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Best Mom In The World
by Your Ghost (address withheld)

***

When his father goes off to fight the Persian gulf war 
a young boy discovers just what a great mom he has. 
(Fb, ped, inc, 1st, mast, oral)

***

My father was an Army officer, so naturally my family 
moved around a lot when I was growing up. As a result, 
I didn't make a lot of friends, because I knew that 
almost as soon as I made them I'd have to say goodbye 
to them. On top of that, I was an only child, so I 
didn't have any brothers or sisters to play with. This 
made me a fairly lonely kid, and I suppose I blamed my 
father for that. And I didn't think that the 
opportunity to travel all over the world was any kind 
of consolation.

He wasn't a bad father, although he wasn't a really 
great one, either. He was probably just your typical 
military dad, gone most of the time and emotionally 
distant when he was home. Everything seemed black and 
white with him, there were clear definitions of right 
and wrong, or the way he put it, "proper conduct and 
improper conduct." He would show a lot of respect for 
the adult men in his life, but women, in his 
estimation, were on a slightly lower level, and kids, 
including me, just didn't seem to count at all. 

I didn't really put it in those terms in my mind as I 
was growing up, but I understood it just the same, and 
I eventually developed a negative attitude toward him. 
I was a good kid, I behaved myself and got good grades 
in school, did all my chores, kept my room clean and 
stayed out of trouble, but at the same time I resented 
just about everything about my father. His military 
bearing, his sharp, almost aggressive way of speaking, 
his spotless uniform, even his goofy crew-cut. He 
seemed to be the totally wrong kind of guy to be my 
father, and equally wrong for my mom.

Mom was five years younger than him, and a relatively 
small woman. She was only five feet tall, slender and 
shapely, with reddish brown hair that she always kept 
cut shoulder length, dark eyes, a small ski jump nose, 
high cheekbones, and thin lips. She'd always been 
beautiful as far as I was concerned, and from the 
things they said I knew that my father and the military 
friends he would occasionally bring home thought so 
too. 

She was always kind and gentle with me, very 
affectionate, always giving me hugs and kisses and 
doing whatever she could to meet my needs and wants. No 
small wonder that I tended to adore her, and I couldn't 
understand why my father didn't adore her too. Like me, 
he didn't treat her badly, but he didn't treat her the 
way she deserved to be treated, either, and it was this 
obvious lack of appreciation for his own wife that I 
resented the most.

My father spent most of his time away from home, either 
working at his regular assignment, out on field duty, 
or gone completely on some classified temporary 
assignment that he couldn't talk about. This left me 
and Mom alone with each other nearly all the time, 
which suited me just fine. My most fervent wish, 
actually, was that a war would start somewhere and he'd 
be gone for years, not just months. And eventually I 
got my wish.

In the summer of 1990 I was twelve years old and we 
were living in a two story house at Fort Lewis, 
Washington, when Saddam Hussein's army invaded Kuwait. 
My father's battalion went on immediate alert, and 
within a month he was gone to participate in Operation 
Desert Shield. We had no idea when he would be coming 
back.

In the beginning Mom was stoic, the way Army wives are 
supposed to be. She busied herself by getting more 
involved with the charity work that the Officer's Wives 
Association did, or by holding more dinner parties for 
the military families that had been left behind. But 
over the course of the next several months her 
disposition slowly declined; she did less and less 
volunteer work, threw fewer dinner parties and barely 
saw any of her friends. It was like she was running out 
of steam. 

By the end of November she'd gotten to the point where 
she never invited anyone to the house, and she only 
went outside to do the grocery shopping. She spent most 
of her days still in her nightgown and housecoat, 
either watching television all day or simply sitting in 
the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, 
staring off into space and thinking.

I did my best to help her out. When I got home from 
school I'd pitch in with the housework, and I'd go 
shopping with her on the weekends. I kept her company 
in the evenings, sitting with her on the sofa and 
watching movies we'd rented, and I'd listen to her 
whenever she wanted to talk about something, even if it 
was how much she missed my father. She would cry 
sometimes, especially if there was news of the 
approaching war on TV, and I would hold her and stroke 
her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay. 
And even when she was feeling good I made sure I told 
her I loved her or how pretty she looked, or shared 
some positive experience I'd had at school. Mom 
obviously appreciated my added attention and affection, 
and even came to depend on them.

