To Have to Hold

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE]

My name is James, but we'll go with Jim for now. I was raised in an apparently normal home. As I turned 18, father (Mal) was 44, a local businessman, and mom (Sue) a 38 year old housewife and socialite. I did not have the slightest interest in mom other than the traditional concept of mother. I wouldn't say she was cold, but...okay, she WAS cold and austere. Her world centered around marriage and the area doings. Whether out of modesty, aloofness, or other concerns, mom dressed like a nun at most times. I mean, I never saw her without hosiery (I hate hosiery) and sturdy shoes, formless outfits, etc. It was a parochial notion of modesty, withholding of displaying oneself lest one be deemed a "slattern", "slut", or just common "trash".

I lived in a bedroom cutoff from the main house at the side of the garage. I was thus cutoff from most of the 'goings on' in the main house. It turns out that dad had an affair going with one of his employees. Mother and father had one thing in common and that was a fear of getting older. My father's age could be measured like tree rings, only in his case; it was the traditional male baldness. Already at 44, he had lost most of his 'coverage'. Fearful that he would soon be too old to get young tail, he had gleamed on to this tramp that worked for him. She admittedly was young at 19, but her figure was unattractive, with the proverbial big chest but no discernible boobs, legs like sturdy tree trunks, and lovely flat feet for extra traction. Quite an unappealing mix, but she WAS young.

One night everything happened, and everything changed. It was 1 am and I heard a tapping at the glass door (my door to the garage had glass slats for ventilation.) Groggy, I went to the door in the frayed boxer shorts that I slept in, not thinking of any modesty at this late hour. Who should be there but my ice cold mother. She was wearing her simple green house robe. She walked in totally silently.

For the 1st time, I detected some emotion on that face. All red and puffy, from crying apparently, mom asked if she could come in.

Me: "Sure mom. God, is there something wrong? You look like you just got bad news from your doctor or something." [Mom came in and sat down on my big black leather chair. What struck me is that she wasn't wearing her omnipresent support hose and nurse type shoes. When she folded her legs, I could see above the knee say four inches. Those legs were smooth, tanned, shapely, her ankles slender, and her feet soft, with deep ruby painted toes...gorgeous. Mind you, this was the first time that I had ever seen anything whatever of mom that wasn't covered up for propriety or modesty. I had to sit down quickly, as my frayed boxer shorts were starting to strain. I tried my best not to stare (women always know, damn it), but my eyes have separate controls, and my ten inch friend down below was in full contact and control of them.

Mom: "Your father has left me...has left us, for some cheap tramp at work. What is the most galling is how cold, calculating, and heartless the whole thing was. Today he tricked me into going to his lawyer's office; there, I was given an ultimatum to sign papers or he would lock you and I out of the house, making us scramble for living quarters and support. Well, I couldn't let that happen, so I concluded the entire thing today. Their initial offer was 40% of common property with him keeping this house. Luckily, I kept a copy of some photos that I had taken when I bribed another one of his employees to follow your father around. It cost me $500, but it made them change the settlement. Not bad, really, $100,000 return on $500. Now we keep the house, all of my separate estate, and 60% of the common."

Me: "Well, it worked out great, mom. If he's the kind of bum that would cheat on you, then he certainly isn't worth shedding a tear over. I'm sure you can find a much better man. In fact, I am sure of it. I have a terrible confession to make. One time, you left the intercom on by mistake while you two were 'doing it'...you kept complaining that you couldn't feel him, why wasn't he into it? Then you apparently climbed off and looked and said that it was indeed as big as it ever gets, 3 ½ inches. I apologize for eavesdropping, but I was thinking, wow, I am only seven, and I have him beat!"

Mom: "You're so funny, sweetheart. But you shouldn't make things up. I'm sure that you weren't bigger than him at seven or much bigger than that now, if at all. You know, genetics."

I stood up in those frayed boxer shorts. The material was very thin in spots from 100's of washings. The rest of me was out there, exposed. Working in a plumbing pipe yard, tossing cast iron pipe into storage containers, I had really changed that summer before college, getting broad shoulders and massive upper body strength. To mom's shock, I took down my frayed shorts, with my cock already bigger than daddy at five inches, relaxed.

Mom: "My God, Jimmy. How dare you do that in front of your mother!" [she started to get up. To her shock, and my own to be honest, I grabbed that old green robe and ripped it off her. She was wearing a pink peignoir beneath it. She could keep that on...for now. I pushed her back onto that chair.]

