"Come with me," she said, her voice husky. She took my hand and pulled. I stumbled, but caught myself as strength flowed into my legs. I had to hobble, a bit, as my boxers were still at half mast on my legs, and restricted me from taking a full step.
When it became clear she was leading me to her bedroom, I tugged at her. I was fully aware I'd just had the hardest, most satisfying, most energetic orgasm of my life. If things went based on the historical record, I was already mostly soft, and was going to be that way for the rest of the night.
"I can't," I gasped.
She stopped and turned to face me.
"Yes you can."
I realized she thought I was trying to stop for moral reasons.
"I think you broke it," I panted, in explanation.
"It's been a long time," she said, her voice almost normal, “but I remember how quickly your father could go again. You'll be fine."
It was surreal. Only ten minutes before she'd been agonized about the direction she was leaning towards. For me it was different. I'm a guy. I want to have sex, even if it's with my mother. Actually, since then I've learned that's not true. A large proportion of the male population isn't interested in their mothers that way. It turns out that it's really pretty black and white. A guy either thinks his mother is sexy, or he doesn't. There doesn't seem to be much in-between. On the other hand, it does seem to be true that most men choose a woman to marry who has many of his mother's characteristics. All of this is based on anecdotal evidence, of course, but it looks that way to me.
Now, however, all doubt was gone. Whether she'd just rationalized it in her own mind, or whether the act of sucking the sperm from my balls had overcome some barrier, things were now clear for her. She'd made her decision and our relationship had undergone a critical change in the last few minutes.
When we got to her room, she let go of me and shrugged off her robe. She was naked under it. Just like that, the model I had lusted after so much was there, in the room with me, naked, willing.
It was too good to be true. Worry seized me. What if this screwed things up? What if she hated herself tomorrow?
"Mom!" I said, probably too loudly.
She looked at me.
"Are you sober?"
Cut me a little slack, here. I had been dropped into an episode of some science fiction serial, into an alternate dimension, perhaps. I wasn't at my best, in terms of clear thinking. My mind just threw out what I was worried about.
"Pretty much," she said.
Now that reply could be taken two ways, in my own alcohol-dulled mind. One way was that her intent in bringing me to her bedroom and getting naked had nothing to do with sex. Rather, maybe she intended to put on some outfit and ask me if I thought it looked good on her. Or maybe she intended to take a shower and wanted me to guard the door. Maybe she wanted to teach me how to knit. It could mean she wasn't so drunk that she'd commit full-blown incest.
On the other hand, it could also mean she was drunk enough that she was going to do something she thought (or would later think) was stupid. It could mean she was drunk enough that her rational mind wasn't present, fully aware of what she was doing.
She communicated which of those meanings it was by lying on the bed and assuming the pose she used in the studio, with one of her pillows under her armpit. Her fingers, rather than lying on her abdomen, though, went to press and rub her bulging vulva. It glistened, and her fingers began to glisten as they rubbed.
"Come here, Bobby," she said, softly.
I looked down at my flaccid penis. My mind was willing, but my flesh had deserted me.
"I can't," I moaned.
"Come here!" she commanded.
I was sober enough to know it would be silly to leave my boxers where they were. I bent over and pushed them the rest of the way down, kicking them off. I crawled onto the bed.
She guided me to lie beside her, not quite touching her. I just naturally got into a similar pose, except that I didn't reach for her other pillow to stuff under my armpit. I didn't know what to do, so I just stared at her.
"Bobby," she said, softly. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm not hurt," I said. I blinked. "Part of me isn't working right now, but I think it will eventually be okay."
She smiled.
"I want this to work between us. It's important that whatever happens, be the right thing … for us."
"It is," I said, mindlessly.
She didn't roll her eyes, but I think it was a close thing.
"I've never talked to you about your father," she said.
I leaned back. Where had this come from? Here I was, naked with the most beautiful woman in the world. I could imagine the taste of my semen was still in her mouth, and she wanted to talk about that?
"That's because he hurt me badly," she said. She paused, and since I couldn't think of anything to say, I kept quiet. "I was crazy about him," she finally went on. I thought he felt the same way. I know now that just used me, that all he wanted was the sex, but I was blinded by my feelings back then."
"I'm sorry," I finally got out.
"I know," she said, dismissively. "What I want you to know, though, is that I loved the sex, too. I loved everything he did to me and … well … he was very inventive. He wanted a lot of sex, and he liked doing it in lots of different ways."
I wondered why she was telling me this. Then I remembered how easily, how casually, she'd taken my cock in her mouth when it went off.
"Then he disappointed me," she said.
Talk about the understatement of the century.
"I couldn’t trust men after that," she went on. “But I still wanted to feel … those things … the things he had made me feel. That has never gone away, but I never trusted another man enough to let him … help me. I had to use … other measures."
