Part One: The Part with Background Information
My father lost his job with a multi-national agricultural company when I was 18, and just preparing to go off to college. While my parents had been able to save for my college expenses, they asked that I stay home and attend the community college in our area until Dad got back on his feet. Being the good son, I agreed without much convincing. In truth, I was relieved, as I didn't feel ready to leave home.
Dad was out of work for about six months, but finally landed a job with a company that did business all over the Western United States. I had never known exactly what he did at work. Evidently, he is a fertilizer expert, and was hired to consult with farming companies in order to recommend that they use his new employer's products. Basically, he became a fertilizer salesman, although his official title was Consultant.
The problem was that he would be on the road, weekdays, three weeks out of every four. We had a family meeting, and Dad convinced us that this was really for the best. It would stop the financial bleeding and put him in a stronger position to land an even better job. Reluctantly, Mom and I agreed.
Beginning the next week, Mom would drive Dad to the airport on Sunday evening or very early Monday morning almost every week, and pick him up on Friday nights. Most Sundays, I would go along as driver and Mom would sit in the back seat until Dad got out at the airport. Then she'd join me up front.
On one such Sunday evening, as I drove back to the house, Mom turned to me and said, "When we get home, I want you to hide all the car keys somewhere where I can't find them."
I was puzzled at first, but soon figured it out. "You're not thinking about going off your medications, are you?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road.
"Yes," she answered. "I hate them. They make me feel fuzzy and groggy all day."
I should probably stop to explain. My mother is a somnambulist, more commonly known as a sleepwalker. She wakes up in the middle of the night and does things while technically still asleep. She might make and eat a meal, clean house, have a conversation with you that makes no sense, and has even driven the car in rare instances, all while still asleep. It is rare, but is recognized by the medical community and there are pharmacological treatments using combinations of drugs. She takes diazepam and paroxetine, those being the two that seemed to work best for her. Her sleepwalking has been reduced from multiple times each week to rare occasions every six months or so. Not a cure, but the drugs have gotten it under control.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said quietly, not wanting to be confrontational. "Especially with Dad not at home."
"That's exactly why I'm doing it," she quickly answered. "With him not at home, I don't need to worry so much if I'm up half the night. I can feel normal during the week, and I'll take the drugs on the weekends and the weekdays he's here." She reached over and touched my arm. "If I can't find the car keys, I should be safe from harming myself or others."
What finally caused my mother to seek treatment 12 years earlier was that she had awakened me in the middle of the night, helped me dress, buckled me into the back seat of the car, and was driving me to the supermarket. We never made it. On the way there, she crashed into five parked cars. Luckily, neither of us was harmed, but she woke up after the crash, crying and disoriented. Luckily, neither of us was injured, and she sought treatment right after that.
"No, Mom," I said. "I can't go along with that."
"Well, you can hide the keys or not, but I'm not taking my medications this week." She paused for a moment. "And if you're thinking about calling your Dad, think twice. It's not too late for me to tell him that it was you and your buddies that drank all his liquor." I winced.
"You wouldn't!" I exclaimed.
"I would!" she answered back.
She had covered for me a couple of weeks before, explaining to my Dad that she had a vague memory of waking up and pouring out all his liquor. She blamed it on her somnambulism to save my ass, and I guess I owed her.
"Okay," I finally relented. "Let's try it this week and see how it goes." I looked over and she was sitting with her arms crossed in front of her, a satisfied smile on her face.
Part Two: The Part with the First Incident
The first few nights were fine. I tried to sleep lightly, keeping an ear out in case Mom got up. I had hidden the keys between my mattresses, right below me, so I would probably wake up if she tried to get to them. But nothing happened until Thursday night.
I was sound asleep, dreaming about something very pleasant, although I can't remember what it was. I slowly woke up to realize I was making out with someone. I was right in between sleep and wakefulness, and at first, I just got into it, bringing my arm up and around the shoulders of the woman I was kissing. As I slowly woke up, I finally realized I wasn't dreaming and opened my eyes.
It was my mother I was making out with! She was standing next to my bed, leaning over me, her nightgown open at the throat and her breasts hanging loosely, their shape just visible in the dim light. I began to pull away, but she aggressively kept her lips glued to mine.
It was then I felt her hand snaking down my torso. In no time, she had her hand wrapped around my cock, and it began responding. It began to grow and harden in her hand, and she moaned into my mouth and began stroking it up and down.