Me: "Mom, you came in here at 1am, and I don't think it was to discuss the disturbing temperature changes in the south Pacific leading to El Nino. You kind of challenged me with this genetics thing. If it's one thing I will do tonight, it will be to prove to you that I am more MAN than that spineless wimp that cheated on you and left today. Now sit there and do as I say...do you understand!!" [Mom timidly nodded.]

Me: "Now I am going to bring my pride and joy, my ten inch...that's right TEN INCH...manhood over to you. You will use one hand to cup my family jewels while the other makes a key hole and strokes its length. That means NOW, bitch!"

Mom dutifully started on me. One hand hefted my heavy scrotum, disbelieving that a unit could be larger than her ex-husband's thimble sized nuts. Her eyes grew as big as saucer plates staring at my mango sized balls, laden with pent-up passion. For years, I had been attracted to mom subconsciously, with a gigantic reservoir of sperm building up. She now held that in one petite hand while the other, burdened with an expensive 24K gold charm bracelet, began its up and down strokes on my ever growing cock. As it snapped to iron hardness and reached its full ten inch size, mom looked at me:

Mom: "My God, Jimmy, you weren't lying. It's so big, so handsome. My baby boy is so virile, so strong. You ARE so much more man than him. He really was a baby-sized sissy compared to this beautiful thing." [She bent down and kissed it!]

Well, the 'pressure at the well head was unsustainable' in oil spill talk. I took mom's surprisingly able hands off my cock. I stood her up. I bent forward, near her right ear.

Me: "I want you nude, mom...I want you NUDE!!" [Without giving her a chance to respond, my two pipeyard strong arms took hold of the peignoir and ripped it to shreds. Even after it came off, I made sure she saw me tear it to ribbons, as it symbolized her chastity and modesty before me all of those wasted years. Now, here, she was rejected by her ex-husband, horny, lonely, desperate, and NUDE! My cock had seen enough of her to reach its ten inch zenith.

For the first time, I realized that I had a beautiful mother. Dyed blonde hair, blue eyes, a dazzling smile, plus a figure of some bathing suit model, with overly large boobs, a tucked in waist, and a perfect little behind (from walking miles in the malls every day.) Below that were the longest legs I had ever seen on a woman only five foot four, with those slender ankles and gorgeous smooth feet. Man, all those years and I had never had a clue. And why DID she dress like Mother Theresa around me?]

Mom: [With hands covering her furry mound and her big boobs, mom looked helpless. Oddly, she seemed more concerned than sad, more involved in negotiating than in leaving.] "Jimmy, I can tell that you are seeing mommy for the 1st time and it has kind of unhinged you. I understand that. I am going to put what remains of my clothes back on and go to my room. If you want, you can come in so we can talk about everything. Ok, sweetheart. See you in 15 minutes." [Sure enough, she left me rock hard and out of breath. She had seized back the moment and re-taken control. I had to grudgingly admire that.]

Quite a surprising turn of events. From being an innocent lad of 18 sharing the roof with my two parents, I had been informed that it would now be just myself and mom. Then when mom revealed how poorly equipped dad was, implying that I was too, I felt compelled to prove to her that I was not more man than him, but MUCH more man than him. I was certain that if she saw my 10 inches of steel hard virility that she would melt in my arms, mother or not. No, she gathered her clothes and commanded that I come to her room, no doubt for a scolding and deadline for me to leave. I went to my bathroom mirror, wondering why I had been rejected by mom. Standing back, I flexed my muscles, my iron pipe work evident on those mountainous 22 inch biceps. Tanned, fit, just what did mom dislike, unless it was simply that I was her son? Oh well, time to get a lecture and a warning about that 'door hitting you in the ...' as I was leaving.

I threw on a big terry robe and went to mom's room in the main house. There was mom lying on her king sized bed, wearing sexy underwear for the first time (as far as I knew), on her customary side of the bed. She patted the other side of the bed for me to lie down. Not knowing what was going on, I left the robe on.

Mom: "Get off this bed right now, young man!"

Me: [Leaping to my feet.] "But, mom, you JUST pointed for me to lie there!"

Mom: "Don't talk back to me. Now, sweetheart, I want that robe off of you...NOW!" [Cute, she was copying my commands now. I gingerly lay back down on the bed in the same spot.]

