Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 



   Disclaimer: This story contains depictions of sexual encounters between
adults and minors.  Depictions are entirely fictional.

   Lucky 13 (Summer Camp, Mom's Tits, and Other Things)



   1.

   The more the years pile on, the more quickly they pass.  My childhood
lasted a lifetime.  My adolescence lasted at least half that, plagued by
physical changes and a long, endless horniness.  With a child's natural
curiosity, I discovered my cock and learned what to do with it, aside from
peeing.

   I noticed girls in my class growing and developing in mysterious ways.
For ages, most of them, with their flat chests and tiny butts, might as
well have been boys.  Now, along with the growing wonders of my cock, came
the desire to be more involved with the wondrous, curvy creatures my
friends and I used to call "worthless sissies".  I spent more and more time
thinking about girls, and pulling my pud.

   Mom didn't help matters.  She might as well have been one of those
girls. One day, it dawned on me that my mother had already become what the
girls at school were only starting to be; a fully grown, fully developed
woman.

   Looking back, with the benefit of hindsight and the experiences of
adulthood, Mom was no beauty queen, but she had what it took to enflame my
embryonic libido.  At the time, she was nearing age forty, and was starting
to gain the extra pounds and gray hairs that most women do when leaving
their youth, but at 5 feet, 7 inches, she still had an enticing, voluptuous
figure.

   That is, for a mother.

   Mom had beautiful, auburn hair, cut to above shoulder length, and in the
style of the day, which was the late 1970's.  Until then, she had managed
to color out or ignore the long strands of gray that made their presence
more and more noticeable as time went on.

   Never did I think of her as unattractive, and she was not.  I had always
thought of her as my darling mother, and nothing more.  One beaming smile
from her full, expressive lips melted me with loving warmth.  Her maternal
body was always there for me to hug, a safe harbor love and shelter.  Now,
I started to see her through the eyes of a sexually awakening young man.

   During those years, my mother would never expose herself intentionally.
While she was not shy, or a prude, she always wore something demure, but
nice, to bed, or she would have a luxurious bathrobe or dressing gown to
cover herself in the presence of her son.  Once in awhile, though, I would
catch a glimpse of a bare butt or a quivering breast, usually in the
bathroom or bedroom.  I would always look, curious to discover the
mysteries of her body.  The thought of sex, or sexual exploration with my
mother, never crossed my mind.

   Now, I began to find myself trying, mostly in vain, to see my mother's
nude body.  Like a little opportunist, I began to lurk around the bathroom
door whenever I heard the shower, knowing Dad had already left for work,
hoping the door would open before Mom had fully concealed her body.

   Unfortunately, our house was too modern to have old-fashioned keyholes
(so perfect for spying), so whenever Mom and Dad's bedroom door was shut, I
would press my face against the carpet at the bottom of the door, silently
peering through the tiny crack underneath, trying to see what activities
were taking place.

   Luck came rarely.  Mostly, I would see my mother drop her robe, and her
bare legs pacing back and forth as she dressed.  Once or twice, she dropped
an article of clothing.  Then I would get a quick look at her breasts
dangling as she bent over to pick it up.

   This would be enough, though, to make my cock swell and tingle.  Many
sweet mornings would be spent with my face crammed against the bottom of
the door, squeezing up a mess in my underwear.  One morning, my secret
pastime was almost discovered.

   "Neil, honey," my mother pulled me close, looking at the side of my face
askance, "what happened to your face?"

   That morning, I had spent an entire half-hour, face pressed against the
carpet, watching Mom rub lotion all over her legs and feet.  My underwear
still contained ample, sticky evidence of my excitement.  Unfortunately, my
left cheek also bore the deep imprint of the peach shag carpet in the
hallway outside her bedroom door.

   She furrowed her brow, rubbing the indentations on my cheek.

   "Were you lying on the carpet?" she asked.

   I had no cute reply and could not think of a story fast enough.  I told
her the truth.

   "Y-y-yes," I stammered, fearful of discovery.

   Mom said nothing, but rubbed my cheek gently, a quizzical expression on
her face.  To my relief, she did not make the connection, or so I hoped.

   Several weeks passed before I could gather the courage to peek under her
bedroom door again.  Hearing her door shut, I waited a moment, then crept
into the hallway.  Silently, I pressed my face against the door crack. 
This time, I had ripped the cardboard backing from one of my spiral
notebooks to slip between my cheek and the thick, nylon carpet.  No more
tell-tale imprints!

   In my excitement, I tried to control my heavy breathing as I eyed Mom's
smooth, shapely legs and bare feet as they paced from the bed, to the
closet, to the vanity.  Clothes were laid out on the bed.  Then, as I had
settled into a comfortable position, my hand caressing my stiff cock,
something unusual happened.

   Mom spread a large, candy-striped towel on the floor, the one we always
took to the beach to lie on.  The sight of her lovely breasts jiggling as
she bent over exited me enough, but then, she went further.  My mother
proceeded to lie flat on the towel, right on the floor!

   I almost gasped in surprise, but kept quiet, delirious with my
incredible stroke of luck.  The fresh information flooding my brain made me
dizzy.  My eyes opened as wide as possible, straining, as if I could see
more by doing this.

   Fearing discovery (my mother and I were now at the same eye level), I
drew back from the door a fraction of an inch, but could still get a full
view of my nude mother.  My hand busied itself, squeezing my hardness,
mystified as to what she would do next.

