My mother was a child prodigy at playing the piano. She was giving concerts here in Cleveland at age 7. When she was only ten, a well-known talent manager took her under his wing and she began touring internationally. This talent manager, who was 40 years old at the time, seduced my young mother. She was only 17 when I, her son and only child, was born.
I was basically raised by my grandparents. My biological father didn't want anything to do with me. My mother toured almost constantly. I would see her for a couple weeks here or a couple weeks there. We never really established a mother/child relationship. She was desperate to see me when she could. There was always tears in her eyes when we'd reunite and outright bawling when she had to leave again. To me, she was a sweet, beautiful woman who called herself my mom. But I couldn't appreciate her heartache at not being around while her child grew up.
She was 33 years old when she came back home for good. My father had an eye for the young girls and my mother no longer qualified; not only her literal age, but her body as well. She was a full-grown woman and she looked it. Her hips and ass were fat and feminine. Her breast were full D cups. She had a body of goddess. But that was apparently not in vogue within the concert pianist world. So she was unceremoniously let go from both her touring obligations and the 'relationship' with her manager.
I was 16 when she came back to stay. She was ecstatic to be off the road and with her son. She was constantly hugging and kissing me. I didn't mind at all. Unlike most teens who cringe at parental demonstrations of affection, I rather enjoyed it. I guess it was because to me, she was my mother in name only... this beautiful, curvy, affectionate woman.
Financially, she was set for life. Twenty years of playing concert halls all over the world paid handsomely. My grandfather had always watched her money like a hawk. He made sure she was never cheated or ripped off during her career. She decided to buy a house of her own once I graduated high school. She didn't want to take me out of the family environment I had always known until I went to college.
It was sadly obvious she had missed out on her childhood and the years of being a young adult. She treated me more like a friend and really nothing like a parent. She was interested in doing all the things I liked to do. And I like doing them with her. In fact, we became best friends by the time I turned 18 and was ready to go to college. My normal friends were obviously hurt and offended I basically dropped them for my mother. I felt no remorse. My mother was fun, smart and beautiful. There was something always missing in my heart that now felt fulfilled with my mother's return. We went to the movies together, played games, hung out at the record store, everything.
Well, not EVERYTHING. I had already started dating when my mom moved back to stay. I was still a virgin, but I loved making out with my girlfriends. I strangely kept that part of my life secret from my mother. I don't exactly know why. It was like I felt I was cheating on her if she knew I dated girls my own age. My mother and I did like to flirt with each other. Nothing outrageous, but we'd hold hands in public or snuggle on the couch. I guess we would have appeared as young lovers to anyone else. I remember more than once my grandparents walking into the tv room to find my mother wrapped in my arms as we watched tv. They'd always give us an odd look, a look I understand better in retrospect.
We never went beyond hugs, snuggles and kisses on the cheek. I respected her too much to ever consider it. I will confess; I would masturbate at least twice a day thinking of her wonderful body on top of mine, her long, black hair falling in my face, her hot breath panting in my ear as her think, juicy form wreathed on top of mine. Yes, it was technically incest. But those fantasies didn't seem wrong in my mind.
I was accepted at Ohio State University. While having nowhere near the talent of my mother, I was a very good saxophonist. I tried out for and made the OSU marching band. My mom took the news with mixed emotions. While OSU was in state and I could come home on the weekends, she wouldn't get to see me much during football season. I assured her I'd call every day and nothing in life would ever separate us for long.
Being in the marching band made sure I had no time or energy to feel homesick. The focus and physical fitness required to play in a top rated marching band is way beyond what most people realize. You hear of 18 year olds gaining 'the freshman 15'? Well, I lost 20 lbs marching around football field that fall. It was tough, but we were among the best in the nation and we felt proud.
A more interesting aspect of the marching band were the away games. We had an equal ratio of men to women. So when we were staying in hotels for football games outside of Ohio, it was a sexual free-for-all for a lot of us. When I say 'us', I am certainly including myself. There would be parties in various rooms; booze, weed, music. Then everyone would pair up and retire to one or the other's bed. I'm not bragging but I was always sought after during these fuck fests.
Once, the first chair flute player had corralled me back to her room. We were both naked on her bed. She was sucking my cock like a porn star; loud, wet and sloppy. I was kicked back, smoking a j and enjoying her service. Suddenly, her roommate barges in.
"Tony passed out in the bathtub. I'm as horny as a rabbit. Hey, that looks like fun! Mind if I join you?"
Next thing you know, the roommate is sitting on my face. My nose is in her asshole, my tongue is doing laps around her vaginal opening and she's grinding her clit on my chin. Meanwhile, the flute player is riding my cock for all she's worth. They're making out and I'm wondering if I had died earlier in the day and was now in heaven.
Sadly, football season ended and we all went back to our studies and more subdued sexual lives. I didn't want a steady girlfriend, not for the first couple years of school anyway. That flute play would come around pretty regularly. She claimed no one thrilled her or satisfied her like I could. She'd even bring her roommate along on occasion. I suspected the flute player was starting to develop feelings for me, feelings beyond a satisfied, well-fuck pussy.
