Dear Mum, she's a proper sweetheart - anyone would fall in love with her! Her name's Titania - after the queen of the fairies, simply because my grandfather loved Shakespeare! Oh well - now you can understand why I don't call her by her Christian name - can you just hear me calling her Titty...however correct and accurate that abbreviation might be!
Anyway, she's five foot four and I'd guess she weighs in around eight stone or so - that's hundred and twenty pounds give or take a bit and I'd guess some sixty pounds less than me. She's quite buxom really but that merely seemed to enhance her allure. Actually the dictionary definition of buxom is "plump, with a full figure and large breasts" - so perhaps I'm being a bit rude about her, although not necessarily about her breasts!
At least the definition is partially right because she's sweetly padded in all the right places, so much so that your eyes tend to follow her around a room with vaguely lustful feelings that us men have for a good looking woman. The best thing about her body is definitely that her breasts, generous as they are, still seem to still be remarkably perky. Perhaps her bra helps but I've a feeling that nature has done her proud and given her some fine upstanding mammaries! Mother Nature certainly gave her some great legs and a gorgeously well turned bum - not to mention a lovely warm and friendly face. And she's got those wicked come-to-bed eyes - not that I let them influence my mind!
I was always pleased that she'd obviously managed to pass a lot of her genes on to me - I'm so glad I didn't take after Dad!
When my Mother phoned me one day I wasn't surprised - but I was shocked by what she said.
"Darling, you'd better sit down," she said, her voice comforting, "I've got some really bad news; it's about your Dad."
And she went on to tell me that my Dad, my grumpy, morose, boring Dad had been killed - run down by a fork lift truck as he checked some stock in the factory yard.
Within minutes I'd dropped everything and in hours I was at Mum's side, only to find her hardly grieving at all as she told me the story.
I won't bore you with the details but it seemed that he'd strayed from the 'safe' area of the factory for some reason and although the company had tried to blame him, eventually they had to take the blame and Mum was paid compensation quite handsomely. On top of that, Dad was also reasonably well insured too.
And that evening her side of her story came out - my Dad hadn't been much of a husband - he'd been too domineering, too career centred; too inconsiderate - and Mum actually felt relieved to be rid of him. Suddenly she was going to be able to live her life the way she wanted to; able to express herself; able to enjoy herself again. She was still young and felt that life had been passing her by...
But there was the small matter of her house. It was once the home for the whole family home but now, containing just Mum and a cat, it was way too big and while it may have held many memories, it was now also an expensive waste of space, so it had to go. And it also seemed that Mum wouldn't object to leaving some of the memories behind, for that matter.
I have to be honest in that when I'd tried to look at the future, it had always been my hope that Dad would be the first to pass away as I never really fancied the idea of having to visit the old boy should he be the one to outlive the other, whereas visiting my Mother was no chore at all. In reality it seemed eminently likely that he would go first anyway, he being fifteen years older than my Mum although I'd never considered that an accident might take him away so early.
I'd been born when my Mother had just turned twenty and now, some twenty years later, she was still relatively youthful while I'd just about matured. There may have been that twenty year difference between us but we had many of the same pleasures in life.
Both my Mother and I are relatively proficient artists and enthusiastic writers so I guess I've acquired my interests from her genes and her knowledge. So much so that my life is now encapsulated by those skills - apart from my painting, I'm an illustrator for a major educational book publisher, as well as writing my own wildlife books. Well, just two books so far to be honest. Delightfully, those occupations are relatively stress-free - quality of work being given more credence and earning me more than quantity.
Dad on the other hand had been too much of a cold businessman for my liking - he just dealt in money and people. He was quite happy sitting behind a desk telling the rest of the world how to do things - an activity that I took little joy in doing and I'd even told him as much. But at least he was successful in his business world - I couldn't take that away from him.
My Mother was something of a 'trophy wife' in my opinion and truthfully I was surprised that their marriage lasted as long as it did. I'd have left the old so-and-so years before if I'd been my Mother, but she must have garnered some pleasures from her marriage. A good degree of security was her best outcome; Dad's insurances on top of a good pay-off and pension package left my Mother almost better off without him.
But she needed to dispose of his other prize possession - the large house and all its trappings and inevitably I became roped in to help.
So that's enough chatter - down to business...
Once Mum had got over the grief and all the paperwork, her mind immediately turned to her future and she called me to her side - not that I'd ever been all that far away.
"Chris darling, I'll need your help," she said in a straightforward manner on the phone, "I'm going to be house-hunting for a while, so could you find the time to help me, just for a little while? You can spare a bit of time, surely?"
"Of course I can," I replied cheerfully, "Be glad to help out; what're your plans?"
"I want to have a good look down on the south coast, I think, somewhere down near you perhaps," said Mum, "I've already had an agent come and take particulars of this house, so they'll look after this end but I do need to find the right place; the ideal place, that is."
