to me. Just this once, sweetheart.”

I was now fully erect and throbbing. Mother rolled over on to her back still saying, “Put it in me, sweetheart. I love you, I really do…”

For me the situation had become irresistible. I came over her. The room was dark and I could not see her properly, but she fumbled for my shaft and guided it into her.

Once I had penetrated her, mother seemed to undergo a change of personality. From the little mousy woman she changed to a raging monster. She began to scream and yell, “Kill me you brute, kill me. Fuck me to death… Kill me with your beautiful spear… Fuck me all the way to my heart…”

I was thrusting into her with all the strength I could muster, but she, wrapping her legs round me, kept saying, “Deeper, deeper.” She was writhing on the end of my shaft in a struggle to get every last millimetre into her.

I was astounded by the strength she displayed – this normally quiet fragile looking woman. She beat me with her fists and her legs held me in a clamp like grip, then suddenly she gave a tremendous heave, and her screaming rose to a shriek. I felt a burning sensation down my back, and it was only afterwards that I discovered she had lacerated me with her nails. She bit my neck as she sobbed, fighting with me for more and more of my penis.

In the midst of this battle I suddenly came, bursting into her like a stick of dynamite exploding. Her cries changed: “All of it… fill me up…give me babies you bastard…lots and lots of babies…you brute…Oh…oh…oh…aah.”

With that last sound she began to subside, and I with her.

I pulled out of her but she still held me in her arms. “Thank you darling. Thank you, thank you my dearest love.”

Her hold on me relaxed and she drifted off to sleep. I must have followed soon after.

When I woke in the morning mother was still sleeping. I had to get to university lectures, and also, I wanted to delay as long as possible the confrontation with mother I felt had to come, so I got out of bed and hastened through my shower and breakfast. I felt the water sting my back as I showered, and looking in the mirror, saw mother’s claw marks. They had obviously been bleeding, so I conjectured there must be blood in the bed.

I was just about finished eating when mother came on the scene. The wild cat of the night had gone, and after giving me one glance, made no further eye contact with me. She began her mouse-like scuttling round the kitchen and neither of us said a word.

I left for my lectures puzzled that the momentous events of the night had brought forth not a single utterance. I was relieved however that the things I felt must be said had been delayed. Putting off the evil hour, as it were.

I might just as well have stayed home for all I took in from the lectures that day. My mind was constantly reflecting on mother and I, and tried to think how if necessary, I could open the discussion.

One of my problems was that I liked what we had done. Just thinking of it during the day gave me an erection. I might strive to tell myself that it was wrong, it was incest, immoral and a betrayal of my father, but it had no real influence over my lustful feelings.

As is so often the case in these situations, once you have opened the door, it is very hard to close it again. There are plenty of sexual one-night stands, but in most cases, the couple comes together, then part, often for good. I had to go on living with mother, unless I decided to flee the family home, and that did not appeal to me.

I had never consciously thought of mother as a sexual partner, but now, having as it were enjoyed her, I hungered for her. The encounter of the night had been brief and at least on my part uncalculated, but I could see the gratifying possibilities if we continued to have sex.

Arriving home I found mother working in the kitchen. I began my prepared apology: “Mother, I am sorry…” but the little mouse cut in.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Gordon. It worked out just the way I planned it to. It is a pity we started so late, though. We’ll get to bed early tonight and do some proper love making.” The wild cat had reentered.

I was stupefied. Reproaches I might have expected or self-condemnations, but the suggestion that we repeat the performance? And this from my normally reticent little mother?

I felt I should make some sort of self-justifying protest. “What about father…”

“Well he’s not here, is he darling? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him can it? We can go to bed together every night now we know how much we can gratify each other.” Then with a momentary return to her diffident self, “You do want to, don’t you? I mean, you did liked being with me and making love, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but its…”

“I know, darling, its incest, but we are not doing any harm and we did enjoy it, didn’t we?”

I admitted the truth of this, simply saying, “Yes.”