   This was the first time I had seen and appreciated fully the magnificent
entirety of her nakedness.  Of course, I zeroed in on her breasts.  In this
position, they rested in pleasant mounds atop her chest.  Her nipples were
large and succulent, and her areolas glowed a reddish-pink.

   My eyes slid lovingly down the length of her body.  I had never seen her
pussy, and still could not.  She had a thick, auburn triangle of silky fur
between her navel and the tops of her thighs, much thicker than the fuzz
developing in my underwear.  With the exception of my lovely mother, and
the throbbing in my cock, I was oblivious to everything around me.

   As I watched, Mom began to pass her hands over her body; starting at her
shoulders, passing over her breasts, which had hard tips by now, then down
her stomach, past her bush, to her thighs.  She repeated this motion
several times, in both directions, occasionally stopping to linger on a
particular spot on her body.  My face glowed hotly as I began pumping my
shaft, mad with curiosity as to what she would do next.

   Staring toward the ceiling, with no emotion on her face, she cupped her
breasts and began massaging them with a slow, deliberate motion.  The soft,
cushiony globes responded to her hands like two mounds of firm dough,
shifting heavily with her touch.  I noticed her breathing had become deep
and steady, watching her chest rise and fall with a wavelike rhythm.

   Slowly, Mom began to concentrate on her beautiful nipples, pulling on
the hard tips with each stroke of her hand.  My hand squeezed harder on my
cock.  Soon, she began to roll each nipple in the balls of her fingers,
squirming slightly, as if she was becoming uncomfortable.  Her face
softened, and I could sense her breaths increasing with intensity.

   At first, I thought my mother had an itch in her pubic hair.  Fondling a
breast with one hand, she traced her fingertips down to the dark triangle.
Gently, she began to rub her fingers in the soft, springy bush, up and
down. As I watched, she kept rubbing and rubbing.  One of her fingertips
delved deep into her pubes, and I knew Mom must have put it inside her
pussy.

   Her hand began to move in small circles, her finger still deeply
embedded.  Mom reacted, gasping softly through wet, parted lips, arching
her back slightly.  Her other hand never stopped teasing her reddened
nipples.  What was she doing?

   As I masturbated blissfully, my young, ignorant brain suddenly lit up
with revelation.  THAT'S what my mother was doing!  Although she didn't
have a cock to play with, like me, she must have found a spot inside her
pussy that felt just as good, and she was working it with a passion.  With
this newfound knowledge, I began jacking my way towards orgasm.

   Now, every movement of my mother's body, every nuance of her face,
became the most important thing in the world.  I studied her activity as if
my life depended on it.  Biting her lip, mom masturbated more and more
aggressively, grunting and moving her body like an animal.

   Then, it happened.  Starting with a cry, Mom stifled herself by biting
her forearm.  Her now-wet hand blurred against her pussy as her hips bucked
and writhed.  Mom appeared to be having convulsions, each wave wracking her
body violently, one after the other, until they finally subsided.

   By now, I had to close my eyes, because my own orgasm hit like a
hurricane.  Forcing my face into the carpet, I fought to remain silent as
my body shuddered out a sticky load into my hand.  My face burned hot with
passion as I nursed the final spurts of come from my surrendering cock. 
After a few moments, I opened my eyes only to see Mom's feet scurrying away
to the bathroom.  Fumbling down the hallway in shock, I sequestered myself
in my bedroom to wank yet again.

   For a long period of time, that was the only display I had the fortune
to witness.  Mom didn't change her demeanor, and I assumed her little
masturbatory interlude was not for my benefit.  Questions remained, though.
Why had she lain on the floor and not on the bed?  Why did she need to
masturbate anyway, when Dad, by all appearances, gave her all the affection
and attention he could?  I would ponder these mysteries in my young mind,
in the darkness of my bedroom, as I pistoned away at my tender pud.



   2.

   Summer, 1978 brought my thirteenth birthday, a trip to summer camp, and
a slight scare for the family.  Mom had gone to Dr.  Heywood for her
periodic checkup.  During her examination, the doctor found a tiny lump in
one of her breasts.  It was nothing, almost nothing; a "mass" Dr.  Heywood
called it after the tests returned, but he recommended removing it anyway.
The removal, quick and sanitary, required only an overnight stay at the
clinic.  Today, with HMO's and crowded hospitals, the surgery would have
been an outpatient procedure, easily.

   In spite of the quick surgery and positive prognosis, the entire ordeal
had frightened my mother, and rightfully so.  Cancer ran in her family, so,
in her parental wisdom, Dad and I got a course on breast cancer and its
early detection.  Mom brought home a big, hardbound book from the library
and, in the following days, I saw so many photos and diagrams of tits that
I knew them better than the reddened underside of my cock.  Gaping in
amazement, I marveled at all of the different shapes and sizes, all of them
beautiful.  The moment Mom disappeared, I sneaked away with the book to
wank to all the black-and-white photos of bare-breasted women.  To me, I
might as well have found an adult magazine; an education, indeed.

   During and after her recovery, Mom informed me of what was going on with
her body, often in detail.

   "You're a young man, now," she said, forthrightly, "and you should know
these things."

   That phrase, "you're a young man", would first pop up at my birthday
party, and it occurred to me that Mom may have said it one time too many,
with an unusual gleam in her eyes, enough to arouse my suspicion.  More and
more often, she would make comments about me becoming a man, growing up,
and maturing.  Also, I noticed Mom was more relaxed in regard to covering
her body.  Perhaps it was due to her openness in connection to her breast
surgery, and I never complained.  According to her, I was practically a
man. Had I arrived at the magic age of maturity?

