The divorce had hit me hard, not because I still loved her, but because she took me to the cleaners. I was a clever person, and I had the academic qualifications to prove it, but I still couldn't understand why I'd been left with so little. I'd hired the best lawyers that I could afford, and I thought that they'd done a good job, but despite that, she ended up with the lion's share.
That's why, aged thirty, I was back to living with my Mother, while she was still in our luxurious marital home. It wasn't fair.
Fortunately for me, my Mother was very supportive.
"Arthur, this is just a bump in the road. You're still young. Now that you're rid of that dumb bitch you can start again, and while you're doing that you can stay here as long as you want. My home is your home."
That was sweet of her, and I appreciated her saying it, but as soon as I could get back on my feet I would be moving out. Being able to afford my own place was my top priority. And I might not have to wait too long for that to happen, because I was due a promotion at work. My boss had promised it me by the end of the year. The extra money from it would be a big help, perhaps enough for me to be able to be on my own again.
The house that I'd moved out of was big. Five bedrooms, all en-suite, and three large rooms downstairs. It was our dream house. But my Mother's place was small, and now there were two people living in it. It only had two bedrooms and one bathroom. We were going to be under each other's feet.
It was Sunday, our first day together, and we were having our evening meal. To welcome me home she'd cooked my favourite meal, steak with all the trimmings. It had been a long time since I'd had such a good home-cooked meal, so I was filling my boots.
"We're going to have to come to some arrangement for the bathroom."
What did she mean? She must have noticed my confusion, because she said more.
"We don't have the luxury of having five bathrooms, we just have one. Both of us work, so in the morning we'll be fighting over it."
She had a point, and for the next ten minutes we discussed it.
Both of us wanted it at seven thirty, and we would have it then, but only on alternate days.
"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, are your days. The other two are mine. Are you OK with that?"
I was. Unlike my ex-wife, she'd been generous!
The first two days ran like clockwork, but on Wednesday there was a mix-up. I was in the bathroom, naked, because I was about to get into the shower, when she burst in. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with me.
"Sorry, I forgot you were living with me."
Then she surprised me, by looking down, and not in a subtle way. My Mother was checking me out, only briefly, but she must have had a good look at my cock, because her face was now flushed. She shouldn't have done it, but I wasn't offended. In fact, it amused me. I'm proud of what I have dangling between my legs, so I'm happy to show it off, even to my Mother!
While grinning, I said, "You can shower with me if you want."
I was only joking, and she knew it. It made her giggle, and that was nice to hear.
In the afternoon, while I was at work, surprisingly, I managed to get some free time. I made myself a coffee and then I put my feet up. I had a lot to think about. Top of the list was trying to understand why it had all gone wrong.
Three years ago, after meeting Candy, I was in heaven. She was a waitress in a topless bar, and it was obvious that she'd been hired for her two impressive assets. Her magnificent breasts. For me, it was love at first sight. Six months later we were married.
At first, it was wonderful. Our life together was perfect. The sex was amazing, and we did it at every opportunity, sometimes even twice a day. But then we started to argue, mostly over trivial things. Over time, the arguments got more heated, and eventually they became nasty. It wasn't unusual for a week to pass without us speaking to each other. The sex, that had once been regular, was almost non-existent, and when we did do it, it wasn't worth the effort. That's when we'd talked seriously about divorcing. It wasn't a long conversation.
We should never have married, because we weren't compatible. My Mother had told me that soon after I'd met Candy, but I'd refused to believe her, probably because her big tits had mesmerised me. It was laughable. I now realized that I hadn't married her because I was in love with her, and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I'd married her because her bra size was off the scale!
If only she was more like my darling Mother. Not physically, but with her personality.
They couldn't be more different in appearance, though my Mother still had a respectable pair of tits. Candy was tall, with exaggerated curves, but my Mother was small, and her curves were subtle. However, both were attractive, and you'd have difficulty finding a woman that was more beautiful than them.
And they had very different personalities. With only one of them being desirable, my Mother's.
Candy is self-centred, always wanting her own way. She often acts like a spoiled child. My Mother is the complete opposite, always putting others first, sometimes more than she should. And she is always calm, whereas Candy is quick to anger. Living with her wasn't easy, and the last few months before we separated, were a nightmare.
Yes, if only she was more like my Mother, then we'd still be married!
