My Freedom Day

I suppose you could say it was all because of my “Freedom Day.” I mean, it happened so simply, so quietly. Somehow I just let it happen as if I’d been expecting it and wanted it.

But let me explain.

My name is Sheri Walker. I was forty years of age when it happened. I realise it is no excuse, but perhaps you will understand if I tell you my husband, Grant, had lost interest in the more intimate side of our marriage to the point where we slept in separate bedrooms. His life was “The Club,” football and work.

We have one son, David, who had recently left high school and got a job with a supermarket chain as what they call a “Management Cadet.” In other words, they were supposed to be training him to become a supermarket manager.

Now the significant point about David working at the supermarket is this; he always worked extra time at the weekends, so he was give time off during the week. It was always Wednesday he had off. Now just keep that in mind, will you?

Grant went to work in the factory at normal times, always having the weekend off.

To make a bit of pocket money for myself, I did some cleaning and ironing jobs for people. All “cash in hand”, as they say, no questions asked, no taxman.

My jobs took place at various times during the week, but there was one day I reserved to stay at home. I called it my ”Freedom Day.” It was the day I caught up with jobs around the house, but that wasn’t why I called it “Freedom Day”.

There were a couple of reasons why it was my freedom day. First, in the cooler weather I wore no panties or bras. What a blessed relief to let my breasts swing free and not have my crotch encumbered. In the hot weather, when the temperature soars to forty degrees Celsius and the air conditioner can hardly cope, I pulled down the outside blinds, lock the outside doors, and got around in the nude. That’s an even greater feeling of freedom.

The second reason for Tuesday being my freedom day is that I feel at liberty to masturbate. I need to do that because I am so worked up sexually and I get a dull ache just above the groin.

I have several techniques when I masturbate. One is in the shower, standing with legs spread, fixing the shower massage to pulse and letting the water hit the side of my clitoris.

Another way is on my back, on the bed, with a vibrator. I move it up and down and in a circular motion on the side of my clitoris. Sometimes I need to fill myself and have a dildo handy for the last second so I can contract on something, feels like I'm pulling it in.

The handiest way is when I use a high stool with a square seat that we have in the kitchen. I sort of sit on it with my cleft along one edge of the seat and rock myself back and forth until I have an orgasm. I might use this method three or four times on my freedom day, and use one of the other methods only once.

I was quite pretty when I was younger, but I suppose time had made its inroads. I’m a bit plump round the hips, but when I tried to diet I found my breasts got smaller, so I decided to live with the plumpness. I like to have, as they say in the erotic literature, “Full swelling breasts.” They make the blokes turn round to have another look.

So we come to one particular freedom day.

It was a stinking hot day and I was, as I said, naked. I swear I wasn’t masturbating or anything like that at the time of the event. In fact, I had something boiling up on the stove, and was washing up some stuff in the sink.

I thought I was safe from the outside world, when suddenly into the kitchen walked David.

Well, when I say “suddenly”, I’m not really sure, because I didn’t actually know he was there until I heard him say, “Mum!” But it was sudden as far as I was concerned, if you see what I mean.

At work he wore black trousers, white shirt and black tie that the company supplied. In the hot weather he has a habit of getting round the house stripped to the waist. He must have taken off his tie and started to remove his shirt as soon as he got through the front door – to which he had a key, of course. He stood like he was paralysed, staring at me with his shirt half off.

I think I was as numb as he was. He had never seen me naked before as far as I knew, so there we were, just looking at each other, and I saw his eyes roaming all over my body. It was the only thing about him that moved for a full minute.

I tried to speak, but couldn’t manage it, and my eyes, like his, were active. I could see a growing bulge in his groin. I didn’t need to be a genius to know what that meant; neither did I have to be clever to know what wetness in my crotch meant. We were getting stirred up about each other.

I don’t know what he saw in his forty-year-old mother, but by God, I know what I was seeing in him; a very sexy, virile young fellow who had got is share of girls at high school, and whom his father called an “over sexed young bugger.” I think he must have got his sex drive genes or whatever they are, from me, because it certainly wasn’t from droopy cock Grant.

