The next two years brought enormous changes. One thing that did not change was that we remained mother and son, and nothing more. We had simply grown closer. We lived together as lovers, yes, but we were a mommy and her boy who fucked, not two adults in a relationship. It only took me a few weeks to understand that my mommy was everything to me, that she was the only woman who would always be everything to me, that she had loved me since before I was born and that I would love her until I died. What we had was truly forever. That didn’t stop us from frantically trying to make the most of every moment at first. Mommy slowed her work schedule and days in bed became the norm. I found that sex allowed me to express for the first time since early childhood how much I needed Mommy. I also discovered what a good lover I was. Sex would frequently last forty-five minutes or more, and I drove her so crazy, so god damned crazy. Sometimes she would cum twice just while I entered her and positioned us for our love making, our frantic rutting, throughout which Mommy never opened her mouth. She would clench her teeth and thrash her head up and down on the pillow every so often, eyes and tendons in her neck bulging out, in between which she would lie still with her eyes closed while I fucked her, whining and shrieking about how much I loved her.

I began shaving my pubic hair and Mommy started sucking my dick quite often, though I only went down on her when the passion was so high during sex that, after climaxing, I still hadn’t had my fill of her pussy and would toss her legs wide and lap at her clit and suck at her pussy until my fever slowed. I was never shy about asking for sexual favors from Mommy. When I would ask her to suck my dick, she would sometimes ask in a surprised voice, "You want me to do that?" as though she had just been given permission. Then she would engulf me with her mouth and roughly scrape her teeth on my cock. Typically, I would climax when she peeled my foreskin back with her teeth and I screamed in pain, after which she would sometimes dart her tongue into my navel, probing roughly and I was scream again until she stopped.

She fucked me more too, though infrequently. It was always a special occasion, after a night out or a long evening alone, sometimes with me nude the whole time, working myself up until I found myself on the bed, swaying my ass back and forth, whimpering and begging to be fucked. That usually lasted longer than forty-five minutes, often two hours. We vhas isited a sex shop together and I tried several things on for her and, aside from some cheap lingerie, the only thing we bought was a $90, 10-inch cock for her that must have weighed five pounds. Hair conditioner became our lube of choice. And the enormous size of the thing allowed her to fuck me in the missionary position with my ankles locked behind her neck. My taste for penetration mounted and after a few months, she could coax streams of cum from my little boy dick without either of us touching it – that’s what I called it with her, how I usually initiated sex, "Mommy, can I feed my little boy dick to your pussy again?" She would simply say, "Do you want to get on the bed?" The love making memories run together and I find it so hard to detail any particular screw, but I will say that no son has truly arrived in this world until the afternoon his mommy starts squirming her pussy back against his pounding hips.

The emotional fetish was enormous. I don’t know if I’ve already mentioned, but I confessed to Mommy that I had begun reading erotic stories on the Internet about mothers and sons when I was nineteen and, though I had never fantasized about her, when I came, my whole body would be pounding with the word, "Mommy!" again and again. Cumming inside her and fucking her seemed like two entirely different things. Thinking of it ties a knot in my head still. Was cumming inside her my reward for fucking her, or was our love my reward for cumming inside her? I don’t know and never asked. Sometimes, fear would mount inside me during sex until the distress became too much to continue and I’d withdraw to fall to my mommy’s tits and breastfeed, the only thing she taught me how to do as she wanted, to draw absolutely as much of her breast as firmly into my mouth as I could then expel it. When I added cupping her nipple with my tongue and pressing it flat upon it as I drew her breast in, she moaned her approval, though often she just cradled my head silently as I nursed, my brain empty of everything but the need I felt. The house could have caught fire and I probably wouldn’t have stopped until I’d had enough, not that I often ever did. Nursing would end either with me whimpering with my mouth full of her tit and then my body writing in excitement too spastically for me to continue, at which point I would enter her again and we would fuck some more or she would lie with her head on my chest and watch me masturbate. Otherwise, it would end with her breasts too sore for me to continue.

Eventually, she began to rebuff me at times in an attempt to control my behavior, though she would always at least be willing to sit on the couch while I laid my head at the other end, wrapped my legs around her, and jerked off while she roughly finger-fucked my shitter.

We went everywhere together. Running errands as we did when I was a child was a joy. We ate in restaurants. We made out in movie theaters. I would accompany her on her job, performing real estate appraisals, and we’d waltz through a complete stranger’s houses, talking like mother and son, acting like lovers, stealing kisses out back while we measured the home.

