



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.    
