Mom's Visit: Repercussions

It was hard for me to believe, and every time I thought about it, my mind spun. I had just done something that wasn't supposed to be done. I had screwed my own mom.

I leaned forward and pressed my forearms against the cool tile of the shower wall. The hot water beat down on my shoulders and neck as I hung my head down. As the water coursed down my back and legs, an image suddenly popped into my head - an image of the previous night, of my own mother lying back on top of me, me grabbing at her tits, of us- Oh my god! Fucking!

I felt nervous, filled with discomfort; my heart was pumping. How could I face her again? My god, how embarrassing! And all that mommy/baby stuff we were saying - where did that come from? Yet even through the shame and confusion, I felt my cock grow heavy and solid, just thinking about how she had felt.

This was crazy. I felt like I was going to explode. I closed my eyes and forced the images from my head; there would be time to worry about this later, plenty of time, I was sure. I finished washing up and stepped out of the shower.

I dried quickly and shaved, then, wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, I went out into the bedroom. Mom was still sleeping there, her long dark and silver hair spread out in a fan on the sheet, her thin cotton nightgown pushed out to the sides by her flattened sagging boobs. I couldn't look away. Now that I knew my mother as a sexual creature, it was hard to flip my mind back and just see her as "mom". Just looking at her reminded me of the feel of my dick in her pussy and our moans and cries as we fucked in the hot tub. My cheeks reddened, and the guilt overcame me again.

I quickly left the room, closing the door behind me, and went out to the living room where I put away the blanket and pillow I had used on the couch last night. By the time we returned from the hot tub, the tension between us had become awkward and uncomfortable. We didn't even speak, just went our separate ways, with just the merest hug and muttered good night. I don't know what my mom had been feeling, but my own mind was stunned by just how fucked up this was, and how it could change everything completely. Man oh man, my mind had raced until the wee hours of the morning.

I went about my morning ritual like a robot, mechanically making coffee, dressing, eating some yogurt and fruit, and then I sat down to check my email. When I realized that after twenty minutes I still hadn't finished reading the first message because my mind kept drifting off into worry, I got up. I looked into the bedroom to see that Mom was still sleeping, so I left a note on the counter saying I would be back soon and went for a walk.

When I got back to the apartment an hour or so later, I had picked up a copy of the paper for Mom, because she refused to use computers. I unlocked the door and went in. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table, clad in her blue robe, drinking a cup of coffee. She turned her head to look at me, but when our eyes met, both of us quickly looked away.

"Um, good morning," I muttered. "Here's the paper." I held it out to her.

She took it from me. "Thank you, baby," she said, and then she bit her lip. Obviously she was reminded of last night as quickly as I was when she said that, and I imagined her cheeks were burning like mine were.

"You're welcome," I replied after a long pause. I didn't know what else to say. I felt like an idiot. I felt like a pervert. And even as I stood there silently, in my mind I imagined leaping across the short space between us, bridging the chasm and dragging her to me, forcing my mouth onto hers, roughly kneading her breast with my hand, and this was almost worse than the shame of knowing what we had done - wanting it, somewhere tortured inside me, to happen again. Abruptly I turned and walked away down the hall.

I grabbed a book at random off of my bookshelf and then went back out and into the living room. I sat on the couch and opened the book and tried to read, but I couldn't concentrate. I sat there for several minutes, and when I turned my head, I saw that Mom and the newspaper were gone, probably to the bathroom.

I put the book down on the coffee table and stretched. I didn't know what to do, or how to approach my mom. Every time I imagined talking to her, all I could feel was embarrassment. I loved her still, but the love and trust which a man normally has for his mother was all swirled up with desire and lust and guilt, roiling in my mind ceaselessly. Even if we could come to accept we had done this, where could it go? What possible ending could it have but a bad one? With my thoughts still muddled and confused, I lifted my feet up onto the sofa, turned, and laid my head back on the arm of the sofa. My eyes shut.