Mom: "Jimmy, I know you are wondering a thousand things. Like, why did I dress like a monk all those years. Well, I didn't want to advertise something that wasn't for sale. But, now that I am without, I need to sell it, and fast. I know this is right out of the blue, but I don't want to 'get back out there', especially with AIDS, drugs, unreliable birth control, and the more than occasional bad date. This might shock you, but when I saw that incredible physique on my own son, I sort of got the notion that maybe all I need was right here. [She caressed my shoulder and then squeezed my huge biceps.] God, you are so much more man than that worthless weasel. So big...so strong...so virile. [She cupped my swollen balls, now on the brink of bursting after that little prick tease in my room.] Jimmy, I got my maiden name back. In two weeks, we can have sold this house and moved out West where they don't know us. I'm certain we could live together, as man and woman. Better yet, I think if we picked the right county office, we could get that marriage certificate making us husband and wife. Then, finally, I would not have to worry about you leaving, or me being alone because I'm too old. So, what about it, honey, will you marry me?"

Me: "God, marriage...I don't know. I'm only 18, and I haven't seen the world, gone to college, or even been engaged. I mean, I love you mom, and I can see now that you are unbelievably sexy. But I have to consider the future and say no."

In desperation, mom took off her big cupped bra and handed it to me.

Mom: "Look at this and tell me what you see."

Me: [I looked inside those large cups of the bra.] "Well, it looks like they were filled, to the point of bursting. The front have these knobs where your big nipples must have poked forward as they were forced against the front."

Mom: "That's right so far, honey, my nipples in fact are constantly hard and erect."

Me: [Breathing more heavily.] "Well, the cups look like they were pushed out and stretched, like they were overfilled too often and are about to burst. Let's see, the label says 'Capri, Do Not Machine Wash, Size 36 Cup D'. That's all I see, except that they are opened by one button in the front and it looks like the button has been re-sown three times."

Mom: "That's excellent honey. That's true; three times I was just too big for that bra and that button burst and went flying across the room. Once it actually broke a mirror. I should just break down and get a 36 double-D, but I do love that bra."

Since I was laying there without the robe on, mom could clearly see that my modest ten inch friend down there was enjoying her floor show. It was lurching and growing constantly. Mom was trying to 'sell me on her' so I could be tied down to her by marriage, and she was doing a great job. What was next?

Mom: "Now, Jimmy, you just told me that you didn't want to be tied down in marriage; you wanted your youthful freedom. Okay, if you can convince me of that, I will let you leave for college and give you a new Corvette and money to get a new start. IF you can convince me that you have no interest in your old broken down mom, that is. What I want you to do now, honey, is sit on the floor at the edge of the bed over there facing the TV." [I got up and sat on the floor, leaning with my back against the bed. Mom proceeded to open her nightstand drawer, close it, get up, pad over to me on bare smooth feet, and sit on the bed above me. She then draped her legs over my shoulders so that her feet were wrapped around me. She tapped me on the shoulder, handing me a bottle of ruby red number 19.]

Mom: "Jimmy, sweetheart, one of the things we would do every Saturday night would be ordering from your favorite pizza place, and afterwards, before bed, in front of your favorite Saturday night show, I would let you do my nails. If you want you can see what that's like right now."

Me: "I don't see the point—your nails are fine. But, okay, I will do it." [I opened the bottle, the deep red polish dripping erotically back into the bottle down the cap's brush. My left hand took hold of mom's gorgeous smooth left foot, turning and holding it in my palm as my right brought forward the laden brush. There was no logical reason for me to get excited by that job, but by the time I was finished with the first foot, blowing it dry, I felt compelled to kiss that foot and then stare at it like it was the Pieta. By the time that I did the second lovely foot, blowing it dry and kissing its perfection, my poor unit had reached overload. My overfilled testes were unimaginably sperm laden, my unit showing a remarkable restraint in holding back the rushing torrent, eager to locate a fertile ovum. I was close to breaking, but I was still covetous of freedom...foolishly?]

Mom could plainly see by the discoloration and distended nature of my 'reproductive organ' that she was 'getting to me.' She was disappointed that I had not cracked yet. She was running out of ideas. Deliverance came when a commercial appeared. It was for baby powder, a pretty mother with her newborn. She noticed I watched with almost religious attention.

