All characters involved in sexual acts are over 18 years old.
*****
Maybe some taboos just happen, suddenly, impulsively. For me and my mother, it took seven days and nights before anything erotic took place. Here's the complete story.
I'm Rowan, six feet tall, heavy-built, moderately athletic and on the good-looking side of plain. These events began when I left the Navy aged 26.
My mum is Alison, 22 years older than me, five feet four, slim, medium build, medium-length light brown hair, medium-sized breasts, slightly large hips and a round bottom.
All in all, we're both pretty average to look at. We lived together then while I looked for work, in her small two-bedroom house on the edge of suburbia. We have houses behind us all the way to the city, but in front of us is a little creek, a flood plain with a horse agistment business on it, then woods all the way to the mountains.
At the end of last autumn, the hot water system in the roof began to leak. We discovered it after overnighting with mum's sister. We still had hot water for showers, but her mattress was ruined. She got into an argument with the insurers over some technicality, her lawyer was sure they should pay and it took ages to resolve.
For the first week, though, mum still expected a new bed, a new hot water system and repairs for the water damage. So as a temporary measure, she shared my bed. It's king sized, so plenty of room.
The first night.
It was weird, of course. Mum showered, put on a thigh-length cotton nightdress and fussed with her hair, I showered and put on my winter pjs. We made little shy, embarrassed jokes before we got into bed. She kissed me goodnight, and rolled over to face away from me. Eventually she drifted off to sleep and I heard her breathing deepen. At some point, while I was asleep too, she rolled back towards me and hooked a thigh over mine. I woke with a start, then realised it was her. I could feel her warmth, and despite the weirdness it wasn't so bad. I let her sleep on.
As daylight broke, I was awake early as usual. Mum was on her back, head facing away, and the blankets were scrunched down near her tummy. Even laying down, I noticed her breasts were still pronounced and firm. I watched them rise and fall in her peaceful slumber.
It was a little chilly in the dawn, and it had an effect on mum. Her nipples poked at the fabric of her nightdress. I smiled. She was my mother, but she was also a real woman. I pulled the covers over her and she snuggled into them. I lay there with morning wood, wishing I hadn't covered her up so quickly. I had to admit to myself, I wanted to see more.
The second night.
Much the same as the first. And the dawn was much the same, too, only this time I left her upper half uncovered longer and gazed at her erect nipples. Eventually she rolled away. This time I was looking at her rounded bum, and the way the fabric of her nightdress clung between her butt cheeks. I reached for the hem and lifted it slightly. Mum moved a little, and I lost my nerve. But during the next day, I was in a constant state of near-erection.
The third night.
There was a storm, plenty of loud cracks of thunder and sheet lightning. As it approached, the cracks of thunder were so loud as to make mum jump. She snuggled in to me, saying: "Oh I hate this kind of storm." She jumped at another crack, followed by a long roll of thunder that went on for some time. She actually shivered. I pulled her to me and we spooned. She giggled a little: "Oh, my strong baby boy. Protecting your mother. Ah! Gee that one was loud!"
"I got ya, mum. We're safe and sound."
"Mmm, this is nice. I'm sure the storm will pass soon."
If it didn't, I was not going to complain. I hadn't spooned a woman in a while, this was pleasant, even if it was my own mother.
The storm moved away slowly, but mum didn't. She held my arm up to her chest. She wasn't asleep, just very cozy. But I had to push my rear end back to make sure I didn't make contact too low down. Even so, I thought I could feel mum's butt crack against my stomach. I tried not to think how close my penis was to her vagina, nor that if I moved my hand just inches, I would be cupping her breast.
After a fitful sleep, I awoke to find her snuggled towards me with her head on my shoulder. I looked down. The top of her nighty was open slightly and plump flesh spilled over it. No erect nipple this time, but I guessed it was no more than an inch out of sight. I watched that smooth flesh rise and fall with her breathing, and for the first time the male curse joined us in bed. I got an erection.
Not one of those rock-hard, morning boners that are easy to wank to a finish, more like a general stiffness that tingles. I felt my cheeks flush. I was in bed with my mother with a hardon. It wasn't because of the contact, it was just because of the morning. But that didn't make it any less embarrassing if she woke up.
I thought about work, getting the car serviced, the insurance company... it might have worked except mum groaned, stretched, and smacked her lips in a doze as she snuggled closer and bent one leg up my thigh. The middle of her thigh was over my balls, and she unwittingly caused a tent of bedclothes which put pressure and fiction on my cock. It responded and got fully hard. Without thinking, I put my arm over her shoulder and rested my hand on her side.
Fully awake now, I wrestled with two conflicting thoughts. One part of me wished I hadn't put my hand there. It was uncomfortably close to the curve of her breast. The other part of me - the part with a hotline to my dick - practically dared me to feel her up. In the end, I moved my hand.
In time, she woke up. She smiled and apologised for, as she put it, 'clambering all over' me, and stretched luxuriously before getting up to go to the bathroom.
I pretended to try to sleep in to avoid having to stand up while my cock stood out, as it were. After a while, the morning began.
The fourth day.
After the last might's storm, the morning air was humid and the day was unusually warm for the time of year. Mum wore a cotton house dress, yellow with pink and purple flowers. Maybe it was last years and she'd put on a couple of pounds, maybe it was just too small. It showed plenty of cleavage and her breasts threatened to spill out whenever she energetically cleaned or polished anything. I'd been trying to do job applications but couldn't take my eyes off her for minutes at a time.
If it wasn't cleavage, it was plump flesh straining at the cotton. If not that, it was a wobbling bum or a glimpse of upper thigh.
In the afternoon, she busied herself in her bedroom. She called to me.
"I'm going to donate some of these clothes. Help me decide what to keep."
"Like I know anything about womens' clothes."
"Oh don't cop out. Here, the blue one. Keep or not?"
"Er, keep, I guess."
"OK. What about this? I think it's too racy."
It was what women used to call their 'little black number'. It looked slinky, short.
"I dunno. How does it feel when you wear it?"
"It might not even fit me."
"Well try it on!"
"OK. Turn around."
I did. I faced the window. It was a good move. I could see my mother's reflection, ghostlike and unclear, but I heard her clothes 'shush' over her skin and I could see the reflection of her in her pink underwear. She had a slight paunch, tits like I'd dreamed of, and strong, lean thighs.