***

When they opened , the sun was no longer shining brightly in through the front windows. It had passed to the west, leaving the room shady. The first thing my eyes focused on was a note taped to the door. I sat up, then got up and walked to the door. The note was in my mother's neat handwriting, and it said simply, "I have gone shopping. I'll be back to make you dinner. Love, Mom." My eyes blurred momentarily, and I pulled the note from the door, crumpling it in my hand. I was mad at her for leaving, except that I realized that I had done the same thing, first with my own note, and then by falling asleep. How could I be mad at her for simply mirroring my actions?

I laughed at myself then, and felt a little better than I had all day. My spirits lifted slightly; thinking of my mom without the sexual component settled me down somewhat. I began to clean the house.

I was washing the dishes from breakfast when I heard the door open, and my Mom call, "Can you help me, please?"

I dried my hands on a dish towel and then walked to the door. My mom was making her way in carrying several grocery bags. I quickly grabbed them from her, and as I walked to the kitchen, she turned to get another that was still outside the door. I began putting the food away, seeing lots of vegetables, fish, rice, beans, and fruit. Healthy food. My mom walked into the kitchen carrying the last bag, and I turned from folding the bags to look at her.

She was wearing a brightly colored skirt with handwoven human figures cavorting on it. Her shirt was a bright blue sleeveless blouse, and a looped necklace of silver rice-beads hung from her neck. Her hair was pulled up behind her, and her soft brown eyes looked directly at mine. She had strange look on her face, and I could see the faint wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and eyes. I reached out and took the bag from her and without looking away, I placed it on the counter to my left. Then I took the initiative.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I began. I stepped toward her. "I feel like I've been ignoring-"

"Hey, it's okay," she interrupted. "Don't worry about it. You've got enough to think about without me messing it up."

I couldn't let her take the responsibility for what we had done. "But-"

"But nothing." She planted her hands on her hips. "I said don't worry. What's done is done."

I froze, then - too late - reached out to her, but she was already turning away. I hissed under my breath with frustration, then unpacked the last bag angrily. As I finished, Mom came back into the kitchen. I turned to face her, determined not to miss my chance. I lifted my arms, and as she brushed by me, I turned her to face me, my hands on her shoulders. I looked straight into her eyes, waited while she looked away, then looked back. She looked sad.

"I really am sorry, Mom," I said. My fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders, but she made no response. "I shouldn't have done what I- what-" I trailed off. Her expression didn't change. I stepped forward and hugged her, but she was unresponsive, and barely put her arms around me, then pushed me away after a second. "Mom?" I asked.

"I want to cook dinner," she said quietly. "I'm hungry."

I let go of her and walked out of the kitchen. The feelings of rejection that were running through me were overwhelming. It wasn't even that I wanted my mom sexually right now; I just wanted my mom. What was going on? Why couldn't I say what I wanted. Hell, what did I want? What did she want? The questions kept coming. Did she hate me for what had happened? Resent me? Did she want it to happen again, or for us never to speak of it? I felt frustrated and alone, and the happiness which had briefly sustained me slowly ebbed away.

I sat at the computer and idly played a game. Eventually my mother called from the kitchen that dinner was ready, and I slowly got up, went to wash my hands, and then made my way to the table. There was a seat set for one, a salad, and a beautifully cooked filet of fish with rice and asparagus. I looked into the kitchen, and there was a used plate on the counter. My mom had eaten before calling me, then left me to my meal.

I couldn't take it. I wasn't hungry. I went to the door of the bedroom, and knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again.

"I'm tired," came my mother's voice through the door. "I'm going to bed."

"I need to talk to you," I replied. "Mom!" There was no answer. I stood there for a minute, and seeing nothing was forthcoming, I went back down the hall, and sat on the sofa. What was happening? My mom was only here for another day, but I couldn't bear the thought of another day like this one, empty and alone. What could I do? How could I make this situation better? How could I fix it? Was it even possible, or were my mother and I destined to part on morose, empty terms, never to even share our original mother-son bond? I pulled off my t-shirt, balled it up, and threw it at the door. The situation felt hopeless. I scrubbed my face with my hands furiously, as if I could wash away all the emotions that churned within me.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I heard the door to the bedroom open, and then my mother's steps coming down the hall. I didn't bother to turn. There was a long pause when she entered the living room, so long that I began to wonder if I was imagining it. Just as I made up my mind to turn and look, I heard my mother's clothing rustle as she began to walk again, and I felt her presence loom up behind me. I sat, silent, not knowing what to do.