But she became dependent on me in other ways too. On 
the rare occasions when we did actually go out, usually 
no more than a quick stop at a fast food place to grab 
a hamburger, or the Christmas shopping we did together 
in the middle of December, when we got home she would 
ask me to turn on the lights before she would come into 
the house, or before she entered a particular room. She 
complained of her fear of the dark, or of strange 
noises, and I would reassure her as if I was the adult 
and she was the child. All of this behavior only became 
magnified after January, when the war in the desert 
actually began.

Mom worried constantly about my father's safety, she 
watched the news practically all the time, and she 
would ask me to check the mailbox several times a day, 
hoping for some word from him and dreading a notice 
from the government. When the ground war actually got 
under way in February she became even more nervous, 
claiming she couldn't sleep. She asked me if I would 
sleep in her bed with her, to keep her company, and I 
wanted so much to comfort her that I said okay. I 
expected that it would only be a few nights, but Mom 
found my presence next to her such a relief that I 
ended up sleeping with her every single night, whether 
she asked me to or not.

I knew, of course, that most kids my age would cringe 
at the idea of sleeping in the same bed with their mom, 
but I found the whole experience just as pleasurable as 
she did. I liked having her next to me as I drifted off 
to sleep, or waking up in the middle of the night or in 
the morning to find her there with me. She was warm and 
soft, and she always smelled so clean and pretty.

It was some time in the first few weeks of March, after 
the war was officially over (although we still hadn't 
heard from my father) that I began to get hard-ons when 
I was in bed with my mom. Naturally, I discovered 
masturbation around that time too, and got into the 
habit of quietly getting out of bed, going into the 
bathroom, and jerking off, then just as quietly going 
back to bed. The sex fantasies I entertained then had 
mostly to do with Malinda Perry, a lovely brown-haired 
girl in my seventh grade class. She had a sweet smile 
and a newly budding body, and I would imagine kissing 
her and touching her breasts. I knew about all the 
"other stuff" boys and girls could do together, but at 
that time that was as far as my sexual imagination 
dared to go.

I didn't exactly feel guilty about masturbating, but I 
did feel somewhat embarrassed, and afraid that Mom 
would catch me at it, and maybe even get upset with me. 
That would have been bad enough, but if she'd somehow 
figured out what I was thinking about while I did it, 
that would have been even worse. Especially after I 
began to include her in my fantasies.

It was impossible not to. After all, she was so 
beautiful, and she was the only female in my life that 
gave me attention, affection, hugged me, held me, or 
kissed me. And she was there all the time, in the 
comfortable and safe spaces of our home, even in the 
same bed. And half the time, because of her depression, 
she went around the house in nothing more than various 
nightgowns, which tended to cling to her body and were 
sometimes enticingly sheer. I'd noticed several times 
the outline of her breasts in their thin fabrics, even 
her nipples poking through. 

I hadn't yet seen her naked (there were a few occasions 
when I was younger, too young to be particularly 
affected), but the more I thought about it the more I 
wanted to. The fantasies I had about her were pretty 
much identical to the ones I had about Malinda: just 
kissing her and touching her breasts. The difference 
was that, with my Mom, I never even considered the idea 
of actually doing anything about my desires. But then 
one day near the end of March, something happened which 
would change all that.

I had just arrived home from school, and as I came 
through the front door I could hear Kenny G burbling 
through the air. I was familiar enough with Mom's moods 
to know that Kenny G meant she would need my company.

I took my backpack up to my room, then came back 
downstairs and found her in the kitchen, sitting at the 
table with a cup of coffee, a cigarette burning in the 
ashtray, and a magazine open in front of her. She was 
wearing jeans and a blood red blouse with long sleeves, 
and I could see that she'd brushed her hair, and even 
put on a little bit of makeup, signs that she wasn't 
feeling as bad as I'd expected.