   Summer camp that year was, of course, fun and, for the first time, not
incredibly forgettable.  I roamed the grounds with a new-found curiosity.
The fresh crop of nubile, young girls intrigued me with their developing
bodies and different smells.  Pathetically, for the most part, I pursued
them.  My rewards were few.  Most of the time, I had to retreat in a spray
of derisive snarls and laughter, but by the final weeks, I managed to cop a
few feels of moist, virgin pussy.  With the fresh musk of camp poontang on
my fingers, I sniffed them vigorously like a bloodhound on speed, beaming
with pride at my non-existent seduction skills.  During the final week of
camp, I had a face-to-face bout with the elusive Wild Pussy.

   Susan, a year older than me, could have been called a slut.  She could
be found with a different boy every day, each one following her around camp
like a docile slave.  She even had an interesting relationship with one or
two of the older counselors.  Her father, she told me, was a trucker and
drug dealer who taught her how to fuck, how to smoke, and how to cuss.  She
went into intimate detail about how he took her cherry on her twelfth
birthday and, afterward, they smoked marijuana.  I believed her.

   One night, we snuck away into the darkness to "smoke a doobie", as she
called it.  Under a huge oak tree, she produced what looked like a fat
cigarette, rolled on both ends.  Susan pulled out a stainless-steel Zippo,
flicked it open, and lit the end of the doob.  After drawing a noisy,
searing toke, she held her breath dramatically and, looking into the
darkness, passed the doob to me.  Pursing my lips, both eyes on the burning
cherry, I drew a mouthful of smoke.  Fighting back the choking sensation, I
blew the smoke out, tears running from my stinging eyes.  Big fucking deal,
I thought.  Only later in life, after hooking up with a real doobie, did I
realize we were smoking a doctored-up Winston, but, that night, it was
enough to inspire romance.

   She looked at me through slitty eyes and asked, "Do you want to fuck?"

   Within moments, she had reclined against the trunk of the tree, lifting
her plaid skirt up to reveal a sweet little pair of pale-blue panties with
yellow Tweety-birds on them.  Kneeling between her legs, I barely knew what
to do, but managed to pull her panties down to her flowered socks in one
smooth motion as she lifted her ass.  She watched, attentively.

   There before me lay a cute little patch of brown fur.  Nice and thick,
like Mom's, I thought to myself.  Immediately, I began to rub my hand over
her bush.  As I fondled her, Susan looked into my eyes.  I could see her
eyes had not softened with arousal, like the other girls, but had the
sterile appearance of someone trying not to show emotion.  I rubbed more
aggressively.  Soon, she pushed my hand away.

   "C'mon," she said, impatiently, "I thought we were going to fuck."

   "Sure," I replied, scared stiff.  My cock was stiff, too, when I lowered
my jeans to my knees.

   "Mmmm," she purred, reaching out to grab my erection, "that's better."

   Susan almost pulled me inside her, which was fine.  I didn't exactly
know the best position to enter her, but she took care of that, and I
rested on top of her, our bodies pressing together.  Once inside, she began
thrusting up against me, unwittingly showing me how to fuck.  Immediately,
I began returning the thrusts and, covered with leaves and grass in the
pitch darkness of the forest, we went to it like primeval animals.  The
walls of Susan's young pussy felt much different than my clutching, urgent
hand, but it was wonderful, nonetheless.  After a few moments, she spoke.

   "Its okay if you come inside me," she whispered, "I won't get pregnant.
I'm taking a pill."

   I'm glad she knew about getting pregnant.  Very glad.  I knew everything
there was to know about the female breast, but Dad had yet to give me the
proper birds and bees talk.

   In spite of my nervousness, it didn't take long before I felt the
sensation of an approaching orgasm.  Susan definitely knew how to apply the
right pelvic thrusts to amplify the friction against my throbbing weenie.

   "Ohhh," my voice quivered with ecstasy, "I think I'm coming".  What a
stud.

   Susan was not about to be left behind.  Immediately, she reached down to
her moist bush, sliding her little fingers between our undulating bellies,
and began rubbing that same sweet spot I saw Mom rubbing months before.  To
my joy, her fingers also managed to rub against my wet, sliding cock. 
Quickly, I crested an orgasm, coming as hard as I had ever done with my own
hand.

   Silently, I arched my back, my face tight with agony as if someone had
stabbed me between the shoulders.  When I opened my eyes, I saw Susan come.
Her cool demeanor dissipated, just for a moment, as her eyes rolled back
into her head.  Her mouth opened, and she let out a healthy moan, waking
the forest.  As Susan's body writhed and shook, she moaned again, only more
loudly.

   As we wrenched out our teenaged lust together, I realized how loud her
moans had become.  Looking up, I noticed a light flicker on in the
counselor's cabin.  Suddenly, one of the counselors appeared in the
darkness, about 100 feet from our love nest.  Within seconds, we had
sprinted out of sight, into the brush, taking the long path back to camp.

   When I returned to my bunk, I noticed the front of my pants were wet
with sex.  My limp little sausage still peeked from the open fly.  Bill
Johnson was the only boy not asleep by then and, turning to lean on his
elbow in his bunk, smirked at my appearance.