Then I felt her hands on my shoulders. Her touch, just that tiny bit of touch was like calm poured onto my emotional storm, and it blew everything out of my mind but the velvety feeling of her fingers on my skin. She just stood there for several seconds, and then she slid her fingers down onto my upper arms and then back up to my shoulders. The tiny hairs on my neck stood up and goosepimples formed on my arms. Her touch was so smooth, it was like nothing I had felt before. I was afraid to do anything to break the spell of the moment, so I continued to just sit there. My mother repeated the movement of her hands over my arms and shoulders again, and then her hands slid down onto the front of my shoulders and pulled me against the back of the couch. My head lolled backward, and I felt it rest on the softness of her rounded belly. She rubbed her hands softly up and down from my neck to my upper arms, and electricity crackled underneath her palms and fingers. Energy was coursing wildly through my body, and my heart was racing, but I remained outwardly calm, concentrating only on how good it felt to have my mom touching me again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured finally. "I'm sorry I was so cold to you, baby."

I tried to lean forward to look up at her, but she held me pressed against the couch, against her soft stomach. "Mom," I replied quietly, "it's me who should be sorry. And I am. I am so sorry. I have never felt so empty before."

"Oh, honey," she said in a concerned voice, it catching in her throat. "I don't want you to feel like that. I'm so sorry." She bent down over me, and as she did I felt the meaty heaviness of her breasts touching and then dragging over the top of my head before they plopped down behind me as she continued to bend over, finally leaning to my right side to plant a kiss on my temple, inadvertently dragging her left breast over my neck as she did. She pulled back for a second, unbending a little, and then her left arm went around my neck and over my chest while her right arm wrapped around my head and pulled it toward her, hugging my head to her so that the entire right side of my face was pressed tightly to her left breast, only the thin layer of white cotton of her nightgown between us, my nose pointed directly into the depths between her boobs.

"I love you, mom," I said, my voice muffled as I talked against her cleavage. "I'm so sorry I couldn't say anything. I was so worried about what happened. I don't even know how to feel."

"It's okay," my mom said. She hugged my head to her, rocking it gently back and forth, and then she kissed the top of my head. "I don't know how to feel either." She unwrapped her arms from me and lifted my chin with her fingers, looking into my eyes with her deep brown ones. "But I do know that I miss my baby boy." She let her hand drop. "I do miss you, you know." She stood there, and I pushed myself up from the couch, stood, and turned to face her. The couch was between us, hiding her from the hips down, but I could see that she was wearing an long white cotton nightgown. It was either threadbare or made to be somewhat sheer because as I gazed at her, I could see the curve where her big saggy teats pushed it away from her chest, the slope of them curving back in, leaving an inch or two of opaque fabric before her stomach pushed the gown forward again. Her nipples were stiff, and I could see not only their dark plumpness through the material, but also the large brown circles of her aureoles. She didn't move, but her breathing deepened as I inspected her, and when my eyes lifted to her face, she was smiling shyly, even though fear as well was written across her countenance.

I smiled at her, trying to erase my own fear and confusion while reassuring her, then I lifted my left arm and extended my hand to her. She lifted her right hand to mine, and then I gently pulled her toward the end of the couch, walking toward it myself, until she came around the end of the couch and we found ourselves facing each other. We stayed there, a couple feet apart, still holding hands, and her eyes dropped from my face, and slowly travelled down my chest to my own slightly rounded belly, and then down to my boxers, and just seeing her look there made my already hardening cock throb, and I could tell she saw it too, because she made a small intake of air, and then she lifted her gaze back up to my face. I smiled again, and then I let my eyes drop myself, again seeing the lumps of her puffy nipples poking against the fabric of her nightgown, and then down to her stomach and below where her hips flared generously, and I imagined I could see a darkness where her legs joined together. I lifted my eyes again, running them hungrily over her body, and then back up to her face and I saw she was smiling too.

