How humiliating. Here I am, a once-successful thirty-something, happily married, or so I thought, two kids, great house, great life, blah, blah, blah. And now...I'm looking up at the façade of my old childhood home, watching the moving men carting in the few boxes I have, the remnants of that successful life that's now wrecked to hell and back. Ye gods, does anything spell "loserville" like moving back home with your mommy???
I grabbed another box from the back of the car and carried it up to the house. Two of the movers, taking a short smoke break, don't see me behind them and are talking about my mom. "Damn," says one of them, blowing smoke out forcefully as if to punctuate his statement, "that is one hot momma, I kid you not. What'd she do, have him when she was 12 or somethin'?"
The other guy gave out a short, barking laugh. "Hell, she looks younger than him! I keep hopin' that top of hers slides down...wanna think about suckin' them nips of hers..." He groaned and did a quick double hip pump...then they turned and saw me. At least they had the grace to look embarrassed. I glared at them and said in my coldest voice, "How about putting the energy you're wasting fantasizing about doing my mom into moving my stuff in?"
They glared at me...and behind me, the voice of their boss chimed in, "If ya two don't need to get paid today, just let me know -- I can send ya home to fantasize alllll ya want...without pay, of course." If their faces could look any darker, they would -- but they also knew that they'd been well and truly caught out and couldn't even retaliate. They snuffed out their cigarettes and went back to work in a furious silence.
"Sorry about that...," the boss began, but I waved it off; the situation was embarrassing enough without discussing it any further. "It's ok," I said. "It's been taken care of."
He could see I was embarrassed by the whole thing, so he just smiled and walked off. You'd think I'd be used to this by now...my mom, the hottie. But I wasn't. Not even after all the years of hearing my friends tell me how lucky I was and how they'd love to "do" my mom. Not after watching my male teachers (and a few of my female ones) drool over my mom. Not after wondering, every time I went out in public with her, if it was going to be uneventful or if another of her many admirers was going to waylay us and try to paw all over her -- in public, for God's sake!
And what bothered me most about it was...I understood how they felt. I had the hots for my own mom. She always took fanatical care of her body, and she had the ripest curves -- gorgeous big breasts, nice round ass, curvy hips, and a slender but not too thin waist. She also had a habit of walking around the house with next-to-nothing on, so my teen years were an agony of watching my mother's alluring body in very see-thru peasant blouses, teeny tiny booty shorts, stretched-to-the-max tube tops, almost-not-there bikinis and other articles of clothing I was convinced were nothing more than torture devices designed especially to drive me crazy. And with my mom's penchant for doling out affection very liberally -- she loved to just come up and hug and kiss me at any time, any place -- I spent a lot of my adolescence in a haze of testosterone-fueled horniness.
And time had been very kind to my mother. She didn't look like she had aged a day. She bounced out to the porch to meet me -- and I do mean bounced -- grabbing at the box as if to take it from my hands. "Hey, Mom!" I protested, trying not to drop the box and wondering what on earth had got into her -- she was even more bubbly and excited than usual.
"Oh, come on, Craig!" she giggled. "Why don't you let your mama help you out a bit?" I could hear some snickers as Dumb and Dumber got a kick out of the double entendre my mother had unwittingly made, and I turned even redder. "Mom, it's ok," I said as gently as I could and stepped around her to take the box to my old bedroom -- mine once again. Oh successful me.
She followed me up, pouting slightly. "Craig, you don't have to be so mean," she whined slightly. She came up to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her body against me. "Give your mama an 'I'm sorry' kiss."
Oh gods. It had been weeks, long, lonely weeks since I'd had anything remotely approaching sex. Melody had made sure that my last few weeks with her had been nothing but unadulterated misery. Not that sex with her had been nirvana, but something was always better than nothing. I'd gone through the driest spell I'd ever had since hitting puberty...and now my hotter-than-hot mom was pressing a body that desires were made of against me. I looked around wildly, but the movers were on lunch break and nowhere around. It was just my mother and me.
I groaned, "Mom...," and she shifted slightly against me. It felt like wires of fire running from any part of me in contact with her to my groin. I knew I was getting hard, very hard. If I didn't get away from her soon, I was going to let my mom know that I had a stiffy for her, to put it crudely. I tried to give her a peck on the cheek and run, but she was having none of it.
"Craig...!" she said warningly, then grabbed my head on either side of my face in her hands and gave me a kiss on the lips. Suddenly, it was as if a dam burst. I couldn't hold it back anymore...years of repressing how I felt just slammed against the wall of my resistance and found huge gaps to pour through. The wall was history. I grabbed my mother -- hell, I wasn't thinking of her as my mother, just as a hot, sexy woman that I needed to get my cock into -- and gave her a kiss that was definitely not in the "good son" handbook.