   "And where have you been, lover?" he whispered in that fey voice of his.
I always thought Bill Johnson would have sucked my dick if I gave him half
the chance, but I never got that desperate.  Not that year.

   The next day, I realized that Susan was off pursuing another lover.  She
and one of the older boys were conspicuously absent most of the day.  That
evening, they returned from the forest, both looking quite exhausted and
dirty.

   I took it hard for a day or two, but soon camp ended and there were my
folks, standing near the open rear hatch of our huge Oldsmobile station
wagon, the one with the Vista roof and imitation wood-grain appliques on
the sides.  On that beautiful, warm Sunday, my mother took me back into her
loving arms.  Susan could go blow a horse, I told myself, briefly nuzzling
my mother's sweet mounds.  I had yet to find a girl who could match my Mom
for love and warmth.  On the brighter side, at least Susan showed me how to
fuck, and for that, I would be eternally grateful.  That newfound sexual
knowledge would come in handy in the very near future.



   3.

   From the moment I returned home, my life veered onto a bizarre course.
My mother, once relatively shy and demure, had been allowing me more
substantial views of her nude body.  Shortly before my departure for summer
camp, her regular exposures had escalated into little staged shows.  To my
surprise and delight, she was transforming into a teasing showoff.  Looking
back, I'm sure she wanted me to make a move on her but, at that young age,
all I could do was gape in wonder, grasping to get a clue.

   That year, odd scheduling on the school's part meant that I was off to
class the day after Mom and Dad retrieved me from camp.  What I would later
call "Episode 1" (in memory of all the TV crime and suspense dramas that
were so popular at the time) of Mom's new, improved version of tease-play,
occurred the next morning, before school.

   As always, I would awake to my Star Wars alarm clock, then pad into
Mom's bedroom to wake her, so she could prepare breakfast.  By the time I
took a dump and showered, Mom would have a hot breakfast waiting for me. 
That was the deal.  It was an old routine that varied little during the
school season.

   So why, that morning, when my mother knew that at exactly seven o'clock,
I would push her bedroom door open, did she choose to be sprawled nude
across the bed?  Spotting her, I froze for a moment in the doorway, gaping
in surprise.  Was she asleep, I thought?  I couldn't tear my eyes away from
her beautiful, maternal body.  If I didn't wake her, I wouldn't get
breakfast, unless I wanted to scrounge it up myself.

   Fuck that!

   Pop Tarts and milk didn't appeal to me that early, so I gently crept
toward the bed.  The rising sun filtered through the thick, yellow fabric
of the bedroom drapes, giving Mom's bedroom an ethereal glow.  My feet
stepped slowly to the edge of the king-sized bed.  Mom's body radiated an
exceptionally strong warmth, as I could feel it affecting the air
immediately surrounding her body.  Her perfume from yesterday, slightly
stale by now, drifted to my nostrils.  Inhaling, I studied her nakedness,
my eyes coming to rest on the full, plush pubis I had never seen so
closely.

   Before camp, an eternity ago, I had seen her naked, but never like this.
Unwittingly, or not, Mom was allowing me to map, in great detail, the
magnificent terrain of her body.  It occurred to me that Mom wasn't
snoring, as was her nature.  Her torso slowly rose and fell with each
breath, but she emitted no noise.  Could she be awake, merely waiting for
me to reach out and touch her body?

   "Mom," I blurted out.  Silence.  I repeated myself.  "Wake up, Mom."

   My mother made a poor attempt at feigning sleep.  Opening her eyes, she
looked at me, stretching her limbs like a housecat, making her nude body as
open and visible to me as humanly possible.  I waited for her to realize
her exposed state and quickly cover herself with the blanket.

   Mom always dragged herself remorsefully from sleep, taking an eternity
to gain a train of coherent thought.  Her eyes, glazed and puffy, would not
focus until she was well into her second cup of coffee.  Gazing at her, I
witnessed none of that.

   Looking directly into my eyes, she sat stiffly upright, throwing her
ample, pointed breasts up and out.  For a moment, I saw a pleading lust in
her eyes, as if she were offering her body to me, then the look vanished.

   "Oh," she remarked, in unconvincing surprise, I thought.  Wrapping the
blanket around her shoulders, she pretended to suddenly realize where she
was.

   "I'm awake," she broke into a self conscious smile, "I'll be right
down."

   Crapping quietly in the silence of the white-tiled bathroom, I realized
that Mom had really turned me on.  Wiping my ass, I stepped into the shower
and, once the water had stabilized to a suitable temperature, jacked off.
Eating breakfast silently, I repeatedly glanced to my mother, reading the
newspaper and sipping her coffee.  I could not help but imagine her
beautiful body, concealed by only a bathrobe.  I could still smell the
perfume.

   That day at school passed very quickly.  My concentration, disabled by
erotic thoughts of my mother, made me a mental cripple in class.  After
limping through an embarrassing day of wrong answers and teasing from my
friends about the spaced out expression on my face ("What have you been
smoking, and can I have some?" asked my best friend Mike), I made my way
back home.

   Walking through the back door and into the kitchen, I tossed my book
satchel onto the counter.  Usually, Mom would be in the kitchen, scrounging
something for dinner, but she was not there.  I walked through the living
room.

   "Mom," I called out.  Her car was in the drive, so she must have been
home.  I walked to the hallway, which led to the back of the house.  From
the bathroom, I could hear the shower.  Slightly unusual, I thought, since
Mom usually showered in the morning after I left for school.  Poking my
head through the bathroom door, I called to her.  "I'm home."