I stopped in the doorway, just to look at her for a 
moment, to appreciate how truly attractive she was. 
Despite the anxiety it had been causing me, I liked the 
fact that my mom was so beautiful, so thin and nicely 
shaped. Even some of my friends had commented on it; 
one friend, Tommy Birch, had told me just a week before 
that he thought she was gorgeous. He'd actually said, 
"Your mom's gorgeous, dude." I'd told him to shut up, 
and even slugged him, though secretly I had to agree 
with him.

Fortunately, Mom didn't notice me staring at her, or 
even standing there. I finally spoke up, saying hi to 
her as I made my way over to the refrigerator. My mom 
said hi back, but she didn't look up. I got a soda from 
the fridge, then went to stand beside her. Mom, with 
her eyes still pointed down at her magazine, reached 
out to touch my hand, but instead of finding my hand 
her fingertips brushed my crotch. I felt a jolt of 
surprise course through me and blinked. Mom, apparently 
unaware that she had just touched my dick, absently 
corrected her aim, found my hand, and clutched it 
gently. I squeezed her hand a little and asked her what 
she was reading.

"Just People Magazine," Mom replied.

She let go of my hand and slipped it around my waist 
and, still not looking up, pulled me closer to her. I 
put my arm around her, resting my hand on her shoulder, 
and looked down to see exactly what she was reading. An 
article about Christina Applegate, the actress from 
'Married With Children,' with a small picture of her at 
the top of the page.

I tried to read the article but the letters were too 
small and far away. My eyes wandered a little and I 
realized I could see right down the front of Mom's 
blouse. This by itself might not have been such a big 
deal, except that her blouse wasn't buttoned up as far 
as she usually buttoned her blouses, and she wasn't 
wearing a bra, so I could actually see all of both 
breasts.

They weren't really large, but they weren't small, 
either, sort of medium sized, and they were round and 
firm and pale as milk. Her nipples were small and dark 
pink. It was probably because I was actually seeing 
them in person (the first breasts I'd ever seen outside 
of the Playboy magazines I looked at with my friends) 
and not through the flimsy material of her nightgown, 
but it seemed to me that my mom's tits were the most 
beautiful tits I'd ever seen in my life. I wanted to 
just reach right down inside her blouse and touch them, 
hold them in my hand, and the thought made my cock 
suddenly and extremely hard.

It also startled me, and I reflexively took a step 
backward. Fortunately, Mom didn't notice that, either. 
She almost seemed to not notice me at all as she went 
on reading her magazine, and after a few long moments I 
summoned up the courage to move closer to her and look 
down her blouse again. I stood there ogling my mom's 
breasts for quite a while before I finally got too 
nervous, afraid that she would catch me looking, and I 
let go of her hand. 

I told her that I had to go do my homework, which was 
actually true, and she said, "Okay, but come back down 
as soon as you can," that needy loving look on her 
face. I told her I would, then went right up to my 
room, shut my door, and masturbated furiously. The 
orgasm I had that day was the most intense orgasm I'd 
ever experienced. I had to sit down afterward, and just 
think for a while, about what I'd seen, what I'd done, 
and how wrong it was. I told myself I couldn't do it 
again, I had to stop thinking about my mom in that way, 
right away, and for the rest of my life.

I didn't, though. I got my homework done in record 
time, then nearly ran back down the stairs to be with 
her again, to maybe catch another glimpse down her 
blouse. I couldn't manage that, but for the rest of the 
evening her breasts were all I could think about. By 
bedtime I had another hard-on and was more than ready 
to sneak off to the bathroom to take care of it.

Normally, I would wait about a half hour or so, just 
laying next to my mom, or cuddling up to her if she 
wanted me to, until I was sure she was asleep, then I 
would head for the bathroom. That was what I planned to 
do this time, but as I lay there in the dark and 
recalled the fabulous sight of my mom's breasts, 
imagining reaching down into her blouse and taking one 
in my hand, feeling and fondling it, I decided I 
couldn't wait and went ahead and started stroking 
myself under the covers. I did this for about a minute, 
then suddenly got an idea in my head: what if I 
actually did touch her, now, while she was asleep?

I stopped masturbating and turned my head to look at my 
mom. She was lying on her back, her face turned away 
from me, the blanket pulled up nearly to her neck. 
Before I could think very much about what I was doing, 
I turned over onto my side, facing her. I pulled the 
blanket down to her waist and looked at her chest. She 
was wearing one of her sheer nightgowns, and even in 
the dark I could see the outline of her breasts. 