We shared the bed in the guesthouse, the same cherry, four-poster bed I’d slept in as a fifteen-year-old. I’d lie awake at night and masturbate as I held her long after the talk and kissing had died down, her end usually more practical, about the next day, about some help with a computer she needed — my only responsibility had become keeping her happy which was effortless.

Sex was almost always the same. There was no need to modify it to keep it interesting. It never was interesting, in truth. It was always familiar, from the start. Her legs over my shoulders, my ankles behind her back. One of my favorite memories is the time I came inside her on the second stroke then straddled her breasts, propped an extra pillow behind her head, pushed into her mouth and came immediately. She fell asleep afterward and I went into the house to sleep, which both of us did occasionally if the other was up late, though it was only I who would crawl into bed with her in the early hours of the morning to nurse while I slowly screwed her thigh with my hard cock till she was willing to suck it, "Like any good mother would," as she sometimes said.

Her blowjobs became less sadomasochistic when she began dressing me as a woman. I was under the impression initially that I could fuck as many sluts as I wanted provided I understood my ass belonged to her. I assured her that and with certainty that I would never allow our relationship to grow chaste again, that she was my mommy and we fucked because we loved each other and needed each other and it was, well, just plain a part of our relationship. That didn’t stop her from being rabidly possessive. And, in time, I realized the truth. I was the slut. Packages came frequently and I’d bounce up and down on the sofa as I opened my new dress or a garnet necklace, feeling like her toy, behaving like her whore after I modeled it for her. Truth is, the only inroads she made in controlling my behavior with sex was controlling my dress. She would absolutely never rebuff me in drag. She dressed me well, like a good girl. I even had an antiquing outfit – a lace dress with a flared skirt that shone a vibrant red in the sun but muted darkly indoors that I wore with white stockings and black boots. My hair was dyed, highlighted, permed, and grown out well past shoulder length, my eyebrows waxed, my face painted, my ears were pierced, my fingers manicured, and though I refused it for a year and a half because of the expense, eventually the hair was laserred from every part of my body but my head. I even started going to the rec-center gym to tone the right parts of me. I loved the way my mommy fucked me. How could I say no to any of it? And I understood in time that she’d known for years that I’d wanted this. She constantly reassured me that it was "the real me." She sucked my little girl clit with excruciating tenderness except when we 69’d when I’d feel her ravenously go down on me, doing God knows what that made me feel everything, gradually growing limp as the cum was milked out of me until she was swirling my flaccid dick around my crotch with her tongue.

As with the painful blowjobs, I’d go soft in her mouth when she was gentle. It wasn’t until she admonished me ahead of time once, "Don’t go soft" and I did as soon as her mouth engulfed me that I understood she preferred it, manipulating just a bit of an erection from me then destroying it again. Despite my youth and the fact that Mommy had been and was my greatest sexual fantasy in every way aside from simple beauty, our ravenous love making with slow for a few days every now and then when I began to have trouble maintaining my balance while walking. But even the days she rebuffed me, I’d cum for her. I understood that her pussy was the only place my dick belonged and that she made my dick so I could fuck her — this I knew because I knew that I had fulfilled part of my purpose in life by cumming inside her.

She had hinted, but it wasn’t until the first night that we went out to a bar with me dressed as a woman, which by then I was frequently doing for four or five days at a time, that she brought up men. "Baby," she said to me in the bar at the airport Hilton, "you could have any one of these men for sex. And I know, I just know you’d love it."

"I love you, Mommy."

"And I love you, but we need to broaden your horizons. I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay you $200 if you go on dates with five men."

It was a ridiculously low sum of money given what she had spent on my transformation. "I’ll think about it."

"You don’t think you’d enjoy it. Sweetie, you’ve never been seduced before."

"It’d be more fun if I were wearing a pair of Louis Vuitton pumps," I said softly. Here I was agreeing to date five men, which likely meant sex with three, for a pair of shoes — I love being what other women hate in women, in part because I know they love it so much in me.

"How much are those?" she grunted in a low voice.

"I found a cheapish pair for just over $700."

"You be a good whore and you can have those shoes, and that $200. After the dates."

"Yes, mommy dearest."

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Can I lick your pussy when we get home, Mommy Dearest?"

"Hush. You know good girls don’t talk like that."

"I’m a bit tipsy." I put on my pouty face. "And you called me a whore."