   "Oh, hi, baby," she replied, sounding vaguely as if she had been waiting
for me, "I'm glad you're home." My mother continued as I felt the steam
condensing on my face, "Could you do me a favor?"

   "Sure, Mom." Again, I became distracted by thoughts of her nude body,
now wet, in the spray of the shower only a few feet away.

   "Could you get me a new loofah out of the hall closet?" she pleaded.

   Reaching to the back of the linen closet in the hallway, right outside
the bathroom door, I thought to myself how easy it would have been for Mom
to get the loofah herself but, by then, I was eager to obey.  Opening the
bathroom door, I was met by a lovely vision.

   My mother, my beautiful mother, had stepped out of the shower, one foot
remaining in the tub, to take the loofah from me.  Water dripped from her
breasts and beaded on her skin as she smirked, looking into my eyes.

   My first reaction was to avert my eyes from Mom's nakedness and withdraw
from the bathroom, but why?  She was obviously making another bold move to
expose herself to me, so the least I could do is be courteous and look,
although I wanted to do much more.

   With the hiss of the shower filling the bathroom, I slowly, thoroughly
passed my eyes over Mom's body, noticing again the details I discovered
during her bedroom exhibition that morning: her full breasts, sagging a bit
from size and age, but beautiful nonetheless, with large, red, puckered
nipples, smooth, lightly-tanned skin, slightly lighter where skimpy
sun-dresses usually concealed her flesh, a full, auburn pubis, trimmed
conservatively to a lovely triangular bush, rounded hips and fleshy thighs,
cutely dimpled at pivotal points, feminine, but sturdy, calves and ankles,
and two dainty feet.

   After a moment of obviously drinking in her body, my eyes returned to
her gaze.  If Mom could be bold, then so could I.

   "Is there anything else I could do for you?" I purred in the sexiest
voice a young man could muster, and then I forced out the rest, "Anything
at all?"

   For a moment, she studied her son with a lusty gaze.

   "Maybe later," Mom sounded a bit nervous.  I noticed the hand holding
the loofah was shaking.  "I'll let you know."

   The moment I withdrew from the bathroom, I hurried to my bedroom. 
Slamming the door behind me, I threw myself on the bed, unzipping my jeans
and pulling out my stiff cock.  Sliding my other hand under my shirt, I
gently tugged a nipple as my other hand stroked furiously.

   The orgasm came immediately.  Writhing on the bed as I came, I whimpered
as a thick rope of come shot onto the carpet.  My entire body went rigid,
convulsing with the climax.

   For a sweet moment, I wished that Mom would walk in and witness the
torture she had inflicted on her son.  Mom would then kneel over her coming
son and cover his breathless young body with loving, motherly kisses,
kisses that would increase with passion until she devoured her son like a
lover.  Our two naked bodies would move together in a supreme, complete
union between mother and son, our cries of passion lingering into the
night.



   4.

   After a restless, erection-plagued sleep, I awoke to the sun, wondering
what new tease-games I and my mother would play.  I stopped by the bathroom
to pee, then sleepily walked through the hallway.  As I approached Mom and
Dad's bedroom door, I could hear the distinct sounds of sex.  Obviously, my
folks were getting a little action before Dad left for the office.

   I pressed my face near the partially-opened door.  Strange, I thought,
that they would have neglected to lock the door, as was their normal
practice.  I certainly had no objections.

   Silently, I leaned against the door frame, closing my eyes,
concentrating on the noises emanating from the bedroom.  My mother moaned
repeatedly over the steady thumping of the headboard.  Occasionally, Dad
would grunt an encouragement.

   "Oh yeah, baby," he rasped in a low, clear voice.  "Give me that sweet
pussy."

   "Fuck me," Mom responded simply.  "Fuck me."

   As I had done countless times before, I reached into my pajamas and
wrapped my fingers around my stiff cock.  As the music of my parents'
colliding bodies filled my ears, I began working my way to another orgasm.
Soon we all came together.  I had stroked myself to the brink when Mom and
Dad groaned in unison.  Mom hissed as she came.

   "Yes," she sobbed with pleasure.  "Oh yes, honey.  Ah, ah, AHHHGG!" Her
body shuddered and she arched against Dad's urgent thrusts.

   Dad pounded out his orgasm, injecting his thick, hot seed deep into my
mother's body, eventually falling around her waist in a spent heap.  I let
out an involuntary whimper, come filling my shorts.

   Then silence.

   Quietly, I withdrew my sticky hand from my shorts and retreated to the
bathroom to clean up, then I went into the kitchen.  Sipping a glass of
orange juice, I studied the light patterns on the yellow, flowered
wallpaper.

   At that moment, I knew I would fuck my mother.  No longer could I
withhold against her relentless teasing, especially the added assaults of
the past two days.  Feeling my erection return, I downed the last of the
orange juice and hopped to my feet.

   Hesitantly, I walked to Mom and Dad's bedroom door.  All was silent. 
Then I heard Mom's hairbrush clunk down on her glass-topped vanity. 
Slowly, I pushed the door open.  At the vanity sat Mom in her bathrobe, her
nakedness peeking out from underneath.  Dad stood behind her, one of his
hands cupping her left breast, squeezing it.

