The looks, the smiles, and the flirtatious behavior happening between my son Niles and me have slowly escalated since months after his eighteenth birthday to now, nearly three years later. I mean, here we are, vital humans, good looking people, living in this modest ranch house in not-very-exciting Terre Haute, Indiana, so one would expect a little banter here and there.
I love my son immensely, and he's always been a mama's boy who loves me unconditionally, yet he's now operating in a linebacker's body. I have officially taken notice. As well, Niles has picked up on the fact that I am well-preserved at age 51, to say the least, with a nice albeit large ass, and I'm in close proximity.
Really close proximity.
One can cut the sexual tension around our home with a butter knife. I stroke my hot clit on a regular basis. Yes. I do. I keep it private, though, noisily playing with my cunt when he's at football workouts. I know Niles has to beat off. He's twenty one, which is enough to warrant wanking, but few girls grace our home. Or, grace his conversation, even. I know he does, yet he locks doors and remains quiet.
I have not caught him with his cock in hand.
I'd love to catch him.
It's getting close, however.
I'd welcome the opportunity.
Just inquisitive.
And, horny.
Very horny.
******
Another day, another stack of folded bath towels to be put away. The kid takes two long showers a day, uses three thick quality towels per shower, and you don't need an abacus to know if I don't deal with this regularly I get snowed in under terrycloth.
The door to the storage closet for our bath towels is just to the left of the hallway entrance to Niles' bathroom. I pad to the door on my stocking feet and open it up to place the towels on the shelves. There is no running water noise coming from his bathroom, so Niles must be finished with his shower.
Good. I need to speak with him.
I hear Niles' voice from within. I think nothing of it since he often talks and sings to himself. It's a cheerful habit as he's always smiling when he does that; I chalk it up to the fact that Niles is an only child communicating with people, real or imagined. At one time, I thought that was an issue, yet he's pulling a 3.46 as a junior philosophy major at Indiana State here in Terre Haute and has been voted the defensive captain for the Sycamores' varsity football team.
Not a problem.
As far as I'm concerned, after producing results like that, Niles can talk to himself all day and all night. Most of the time I can't understand what he's saying, but keep it up, my son.
You're doing well.
I lean in to rap his bathroom door with the knuckle of my left index finger. Mother's intuition tells me to stop because, oddly, I can hear clearly what Niles is saying. And, it's making me suck in a gasp and go bug eyed.
"Geez, Mom. That's the pace. Keep stroking my cock just like that! Oh, beat me off, my gorgeous mother. Beat me off, Mom! I'm going to come in a minute, so just stroke my big, hard cock. May I shoot my come on your tits? Again? Oh, my sweet mother..."
My knuckle knocks on the door involuntarily.
Fuck!
"Yes?" Niles asks after clearing his voice.
"Ohh...uhh...Niles. Sorry. I need to speak with you soon. My apologies."
"Well, come in, Mom!"
"What the hell!? I mean, are you decent? Niles?" I'm in a panic, with the panties under my short silk happy coat getting wetter by the second.
"I am now."
I make the sign of the cross, take a deep breath, smile, and open the door.
Niles is decent. Sort of. A towel hangs vertically over his cock from just below his sternum to the floor. His hands are holding the towel at mid-abdomen. Surely he's still enjoying an erection. I cannot see it, but it's as obvious as the grin he's sporting on his beautiful face. Niles was jacking off while thinking about his mother and, to his delight, he was almost caught in the act by that very woman.
"Niles, you're barely dressed," I say.
Thank you, Niles.
"I know. I just stepped out of the shower. What do you want to speak with me about?"
"Well...I...just..."
I'd better come up with something, with 'come' being the operative word. I'm talking my come escaping my underwear and dripping down the insides of my upper thighs.
I smell like sex.
Niles smells it, also.
And, why not? The towel hides Niles' business, yet his entire linebacker body is visible to me. From the reflection in the mirror of his tight athlete's ass to his bare obliques and narrow hips, from his cut abs and pecs and his deltoids and traps ready to burst through the walls, to his massive quadriceps and calves, my son is a moving statue of a Greek god. A head topped with short wavy black hair and punctuated with soulful brown eyes, a hook nose, and Elvis curl lips controls this powerful tanned-all-over six foot 220 pound body.
I am amazed I live alone with an awesome twenty one year old stud and display of virility and have yet to knock him onto the floor and fuck him just to get it over with. Well, he's my son and I'm his mother and I love him to Jupiter and back and would not do anything unnatural to him. Yet, that tenet of mine is evaporating away rapidly as I desperately try to think of something to say.
