My name is Todd Walker. I'll admit I'm not the brightest person in the world.
After I finished my second year at the local college, my parents rewarded me with a car. It was just a used car, with a huge amount of mileage on it, but it least it got me from one place to another. Not that I had a lot of places to go. But, at the age of twenty, I finally felt like I was heading toward being an adult.
Only two weeks after I got the car, as I was driving kinda fast on a county road, I took a curve a bit too sharply--and drove my car into a ditch.
Luckily, I was wearing a seatbelt--I'm not that stupid! But even so, I felt shooting pains in both my wrists, and my right knee really hurt. Somehow I managed to dial 911 on my cellphone (I could barely hold it in my hand), and I got carted off to the hospital.
It turned out that I had sprained (but not broken) my wrists, and my kneecap had suffered a tiny fracture. So I'd be in that damn hospital bed for a while, pretty helpless.
My mom (her name is Francine) came to visit me soon after she heard about the accident. Naturally she was worried--but when she realized that I wasn't going to die anytime soon, she looked at me as if saying,
What kind of a son have I raised, who drives his car into a ditch?
I have to admit to you, my mom is really good-looking. Dad is one lucky guy! There's no way anyone would think she was forty-four years old--she looks like she's maybe in her early thirties. And I know I shouldn't say this, but she has a fabulous pair of tits! Of course, I haven't seen them, but you can just tell. I guess she's proud of them, because she sort of shows them off whenever she can, wearing low-cut dresses or blouses that draw men's eyes (and even some women's eyes--although they're probably jealous) toward the deep cleavage she displays. And I'm pretty sure she's not wearing a push-up bra!
She also wiggles her butt as she's walking around. I don't think it's deliberate; it just happens. So those same eyes that are glued to her tits are now glued to her backside as she leaves the room.
You probably think I'm some sort of scumbag, saying all these things about my mom. But I can't help it! I ain't had a lot of experience with girls, and in some weird way my mom has always been my "best girl."
Well, the third day into my hospital stay, I was getting pretty bored. I don't know why they wouldn't let me go, but I guess my wrists weren't strong enough for me to use crutches, which I'd definitely need if I was to get around.
There were other things I couldn't do with my banged-up wrists, and that was really bugging me.
So when Mom came by once a day, as she always did (Dad never visited me in the hospital--he thought I was a jerk and deserved what I got), she looked a little concerned.
That lovely face of hers looked me over: she could tell immediately that something was wrong.
"What's the matter, dear?" she said. Did I mention she has a lovely voice, too?
"Nothing, Mom," I muttered.
She eyed me sharply. "Don't give me that. I know something's not right. You look a little flushed. You have a fever?"
"I don't have a fever, Mom."
But of course, as moms always do, she put her cool hand, with these long, slender fingers, on my forehead.
"You
do
have a fever! At least a slight one," she said with a kind of bitter triumph.
"That's not it, Mom!" I said, losing patience.
"Then what is it?"
I'd reached what they call "the moment of truth." Was I really going to tell her what my problem was? Or was I going to keep on trying to hide it? Mom knew me about as well as anyone in the world, so I figured there was no way I could continue deceiving her.
What I did was move the sheets away from my body (that was pretty hard, since my wrists were still sore) and show her what the trouble was.
You see, I had a huge hard-on.
Her eyes naturally gravitated toward it. "Oh, dear," she said softly. "I had a feeling that might be it."
I told you Mom knew me real well!
She kept staring at my cock, frowning as if it was some really difficult problem in physics. That surprised me. I thought her natural reaction would be to get angry with me, cover me up, and give me a tongue-lashing for being such a dirty young man, exposing himself to his own mother.
I had to explain to her what was going on.
"Mom, I do myself every day, and it's been three days since--"
She gazed into my face, scowling. "You jerk off every day? Isn't that a bit excessive?"
"I don't think so. Lots of guys do that. It's just a part of my routine. But Mom, you need to help me."
"Help you how?"
Did I really need to answer that question? I just stared at her with this pleading look on my face.
Mom, for her part, had been doing something strange. It was as if she was hypnotized by my cock. I've heard women get that way sometimes: they find it both fascinating and a little frightening, for obvious reasons. So, aside from just staring at it, she was using the index finger of her right hand to stroke my dick back and forth. You can imagine what effect that had on me!
"So big," she whispered. "How'd it get so big?"
"I don't know," I said. "It just did." Can I mention that my cock is about eight inches long, and pretty thick?
Then she said something under her breath, which she thought I couldn't hear--but I did. What she said was: "Bigger than your father's."
I felt a little glow of pride at that. But I was still in a bad way.
"Mom," I said, "please . . ."
I guess she felt she had to come to my rescue. So she grabbed my cock firmly with her right hand, raised it up so it was pointing straight up, and began pumping it lightly up and down. It was going to take a lot more effort than that to get me off!
"Mom, a little harder," I begged.
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "It's been a while since I've done this. Your dad usually likes to come in me."
She actually stuck her tongue a little out of her mouth in deep concentration. But she did begin stroking me harder. She switched to her left hand, using her right to cup my balls. Oh, man, do I love that! I do it myself when I jerk off. Meanwhile I was just enjoying the incredible sensation of this divine creature servicing me. I somehow forgot that she was my mom: it was like she was some goddess who had come down from heaven to relieve me of the horrible burden of not having come in three days.
Well, it didn't take long. I began moaning softly, and as my mother looked me right in the face I began spurting. The first shot went, like, a foot in the air, and she jerked her head back in surprise. There were plenty more spurts, since I'd had to hold it in for so long. In fact, this was one of the all-time greatest orgasms I ever had.
Mom, who was at first startled at my huge load, now frowned in disapproval. Even though I'd raised my hospital gown up to my chest, some drops landed on the gown as far up as the area of my chin. Snatching up some Kleenex, Mom began mopping up all the stuff, clucking her tongue and saying, "Lordy me, what a mess!"
I just grinned at her. I always feel kind of goofy after an orgasm, and I looked at her as a kind of guardian angel who'd rescued me from a horrible fate.
She was too embarrassed to place the sticky Kleenex in the garbage can, fearing that some nurse would find them and figure out what happened. So she stuffed them into her purse, making a face because they were still damp.
"You feel better now?" she said acidly.
"Great, Mom," I said, beaming at her. "Couldn't have done it better myself."
Then she began talking about general subjects as if nothing had happened. Pretty soon she left.
When she came back the next day, we exchanged what are called "significant looks." I mean, my relationship with her would never be the same, would it? Once your mom has jerked you off, everything is different. Even so, she tried to pretend things were normal by chattering away about nothing. But at last, after an awkward pause, she said:
"You, um, still aren't able to . . .?" She made pumping gestures with one hand.
"Sorry, Mom," I said. "My wrists are still too sore. They're getting better, but that's one thing I can't manage."
She sighed heavily. "You want another round?"