So, there we were a couple of sex hungry human beings, mother and son certainly, but even more certainly, a man and a woman all worked up over each other.

David was the first to come unstuck. He came across to me finishing taking off and dropping his shirt as he came. He put his arms round me and pulled me close. My breasts were pressing into his bare chest, and he kissed me.

It was a full on kiss, his tongue pushing into my mouth as if it would reach down my throat. I pushed against him and began to swivel my hips, grinding against his belly and groin. He started to work with me, and he was sort of groaning out, “Mum, oh mum…”

Well, it wasn’t going to stop there, was it? When a man and a woman have got worked up to the pitch we were at, there’s only one way to go.

I’m not sure who made the move, but David dropped his trousers and got out of them, and I found myself lying face down on the kitchen table with my feet spread on the floor, and David’s rod with its crown, searching for my entrance.

I managed to reach down and grasp his shaft and guide it into me. He was bigger than I anticipated and he pushed in deep right against my cervix. I clenched my vaginal muscle and he gave an extra loud groan, and as he began to slide up and down in me I started to sort of whimper.

Can you imagine? I hadn’t had a man inside me for years, and now I’d got a very potent young chap going at me for all he was worth. I was flooding with my lubricant and at the time I thought, “I don’t care if he kills me with that great spear, as long as he doesn’t stop.”

I felt it coming. When I masturbate and my orgasm starts to come, it seems like a train coming along the track but at first a long way off. Then it draws close and everything starts to tremble until finally there it is, roaring through you. You shake and shudder and cry out as you experience what is probably the most pleasurable and powerful experience a human being can have.

I have read many attempts to describe the human orgasm, both male and female, but none of them can ever really convey what it is like. I’m sure I can’t either.

If I had many pleasurable orgasms when masturbating, they were nothing compared to what I was experiencing with David. “I’m screaming out, “Deeper darling, deeper,” and he’s groaning “Oh mother, mother.”

Then I feel him start to shoot into me and the yells and groans get louder and his sperm is slamming against the top of my vagina. With Grant it had always seemed to dribble out of him, but David’s smashed into me.

Even before he was half way through his ejaculation I felt his sperm, probably mixed up with my fluids, starting to trickle down my legs.

He had grasped my hips and was dragging me to him, and I was thrusting back to get every millimetre of him in.

He gave one last, enormous heave howling out, “Aah,” and I felt him start to relax.

I was still experiencing the aftershocks of my orgasm and I said, “Stay with me, sweetheart, just a bit longer.”

He was a wonderful lover. He seemed to understand and care about a woman’s needs, and stayed with me as long as I needed him, and beyond.

As he slackened in me he spoke quietly, telling me how he loved me and had wanted me ever since he was thirteen and he had seen me in panties and bra. I hadn’t known about that, and I thought, “Then why didn’t you say or do something, you young idiot.”

Of course, there were too many barriers for a young chap to risk approaching his mother for sex. It was only in this situation, with both of us desperate for gratification, that the restraints collapsed.

When he finally withdrew from me, the damn thing on the stove boiled over, so with shaking legs I had to rush over and turn it off. Not exactly a romantic end to a passionate coupling.

We were both shaking from the intensity of our congress and I had to lean on the table to support myself.

Both of us saw and felt what a sticky mess we were. There was also that slightly fishy smell that comes after sexual intercourse, especially one where there has been such a huge discharge of fluids.

“We’d better clean up, David,” I said in a trembling sort of voice. “Come and have a shower with me.”

David put an arm round me, and together we staggered to the shower.

I’m not sure how much David understood the situation we were now in. Had it been an unsuccessful coupling, one in which there was minimal pleasure, we could have no doubt called a halt to further sexual acts. But on the contrary, it had been overwhelmingly pleasurable, and I was prepared to predict that we would not stop now.

Washing each other in the shower got rid of the messy sperm and lubricant, as well as any little doubts I had about the future.

Before I even got around to washing his penis, it was standing up like a huge tower. Nor did I need his fingers to probe my vagina to get me stirred up over him again.

“I’ll have him again,” I decided, and after we dried ourselves I took his hand and led him to my bed. It was the old double bed Grant and I had once used, so this time David and I would love in a bit more comfort.