That evening, our meal was simpler, but it was still highly enjoyable. I was beginning to appreciate that there were some advantages to living with my Mother. The food was definitely one of them.
After finishing off a second helping, I patted my stomach, and then I loudly declared that I was stuffed. That made her laugh. Then I remembered what had happened this morning.
"At the weekend I'm going to put a lock on the bathroom door. That should solve the problem."
As promised, I did do that, and I was pleased with myself. It hadn't been easy, and there'd been a lot of swearing, but eventually I'd managed it. However, it only works if you remember to turn the key!
It was a Friday night and I'd just returned home after spending a few hours in the pub with my mates. I was desperate to use the toilet. I'd unzipped myself as I was rushing up the stairs, and when I entered the bathroom I was already pulling it out. When I saw her I stopped dead in my tracks. I was startled but she was composed.
After pointing to what I had in my hand, she cheekily declared, "Is that all for me?"
While she was laughing at her own joke, I said, "Sorry I can't wait."
I only just got to the toilet in time, then, with her only in her underwear, and with her eyes looking where they shouldn't, I had a long satisfying piss. When I'd finished, I tugged on it to get rid of the drops.
While I was out with my friends I'd had more beers than I would normally have. I wasn't drunk, but I was tipsy. And that was my excuse for what I did next.
A couple of tugs was enough. The python was now drained, but I didn't stop there, and while I was continuing to do it, I turned to the side so that she could get a better look. I had to smile. Rather than look away, her eyes were fixed on it. The drink had made me mischievous, and I was waiting for her to make another funny remark, but she wasn't saying anything. Then the inevitable happened. It started to grow, and at an alarming rate. I tried to stop it, but it had a mind of its own.
If I'd had a pound for every time my hand had been on my cock in that way, then I'd be rich, perhaps even a millionaire! So I should have known that this was going to happen, but it still surprised me.
When I quickly removed my hand, it didn't stop, the blood continued to flow into it. I looked at her. She was wide-eyed, and she was even licking her lips. That shocked me. I hadn't expected her to react in that way.
The look on her face said it all, my Mother wanted my cock!
I turned my back on her, and then I said, "I'm going to have to add another bathroom to this house."
She replied, but only after a few seconds of awkward silence.
"You could, or I could just remember to lock the door."
The next day we had breakfast together. I thought that she might say something about what had happened in the bathroom, perhaps make a joke of it, but nothing was said. And that was probably for the best.
I think of myself as being clever, but now I'm not so sure, because it took me several days to realize what was going on. The signs weren't subtle, and there were a lot of them, but for some reason, that I was struggling to understand, I'd missed them. How could I have been so stupid?
My Mother was coming onto me!
While we were having breakfast she always wears a dressing gown. It used to be fastened tightly, but now it's always loose. So what's wrong with that? Nothing, if she didn't keep leaning over when she was near to me. In the last few days I've seen more of her breasts than I should have. And the bra that's covering them is always small, so there's a lot of cleavage being displayed. Until now I hadn't given it much thought.
If it was just that, then it could be thought of as innocent, but there was more.
When you drop something you bend over to pick it up. That's what my Mother did when we were together, because a cup had slipped out of her hand. However, she didn't need to bend over as far as she had, and to stay like that for such a long time. Her dress had been short, and her legs were far enough apart so that I'd got a bird's-eye view of her most intimate area. I could have looked away, but I was weak-willed. I was enjoying the view of my Mother's pussy, covered by a skimpy pair of panties, so much, that I couldn't take my eyes off it. That was OK at the time, because I'd thought that she hadn't known that she was exposed, and that I was seeing so much. But now I knew differently. She'd put on a show for me.
Bending over deliberately in an inappropriate way was a one-off. But her making innuendos, wasn't.
"We should have an early night."
I'd taken it at face value. We'd done that, going to our own bedroom, but had she really wanted us to be in the same bed?
"Enough for you?"
It had been said when she was handing me my breakfast, and while her dressing gown was open. It was just after she'd glanced down at her exposed breasts, so I knew that was what she was referring too. I'd smiled, because I'd thought that it was a joke. Now I wasn't so sure. And to answer her question, it was a firm yes. They weren't the twin peaks that Candy had, but they were indeed enough for me, and if she wasn't my Mother then my hands, and mouth, would have been all over them.
"A woman needs more meat than that to fill her up. A lot more."