Her talking had made me more comfortable. I hadn't been required to do anything other than lie there and listen, something I was fully capable of, so I had relaxed a little. I also couldn't see her body, which helped. Looking at her face felt pretty normal, so I behaved a little closer to normal.
"Like what?" I asked.
She looked me dead in the eye.
"I own a collection of sorts, of what I believe they call adult toys."
Images of pictures I'd seen online flitted through my head. Primarily they were amorphous, meaning I didn't get a clear picture of the girl's face or body. What was in all of them, though, was an oversized dildo of some sort, usually either beside a grinning (amorphous) face, or plugged into a very full pussy.
"Okay," I croaked.
"That's been acceptable … until now," she said, so softly I could barely hear her. Her voice got a little stronger. "Now I've found a man I do trust, a man who won't abandon me, no matter what … a man I already love with all my heart."
I kid you not. At that exact moment, I felt my penis twitch, and knew, somehow, that it was trying to get hard again.
"I don’t want to … damage … that man," she said, "but I want very badly to make love with him."
"Me?" I squeaked.
The change to her face was dramatic. She looked disgusted for a split second.
"Of course you," she snapped. "The question is, what do you want?"
There was a surge of emotion that rushed through me, then. It's hard to describe it. It felt hot and cold at the same time. There was terror and elation, dancing around with each other. There was hope, and the fear of disaster. I couldn’t verbalize it effectively. I can't even describe it now, effectively. I think my mind fell back on a very routine response, but this routine response was backed up by incredible passion.
"I love you," I said.
"I know that," she said, patiently.
"No, I mean I really love you," I gushed. "I'm not damaged!"
"Are you sure?"
I nodded, like a bobble head doll … like an idiot.
"Oh Bobby," she sighed.
Then she leaned forward to kiss me.
I
can describe later … um … family meetings (her habit, in the future, would be to announce, "I think we need to have a family meeting," when she was horny and wanted to make love) in great detail, and with impressive accuracy. This first one, though, is like a cloud of smoke, through which I can see bits and pieces of what happened. It was eerily like being in a burning building, trying to search it. I think I went into sensory overload. But I'll list what I remember.
There was lots of kissing, long, wet kisses. Tongues were involved. While that was going on, it was like we were trying to crawl into each other's skin. I wanted to touch every square inch of her. She sucked me again, but this time only to get me as hard as possible. She pulled me on top of her and I remember the most intense heat surrounding my cock, like I'd pushed it into not-quite-fire. I remember her voice in my ear, saying, "It's okay. Your father could go four times a night." I remember cumming - more than once - but not the details of any of that. I remember sucking her nipples and the sound of her voice telling me how much she loved that. I remember being dog-tired and smelling her hair as we just cuddled.
And I remember waking up, in bed with her. We were both still naked, of course. I had a raging hardon, but it was just morning wood and it disappeared as soon as I relieved my bladder. She was sitting up in bed when I came out of the bathroom, her hair tousled, rubbing her eyes. She looked fabulous. She looked at me and smiled weakly.
"We might have overdone it a little last night," she sighed.
I stared at her.
"I'm a little sore," she said.
"Oh."
"I don't know about Phil, but you might be able to give him a run for his money."
It was surreal. It was as normal as was possible, under the circumstances. The world had changed, overnight, and it was obvious she was trying to pick up the pieces and go on with life.
I went to the bed and stood there.
"I love you so much," I said, dropping to one knee.
Her face relaxed.
"I'm so glad," she said.
"And I love what happened," I said. I frowned. "What I remember of what happened."
"I took advantage of you," she said, with a frown. "You'd been drinking. You're too young to drink, Bobby. I knew that, but I let you anyway, because I think I already knew what I was going to do when we got home."
"You got me drunk and took advantage of me," I groaned. I put the back of my hand to my forehead and pretended to swoon. "Whatever shall I do?" I moaned.
"This isn't a joke, Bobby. What happened last night was taboo. It might even be illegal, for all I know. If you can't remember it, you drank too much and maybe I did take advantage of you!"
"That's not the problem," I said. "The problem is that it was like trying to cram for ten tests at the same time. There was just too much there to be able to remember it all."
"Oh," she said, brightly. "Well, from now on, we'll only study for one test at a time, okay?"
I swear my dick got hard right there in front of her. One minute it was happily flaccid and the next it was straining towards her.
"You are your father's son," she said. "I'm a mess. I need a shower. I assume you know how to take care of that?" She pointed one finger at my dick.
"I now know several ways," I said, cheekily.
"You're going to have to use one that doesn't involve me," she said. "I have a house to show at ten."
"Curses," I growled. "Foiled again!"
She stood up, regally naked. I looked to see clear evidence of our joining dried on her inner thighs. I had made love with this woman, for what seemed like most of the night. She came towards me and gave me a loose hug.
"Don't worry. You won't have to take care of things yourself later."
You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to keep my hand away from my cock right then and there.
At least I waited until she was in the bathroom, with the water running.