Once I got him on the bed I said, “Now you’ll pay the price for being so brazen with your mother.”

I pulled his head to my breast and said, “Suck me like you did when you were a baby, sweetheart.”

He was lovely. He sucked and gently nibbled my nipple, all the time stroking my other breast and squeezing the nipple. I could have laid there all day letting him do that to me; in fact he almost brought me to orgasm he got me so worked up. I don’t think I’d ever felt such love for him or anyone, as he played with my breasts.

After a while, still sucking one of my nipples, his fingers began to massage my mound. I felt as if I was going out of my mind and my fluid started to run out of me again, but it was when he began work on my clitoris that I really went into space.

I pushed him on his back and sat astride him and said, “Now I’ll really give you something to taste,” and I crushed my vagina against his mouth.

Well, he not only “tasted me” he nearly ate me. At one point he bit my clitoris and I nearly screamed the roof off with the pain. He was more careful after that.

I swamped his face with vaginal fluids and still he licked on, thrusting his tongue into my entrance, while a slid and ground myself against him.

I am not sure how long this continued because I’d taken off into space again, but I recall ending up rubbing my cleft down his body leaving a trail of lubricant, and then inserting his shaft into me and dropping onto it.

There was more yelling and screaming and I was asking him to spear me to the heart, and him saying, “I love you, mother, I want to fuck you to death.”

Then the train was coming again and I was trembling all over as I beat up and down on him and as I climaxed he gave an enormous howl and shot his semen into me. I pumped harder and harder, and he dragged on my hips as we tried to get his seed in deep.

I sagged over him as I climbed down from the summit of our union, my breasts touching his chest, and his hands gently playing with them. He said over and over again, “I love you mother, I could fuck you for ever,” and I’m thinking, “And you bloody well will my son, if I have any say in the matter.”

Once we had reached a more pacific state of mind I thought to ask him how was it he had come home on a Tuesday.

“Ah,” he said, “I forgot that they’d asked me to change my day off from Wednesday to Tuesday, so I’ll be home on Tuesdays in future.”

“That suits me,” I thought. “I’ll run this boy ragged – make him pay for making me wait all these years.”

After lunch we had a long afternoon in bed, playing with each other, speaking of love and our hunger for each other. He ejaculated a couple more times into me, and then it was near time for Grant to arrive home.

Having begun our sexual love life, neither David nor I found Tuesdays sufficient. We wanted to keep our sexual activity a secret from Grant, and this was made relatively easy because Grant and I did not sleep in the same room.

When David decided Grant was asleep he would creep into my room and bed. These night sessions had to be kept quiet – no howling or yelling - for fear of waking Grant, and given how David and I felt about each other, this was pretty difficult. However, during our Tuesday couplings we could give full voice to our feelings and desires.

All went well for about eight months, but as the old saying goes, “All good things must come to an end.” In the course of one week two pieces of news seemed to signal the end of the good times for David and I.

First, the doctor confirmed that I was pregnant. There was no doubt about the source of my pregnancy. David and I had used no contraceptives, and as another old saying has it, “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it.”

I recalled the times, when we were at the height of our love making, I would beg David, “Fertilise me, darling, give me babies.” He would reply, “I’ll put thousands of them inside you.”

Well, at least one of his little spermatozoons had found its way to my egg, and nature had taken its course.

I knew the risk I was taking with David, but had chosen to ignore it, but now I was not sure what to do. If I chose to keep the child, it would spell the end of what rags and tatters of my relationship with Grant, were left. The effect on David of my pregnancy was uncertain. Many men, it seems, can go on declaring their love and devotion until this moment arrives, then they can’t run fast enough.

I considered having the pregnancy terminated, but even if David did renounce me, what was growing inside me was the outcome of love, at least on my part. I could not destroy it. On the other hand, I had heard such dire things about children born of incestuous sex.

The second piece of news came from David. The supermarket people had offered him a promotion, but he would have to go to a distant town.

I saw this as a way of getting him off the scene and away from the impending crisis that would arise when my pregnancy became obvious, so I said, “That’s good, David, you must take it.”