Cautiously, I reached over and touched her, placing my 
hand on top of her left breast. I was surprised at how 
firm it was, and yet just as soft as I'd imagined. I 
wanted to squeeze it but I was afraid that I would wake 
her up. Instead I just moved my hand back and forth, 
rubbing it lightly for a minute before switching to the 
other one. I fondled both of my mom's breasts for some 
time, aware of the increasing hardness and throbbing of 
my cock.

Eventually I screwed up the courage to put my hand 
inside her nightgown, right over her right breast. Her 
skin was warm inside the cool silk of the nightgown, 
and I could feel now her hard little nipple. I fondled 
her for another minute or so, then simply rested my 
hand on top of her breast while I used my other hand to 
stroke my cock. Less than another minute passed before 
I felt the pressure of approaching orgasm. 

I stroked myself faster, and suddenly I was coming, and 
it was right at that moment that I realized the mistake 
I'd made. My cock was pointing straight at Mom, and it 
was only half an inch away from her body, too close and 
too late to keep my come from getting on her. It came 
out in huge milky jets, more come than I'd ever seen 
before, spurting onto my mom's hip, then running in 
little rivers down onto the mattress. I groaned, as 
much from concern as pleasure, but of course there was 
no way to stop it.

When I was done I immediately looked up at Mom's face 
to see if she'd woken up. I was relieved to see that 
she was still asleep. But my sense of relief didn't 
last long. I got out of bed, quietly went to the 
bathroom and got a wash cloth. I did my best to clean 
up the mess I'd made, then took the wash cloth into my 
own bedroom and stuck it in the bottom of my underwear 
drawer. When I returned to my mom's bed I climbed in 
carefully, closed my eyes and, after a long period of 
slowly calming nerves, fell asleep.

*****

The next morning I was pretty much living in fear, 
expecting my mom to say something to me about what I'd 
done. If I hadn't woken her up, then she would have at 
least noticed the dried come on her nightgown, but it 
seemed apparent to me that she hadn't noticed, because 
she didn't say anything, and there was nothing out of 
the ordinary in the way she acted. I was again 
relieved, and as I walked to school that morning I 
promised myself I would never do anything like that 
again.

That night, however, I promptly broke my promise. I 
simply couldn't resist the attraction of my mom's 
fabulous body, right there next to me. I fondled her 
again, this time actually pulling the bodice of her 
nightgown down so that her breasts were bare and I 
could see them as I caressed them. I was more careful 
about jerking off, though; when I couldn't stand it 
anymore I laid flat on my back and craned my neck so I 
could look at her as I stroked myself, finally coming 
onto my stomach. I also had a box of Kleenex ready this 
time, so that I wouldn't have to get out of bed to 
clean up.

I continued this behavior for the next few weeks, each 
night becoming just a little bit bolder; fondling Mom's 
breasts for longer periods of time, playing with her 
nipples (and making them hard in her sleep), even 
daring to slip my hand down between her legs, either 
into her panties or her peejay bottoms, and touching 
her pussy.

I became obsessed with my mom, and it went beyond just 
my secret night time activities with her. I was almost 
constantly thinking about her during the day, and when 
I got home from school, if Mom didn't need me right 
away, I'd run up to my room, shut my door, and 
masturbate to sex fantasies of her. I didn't think of 
Malinda anymore, or anyone else but my mom. And the 
fantasies had grown, venturing into areas I'd been 
reluctant to explore before; in addition to kissing her 
and fondling her breasts, I began to imagine making 
love to her, actually putting my cock into her pussy 
and fucking her, or putting my cock in her mouth and 
getting a blowjob. 

I felt more and more guilty about these fantasies as 
the weeks passed, but at the same time I tended to 
suppress that guilt, forcing myself to not even think 
about the wrongness of my behavior.

Eventually I might have managed to get control of it, 
to let my conscience conquer my forbidden desire, but 
then the fifteenth of April arrived, my mom's thirty-
fifth birthday, and once again things drastically 
changed.