******
Again if this was one of those things you see in Penthouse Forum, it would describe us having sex every day, all the time like newlyweds, sleeping together and carrying on as if everything was pie in the sky.
It wasn't like that at all. Mom went to show the house and I went to the library to work on a paper. She was home when I got home. I got the usual hug as I asked her how it went, and she said it looked promising, but otherwise she acted as if nothing had happened. I could tell, though, that everything was okay. It was just a feeling. She wasn't acting hinky or sorry or any of that, so I just didn't worry about it.
Somebody had invented a video game designed to teach fire science students where to aim streams of water (or foam) to put out a fire, and how to search a dark, smoky building for survivors. It was fun because if you did things wrong, people "died." I don't mean people dying was fun. I mean there was a level of pride when you got through a level and people didn't die. Everybody in the fire science program got a copy of the game, that you could play on your laptop. I played that for a while, and then I smelled something delicious and went to find out what it was. It turned out to be Lasagna and garlic bread. There were green beans to go with it and we ate together in the kitchen. We had a dining room, but only used it when other people were there.
As supper wound down, I found out she had been thinking about things.
"You know, what we did last night is how I ended up being pregnant with you," she said.
I thought she was talking about the spontaneity of it, how it had been unplanned.
"Rodney never used a condom with me," she said, her eyes getting unfocused. "He said if I really loved him, condoms weren't necessary."
"This, from the guy who raped you?" I said.
Her eyes cleared. "I didn't think of it as rape," she said. "Two of the girls were there, helping him, the first time. I thought it was part of cheerleader initiation or something. Then afterwards, when he apologized and said he loved me and couldn’t live without me, I wanted to believe him."
"I would so kick his ass if I met him today," I growled.
"I'd enjoy that, if it didn't land you in jail," she admitted. "At least that's the way I feel until I realize he's responsible for you. I could never be unhappy that you were born. You've grown up to be everything I hoped he was, back then."
"Do you know what happened to him?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "He went to law school. His father was a lawyer. Now he's a high-dollar criminal defense lawyer in Boston."
"What's his last name?" I asked.
She smiled at me.
"That's for me to know and you to never find out. You just become a fireman and do good things in life."
"So, what now?" I asked, beginning to think with my balls.
"What now?"
"What do we do … tonight?"
The look she gave me made my nuts crinkle.
"I don't want what we have to become commonplace. It's too special for that."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means I can resist you most of the time," she said. "On Friday nights, after I pose for you I doubt I'll have any control at all."
"You pose for a lot more people than me," I said.
"It may have started that way," she replied, "but I'll only be posing for you from now on. The others are peeping Toms."
I grinned.
"You have a lot more control than I do."
"I'm aware of that," she said. "You are a man, after all. You should date girls your own age, Bobby."
"I'm not so good at that," I said. "It always gets awkward."
"Well, I'm not the person to give you dating advice," she said. "Maybe I could ask Maureen to give you some tips."
"Not a good idea," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because she's almost as gorgeous as you are," I said. "That first night, when I found out the nude model was my smoking hot mother, I tried to think of Mrs. Gaskill to take my mind off of what I wanted to do with you."
"The first night?"
"Yup."
"You wanted … that … the very first night?"
"Like you said, I am a man."
"You keep your hands off her, Mister."
"I plan to, especially since Phil has a claim on her now."
"Phil had better not tell her he's claiming her," said Mom. "She'll cut him off at the knees."
"He's not bragging about her," I said. "Not like he has with other women. I think she's got a real hold on him."
"She likes him," said Mom. "She says under that brash exterior he's sensitive and caring."
"I think most of us are," I said. "It takes a sensitive and caring guy to get excited about getting a cat out of a tree for some old lady or little girl."
"That's just a myth," snorted my mother.
"Not at all. We had a whole lecture on non-standard support of the community. The eggheads say it's necessary because it balances out the fact that we sometimes can't save people's lives and property from fires."
"You're kidding," she said.
"Not kidding," I said. "Our job is to save property and lives. And people sometimes expect us to save lives other than human ones."
"My taxes at work," she sighed.
"What do you have against kittens?" I teased.
"Nothing, as long as my son doesn't fall off a ladder and get hurt trying to save one."
"Aww, you worry about me," I teased some more.
"Of course I do. I'm your mother. In one sense, that's why I decided to do what we did last night."
"Beg pardon?"
"If you were with me, I knew you were safe. Lots of girls were eyeing you at Kelsey's. Some of them might be like Tiffany and Ramona, the two girls who helped Rodney rape me. If you were with me, you couldn't be with them."
"I thought you wanted me to go out with girls my own age," I said.
"I do," she said. She frowned. "And I don't." She fiddled with her fork. "This is all very confusing for me, Bobby."
"Me, too," I said, reaching to take her hand. "I don't mind taking it slowly."
"Thank you," she said. "It means a lot to me that you aren't eager."
A Model Mother Page 6