   The moment they saw me, Dad removed his hand from Mom's breast, not
quickly, as if he had been caught, but slowly.  Mom's breast fell back into
place, sporting a hard nipple from the handling.  Dad gave me a smile,
putting on his jacket and heading for the door.

   "See you two tonight," he winked at us, then exited the room.

   "What the fuck?" I thought to myself, hearing keys jingling in the
hallway, then the front door shutting behind Dad.

   "Good morning," Mom smiled, picking up her hairbrush again.  I could
smell the raunch of sex eminating from her body.

   "Good morning," my voice quivered with surprise and lust.  I stood only
inches from her, savoring the heat of her body and the rank, carnal odor
which filled my nostrils.

   Mom brushed her hair a few strokes, smiling to herself, serene with
afterglow, then her brushing paused.  "Honey, could you do me a favor? 
Could you check my breasts?"

   I froze, not sure if I had heard her correctly, and not sure what to do
next, although I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and do so very badly. 
She gazed into my eyes, and added, almost matter-of-factly, "I mean, just
to be safe." Then my mother smiled, her lush, red lips glistening wetly. 
"Your Dad just examined them, but I need you to know how to do it, too."
Mom clasped her hands on my shoulders.  "If it won't traumatize you too
much." Again, her lips glistened sexily.  My cock strained against the
elastic in my shorts.

   Hesitating, I gawked, agape, staring at her lush, lovely mounds.  The
past twenty-four hours, no, the past year had been building up to this
point.  I knew there was no misunderstanding; my mother was asking me to
touch and squeeze her breasts.

   But what an absurd pretense!  I almost felt pity for her, imagining my
mother, lying awake the past night, wracking her brain for a coy way to get
her son to fondle her tits.  Then, as I pondered, the moment almost
escaped. Sensing my hesitation, my mother's demeanor changed.

   "Oh," she shrunk back, lowering her eyes, "it's not important." Mom
withdrew, creating a noticeable distance between our bodies.  "Never mind,"
she almost sobbed, "you don't want to touch your mother's baggy old tits
anyway."

   "No!" I blurted out, my own voice surprising me.  "I want to touch
them!"

   Immediately, Mom's face lit up.  Our hands met as we both pulled open
her loose, silken robe.  Again, my eyes feasted on Mom's beautiful,
rose-tipped mounds.  I realized my hands were shaking with exitement.

   "What do I do?" I rasped, my voice hoarse with arousal.

   Mom took my hand and gently placed it against her swollen tit.  The feel
of her hot, soft flesh, her nipple protruding against the palm of my hand,
made me dizzy with exitement.

   "Just squeeze it," she murmured.  "Press your fingers into it, and feel
it all over."

   Her breast was too large for one of my boyish hands to cover, so I
lifted the tit with one hand while my other hand began to probe into her
flesh.

   "Ahhh," she exhaled, pulling her shoulders back slightly, thrusting her
chest out, and dropping her hands to her sides.  Apparantly, I was doing it
right.

   Thoroughly, I explored each breast with careful fingers.  Slowly, but
surely, my dream was coming true.  Mom smiled with contentment as her son
carefully felt her up.  Her (our) victory drew nearer.  Glancing down, I
noticed my mother's sweet, silky bush.  My thobbing cock ached painfully,
wanting to slip inside it.  Moving closer to my mother, I straddled her
bare knee, all the while massaging and probing her generous body.

   Not knowing how to make my next move, I began to retrace my movements
across my mother's breasts, trying to make the "examination" last as long
as possible, but by the third pass, even I, in my erotic bliss, began to
notice my mother's growing impatience.  Without interrupting the movement
of my hands, I looked at her.

   "They feel fine to me," I croaked, sick with lust.  God, I needed to
fuck her!  Through the haze of my arousal, I noticed the sparkling sheen of
perspiration on Mom's face and chest.

   Before I knew it, my thumbs were slowly rubbing over Mom's hard nipples,
the two spots I had so carefully avoided until then.  Immediately, she let
out a gasp of pleasure.  Her son had finally made the move to make love to
his mother.  The sound, a mixture of surprise and relief, pushed me into
the abyss.

   Boldly, my face lowered to her left nipple.  Squeezing her breast with
my hand, I slowly rubbed my moist lips against the warm, turgid tip, then
kissed it.  My brain buzzed with conflicting thoughts as I pressed into my
mother's willing flesh.  This wasn't a summer camp interlude with a young,
semi-experienced girl, this was my mother, fer chrissake!

   "Suck it, baby," she sighed, spurring me on, removing the last of my
hesitation.  My mouth drew in as much as it could possibly hold.  Greedily,
I began to nurse, mashing my face into her breast, nestling myself between
her bare, open thighs.

   "Ahhh," she exhaled loudly (I thought she was already coming, but no).
"Oh yes, sweet baby, suck my tits.  Suck them hard." Her thighs closed
around me as I devoured her flesh.  My cock oozed semen into my shorts,
ready for action.  Sucking noises, mixed with our lustful moans, filled the
air as I savored the sweaty flesh of my own mother.

   My head drew back for only a second before it speared Mom's other
nipple. Again, I pressed my busy mouth into a sweet pillow of flesh as Mom
hissed her approval.  My dripping cock, barely concealed in the tent of my
pajamas, now pressed at her fleshy gates.

   Mom began to lean back, ever so slightly as not to lose her balance on
the small, padded seat, so her son's weight could press against her
yielding body.  Feeling her son's hardness pressing against her wet box,
Mom interrupted her moans of lust to force out a string of breathless
words.