It was at that point the brain in my little head took over for the brain in my big head. I began kissing her back even more passionately as she brought my cock to it's full hard eight inches with her hand. My mother is a beautiful woman, with flowing brunette hair, large breasts, and a tight body for her 39 years old. Beautiful enough that it was easy for my cock-brain to convince my head-brain that this was okay, even though she was my mother.
After a few minutes of intense kissing, tongue tangling and cock stroking, Mom removed her mouth from mine, stood up straight and took a step towards the foot of the bed. To my shock and amazement, she turned slightly towards the foot of the bed, pulled the covers down, bent over, and took my cock in her mouth.
Oh my god, it felt so good. I had only had this done to me once before by my high school girlfriend, and she didn't really know what she was doing. Mom did, and it felt amazing. She used her hand, mouth, spit, tongue, even her teeth, stroking, licking, sucking, gently biting. I reached out instinctively and cupped her breast in my hand, feeling the hard nub of her nipple against my palm. I started caressing her boob as she licked, stroked and sucked my hard, throbbing dick.
She stopped for a brief moment, repositioned herself slightly, then slowly lowered her lips all the down my cock to my pubic bone. She slid it out a little bit for a moment, took a breath through her nose, then took it down her throat again. Little by little she developed a breathing rhythm and soon I was fucking her throat deeply.
It was more than I could take and I exploded down her gullet. I pumped six or seven powerful jets of cum down her throat as fireworks went off in my head and body.
Mom slowly raised her head, and removed my cock from her mouth with a slurp. She backed up slowly until she hit my desk chair with her butt. She looked behind her, then sat down. She immediately pulled up her nightgown, revealing her shaved cunt which she began rubbing with her right hand. In the dim light, I could see that Mom's eyes were open, but they were fixed with a glassy stare. I recognized that look, and knew for sure that she was deep into a dream.
As she continued to frig herself, it was too dark for me to make out any details of her sex, but I could see her hand moving over it, and I could smell it in the air.
"Too many kites," she suddenly said. "Fly the wind." She was dreaming of kites? "Fly-fly."
Her hand was moving faster and she suddenly grunted, almost a barking sound. Her hand sped up even more, and her legs went stiff in front of her. I realized she was about to cum. Just at that moment, she groaned and said, "Good girl," and was deep into the throes of her orgasm. I watched as her face contorted, her eyes never losing their fixed stare. She moaned through the power of her climax and finally held her hand still over her sex.
She sat for a moment, then stood and walked towards the door. I jumped up, my cock still turgid, and grabbed her by the shoulders from behind and gently steered her through my door and left towards her bedroom. As we got close to her bedroom I began gently saying, "Let's get back in bed, Mom." It wasn't the first time this scenario had played out, and if you quietly led her back to bed, she usually would stay there, falling into a different sleep pattern.
She willingly went back to bed, and I pulled the covers up to her neck. I waited for a couple of minutes until her eyes, closed, then went back to my own bedroom.
Part Three: The Part Where I Wonder and Worry Over the Weekend.
As I lay in my bed, trying to get back to sleep after my Mom's sleepwalking episode, I began worrying that she might remember doing what she just did. Usually, she had no recollection, but there were times that she would have a hazy memory. I certainly hoped that she wouldn't remember, and decided that I'd probably know first thing in the morning if she did. I should have stopped her, and while she had the somnambulism to blame for her actions, I had no excuse for mine.
I still couldn't sleep and decided that I had to relieve my hard cock, which had sprung back to life after watching Mom bring herself to a crashing orgasm. I jerked off, cumming on a sweaty T-Shirt I had worn that day, and finally fell asleep a few minutes later.
When I went down in the morning, Mom wasn't up yet. She worked from home doing payroll for a company based in Scranton, Pa. A paper company, or something like that. I thought it was cool that she could work from here for a company all the way across the country. She always said it was a good thing, too, because she had gone to the home office once when she first got the job, and thought the office workers, especially the manager, were a bunch of whackos.
Even though her schedule was her own, she was usually up early and getting ready to start work by the time I came down. Sleeping late was a tell-tale sign that she might have been sleepwalking the night before.
Finally at 9:45 she came downstairs. I had class at 11:00 and had begun making my own breakfast so I could get the kitchen cleaned up and be on my bike in time to make it to class. When she walked into the kitchen, she didn't say anything, which was a bad sign.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat at the breakfast table.
"Do you want me to make you some breakfast?" I asked, without turning around.