“Look, my love, when your father comes home we shall obviously have to stop going to bed together, but when he’s out I could let you have me if you needed me. And he’s sure to go of on other jobs that will keep him away from home, he always has, and having you will make me very contented.”

I suppose I should have gone on protesting. Refused to be involved with this sexual conspiracy, but fed up with one-night stands, the thought of having sex available to me on a relatively regular basis, and at home, was too tempting.

Thus began regular lovemaking with mother.

Our first full night together was the wildest sexual experience I had ever had. Nightdress and pajamas were abandoned. The game opened with deep, tongue- thrusting saliva soaked kisses, as my hands explored her breasts, which proved to be as I had suspected, small, firm, with long pink nipples that were hard with her excitement. As I sucked on these seductive morsels mother said, “I fed you there! I wish I had milk to give you now!”

I think that had any other woman said they wanted to give me their milk, I would have been revolted, but with mother, it was different somehow. I wanted to take her milk. Perhaps we always have a deep down desire to be nourished at our mother’s breasts!

From her breasts, I slowly kissed my way down her body, all the time stimulating her clitoris with me finger. She kept moaning, “Taste me, darling, taste me.”

As my kisses reached her vulva, I moved to come between her legs. As I did so, she opened them wide to expose her genitals with the little slick of pubic hair running from her swelling mons to the cleft. Her organ was small and plump and pulling apart the outer lips there was revealed the pink inner petals.

Mother’s moans were now pleading: “Taste me, darling, please taste me.”

I ran my tongue over the inner lips, savouring the lubricant that she was producing copiously, and breathing in her woman’s odour. I lifted the little cover over her clitoris, and began to lick the little pleasure centre.

It was maddening me, the pre-cum dripping from my penis, but I wanted to enjoy her body for as long as possible so I fought back my urge to come. My face was soaked with her fluid and I think I would have gone on with the oral sex forever, but mother must have sensed the extreme nature of my arousal, and pulling away from me positioned herself to take my shaft into her mouth.

Before commencing she said, “Just let it all go when you’re ready, darling.” Then she began with the crown of my penis, at first gently sucking and nibbling it, her soft tongue caressing this sensitive nerve centre.

She seemed to feel my approaching orgasm and speeded up her movements, taking more and more of my shaft into her mouth and sliding up and down on it. I could hold back no longer, and I blew into her mouth. I felt her swallowing my semen, sucking it into her like an alcoholic with the first drink after long deprivation. Even when I had finished, she continued to suck as if she would drain my testicles.

Then she came off me pressing her mouth to mine, her mouth full of my semen, making me taste my own sperm as I made her taste her fluid. It was a mad moment of sensuality, raw desire to possess and be possessed. It was as if we were saying, “From this moment nothing is barred between us. All things sexual that are possible, we can make actual.”

Exhausted not so much by the physical activity we had been engaged in than the emotional tide that had swept over us, we parted and I fell into a doze.

I woke to feel mother playing with my penis as she had the first night. It began to harden and that strange mixture of pain and pleasure that desire for the loved one often gives rise to, swept over me.

I was about to come on top of her, but she was too quick. She was astride me and lowering herself onto my shaft. Once entered into her she began to move up and down on me slowly, murmuring softly all the time what sounded almost like a mantra; “I love you my sweet…fuck me forever…put your cream into mother…make me have babies…lots of babies…I want your babies, darling…”

Her long hair had fallen over her face. From what I could see, her lips were wet with sperm and saliva. I think her eyes were closed. She appeared to be in a sort of erotic trance, and her love murmuring went on and on. There was no hurry, no wild cat, just a peaceful melding of two people seeking to become one with each other. I gave myself up to the hypnotic sound of her murmuring and the slow, gentle movements of her vagina over my shaft. It had a beauty I had never experienced with any other woman, and I became lost in a new Garden of Eden. We were Adam and Eve, finding afresh the ecstacy of sexual coupling.