I check out the mirror again. Oh...my God. What a fine ass my boy sits on.
"Well...Niles...what...uh...do you want for lunch? My darling son?"
At this point, the use of terms of endearment is like a safety relief valve. However, my nipples are sharp enough to cut diamond. I self-consciously cover my tits with the palms of my hands.
Oh, that's really bright, Uma.
"You cooked a whole chicken yesterday," Niles says.
"Yes, sweetie, I choked the...chicken..."
"You did? Why did you do that? The chicken showed up dead!" Niles exclaims.
Now he's toying with me.
"Do you want the chicken for lunch? My...uh...baby boy?"
"Yes," he says. "Spring drills early this morning made me incredibly hungry. I can eat two choked chickens"
"Okay, Niles. Coming...coming right up! Lunch will be served in fifteen minutes. Go back to whatever you were doing...uhhh...well, shit."
"Oh, you can count on that, Mom!" Niles says, laughing at his mother.
I exit Niles' bathroom without a word, close the door, and remain there.
I need to hear him complete the task-at-hand. And, he does.
"Oh, Christ, Mom! You were so close to my big nine inch cock. Why, oh why didn't you just jerk the towel down and jack me off? It would have taken mere seconds...I'm going to come. Now! Ah, fuck, Mom! I mean, fuck."
It sounds like three knocks on the bathroom door. Like, bam-bam-bam. Oh, sweet Jesus, Niles shot hard lassos of his juices of life on the door!
"Fuck, Mom! Yes! Fuck! Keep jacking me!"
Two pieces of pressboard attached to the wall with three hinges are all that separate me from having his come splattered all over my razor nipples, happy coat, and my face! I nearly collapse, weak-kneed from the ribaldry of it all.
Quickly dropping my panties with my left hand and attacking my drenched clit with my right, it was all I could do to keep from screaming Niles' name as I immediately brought myself to the most intense orgasm of my 33 years of adulthood on this planet. I crawl to my room, the master bedroom devoid of a man for years, slam the door, and lie there, waiting for a homicide detective with chalk to show up and draw around my quivering form.
******
Spring practice begins promptly at 5:30 am every other weekday. That means I'm up at 4:00 am to prepare a power breakfast for Niles, consisting of a banana peanut butter protein shake with blueberries, all jammed in the blender with ice to be puréed. In two hours, Niles will be deep into tackling drills and one-on-one hitting drills for at least an hour. Coaches give them a ten minute rest, then the team's offensive and defensive units go at each other, live hitting action.
Sometimes I take time before my day begins as a high-priced attorney to walk the three blocks to the Indiana State grassy fields and watch my son take part in college football's rite of spring. Niles Trapp is such a sweet boy, always has been, yet his football alter ego takes over when he's taped up, geared up and looking through his facemask. Then, 'Steel' Trapp roams the field of play like a hungry animal, delivering punishing, punitive hits to any player wearing different colors.
I can only take a half hour of this legalized violence before I have to quickly walk home to the friendly confines of my bedroom, where I peel off all my clothes, stand before the full-length mirror, and masturbate.
I come in seconds. Loudly and wildly.
Then, I come again. Big. Hard.
Finally, I'm limp after the third orgasm.
Three in a minute.
Oh, shit. Oh, my son. What you do to your mother...is...immoral?
That it is.
Afterwards, I inspect my body, the five eight vessel that recently led me through to the throes of my sixth decade. My face is framed by a black bangs and a flip do. I give good face; it's still angular and pretty, with crow's feet that have grown around the deep brown eyes I gave my son. The lips are sumptuous, yet smoking lines have developed from the times long ago when I pinched my mouth and pulled on cigarettes. The creamy white shoulders are aging and filling out, no longer bony and delicate. The formerly firm, full, and perkies are in the sag phase; my big boobs, otherwise supported by a 36C brassiere with metal underwires, hang down when they're on their own. Mercifully, my areoles and nipples don't, still looking front and center and attractive.
High beams up, baby.
Maybe Niles has surreptitiously seen my tits, and they drive him wild, forcing him to jack off every chance he gets. If my son gets that far, he undoubtedly has to notice his mother's big firm ass, really big, and the shapely long legs that go all the way up to his mother's big firm really big ass. Some cellulite still appears on each buttcheek, despite the hours on the elliptical, and I had the varicose veins zapped out of my gams in November, so I pass inspection for this year.