"Ah - that'll be wonderful - you'd love it down here and it'll be excellent to have you near me. But you're not going to look for a house from a hundred miles away, are you? You're not going to drive down and then back again," I asked, "Surely not."
"No sweetheart," said Mum, her voice silky smooth and soft, "Of course not - that's why I phoned you. I wanted to ask if you could put me up for a week or two while I searched...perhaps you could even find time to take me round a few places as well."
"Of course I would Mum!" I replied happily, "The spare bedroom's always ready and I'm quite sure work can allow me as much spare time as you need - why, when were you thinking of coming down?"
She didn't need to apply any guile - I'd have done anything for her regardless...
"Couple of weeks time perhaps," said Mum cheerfully, "It'll be so lovely to see you - seems ages since we had a good get-together."
The conversation drifted off into odds and ends and eventually the call ended and I returned to my computer, but my mind wouldn't concentrate; instead my thoughts were suddenly below my waist as I realised that my cock was kind of half erect as if coiled and ready for quick action...but with whom?
Not my Mother, surely not!
I shook my head as I wondered why my penis had come awake while I'd been talking to my Mum. Yes, she'd been wheedling at me, softly speaking to me, but then she was always warm and friendly on the phone, so what else? Had it been the idea of Mum coming and staying with me for a while - perhaps that was it. Must have been, I eventually decided - just the idea of a woman sharing my house again was quite appealing, apparently.
My home needed a woman in it again. My wife and I had split up over a year ago; an amicable divorce followed a relatively short marriage and after I'd made a cash settlement to her I'd been left with few ties and a house to myself (and the bank of course). My granddad had died when I was quite young and had left a nice pile of cash in trust for me for when I turned twenty-one; hence the house; which was also why I won most of it back in the settlement. I'd bought it with plans for a family but now it's quite a large home for just me - four bedrooms, two bathrooms - along with a generous garden for that matter. My house is above the town proper, peacefully tucked away above the outer suburbs and with extensive views - those views substantially boosting the desirability of the house, or so my neighbours have told me.
Fortunately I'm an independent soul and I'm quite capable of cooking, cleaning and so on all by myself so I hadn't let it all get messy. The only thing I'm not so good at by myself is sex - tossing off; jerking off or having a wank alone can be remarkably boring after a while, can't it?
Oh well - never mind; down to work - but not 'work' as in writing or illustrating; instead I found myself getting the vacuum cleaner and polish out; checking that the house was presentable and the beds aired, etc.
I always had beds ready to make up in three bedrooms, the fourth bedroom currently being just a useful place to store things and now I prepared the other front bedroom for my Mother, checking the room with extra care. I wanted her to be happy here...
But even doing such mundane tasks I found my mind wandering, smoothing down the covers as if I was caressing a woman's sleek flanks or belly, holding the pillows as if holding soft and well-filled breasts; finding myself becoming aroused in no time.
Eventually I flung myself down on my own bed, ripped off my t-shirt and wriggled my jeans down to my knees. There was something that needed taking care of; that just wouldn't stop pestering me - my cock.
My rock hard, fully erect uncut throbbing cock that seemed to have only heard one word - woman! And that meant that it could be put to use - it hoped! My cock had no conscience; he merely responded to stimuli; he just wanted and expected action! But right now he'd have to put up with me doing it.
I lay on my back as I wanked, my hand sliding steadily up and down my shaft as my mind created pictures for me; pictures of a magnificent pair of swelling breasts being seductively exposed; of a prettily dimpled navel; of light-coloured knickers sliding down over swelling hips to reveal an enticing forest of curly hairs and a moist puffy slit. A peachy bum, sweetly split and those smooth, sleek thighs - ooooohhh yeahhhhh!
My hand worked faster in time with my imagination as the mysterious woman lowered herself astride my cock; her lips parting to engulf my polished, slippery, shiny knob; to let my eager length slide inside her hot liquefied opening. Her smooth tummy descended until her hole had engulfed my entire penis; until her pubes met mine; until she could lean forward to dangle her full breasts before my face. I reached up with my lips and tongue and sucked one of her raspberry-sized nipples into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the imagined nipple, my eyes closed, my hand still busy.
The woman's imaginary pussy was now working on my cock, squeezing and caressing it, sucking and smoothing it, bringing feelings to my mind, bringing spunk to my balls.
My hand worked faster and faster as my dream woman rose and fell, her breasts bouncing wildly now, her aroma strong in my nostrils and in the sensory parts of my brain; driving me wild with excitement.
And suddenly nothing could stop the powerful orgasm from peaking; overload was happening; erotic gates had been smashed open; archaic feelings from the annals of time were powering a primeval response - an upthrust of the hips; a pulsating of the gonads and penis; an eruption of semen...not into a receptive womb but through my fist - overflowing strongly to splatter down onto my chest, time and time again.
"Ooooohhh yeahhhh! Uuuuuhhhh, fuck!" I panted, "Oh fuckin' hell - yeahhh, yeahhhhh!"