   "Does baby want to go lie on the bed?" her voice quivered with arousal,
"I mean, we can do this easier on the bed, if you want to."

   Poor Mom, I love her so much, begging me to fuck, but at the same time
not wanting to terrify me and warp me for life.  She had to make absolutely
sure the need was mutual.

   "If you don't want to..."

   As she spoke, Mom began to realize how silly she sounded.  Her horny,
young son, sucking madly on her burning tits, had already begun a slow,
steady rhythm against her silky bush.  She looked down at me, sweating and
crazed with passion, and changed the end of her sentence.

   "Come on," Mom whispered, wrapping her arms around me, lifting me off
the ground as she stood.  In three steps, we clumsily waltzed across the
room and fell on the bed.  Mom's dressing gown got lost somewhere along the
way.

   The moment she fell back on the soft bed, I slid on top of my mother's
naked body, quickly nestling my hips between her open thighs.  My hungry
mouth covered her face, neck and breasts with wet, passionate kisses.  Mom
writhed exitedly, rubbing her hands up and down my young body.

   "Ohhh, yesss," she murmured dreamily, her eyes closed.  "Love me, baby.
Love me." We necked like teenagers a minute, then my mother gazed down at
me or, more accurately, my pajamas.  "Take these off," she pouted, like a
child, placing her hands around my waist and sliding my pajama bottoms and
shorts down past my thighs.  I paused a moment to kick them free, also
removing my top.  My cock bobbed at full attention, a detail that didn't
escape my mother's lustful gaze.  She opened her arms, inviting me back
between her thighs.  Our bodies, now both nude, fell snugly together.

   The past year, especially summer camp and Susan, had educated me, thank
God, as what to do next.  With one effortless movement, I lifted my ass
slightly, sliding my cock deep into my mother's sweet pussy.  The moment I
pressed my balls against her ass, penetrating her to the hilt, I thought
she would come unglued.

   "Ohhh, baby," she almost wailed.  "My sweet boy, you know, you know what
to do with your mother!"

   As Mom squeezed my tensing buttocks, I began thrusting eagerly against
her body.  Mom's knees drew up slightly, allowing me easier entry into the
sweet womb I had lived in for nine months, so many years ago.  I used her
knees for anchorage, holding onto them tightly as our bodies slapped
together harder and harder.  With only a few words and movements, Mom
coached me on the technique she wanted from her son.  The technique I still
use today.

   "That's it, sweetheart," she whispered.  "Just like that.  Not too
fast." Her eyes stared deeply into mine.  "Okay, oooh," Mom's breath
quivered with lust, "good baby." She had to concentrate to keep from coming
too quickly.  "Yeah, that's it, that's it," her hands covered mine,
squeezing them.  "Pull it out, then all the way back in," her hands pressed
against my smooth, damp chest, brushing my nipples.  The sensation in my
nipples sparked all the way down my body and out through the tip of my
throbbing cock.  "All the way in, uh, uh, oooh," my erect, glistening shaft
pushed all the way inside my mother, making her squirm and whimper. 
"A-a-all the way, ohhh, yes, yes," she panted against my neck, "good,
goood!"

   My mother's eyes closed, blissfully, as I pounded against her ripe body.
I studied her delicate eyelids, accented with a dark blue shade of mascara,
noticing how erotic they now seemed, so close to my face.  As I gazed at
her beautiful face, glazed with perspiration, Mom began to gently chew on
her lower lip.  Soon, the movement of my body became stabilized and
rhythmic, like the ticking of an impatient metronome.  We fucked in perfect
unison, mother and son, both of us satiating the lust that had been
simmering between us for much too long.  Now I had her, and I could hardly
believe it, but there she was.  My mother.  My sexy lover.

   Suddenly, Mom let out a stifled squeal.  She jerked and arched slightly
as if an electrical shock had passed through her body.  Curious, I slowed
my thrusts, but Mom insisted I continue.

   "No, baby," she gasped.  "Keep going, don't stop now."

   Later, I realized she had had a quick, sharp orgasm.  I had yet to see a
woman come in that fashion.

   With all the friction against my swollen cock, I couldn't hold back much
longer.  The sight of Mom's lovely, lush body and tits, her smooth, silky
legs and thighs rubbing against mine, and her wet, snug pussy caressing my
cock quickly pushed me to the edge.  Clenching my teeth, I growled like an
animal as my cock burst.

   "AAAGGGHHH!!!" The orgasm seized me violently.  My body shuddered as I
felt a healthy load of come erupt from deep within my body.  Pulse after
pulse of pleasure surged up the length of my throbbing shaft, sending thick
jets of fresh come deep into Mom's body.  I was coming for my mother at
last!

   "Oh, YES, my love, " Mom cried out.  "My baby's coming for me!"
Joyfully, she bucked against me as I came, making my orgasm all the more
intense.  "Come for mommy," she urged in a voice only a loving, caring
mother could use, "come hard inside mommy."

   As I came, I discovered I couldn't slam it into my mother's body hard
enough.  My animal instinct had erased any boundary between mother and son.
My body took over in it's need to reproduce, to plant it's seed.  Mom's
tits jiggled with each collision of our bodies as I raped my mother. 
Surprised, she clung eagerly to her crazed son, encouraging him on.

   "Oh, my love," she almost wept, astonished at the raging lion between
her legs, "give it to me hard!  Harder!"

