"Would You Like Mommy to Blow You?"
As shocked as I was sexually excited, my mother offered to blow me if I gave her sex.
My name is Vincent, but no one calls me Vincent, only my grandmother. All of my friends call me Vinnie, even my mother. I'm twenty-five years old and still live at home with her.
With rents so high and monthly necessities expensive, we rely on one another and share our expenses to make ends meet and to make it through the month. Nowadays, unless people are making big money, it's impossible to live alone. Not wanting to live with a roommate, and share an apartment with a stranger, I'd rather continue living at home.
What better roommate to have than to continue living with the love of my life, my best friend, my mother? A woman who loves me unconditionally, I love her unconditionally, too. With the both of us working from home, we're together 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.
Yet, none of our days are boring. We laugh. We joke. We tickle and tease one another. During the day, when we finished with our work, we played board games and card games. While cuddling on the couch at night, we watch television and movies together.
# # #
My mother's name is Maureen. With green her favorite color, seeing the world through her green tinted glasses, everything to her are shades of green. An Irish lass from Ireland having arrived here 40 years ago when she was 10 years old, with her still having a bit of a lilting brogue accent, she's as Irish as they come.
We live in South Boston, the Irish part of the city. She decorates the apartment on St. Patrick's Day as if it's Christmas. She attends the St. Patrick's Day parade as if it's Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.
Her version of Santa is a chubby Leprechaun holding a pot of gold instead of a sack of presents. Instead of riding on a sleigh pulled by nine reindeer, Leprechauns instantly disappear and teleport themselves between locations. Our apartment is decorated in green, green rugs, green tablecloth, green napkins, green curtains, and green towels and face cloths.
A milestone occasion, she celebrated her fiftieth birthday last night with her friends at a male strip club. The first time my mother attended a strip club, two things that I've never seen until early this morning, she came home drunk and horny. If it wasn't enough that she was drunk, with her seemingly mistaking me for one of the strippers, I couldn't believe that she was horny, too. In the way that she looked at me, hugged me, and kissed me, indeed, my MILF of a mother was as horny as she was drunk.
As if I was a male stripper instead of her beloved son, hugging me and kissing me, something she never does, she was all over me in the way that I'd be all over her if I was drunk and horny, too. She slapped my pajama clad ass and squeezed my ass. Then, something that I thought that my sweet mother would never do; while giving me a full body hug and sticking her tongue down my throat, she not only French kissed me but also, she cupped my package, too.
'My mother French kissed me,' I thought. 'I can't believe she cupped my testicles and felt my semi-erect cock through my pajama bottoms.'
# # #
No exaggeration, my mother is a real stunner. Whenever she goes anywhere, even to the supermarket, the gas station, or at the Post Office, men hit on her, whistle at her, and made suggestive comments. Only, my mother is not a whore. She's my mother. A virgin when she married at 24 years old, straight off the plane from the Emerald Isle when she arrived here 40 years ago, the only man that she had sex with was my father, Patrick.
She has shoulder length, natural, red hair, big blue eyes, freckles, and enormous, Irish milkmaid, double D cup breasts. Something my mother doesn't know, I'm not only sexually attracted to busty, redheaded, older women with freckles, unembarrassed and unashamed to admit, I'm sexually attracted to my mother. What son wouldn't be sexually attracted to a mother who looks like her? Without doubt, no ands, ifs, or maybes, with her not having to ask me twice, I'd have sex with my MILF of a mother if I could.
Only, I'd never take advantage of her by trying to have sex with her when she's drunk. What kind of son would I be if I tried to take sexual advantage of my mother when she was the most vulnerable? What's wrong with me? How dare I have those thoughts of having sex with my mother now? How could I live with myself if I did? I could never face her in the morning, if I fucked her the night before without her giving me her consent to be with her naked and in her bed.
Tired of hearing it, all of my friends continue to tell me how beautiful, shapely, and sexy my mother is. They actually tell me that they masturbate over her while imagining her naked and her having sex with them. Something my mother would never do; they asked me to ask her if she'd serve them drinks while topless at our next poker party. Compared to their short, fat, and ugly mothers, my mother is the best-looking woman of all of my friends by far.
As if I have a live-in housemaid, chef, laundress, and secretary, while she works from home as an editor, reading and reviewing manuscripts, she does all of the vacuuming and dusting. She does all of the cooking, the cleaning, and the laundry. She runs all of the errands and does the grocery shopping, too. I take out the trash and do whatever heavy lifting there is to do.
# # #
With her not much of a drinker, and with her having a two, wine glass limit before getting a little tipsy, my mother arrived home drunk after having had four glasses, nearly a full bottle of wine. Unlike a grown man who can handle his liquor, she's 5' 9" tall and weighs a slim 128 pounds. She's a cheap drunk.
"Mom," I said.
I opened the door for her as soon as I heard her climb the stairs to our two-bedroom apartment. As if she didn't see me standing in the open doorway, with her head down, she fumbled through her purse for her key. Then, surprising me, when she saw me standing in the doorway, letting go of the doorframe, she fell in my arms against my 6' 3", 220-pound frame.
My mother pressed her huge breasts against my muscular chest. Practically humping me, she pressed her tummy against my pajama clad, quickly hardening erection. The scent of her perfume weakened my knees, raced my pulse, and hardened my cock.
With one arm around her shoulders and another arm around her waist with my fingertips resting against the top of her skirt clad ass, I held my mother as if she was my girlfriend. I closed the door behind us and walked her to the sofa. With her clearly drunk, such a big temptation, I lowered my hand down to cup her firm and shapely ass through her short skirt. With her not stopping me, giving me something more to masturbate over tonight, I squeezed her ass.
We sat together on the sofa as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I moved a small trash bucket already lined with plastic that we had in the living room in case she suddenly wanted to puke. Having never seen my mother drunk before, it was a good thing she wasn't driving because, definitely, she was drunk.
She wasn't falling down drunk but very talkative, she was a joyful and a funny drunk. Thank God that her friends had a designated driver and drove her there and home safely and without incident. I'd never want anything to happen to my mother. I loved her with all of my heart.
# # #