I stepped forward and pulled on her hand, making her step forward too, and then we were face to face, our bodies just inches from each other; the heat between us smoldering so intensely I felt as if I would catch on fire. I looked into her eyes. "I don't know exactly what to say, Mom," I began, "but I know that I can't let you leave here with us hating each other. I couldn't bear it." I almost sobbed as I spoke the words, holding back the vast wave of emotion that swept over me.

"I agree," my mom replied in a husky voice, and the relief rushed through me like a flood. She paused for a second, considering her words. "I don't know that I agree with what we did..." She paused. "But I do know that I wasn't lying when I said it was great to have you back in my arms again. I've missed you so much." Her fingers tightened on mine.

"Oh, mom," was all I could choke out before I closed the remaining distance between us and swept her up in a crushing hug. I let go of her hand and wrapped both my arms around her back. Her arms came up as I did, encircling my waist, and we mashed ourselves against each other, all the sadness of the day washing away in the great feelings of love and contentment that washed through me as I held my mom in my arms. It wasn't a sexual thing right now, it was just sweet mother love, my mom's devotion to me evident in the strength and tightness with which she clung to me, her round belly pressed unselfconsciously against my lower stomach, her boobs mashed against my stomach, her head nestled against my chest, her forehead touching my chin. I pulled her against me more tightly, my arms wrapping her inside them, holding her against me as if I couldn't bear to let her go. We stayed like that for several minutes, not saying a word, just revelling in the sheer joy of our bodies touching, our hearts in agreement, just a mother and son demonstrating the love they share show through an extended, loving hug.

Eventually it had to end.

As we stood there, pressed against each other, I became more and more aware of my mother's lush body, of her stiff nipples poking into my chest, of the pressure of her warm stomach against me, of the feel of her plump waist under my fingers, and of the expanse of meaty ass just below where my hands rested. I pulled my head back a little, and then my mom did the same, and she looked up at me. Our eyes met, and I felt a surge of passion and lust that made my knees weak. My mother was breathing very heavily, and her fingers were digging tightly into my back. I leaned my head down, slowly getting nearer to my mom's face, our eyes never leaving each other, and as our faces drew closer, it was as if we were communicating without words. First a question, and then the answer, yes, yes, and yes. My lips parted slightly as they neared my mother's lips, and then I could feel her hot breath on my face. We stared into each other's eyes, and my mothers hands tightened convulsively. I held my position as long as I could stand it, feeling the desire to kiss my mother grow stronger and stronger until I could no longer withstand its force. With a groan, I lowered my lips onto my mother's mouth, and she moaned into my mouth as our lips met, searing me with the heat of her desire.

We kissed hungrily, deeply, our mouths opening wide, pressing against each other, our tongues sliding out and then meeting, swirling around each other, wrestling, sucking and slipping over each other. We breathed heavily through our noses, not wanting to let our mouths come apart for even a moment, and then, as it had last night, the conscious knowledge that it was my very own mother I was french-kissing swept over me, and it made the passion of our lovers' kiss intensify until it felt as if the only thing in the universe that could satisfy me was my own mother's mouth on mine, her tongue pressing and playing with mine.

My hands slid down from my mother's waist as we continued to suck hungrily at each other's mouths. Her hands were roaming all over my back, sliding back and forth over my skin, from my waist to my shoulders. I felt my hands slide down onto the wide, soft cheeks of her ass, and I spread my fingers as wide as I could and then tightened them into my mother's flesh, lifting her slightly as I pulled at her buttocks. My mother gasped into my mouth then, and as I continued to pull hungrily at her ass, she began to kiss me even more urgently, our faces cocked to the sides so that our wide-open mouths could press completely against each other, the breath whistling in and out of our nostrils a counterpoint to the wordless moans that we both had begun to emit.

My mother's ripe body felt like heaven to me. This heavy flesh was what I had hungered for without knowing it, this thick body the one which ignited my desire into a screaming incandescent lust. I kissed her back, driving my tongue into her mouth, swirling it around her tongue, invading her mouth and then withdrawing, forcing her to suck my tongue back into hers. My hands pulled at her ass, spreading her open, her stance widening slightly, and then my mother pulled her head back from mine, our mouths slowly separating, saliva strings hanging between our lips.