   I almost wept with pleasure and release, a tear running down my cheek.
"Ohhh...OHHH," I cried in sublime agony, evacuating the contents of my
swollen cock deep into my mother's sweet womb, "ohhh mama, ohhh mama."

   Watching her son coming so violently, Mom couldn't help but be seized by
another, stronger orgasm.  She let out a throaty groan, shaking violently
as her head thrashed from side to side.

   "Aaagh," Mom's orgasm shook her like a rag doll.  I spent and spent,
emptying my scrotum into her beautiful body.  The orgasm persisted, shaking
me to my core.  I arched my back so sharply that I strained a tendon in my
leg.  The pain was exquisite.

   Soon, the spasms in my body subsided.  The contracting of Mom's sweet
pussy squeezed the last of the come from my stinging cock.

   Having expended such violent, pent-up lust, we both began to sweat
profusely.  Droplets of salty sweat collected on my face and neck,
eventually falling onto Mom's sweaty breasts.

   Resting against my mother's glistening body, I remained inside her
pussy. My young cock had found a welcoming new home, and it was
ecstatically content to stay.  My face nestled against her damp neck.  Her
sweat mingled with mine, coating my lips.  Lazily, I licked the salty
mixture, tasting a bitter hint of Mom's old-fashioned perfume.

   Our bodies, fused together by perspiration and sex, slowly dried in the
cool morning air.  I held my mother tightly, snuggling against her warm,
nude body as if I were an infant.  Mom's hands slowly stroked my back,
caressing my damp skin with her gentle fingers.

   We existed, there, that morning, for each other.  Both of us had
satiated, for the moment, our mutual lust.  Now the wave had passed, and we
both found ourselves in the new, frightening, exiting world of incest.  In
the many days ahead, there would be no more longings, and no more
unfulfilled needs.  Mom and I now held each other as lovers.  No
apprehension remained after our soul-baring exchange.

   Mom and I would make love several more times that day, until we both
staggered, drained, into the shower to wash away the thick residue of sex
from our glowing bodies.  The cool, soothing spray of water from the chrome
shower head caressed our bodies.  Heaving a weighted breath of relief and
exhaustion, I closed my eyes, leaning against the white linoleum tiles as
Mom's gentle hands washed my body.  The enclosure of the shower stall
echoed my small, plaintive voice.

   "I love you."

   Mom smiled, briefly, with that wide, expressive mouth of hers.

   "I love you, too, baby," she cooed.

   Sitting on the lid of the toilet, I watched sleepily as Mom's naked body
stretched for the high, top shelf of the linen closet.  The smooth inside
of her ample thigh glistened with wetness from the shower.  Mom's breasts
hung lazily in space, swaying slightly with her movements, the red tips
hardened in the cool air.

   If I could have frozen her, for only a moment, I would have a perfect
statue, a perfect representation of a maternal lover.  Then the moment
passed as she retrieved a large beach towel.

   As our bodies pressed together, Mom wrapped the towel around our damp
bodies.  Again feeling the magnificent warmth of her body, I turned my face
up to meet hers.  We kissed.  She smiled, a woman in love, then we kissed
again, and again, gentle playful pecks of affection before another sweet,
snug embrace.



   5.

   The afternoon sun of that first, sweet Thursday filled the master
bedroom with an etherial glow.  Silently, Mom and I removed the stained
linens from the bed.  Mom's head, slightly bowed, and the calm benevolence
in her eyes as she spread the fresh sheets on the bed gave the ritual an
almost spiritual aire.

   In the kitchen, I leaned back in a plastic dinette chair, rubbing the
strained tendon in my leg, watching Mom's bare feet move over the
yellow-and-white asbestos tiles.  For the first time in my life, and
certainly not the last, I witnessed a young, nubile newlywed, fresh from
the athletics of new passion.  Mom's body radiated heat, and I could almost
make out the shimmering aura surrounding her flushed skin.

   The glow of new love?

   Perhaps.  Dad was never a slouch in bed, and their marriage was a rock
that remained stable for years, but still, Mom had a new demeanor after
that day that intensified every time we had sex, and that would be often.

   As I pondered, Mom set about the task of preparing the family dinner. 
Dad would be home shortly, and he was always tired and hungry.  His hard
work and love was what provided us with a decent life.

   From the beginning, I knew there were no secrets from Dad.  That sly
dog. He never said a word, even when it was obvious what his wife and son
had been doing.

   I sat upright, startled, as Dad came home unexpectedly early one
afternoon.  Mom and I had been riding each other the entire day.  The room
reeked of sweaty sex and, while Mom washed my many deposits out of her
pussy, I lazed, naked and exhausted, under the wrinkled sheets.

   "Hey, son," Dad greeted.  In a second, he had crossed the room and
entered the bathroom.  The moment he disappeared, I slid out of bed and
vanished to my bedroom to get dressed.  That's how it went, until I
graduated college.  It was an unspoken joke between Dad and me.  At times,
he would give me this smirk, as if he were asking, "So, how was Mom today?"

   In later years, my life took me far away, but never too far to visit my
folks often.  Dad, well into his sixties, is just beginning to speak of
retirement.  When he leaves for work, Mom and I relive our torrid days of
incest.  Her body has aged, to be certain, but I still can't get enough of
her sweet, incestuous love, and I'm sure our bodies will be moving
together, through the years, fading into the twilight.