*****

She'd been in a good mood that morning, even humming to 
herself as she made breakfast, and she brightened up 
even more when I gave her the birthday present I'd 
bought. It wasn't anything really special, just an 
imitation jade heart-shaped pendant that I'd found at a 
department store in the mall, but she obviously liked 
it. She put it on right away, letting it dangle from 
its chain between her breasts (an unintended benefit 
for me), and she gave me an affectionate hug and kiss.

It was a Saturday, and we decided to go out for lunch. 
We went to a popular sandwich shop, then walked around 
downtown, looking in store windows. We had a good time, 
Mom smiling and laughing, seeming almost like her old 
self. But when we got home there was mail in the 
mailbox, and before Mom even looked through it I got 
this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. There 
was a letter from my father, and Mom sat on the sofa to 
read it. She got this look on her face, confused at 
first, then sad, then even sadder. She touched her 
mouth with her fingers and her eyes watered up; she was 
making a valiant effort not to cry.

"What is it?" I asked, although I figured I knew.

"Your dad's not coming home," she said, her voice 
trembling. "Not soon, anyway."

I took the letter from her and read it for myself. It 
was very short and emotionless, to the point. He said 
that he'd gotten reassigned to a post at Fort Benning, 
Georgia, a teaching position at the Infantry School, 
and that he wouldn't be returning to Fort Lewis. And 
that was all. He made no mention of us going with him, 
or when he would be sending for us. I dropped the 
letter on the floor and looked at my mom, who seemed 
stunned.

"It doesn't matter, Mom," I told her. "We don't need 
him."

Mom's only reply was to get up and walk slowly and 
unsteadily up the stairs to her room. I went up behind 
her, but just as I got to her room she shut the door in 
my face.

I spent the rest of that day hating my father and 
wishing he would die in some kind of accident. Wishing 
he'd died in the war, not for not coming home, or for 
not sending for us, but for hurting my mom that way. It 
was proof to me that not only did he not love her, but 
that I was the only one in the world who did.

Mom stayed in her room the rest of the day, only coming 
out to go to the bathroom. She wouldn't even let me 
bring her anything to eat or drink. Finally, around 
eleven o'clock, I put on my peejays and went up to her 
room, knocked gently before opening the door, and said, 
"Mom? You want me to stay with you tonight?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Mom's tiny voice came to me through 
the darkness.

I went in and crawled into bed next to her. Mom 
immediately turned onto her side, took me in her arms, 
and held me tight as she cried on my shoulder. 
Eventually, her tears ended and she moved onto her 
back, sighed in a sad way, and said, "Good night, 
baby."

"Good night, Mom," I replied.

I closed my eyes, expecting that I would just go to 
sleep this time; doing anything to my mom when she was 
feeling so bad, even though she would be asleep and not 
know, would have been a really messed up thing to do.

Except I couldn't go to sleep. I just lay there in the 
dark, painfully aware of my mom next to me, her 
fabulous body, her breasts jutting up from her chest. I 
got hard thinking about it, and finally, after almost 
an hour of wrestling with my worst nature, I managed to 
convince myself that it wouldn't be such a rotten thing 
after all.

I turned onto my side and carefully pulled the bodice 
of her nightgown down, then fondled her breasts for a 
while. I even dared to kiss one of them, and laid my 
cheek on it as I pulled the bottom of her nightgown up 
and slipped my hand down into her panties to rub her 
pubic hair and her pussy.

Eventually I got to the point where I had to masturbate 
and I rolled onto my back. I took my cock out and 
started stroking it, but about ten seconds after I 
started Mom suddenly began moving next to me. I froze, 
hoping that she was just turning over in her sleep, 
especially since I'd left her nightgown pulled down and 
her breasts sticking out.

After a few agonizing seconds she seemed to settle 
down, and I let out a huge sigh of relief. But then, in 
the next moment, I felt her hand on mine. It rested 
there briefly, then slid onto my cock. Her fingers 
wrapped around it, and in the dark I heard her whisper, 
"Let me help you, sweetheart."

