My Mother

Credits to my editor zoyiab and to all my beta readers.

My mother is a special person. I hope you appreciate just how special by the end of this piece.

My mother has a big heart. Her heart has more than enough room for anyone who wanted love. Even so, I always get first preference in her reservoir of affection. She never misses a chance to tell me how much she loves me. So what if I am a big boy now? I still like to hear it. My father somehow never saw that in her and decided he was better off with "Brenda". But my mother never let me feel his absence. She used her big heart to give me enough love for two parents, maybe more.

Her heart sustained me through some of the loneliest times of my life. Whenever I needed a hug, whenever I needed some affection, I knew one place where I would not be turned down. In my twenties now, I still need affection.

My mother has a beautiful face. It is still capable of turning heads wherever she goes. Our joke is that she is the "face that launched a thousand ships" (her name is also Helen). That face hid a great deal of pain for my sake. When we were struggling to make ends meet, and she was working too many jobs and overtime in each of them, she never showed any pain.

I was young, not stupid. I knew how much strain she was taking for my sake, but her face never showed an iota of it. She kept up a smile and a happy expression whenever she saw me. That expression inspired faith that everything was going to be fine.

My mother has beautiful eyes. Crystalline and iridescent irises shaded hazel with just a hint of pale green. Those eyes saw so much. They saw through my stone-cold demeanour on that fateful day when everything went against me. I put up my best poker face but it was no good as she immediately knew something was wrong. After that, it was only a matter of time before I broke down in her arms. I always knew that she loved me, but that fateful night, I would find out exactly how much.

My mother has a delicate mouth. Her rosy, luscious lips do not need to be adorned by make up. On that night, she could not help pressing her soft lips into mine as she kissed away my sorrows. Her kiss meant that we were about to break a frightful taboo, but neither of us cared any longer. The world could think what it wanted but that would not soil the beauty of our love. In the moment, we ceased to be mother and son, but were lovers, loving each other as we always wanted to.

Yet, underneath all the torrid passion, there remained the affectionate love that only a mother can have for her child.

Her delicate mouth consumed my throbbing erection with no qualms. I wanted to keep it only halfway in, but she forcefully consumed all of it, suppressing her gag reflex. I knew it could not have been a pleasant experience, but she did it anyway- for my sake. I wanted to pull out and save her the ordeal of having her own son's seed down her throat, but she steadfastly kept sucking. The pace was not rushed or urgent, but quaint and tranquil, like only a mother can give her son. I shuddered as her silky lips squeezed my seed into the caverns of her mouth.

My mother has thin, shapely arms culminating in long slender fingers. Those fingers may have calloused from relentless hours of work at various places, but they still had magic in them. They caressed my chest over and over again, drawing neat symmetrical circles around my nipples. She knew exactly how to please as her gentle ministrations soothed me.

Her fingers eventually snaked down lower and lower until they were mere inches away from my turgid shaft. Then came the sublime moment when her fingertip made first contact with my sensitive head. Her fingers slowly encircled my erection as she began stroking me. It never felt unnatural or wrong in any way whatsoever.

The frequency of her strokes increased ever so gradually until she was moving along at a fair rate. I could feel a churning from deep within me as my arousal rose. Just as it reached fever pitch, she stopped. Our night though, was far from over.

My mother has a perfect pair of breasts. Even with her age, they refuse to sag. She bared them to me that fateful night. Her nipples stood out proudly from her soft and supple mounds of flesh. I could not resist reaching out and rolling one between my fingers. She moaned appreciatively letting me know I was doing well.

When I was a baby, those nipples had sweet milk for me. Now they had love. She gently guided my head to her breast and I suckled on her nipple. Her slender fingers ran through my hair as she told me over and over again how much she loved me. I ran my tongue around her areola, her sounds of pleasure guiding me. In between her moans of ecstasy, she never missed an opportunity to tell me how special I was to her.

It never gets old, hearing someone tell you how much they love you.

My mother has a taut stomach. After I had thoroughly exhausted myself on her lovely breasts, I just lay down with my head on that stomach. It felt so serene, so peaceful as I lay there and those slender fingers ran through my hair and down my cheek and neck. It felt like a waking dream, one which I could spend my life in.

This brings me to the place from where I was born, all of twenty two years ago. Her labia delicately frames her vaginal opening. It is beautifully shaped, like a rose in full bloom. The pink flesh peeked out like soft petals. I had come out of there a long time ago and that night, I paid homage to it once more.

She never broke eye contact with me, even as the full length of my shaft sank into her inviting folds. We maintained a steady rhythm and kept rocking our hips in perfect sync. There was not a hint of lust in our actions that night, just pure love. She leaned in to kiss me tenderly even as we neared our climaxes. When she drew away, I saw tears in her eyes- tears of affection that only a mother can have for her son.

Moving further down her body, I end my description with her legs. My mother has well toned and shapely legs. They carry her with dignified poise wherever she goes. Those legs never tire from endlessly moving from place to place, from job to job to support us. Our happy little world comprises of just the two of us, and I like it this way. I like sharing the world with only one other person, particularly since she is the most beautiful woman in the world and she loves me more than life itself.

That ends my description of her, from head to feet. I love every part of my mother. I love her as a whole. I love her.

There is one part of her that I do not like. It is her liver. Last week, a man in a white coat showed me a picture of it. There is one cancerous tumour inside the first lobe. It is in its last stage so nothing can be done about it. My mother will not see out 2012. I do not know if the world will end this year, but I now know that my world will come to a brutal and painful end before the year ends.

If you can find it in your heart to say a prayer for her, say a small one for me as well. My mother made me promise that I will not cry and I will need all of your prayers to keep this promise to her. Everyday, it gets that much harder.

I will say a prayer for you too. I will pray that a man in a white coat never has to tell you that someone you love has cancer.

"And when she left, I saw God's footprints on the floor."