Mom: "You know Jimmy, I am still only 40. Do you know how long women can have babies?"

Me: "I don't know...till they are 40?"

Mom: [Surprised and a bit insulted.] "Not exactly. The record I think has been 66, but realistically it is 50 for making them, and up to 70 for simply carrying them to term for someone else. Now, if we were to be together, if you were to MARRY ME, we would have ten years to make babies, if we wanted to. TEN YEARS. That's ten chances to have new babies. Do you like the thought of that? Maybe me and you, making babies for ten years? Filling up this four bedroom house finally with baby after baby? In ten years, we might have two multiple births. Would you feel like you were a real man, a successful man, with a full DOZEN CHILDREN? Each time, you would see my belly swell with your baby. You would get to feel it kick, a child of your own making. And when it was feeding time, we would put the luckiest two babies to drink my warm, sweet mother's milk...or maybe not. We might just give them formulae and let their virile, successful father drink that invigorating milk, like having melted Dove bars at your disposal. Would you like THAT? A football team's worth of babies, all yours, mother's milk, passionate love making, baby making, nail polishing, hand holding, eternal life, love, and happiness? You just have to say yes to MARRIAGE. MARRY ME and all of that will be yours, sweetheart."

At that point, I was as close to being out of control as I had ever been. With my muscles I could easily have just asserted my need, my desperate need, and ravaged my prick teasing mom. Lord, how I would have been relieved disposing of all of that pent-up passion deep inside of her. I would have pumped and pumped and pumped for 15 minutes and still not emptied out. But mom was taking a chance and would not let me 'have any' until it was official. So, I had to think of Joy Behar again and hold myself back. We were off to Vegas.

During the flight, I was rock hard for the entire trip. When we were helped by the stewardess, a MILF veteran stew about 40 (like mom) and equally well built, I was so damn tempted to put her across three tray tables and pump my pent-up passion deep inside of her. I was so randy that the pilot was starting to look to me. Mom and I were seated in the middle and aisle seats. When the young woman seated by the window, a 25-ish looking redhead who had no trouble filling up her blouse, had to squirm by on her way to the lavatory, I had another temptation. I had to let her by and still hold down by huge erection. Worse, she was flying today in athletic grey sweat pants. For a moment, due to the beverage cart, she had to hover, right above me. I was thinking devilishly that I just had to pull down those pants only held up by an elastic band and put her atop the Washington Monument. I know, just idol thoughts, but with my raging hard-on, these thoughts occur to you. As it was, she went out and returned without any problems.

Mom and I arrived, got our luggage, and put our things up at one of Steve Wynn's hotels. Mom kissed me lavishly, impishly stroking my swollen sack, bloated to incredible size, filled with enough potent seed to knock up every woman in the greater Las Vegas metro area. We headed down to the lower mall. There was one of those cheap, tawdry, wedding chapels. The chapel did everything. I was now hitched up to my gorgeous mom all neat and legal.

As we headed back to the room, we passed this sleazy looking blonde, wearing a tube top, too short to cover her phoenix bird across her back. Her hip-hugging tattered Levi's were barely above her puss...you could even see the tattoos that were below her beltline. She wore flip-flops. She was about 20 I guessed.

Mom: "Would you look at that tramp! I can't believe that they would let that trailer trash into a hotel like this. Oh, honey, I am going to shop at Saks Fifth Avenue in the lower mezzanine, get a facial, manicure, pedicure, the whole deal. It might take about four hours, so you can shop or go back up to the room."

Me: "Wait, you are going to have professionals take care of all your needs and not me? What was all of your talk about? And what about the lovely picture you painted of us rushing back to the suite to consummate our marriage...you know, start on that family and all?"

Mom: "Oh, sweetheart, you ARE so naïve! Do you think a woman of my upbringing would let an amateurish oaf like you do her nails? And about the consummation, what is the rush? I finally feel refreshed after the flight and have a lot of shopping stored up inside me. That last thing, a family? You and me? That is absolutely precious! I'm afraid to tell you this: sure, I COULD have a baby at this age, but my figure would be ruined and hard as hell to rectify. Besides, what good is having a baby if you can't make your girlfriends jealous. I mean, you ARE a hunk, but I can hardly introduce my own son to them, now could I? Now, don't look so glum, be a dear, and put this two dollar bill down on black for me at the roulette table. See you back in the suite in four, no five, hours." [She walked off.]