"You are, but don’t act like one."

"Till later," I smiled, bobbing up and down in my seat.

The waitress arrived just then.

"Would you think I was a whore if I asked to lick your pussy?"

"Yes," she said, deposited my drink, and left.

Mommy winked. "I’m telling you, sweetie. You have to learn how to behave. You’ll see soon enough."

Mommy picked out my outfit for my first date. I nervously sipped from my third glass of scotch and set it down on my dresser to admire myself in the mirror. I wore a little black dress with a black shrug and a loose white sweater with horizontal black stripes to keep it cute and not sexy till I took it off later – maybe. I wore a bustier under it with cups stuffed with T-shirts. I was adamant that the dress was not coming off. The skirt hiked up, maybe, but anything more felt too exposing, too gay. It had taken me so long to get ready that my long blond hair was almost dry.

"You still haven’t told me who he is," I whined to my Mommy as she watched from the doorway.

"You’ll know soon enough. A word of advice, honey. Sometimes we have to practice with relationships we can have to get ready for relationships we want."

"I thought that’s what I was doing with you." I frowned at myself in the mirror. "I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch." I downed the rest of the scotch and checked my lipstick. Mommy had set up the meeting at the man’s home, promising me I would feel safe there with him and saying that a restaurant might be too much for me. She told me she wasn’t giving me the address till I walked out the door because she didn’t want hear any discussion. We were meeting for an unspecified activity that he had promised her would be more interesting than a movie on his sofa.

I slipped into a pair of black flats and picked up my bag. "Wish me luck."

"Bruce Pope. And he thinks it was your idea, to give you a head’s up."

My mouth dropped. "My piano teacher?"

"Yes, baby. Do you remember how to get there?"

"Yes, mommy." I frowned. Bruce was gay. I had been hoping for a straight man.

I pulled into Bruce’s driveway after dark for the first time in my life as opposed to being dropped off at his curb and walked unsteadily to the door, shuddering a bit from butterflies. The storm door was closed but the main door to the house was open. I decided to be coy and let myself in. He sprung up from his chair in the next room and met me in the foyer. "Well, hello there."

"Nikki," I supplied.

"Yes, so what brings you by?"

He hugged me close, familiarly.

"Mother’s lies," I murmured into his shoulder. "She wants me to date men and thought you’d be a good first choice because you’re oh so harmless."

"Mostly," he amended, spreading my arms out with his and eying me up and down. "You’re cute as a button."

"You like?" I smiled.

"It’s not really completely my thing, you know."

"You would have preferred tight jeans and a tank top?"

He nodded and turned around. I followed him into the kitchen, then through the kitchen out onto the patio where there was a bottle of wine, some sliced cheese, a few pieces of fruit, and a single red rose in a vase upon a table by his pool.

"That’s so sweet." I smiled widely. I picked up the rose, snapped the stem in half and tucked the flower over my ear then plopped down in one of the chairs. "I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have anything stronger? I’ve had a few scotches. I’m afraid this would be wasted on me."

"Not in a bottle."

"Maybe to smoke?"

He blinked.

"Nothing hard."

"I can help. And here," he tugged the cork from the bottle and poured me a glass. "If it won’t be wasted on me, it won’t be wasted on you."

"Check out Mr. Cocky." I almost blushed. "No pun intended."

"I’ll be back in a minute." Bruce returned in a moment with a copper pipe full of neon green marijuana. I pulled a lighter from my bag, a gold butane one Mommy had bought me because she thought I needed to look sexy when I smoked in drag. The fog rushed into my mind and I held the pipe out to Bruce.

"No, please, finish it. Take your time. I might later."

I hit the pipe one more time and placed it on the table. "Tell me about music, Bruce." I picked up my wine, making sure he saw the sapphire on my left ring-finger.

Bruce knew what I was asking and didn’t talk about theory or technique. Instead, he talked about what he loved about music, who had influenced whom, from modern blues and Broadway show tunes back to classical. I listened through the haze of the weed and asked just enough questions to keep him talking, hoping he would segue into something more personal but he stayed on point, though I managed to keep him off the topic of Broadway Musicals for the most part. Talking about that just seemed too . . . gay. Eventually a lull came in his largely entertaining lecture.

"If you’re waiting for me to ask you to play something for you, you’re going to have to wait another four inches," I said, gesturing at the wine bottle.

"Actually, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to sing for my supper. May I?" he asked, gesturing at my cigarettes.

