My mother and I had always been very close, and that closeness only got stronger after my parents divorced when I was 11. Seven years later, we reached a whole new level of closeness that I never would have expected back then.
It was the summer after my senior year of high school, and I had decided that I was going to take a year off to "find myself" before going to college. My mother was the person who insisted I consider taking the year off, as there would always be time for school, but I might never have the opportunity at a full year off with no obligations. I had decided that in the fall I would go on a hiking trip along the Adirondacks with my father (he was trying to make up for lost time) and a couple of his brothers, and in the winter, I would take off at least a month to go skiing in Colorado with some friends of mine that had moved out west.
But the summer I left open. I wanted to make sure that I had every opportunity to enjoy what was going to be my last "free" summer before I plunged head-first into the working world the following year.
My mother was somewhat of a free spirit. She and my father divorced when she found out that he had been cheating on her. Why he did so, I could never figure out. My mom was a terrific lady, and was very pleasing on the eyes. She stood about 5-foot-8 and had long, wavy brown hair with just a hint of gray, which seemed to match her hazel eyes. She had a very athletic figure; her breasts were large, but always perky, and she had a fantastic ass. But she thought her best feature were her legs. She always commented on how she thought there was only one other woman on earth her age that had legs as nice as her own – Tina Turner. And mom would show them off a lot, wearing very short skirts and short dresses whenever she had the chance.
Yup, mom was a real looker. And if I didn't think so myself (which I guess I did, but never really allowed myself to acknowledge), my buddies would always let me know their feelings. She was a "MILF" to them all, long before the term became as commonly used as it is today.
When I turned 12 years old, my mother had decided that since I was living with her and seeing my father only on alternating weekends, that she better have "the talk" with me about the birds and the bees. I was a little embarrassed at first, but my mom put me at ease by keeping it friendly and light-hearted. She explained everything I needed to know, answered any questions I had, and told me that it was perfectly normal for a boy my age to masturbate. In fact, not only was it all right, she encouraged it! She even bought me a Playboy magazine for my birthday (I still remember it fondly...Miss January 1989, Fawna McLaren...I think I nearly wore her out, or was it the other way around?). The one thing my mother had asked was that I make sure that the first time I went "all the way" with a girl, that I do so out of love, not out of lust. She explained to me how that simple act of respect (for both myself and for the "lucky girl" as she put it) would teach me a lot about love for years afterwards.
About a week after school ended the weather really began to heat up. We lived within walking distance of the town beach, and I had planned on spending my share of time there this summer. Not only did I plan on swimming and enjoying the sun, but I had decided the time was right to finally get myself laid. I had a few on-again, off-again relationships throughout school, but nothing was ever serious. I just felt that the girls who seemed like the type who would have sex with me were too easy and not "special" enough for me, and the girls that were special just didn't seem special enough for me to stay with. I guess I was just being a bit picky. But I knew that this summer was my first real foray into manhood, and I felt the urge to "hook-up" before the summer was out. I had been going to this beach for most of my life, and I knew a lot of girls whose families stayed at the beach for the summer, and I knew they'd be ripe for the picking.
The only problem was that I was a terribly shy person when it came to girls. I was the type that wanted to wait until I was absolutely 100% sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the girl really did like me in "that way" before I would ever even consider making a move. But I knew that I was a handsome guy, and I had a new-found confidence having just graduated high school. The time, as they say, was at hand.
This one day in particular was a Tuesday. I got up early (about 7:30 am) and stumbled out to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast and hopefully grab a cup of coffee before the pot automatically shut off. I was surprised to find that it hadn't even been turned on yet, from what I could tell. This was particularly odd, as my mother was usually up and out the door by 7:00 for her job. I made my way over to the window to check for her car and sure enough, there it was, still in the driveway. As I was turning back around, I saw that she had arisen, and had started to make the coffee herself. Mom had on a long, sheer silk nightgown and a thin bathrobe, open in the front. As she was pouring the water into the coffee maker, her robe fell open a little more and I could see one of her nipples, dark as night, through the flimsy material of the nightgown. I was already semi-hard just from waking up, and seeing that nipple, regardless of the fact it belonged to my mother, sent a jolt of electricity down to my prick. Seeing as how I was only wearing a pair of boxers, I decided I better sit down at the kitchen table so she wouldn't detect anything.