I was so surprised I couldn't even speak. All I could 
do was dumbly pull my hand away, and Mom began to 
stroke me. The way she touched me was so different from 
the way I did it; my habit was to just jerk on it, 
almost brutally, the end goal simply to ejaculate as 
quickly as possible. But Mom caressed me, her hand like 
warm velvet on the sensitive skin of my cock, moving 
slowly up and down the shaft. It was, at that point in 
my life, the most awesome sensation I'd ever 
experienced. Normally, it took me somewhere around five 
minutes to get off, but my mom managed to bring me to 
orgasm in less than a minute. I felt it swelling up in 
my balls, and suddenly I began to come, the hot sticky 
globs squirting out onto my chest and stomach.

When I was done Mom asked, "Did you like that?"

"Yeah," I said, nearly breathless.

I could sense her smile in the dark as she said, "I'm 
glad. I wanted to make you feel good, because you're 
such a good boy, such a good son to me." She kissed my 
cheek. "I'll help you get cleaned up now."

She sat up and turned on the lamp on her nightstand, 
then picked up her own box of Kleenex and began to sop 
up the stuff on my body. I looked at her and noticed 
that her breasts were still hanging out of her 
nightgown. They jiggled slightly as she cleaned up my 
mess, and I could see that her nipples were hard. 
Without thinking, I reached up and touched one of them.

"I suppose I should tell you," Mom said, "that I've 
been awake the last couple of nights when you were 
touching me."

"You were?" My voice was riddled with apology. I pulled 
my hand away from her.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not mad at you. In fact, 
I like the way you touch me. It feels nice. You can 
keep doing it if you want to."

"Okay," was all I could think to say.

Mom finished cleaning up and tossed the wadded Kleenex 
into the waste basket on her side of the bed, then she 
matter-of-factly pulled the top of her nightgown back 
up, turned off the light, and lay down. She asked me to 
cuddle with her and I moved closer, draping my arm over 
her stomach and resting my face on her left breast. I 
had my cock pressed against her hip, and in nearly no 
time at all it was hard again. I fell asleep that way.

*****

The next day was a strange day for me. I spent most of 
it in an anxious fog, unable to believe that what had 
happened the night before had really happened, and 
worried that it really did, and I was somehow going to 
be blamed for it. Mom, for her part, acted pretty much 
like she always did, sort of depressed and not 
motivated to do much. She gave no sign that she even 
remembered what she'd done, let alone felt bad about 
it. 

I began to think that maybe it hadn't happened after 
all, but then, that evening, just after I finished 
getting ready for bed, Mom asked me if I would like it 
if we both went to bed naked this time. I said yes, my 
eagerness embarrassingly apparent.

I quickly cast off my peejays, then lay in bed and 
watched her take her clothes off, then watched her 
climb into bed next to me, completely nude. She left 
the night stand lamp on and the covers pushed down to 
the end of the bed and, smiling, said, "You can touch 
me now, if you want to."

I caressed her for about ten minutes, running my hands 
all over her breasts, her belly, and through her pubic 
hair. Mom asked me to suck her nipples, and as I did 
that she led one of my hands back down between her legs 
and showed me how to rub her pussy so that it made her 
feel good. Within another five minutes she had an 
orgasm, her body growing rigid and trembling as her 
pussy got warm and wet around my fingers.

When she was done coming Mom directed me to lie on my 
back, then started to stroke me just like she had the 
night before. This time, though, she leaned in close to 
me and kissed my face, then pushed her breasts up close 
to me so I could hold them and suck on them while she 
jerked me off. And the second time I came was even 
better than the first. By the time I fell asleep that 
night I'd given up all the anxious and negative 
feelings I had about what we were doing.

*****

It went on this way for nearly two weeks. Each night we 
would go to bed nude, kiss and caress and sexually 
satisfy each other with our hands, but during the day 
we went about our normal lives, pretending that nothing 
unusual was going on.

Then one night, after we'd gone through the first part 
of what had become our ritual, with me sucking her 
breasts and playing with her pussy until she came, Mom 
started to stroke me, but after about ten seconds she 
paused for a moment, then leaned down over me and 
kissed the end of my cock. Then, in the next moment, 
she lowered her head further and took my cock into her 
mouth. 