"Absolutely." I quickly palmed my lighter and puffed my own cigarette to a bright red cherry and leaned forward with it in my mouth. Bruce leaned back in his own patio chair and put his cigarette in his crotch, pointing up and smiled.

Not in a million years, you fuck, I thought then stood and leaned in towards his face. Bruce deftly pulled my cigarette from my mouth and leaned in for a gentle kiss. I was shocked. There was something unpleasant about our forceful lips upon one another’s – I would have to talk to mommy about collagen at some point – but it was so shocking and welcome too that I wanted to straddle his lap and make out. I just smiled and leaned back and busied myself with a peach to avoid babbling, nervous though not entirely feeling it through the haze of naturally and chemically induced neurotransmitters. Bruce used my cigarette to light his then snuffed mine on the cement of the patio and laid it on the table. He drank two glasses of wine in quick succession. I set down my peach pit, licked my fingers and asked, "Bruce, play the blues for me?"

"Of course, beautiful," he answered with a thin smile and rose. I made it to my feet first and grabbed the wine bottle by the neck and picked up my glass. I trudged ahead of him into the house, swaying my ass and the wine bottle by its neck at my hip, feeling deliciously cheap. I suck into a recliner by the sofa and immediately thought better of it and moved to the sofa that sat at an angle to it and deposited my wine on the end table. Bruce set down the largely unfinished marijuana and, magically, my lighter next to it. I took two hits from the bowl and sat and thought about ways to suck his cock as he began to play, though it was clearly impossible with the positioning of the piano bench. Suddenly, I wished my mommy were there so she could teach me, coach me as I sucked Bruce’s cock. Maybe she should be there for Nikki’s first blowjob. The thoughts droned on from there forever as he played and I enjoyed his drugs and alcohol. I pulled off my sweater, kicked off my shoes and lay in my little black dress on his sofa with my long legs (my best feature), moisturized up to the small of my back rubbing against each other, keeping my little girl clit sore and horny, tucked away in my red panties. When, after forty minutes, Bruce lapsed into a boisterous finale, I merely commented, "Well, I certainly think you’ve put in the hours." I rose and lifted the hem of my dress enough to slip my panties off. He began stripping and I bent over and grabbed the edge of his baby grand piano. "I want to feel you cum in me," I told him.

"You fucking whore," he growled, sliding a hand up the inside of my thigh and lifting my dress to press two fingers into my asshole. I had used a contraption I didn’t know the name of, a bloated syringe without a needle, to fill my ass with lube after getting out of the shower, before mommy could see and I was ready for him. I was suppressing my indignance at being called a whore and his rough treatment of my shitter till he started to touch the good spots. Then I didn’t care. He waited till I whined to be fucked before entering me. He whispered words I couldn’t understand as he fucked me. I felt as though he wasn’t even there, that his existence had dwindled into his cock inside me, that all he knew or wanted was to cum in me, that I was a whore, but I was also the source of his every and only desire, to cum inside me. Was this what Mommy wanted for me? Would she be proud of what a good little whore she raised? Bruce’s pelvis slapped against my ass harder and I felt a bloom of warmth inside me before I could truly relax into the screw – about the ten minute mark. He patted the side of my ass softly and asked, "Do you want to come upstairs?"

"I don’t see why. You got what you wanted. Let me call for a ride."

I walked back out to the patio for my bag, drew out my phone, and punched mommy’s number. "Hi Nikki," she answered in a grating, biting drawl.

"Mommy, I need a ride home." I eyed Bruce at the doorway. "I’m too drunk, stoned and well-fucked to drive."

"Nikki. I’ll honk my horn."

"She’ll honk her horn," I repeated to Bruce. His distraught features told me that was as close to her as he wanted to get for the rest of his life.

"This is bullshit. Mommy," I said into the phone, "I want you to meet the first man to ever cum inside your little girl. Your little girl! You have to meet him!"

"We’ve met, Nikki," mommy answered calmly.

"There’s a reason," I hissed, turning towards the rear of the yard.

"He’s your boyfriend." It wasn’t a question.

"I’ll tell you when you get here. The door’s unlocked. Just come in." I picked up my sweater and stuffed my panties in my bag, downed my wine, and lit a cigarette. Then I plopped down in a chair and stared off into space, annoyed. Bruce tucked the pipe away and cleared off the patio table while I waited. Mommy tapped at the door while she opened it. I bounced up from my chair, boisterous now that the tension of the evening had been released. "Mommy, this is Bruce. You remember him, right?"