I was happy to go back home for Christmas break. Six weeks of quite time with my mom in her new house. She squealed with delight to see me. My whole face was covered in her lipstick within 20 seconds and I loved it. She has purchased a small, two bedroom in a nice suburb of Cleveland. I was surprised there were no picture or mementos of her years as a concert pianist. The only photographs displayed were of me, or her and me together. In fact, the house seemed to be shrine to our relationship. There were pictures of the two of us in various, albeit innocent, embraces from over the last 2 years. It appeared she took every picture and selfie we posed for together, had them blown up and professionally framed.
Now, I thought this was all a bit odd. But when I turned to say something, her eyes were desperately pleading for my approval. I just didn't have it in me to disappoint her.
"Mom, I love it! This feels like home... our home... you and me."
She flung her arms around me and we held each other for a long, long time. I had to admonish myself for starting to think sexual things. The last 5 months had been so drenched in wanton sex, I had to get my mind back in line. But her breasts were so full and soft against my chest. And the urge to run my hands down her back and palm those luscious ass cheeks was undeniable. I know I was bushing a bit when we separated. She had a glow to her face as well.
The first couple days I was home were happy if unremarkable. I spent some time with my grandparents. My mother was taking classes at a local junior college, so she was busy. It appeared I would be enjoying a quiet, restful break with my family. But then the letter arrived.
I used my mother's Post Office box for correspondences from college, such things as tuition payments, room and board arrangements, etc.. I didn't realize that address was in the student directory that my classmates could access. Well, my mother walks in from running errands one afternoon looking both hurt and disgusted. I was sitting on the couch watching television. She throws a pile of mail dramatically on the coffee table in front of me and stomps upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
The letter on top of the pile had been opened. I saw it was addressed to me. I recognized the name on the return address as the flute player I had been having sex with back at school. I put 2 and 2 together and broke out in a cold sweat. I could have been angry at my mother for opening the letter. But I guessed at what was written therein and my guilt overrode any feelings of violated privacy. My hands were shaking as I pulled the letter from the envelope.
A picture fell out as I unfolded the paper. It was of the flute player's shaved vagina. She was spreading the lips with two fingers. Those fingers and her folds glistened from what was an obvious masturbation session. I didn't read the letter word for word. I just scanned it to confirm what I already knew it contained. I caught phrases like 'your big, beautiful cock', 'you fill me up so well', 'suck you until you shoot' and 'I'll cum all over your face'.
This was a catastrophe. I never wanted my mother to know what kind of sex pig I was at school. She must have assumed I dated girls but we never talked about it. I loved my mother. Our relationship was pure, loving, innocent and beautiful. Her opinion of me meant everything. I'm sure that letter destroyed all respect she had for me. The young man who she adored was in truth a depraved pervert and now she saw it written out in graphic detail. The innocence between us, destroyed. The love, tainted. Now when she looked at me, she would see my face licking some stranger's pussy, getting my cock sucked, fucking like some monkey in a zoo. I felt lower than dirt.
I put on my shoes, grabbed the letter and picture and left. I walk for miles, wandering aimlessly. I came across an open dumpster on the other side of town. I stopped, took out the letter and picture and tore them up. I tossed the pieces in with the rest of the garbage and filth. Then I walked on.
I just wanted to run away. I never wanted my mother to see my face again. I thought about leaving the country. I thought about joining the military. I wanted to be gone, forgotten. I ruined the one precious thing in my life. Worse, I was sure I broke my mother's heart.
Night had fallen by the time I made it back to my mother's house. I hoped to sneak in to grab my wallet and car keys without having to see her. The plan was to go back to school until I decided what to do with the rest of my life. The way I felt at the time, maybe I wasn't even worthy to live.
There were no lights on that I could see from the outside. The front door was unlocked, which made me feel worse. Obviously, my mom felt sorry for her sexually deviant son. I tip-toed my way in and crept up to my room. I grabbed my keys and billfold. I snuck back downstairs. I was about to leave when I thought the least I could do was write my mom a note, something explaining how ashamed and sorry I was. I turned on a small lamp in the living room, found a pen and some paper and sat down on the couch to begin writing.
I had just started when I felt someone else's presence in the room. I looked up to see my mother not 5 feet away. I don't know how I didn't hear her come down the stairs. She was dressed in what I assumed were her bed cloths, although I thought she normally wore flannel pajamas, pants and top. As she stood before me, she was only wearing one of my oversized OSU band camp t shirts. The hang of her pendulous breast and the protrusion of her fat nipples announced she wasn't wearing a bra. The shirt only hung down to her naked mid-thigh. And even though she seemed dressed for bed, her long black hair was perfectly brushed. Also, her make up seemed freshly applied. If I wasn't so shocked at being caught and ashamed at the letter she had read, I'm sure I would have found her an amazing vision of womanhood. As it was, I just wanted to disappear.