I made a strange noise in my throat, a sound of shock 
and surprise and pleasure, as my mom started to suck 
me, her warm wet mouth sliding rhythmically up and down 
on my cock. I could feel one of her hands on my balls 
too, gently caressing them, and within less than a 
minute I couldn't hold it in anymore and I came. My 
cock throbbed with amazing force and I moaned 
deliriously as I shot a full load of semen into my 
mom's mouth.

Needless to say, I was in awe. I just lay there, gaping 
at the sight of my mom with her lips clamped tightly 
around my cock, her eyes closed, her throat working as 
she swallowed my come. She was the most beautiful, most 
wonderful woman on the face of the planet. The best mom 
in the world.

When she was done she pulled her mouth away, wiped her 
lips, cleared her throat. She smiled at me, even 
laughed a little, and said, "No mess to clean up this 
time. Did you like that, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," I said, sounding strange to myself.

"I liked it too." Mom lay down next to me, put her arm 
across my chest, and kissed my cheek. "It's been a long 
time since I've done that for a man."

I immediately thought of my father and wondered if he 
was the man she was referring to. I inwardly cringed at 
the thought, but at the same time I'd never even 
considered the idea that she might have been with 
anyone else. I suddenly felt confused, and even a 
little angry, and told her I was tired and just wanted 
to go to sleep. Mom didn't respond to that, just hugged 
me, kissed me again, and said goodnight.

****

Another week went past. It was now some time in the 
middle of May, 1991, and still we hadn't heard from my 
father since he'd written us about his reassignment to 
Fort Benning. Mom had gotten a little better; at least, 
she didn't seem quite as depressed as she was before, 
but I could tell that she was still worried about my 
father, still wondering when or even if he was going to 
write us again. It never dawned on me back then that he 
could have called her on the phone, or that she could 
have gotten in touch with him through the Army. I just 
took my mom's word for it when she said that it would 
be better for us just to wait.

It was a Friday afternoon when we finally got the 
letter. I'd taken it out of the mailbox when I got home 
from school and took it straight in to Mom, who was in 
her usual place at the kitchen table. She opened it and 
read it, the expression on her face remaining sort of 
blank until she was finished and handed it to me. It 
was a short letter, about half a page long, and as I 
read it I felt a curious mix of anger and acceptance. 

Dad wasn't coming home, and he wasn't going to be 
sending for us. Instead, he said he'd met some other 
woman, had fallen in love with her, and wanted a 
divorce. I handed the letter back to my mom, telling 
her the same thing I'd told her before, that we didn't 
need him anyway. Mom just smiled a sad smile and 
carefully folded the letter, put it back in its 
envelope.

I expected things to get worse, that Mom would be 
crushed by this new development, and that she might 
spiral down into such a deep well of sadness that I'd 
never be able to pull her out of it by myself. I even 
worried that she might do something to hurt herself. I 
kept a closer eye on her the rest of the day, even 
though she acted like the letter didn't really bother 
her.

That night when we went to bed I was hesitant to get 
anything started, thinking that she might be upset, but 
Mom didn't seem to be any more upset than she had all 
day. In fact, she told me that she wanted to do things 
a little differently this time.

"I want to go first," she said, guiding me onto my back 
and taking my cock in her hands. "I'll do you first, 
then you do me. How does that sound?"

What can I say, I was twelve years old with a beautiful 
woman wanting to give me a blowjob. I said okay, and 
Mom went right to it, moving down to my lap and taking 
me into her mouth. She licked and sucked on my cock 
with obvious relish, playing with my balls at the same 
time, and in a matter of minutes I went off.

The next thing I knew Mom was lying next to me and 
telling me that it was her turn. I dutifully cuddled up 
next to her and began kissing and sucking on her 
breasts. Mom sighed and ran her fingers through my hair 
as she took one of my hands and moved it down to her 
pussy. I started to play with her, rubbing her gently 
up and down through her pubic hair and over her clit. I 
even stuck my finger inside of her, which she liked. 
Eventually, she came, her warm juices flowing around my 
fingers, then she took me in her arms and hugged and 
kissed me some more, telling me what a good boy I was.