I wanted it to go on forever, but it is the tragedy of all such exquisite unions between man and woman, that they do come to and end. My mind said, “Let this last forever.” My body said, “I must have release.”

I believe mother was having the same experience, and she began to come. It was not the wild orgasm of the previous night. Her movements did not speed up, but they became more intense. There were no loud cries, only whispered, “Oh my love, my darling…”

I came with equal restraint, pumping into her at a leisurely pace, luxuriating in the sheer seductiveness of knowing that I was putting into this woman the potential for a new creation. We had bonded and in a non-incestuous relationship, we could be said to have just had our wedding night.

After this strangely serene union, we slept in each other’s arms. I was at peace, and mother had no more of her restless midnight wanderings.

In the following days and weeks I knew myself to be in love with my own mother, and had ample proof that she was in love with me. We needed to touch and hold each other constantly, and whenever possible to engage in sexual coupling. The joy, the fulfillment, was beyond anything I had ever experienced before. Yet lurking in the background of all this pleasure, was a pain I had not taken account of. The return home of my father.

Had I been able to view my mother as a useful fuck, all might have been well. But it was not so.

The blow fell when one night, just after we had united in a particularly lovely sexual intercourse, mother said in a strained voice, “Your father will be home tomorrow.”

I felt a cold knife strike me to the heart. I knew what this meant. I would be dismissed from her bed. I was to be separated from the woman I loved and desired above all things, and to go on in the knowledge that another would be enjoying her body.

My father arrived, and that night it was I who went to a cold bed, I who now suffered the midnight lonely wanderings. Aware of what went on in my mother’s bed, I could now hear my father’s groans as he fucked mother. I burned with angry jealously, almost hating my father.

Mother did her best to console me, opening herself to me whenever it seemed safe to do so, but at one point her very love and compassion for me made things worse.

Father had gone to the office of the Construction Company he worked for. He was away for the day. Mother was about to let me relieve my sexual tension in her when, adopting one of her favourite positions, she sat across me and said, “Darling, my vagina is rather sore, try this.”

I did not know what she meant for a moment then I felt a different sensation as she lowered herself onto me. Two thoughts struck me almost simultaneously. First, “My God, he’s fucked her so much she’s too sore to take a penis in her vagina.” Secondly, “She’s putting my penis into her anus.”

Here was a true measure of pleasure and pain. I had never experience anal sex, and the tightness of her tunnel was a delicious sensation, yet I knew that I was only enjoying this new delight by virtue of my father’s use of mother.

As always, mother seemed to sense my thoughts, and kept saying, “You know I love you darling, we shall be together again soon.” I shot my sperm into her, but it was with misery, rather than rapture.

My father eventually went off to a new construction contract. I returned to mother’s bed. We loved as we had loved before, but now I was aware of my father’s shadow hanging over us. He would return, and again I would be a second class citizen in mother’s bed.

Mother usually never spoke of her sexual relationship with my father, but one night she revealed something of her knowledge and feelings.

She was holding me close to her after we had loved, and she said, “You know, darling, your father always gets himself a woman in the places where he works.”

I think this was meant to make me feel better about our incest, but it actually made me feel worse. Was I mother’s revenge on father for his unfaithfulness?

This thought was reversed when one night mother said, “We are going to have a baby, darling.”

I was stunned. Unthinkingly I had put my sperm into mother, not considering that she could get pregnant, never using a contraceptive. If she were going to have a baby that was of our making, I would have to be responsible.

“Mother,” I began, but she cut in…

“Your father always uses a condom. It could be that he used a faulty one, but I’m sure it’s ours.”

I was beside myself with happiness. “Mother, if we could have a baby…”

I recalled the occasions when we had loved, and she had begged me to make her pregnant. I thought at the time this had only been the cry of passion. Now I realised that she had meant it. She actually wanted me to make her pregnant.

It goes on. When father comes home, I must vacate mother’s bed. He curses the condom makers for their faulty work, but I love little Janet, the fruit of the love between mother and I.