"Yes, Nikki. Would you like to leave now before this becomes more awkward for us?"

"Here’s the thing. We have to come back for my car tomorrow."

"Yes, Nikki."

"You see, I wanted to suck Bruce’s cock tonight but I don’t know how to suck dick. I’m fucking 26 and I don’t know how to suck dick. Since you’re my Mommy, I wanted you to teach me. Tomorrow."

"Maybe it would be best if we just found a man at a grocery store on the way home."

Bruce chuckled and Mommy gave me a pointed look and headed for the door.

"Nikki, baby," Mommy said once we were in the car, before turning the key.

My hand was already under my dress. "I want to cum, Mommy."

"Nikki," she repeated with quiet firmness. "Do you want to listen to me or would you prefer to learn the hard way?"

I smiled. "I'll listen. I won’t even touch my clit. But after I do, I want you to hear all about my date, every last detail."

Mommy smiled. "We’ll do that first. I don’t want to spoil that for you."

"I’m doing it because I think you’ll love hearing it."

"Yes, because you’re sharing something that made you happy, that was fun, exciting. I’m still just your mother, remember? We aren’t lovers, we aren’t in a relationship other than the one we were always in. I’m your mother and you’re my girl."

"Thank you, Mommy," I chirped.

"You know what I meant. So, tell me about your evening with Bruce." She started the car and pulled away from the curb.

I leaned over the gearshift and whispered to her as she drove, brushing quickly over everything that led to the sex while my hand rubbed my swelling clit beneath my dress. Mommy’s hand moved between her legs too when I reached relaying having wanted to suck his cock but not being sure I could do it well.

"You’ve sucked mine before, my dick when it was strapped to me. Or your dick, whichever you prefer."

"Don’t be dumb, Mommy."

"A little bravery never hurt anyone."

"Can we find a guy at a grocery store?"

"Not tonight, Nikki."

I returned to my story, mentioning how I had hoped Bruce would join me on the sofa so we could touch and kiss for a while first but, when he just stood there, I decided it would be fun to take the initiative. I dragged it all out over the twenty minute drive home and, when we pulled in our driveway, I slid over the gearshift and straddled Mommy’s lap to kiss her passionately.

"You are a wonderful, beautiful daughter."

I hiked up my skirt and grabbed my half erect little-girl-clit. "And while he was fucking me, it was like I knew, like I knew that his one purpose for existing at that moment was to cum in me, that the draw of firing off in my ass was the closest thing to heaven he could remember at the time."

"And how did you feel?"

"I don’t know!" I cried, ready to squirt. "All I could think about besides that was how happy you would be for me if you knew what I was doing, what I let him do to me, how happy you’d be to know your little boy, your little girl was getting fucked. Because you know how much I fucking love cock!" I came all over my Mommy’s breasts and stomach with the last statement. "Sorry, Mommy," I said flatly, suppressing a smile. I popped open her door and stepped out of the car. "Come in and tell me what you wanted to say."

"You bitch," she laughed. I looked at her in the interior light of the car and could see semen even hanging from her left hand. "Let’s go back to the guesthouse and pick some music and cuddle. I want to tell you tomorrow."

Mommy poured me a scotch and I dimly remember lying in bed nude, hair damp from the shower, being pushed away from her breast with a, "Too sore," then watching her pull her turtle neck back down and me retreating further down her torso to lay my head on the inside of her thigh and fall asleep lost in the smell of her pussy. I woke up cold in the predawn hours and didn’t want to disturb her too much so I merely climbed atop her chest into my second favorite blowjob position, my favorite being standing in front if the loveseat, done up in lingerie, hands planted on the plate glass mirror, watching myself cry out to my mommy as she sucked my cock. I suspect she preferred me atop her though.

Mommy opened her mouth the moment the head of my erect penis split her lips and it immediately dissolved in the gentle warmth of her mouth. I fucked her face softly until I felt a long load of cum run from my little boy dick. "Good boys always cum in their mommies."

"Yes," she said quietly with a small nod and proceeded to stare into my face with a tender, loving look of astonishment until I dismounted her.

I lay down beside her and pulled a blanket over both of us. "Can we fuck in the morning, Mommy?"

"Only if you put on that pair of black panties I like so much," she muttered and rolled her head away from me, her breathing instantly deep and regular.