I was sort of laying half on top of her, with her 
breasts under my chest and one leg nestled between her 
thighs, and my cock resting on her hip. I was still 
hard as a rock, and after a short while Mom noticed.

"Well, look at this," she said as she reached between 
us and wrapped her fingers around me. She started to 
stroke me. "My big hard man. With his big hard cock."

Naturally, her words turned me on, but even more than 
that, it was the tone of her voice, so soft and sexy. I 
moved off of her, lay on my side, and took hold of her 
wrist. I started to move her hand up and down on me, 
trying to get another handjob. Mom let me do this for a 
bit, then stopped and said, "Get on top of me, 
sweetheart."

I didn't need to be told twice. I immediately rolled 
over onto her and she spread her legs. I found my cock 
resting on top of her pussy and started to rub myself 
against it. I imagined doing this until I came on her 
stomach, but Mom made it clear that she had another, 
better, idea. She reached down again and grabbed my 
cock and guided it right up to her pussy.

Instinct pretty much took over then. I pushed forward 
and my cock slid right into her. I was so amazed I 
couldn't have said anything even if I'd wanted to; not 
only was the sensation itself incredible, but I was 
fully conscious of the fact that I was actually 
screwing a girl for the very first time in my life. And 
not just any girl, but my own gorgeous mom.

Mom wrapped her arms around me, hugging me and pressing 
her firm breasts against my chest. I buried my face in 
the nape of her neck and began fucking her, awkwardly 
and a little too fast at first, just sort of 
mechanically moving my cock in and out of her, but as I 
got more used to the situation I slowed down, quickly 
learning to respond to the wordless signals my mom gave 
me, to take my time and savor what I was doing. Mom 
moved her body along with mine, rocking her hips and 
pushing her pussy down onto my cock each time I thrust 
forward. She sighed and moaned in my ear, said things 
like, "Oh, yes," and, "Oh, darling, that's so good." 

She kissed me and told me she loved me, and her sweet 
soothing voice just spurred me on to a more urgent 
passion. I got closer and closer to orgasm, and Mom, 
apparently sensing this, started saying things like, 
"Yes, baby, fuck me, fuck me, come inside me, 
sweetheart." That did it for me. I finally came, my 
cock erupting with the most satisfying orgasm I'd had 
yet, pumping wave after wave of come into my mom's 
body. My mom must have been coming too, because at the 
same time she clutched me tight in her arms and dug her 
fingernails into my back, and cried out as her body 
shuddered beneath me.

And then it was over. We lay together in bed afterward, 
just holding each other and catching our breath. I left 
my cock inside of her, not wanting to take it out. Mom 
continued to hold me, making soft noises in my ear and 
stroking my back until I fell asleep.

*****

After that we made love almost every night. I felt 
incredible, like I'd begun a whole new life. A lot of 
things were still the same, of course; I still had to 
go to school, still watched the same TV shows, still 
hung out with the same few friends I had. My father was 
still gone, and he was never going to come back. But my 
relationship with my mom had changed forever. She was 
much more attentive to me during the day, much more 
loving and appreciative, and she held me and kissed me 
a lot more than before. She was happier too, and she 
wanted to go out to dinner sometimes two or three times 
a week. 

I loved going out with her, because she was so young 
and beautiful, men always looked at her and admired 
her, and being with her made me feel that much more 
grown up. I had become the man of the house; while 
other kids were still trying on their fathers' clothes 
I had actually stepped into my father's shoes. I'd 
taken his place, and I was treating her better than he 
ever had.

About six months after Mom got that last letter from my 
father she went to court and signed the papers that 
meant they were divorced. It was kind of a sad day for 
her, but it was one of the best days of my life. Not 
only would I never have to see that miserable jerk of a 
father ever again, but I finally had my mom all to 
myself.

I continued to sleep with her on a regular basis 
throughout my teenage years, and even into college. I'm 
twenty-seven years old now, and I have a wife and kids 
which take up most of my time. Mom is married too, to a 
nice guy her own age. She's forty-nine and still 
beautiful, and very Sunday I take her out to dinner, 
just her and me. And afterward we go to a hotel 
downtown, get a room, and relive those great and 
strange days when we were alone together. My mom, even 
now, is still the best mom in the world.

End

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 47