"What are you still doing here? Alarm not go off?" I asked, relieved in a sense, because the woman made one killer cup of coffee!
"No, I called out sick. They worked me to death last week, and I knew better than to call in on a Monday. Besides, it's really supposed to be a beautiful day today. It seems summer is finally here! I'd like to get outside and enjoy it for a while, plus I need to get some errands done. What are your plans this morning? Going to loaf around the house all day enjoying your freedom, or do you actually have plans?" As she asked this, she walked past me and ruffled the hair on my head.
"No plans, really. Just gonna head down to the beach for a while and take in the sun."
"Hey, the beach sounds like a wonderful idea!" She came over to the table with two cups of coffee, one for her, one for me. "Do you mind if your mom tags along for a while, or do you think I'll 'cramp your style' with the lady lifeguards?" To be honest, I wasn't that thrilled with the idea. But I knew that I had all summer to work my game with the ladies, and I knew that my poor mother only had a day off once in a great while. And it always seemed to rain on the weekends, pretty much eliminating any chances she would have of going to the beach.
I told her that would be fine, and added that I would understand if she might not want me around, in case she found any hunky male lifeguards for herself!
She winked at me and started to chuckle, saying, "Honey, the last thing any of those young studs want is an old woman like me chasing after them. Besides, I have a book that I'll have my nose buried in all day anyway." I knew the types of books my mother read. They were those steamy romance novels with the pictures on the front of guys who looked like Fabio carrying damsels in distress away from all of their worries and troubles. When I was younger, I used to bring them up to my room and try to find the erotic parts so I could have something to stimulate my imagination with as I jerked off.
I don't know why, but I decided to question my mother about her choice in literature that morning. "Why do you read those trashy novels, ma? You've read nearly every one that's been published by this point, haven't you? And they all seem like they're just the same story with just a few names changed here and there?"
Mom started blushing and retorted pretty quickly, "I could ask you the very same question about that collection of sexy videos of yours in your closet! If I'm not mistaken, those also seem to pretty much be the same story, with just a few names changed here and there!"
Now it was my turn to blush. Mom and I always had an open relationship, so I decided to be honest with her. "Well, those really aren't movies...they're just, well, they're just vehicles to bring me to...well, umm...to help me, umm..."
I was stammering, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what I was trying to get across. My mother, clearly in the know as to why I watched the videos, was enjoying watching me squirm, and had a devilish smile on her face as she sat there, running her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. Finally she ended my agony by saying, "You mean to say that your sexy videos help you 'get in the mood.' Well, let's just say that my naughty books have the same desired affect on me." And with that, she got up, ruffled my hair again as she passed by me and left for her room, but not before calling out to me, saying, "I'll be ready in about an hour. I think I'm going to have to go read a chapter or two now, before I get ready to go out."
I sat there, stunned. Not because my mother just told me that she uses her "naughty books" as she called them to get herself off, but because she pretty much announced to me that she was going to her room to do so right now. I wasn't even aware of how hard I was under the table. I finished my coffee and decided that I needed to go take care of my own situation in my room. I half-hoped to find her door partially open as I walked past it to my own, but no such luck.
When I got into my room, I thought about what my mother had said. I thought about those books that I used to read as a kid to help get myself off. And then I began to wonder if the same parts that used to get me so excited also did the trick for my mother. The thought that we might be turned on by the same things was really driving me wild, and I ended up cumming in no time flat. I hopped into an ice cold shower, hoping that I could take the edge off before we left for the beach.
About an hour later we were ready to go. I had packed a few drinks into a cooler along with a few snacks as well. I knew that we would probably come home for lunch, just like we used to when I was a young kid, so I didn't bother with any sandwiches. As I gathered all of our gear – towels, a couple of chairs, a radio, the cooler, etc. – my mother came out wearing a sundress. "I threw on a load of laundry. Remind me to come up in about an hour and flip in over in the dryer, ok?" I stole a quick glance toward her and admired her sexy body. I had to admit, the sundress made her look a lot closer to 26 than her actual age of 46. We walked to the beach and set up our stuff near the edge of the water. Being a weekday somewhat early in the season (June in Massachusetts is still considered winter by a lot of people's standards, or so it seems), it was pretty empty.