“I can’t leave you Sheri (I was always Sheri now when we were alone). I can’t not be with you, I really can’t, and after all we’ve done and said. I want you so badly. I love you, you know that.”

I tried to argue with him, telling him he would find someone else, someone his own age, but my heart wasn’t in it. I wanted him so badly.

At critical moments in my life, there was one person I could always talk to quite openly and honestly with, my mother.

She had had a difficult life, bringing up three children on her own. There was Ben, my brother, Sybil my sister and myself. Her husband, Ben’s father, had died soon after he was born. Sybil and I were the result of other liaisons my mother had had, and of which we never spoke.

In my time of trouble I turned to her. Now in her sixties she was very wise in the ways of the world, and she listened closely to what I had to say.

When I finished, she sat looking at me intently for some time, saying nothing. We were sitting on the sofa, and she put her arm round me and asked, “Are you going to have the child?”

“I don’t know, mum, I really don’t know. I want it because it comes from the love I have for David, but you hear such things about babies born out of incest.”

“What sort of things?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, they have two heads or they’re brain damaged or have some defect or the other.”

“Have you got two heads?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you brain damaged?”

“No.”

“Tell me about your defects.”

“Well, I haven’t got…But that’s different…”

“Is it?”

“Well of course it is. You…”

It suddenly hit me what she was getting at. “You don’t mean that…?”

“You might as well know now, Sheri, since you’ve entered an incestuous relationship with your son. Who do you think your father is?”

I was dumbfounded. I had to struggle to speak. “You mean, Ben and you…?”

“Yes, he’s the father of you and Sybil.”

“But it’s not possible, I mean, his age…!”

“Least said about that the better,” she said quickly. “Let’s just say Ben was a bit more precocious than your David.”

So that was why Ben had never married nor had a partner, and why he had always lived at home. I had always seen him as my big brother, but now…my father. No wonder he and mother had always been so close.

“Now I won’t tell you what to do, Sheri, but I’ll tell you what happened with Ben and I. When I found I was pregnant, I thought he might make a run for it. Obviously he had to know sooner or later, so I made it sooner. He didn’t run, and you were born. Two years later, we had Sybil. He’s been my lover ever since, and I’ve always made sure he didn’t have to look elsewhere.”

“Even now, mum?”

“Even now. I know a lot of people think that when you get to fifty you’re all dried up. Don’t you believe it, Sheri. If you keep going the old hunger is still there.” She gave a little chuckle and added, “Even at sixty-three, and I hope even at eighty-three.”

She went on, “Look, Sheri, you took your chance with David like I did with Ben. We both know it’s supposed to be against all the rules, but we also know what must go on behind a lot of closed doors. I didn’t want you to marry that slob Grant. I guessed he’d never be able to give you what you need in bed, you’re too like me. You held back for years, but now you’ve stepped over the boundary, you might as well go on.”

She ceased speaking, and sat, still holding me, looking at me intently.

I thought for a while, the said, “Thanks mum. I’m glad you’ve told me about Ben, and I promise I won’t call him “daddy” next time I see him.

We both laughed.

“I think I know what I’m going to do now, mum.”

“Good.”

The Tuesday following my visit to mum, and after David and I came together a couple of times, I told him about my pregnancy.

He smiled. ”We’ll, you have asked me enough times to get you pregnant. It rather solves my problem, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“The promotion offer.”

“You’ll take it, won’t you?”

“Yes, and I’ll take you with me.”

“David!”

“Well, it’s no use you sticking around here, is it? I mean, you and dad haven’t had sex for years and are never likely to. He doesn’t take any other interest in you apart from having you feed him and clean for him. I’ve got a lot more I want you give you, in bed and out of it, so come with me.”

“But David, how would we live? I mean, our age difference and even if you wanted to marry me, we couldn’t.”

“Live as we do now, as mother and son. There’s nothing wrong with a mother looking after her son’s house, is there? After all, Uncle Ben still lives with his mother.”

I decided not to enlighten him on their relationship and his paternal responsibility for Sybil and I. “I’ll keep that to myself,” I thought, “Unless it becomes necessary to tell him.”