14 comments/ 228730 views/ 17 favorites Paper Walls By: Bob Clark Jr. I should have been taller. Dad was huge. He would fill a doorway. His hair used to brush the doorframe if he was wearing shoes. Mom is 6'2" in her socks. It is incredibly embarrassing to be 21 years old and be an inch shorter than your mother. I am, by most standards, tall, but not tall enough, if you get my meaning. I sat on my bed, waiting for the alarm to go off before I got up. I tightened my shoelaces, straightened my belt buckle, and checked my watch against the alarm clock. Finally, the alarm went off. I slapped the button to kill it and walked quietly out of my room. It was still early and I didn't want to wake mom if I didn't have to. She was still sleeping as I made my way through our tiny apartment. I work for a film-developing lab. I drive around to any store, shop, corner mart, retail outlet, drug store, or anywhere you can drop film and I pick it up. Some other poor bastard drives around and drops it off. It pays better than one would think, and it lets me stay out and about as part of my job. That's all nice, and that's what I tell folks if they ask what it is that I do for a living. The truth is that I am not qualified to do anything else. I am barely qualified to do that much. At the end of the day, I would rather be doing that than some crap job that involves paper hats and nametags with pictures of french-fries on them. However, it is harder than I though it would be. Those containers get heavy. The bigger stores usually fill two containers of film on any given day. Mondays are the worst. Four containers is pretty normal for the weekend load of pictures. I wish I was one of the lucky few who delivers the pictures. They drive a company truck, and they get a spiffy red hand-truck to carry the boxes of pictures. Me? I lug them out across parking lots, through crowded stores, and past the disapproving looks of old women who think I am a janitor. But, it pays. I spent another long day driving around the county, came home and wished I was someone else. Dad left a long time ago, and it has been mom and me ever since. I don't mind. We have it down to a kind of team thing. We had to do without for a long time, and we got to the point where things just seemed to work again. I let the self-pity sink in for a while and then I got up to fix dinner. During the week, I did dinner and she did the light house work. On the weekends, we switched. I drifted around in thought as I stood over a popping pan of ground beef. I barely heard her when she walked in. "Hey, you. How was your day?" She dropped her purse and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Pretty good," I said. She rolled her eyes and grinned. "That sounds like the same as yesterday." "Film pick-up is an exciting life. Few are cut out for the riggers of the job." She laughed and went into her room to change. By the time she came out, I had dinner on the table. We ate without too much to say. Both of us were so tired by that point, dinner conversation was usually nothing more than short sentences, and grunts of agreement. I cleared the table and we went into the small living room. This just isn't what I wanted, I thought. At 21, I wanted to be out doing something. Anything. Even if it was sitting around with friends wasting time, that was something. Instead, I was already past that and firmly entrenched in the real world. I sat with mom and watched some TV for a while. I was suddenly aware of how badly I needed to jack- off. My body was screaming for it. It had been a long time since I did. The walls in our building were as thin as could be. It was impossible to do anything without someone on the other side, or even several rooms away, hearing what was going on. We usually turned on the exhaust fan in the bathroom just for a sense of privacy. We had learned to adjust. Unfortunately, this meant that if I were masturbating, she would hear me. Or she would just know if I went in, shut my door, and then went to the bathroom to clean up. I couldn't handle that, so I just didn't. I didn't even have the relief of wet dreams. That would have been something, at least. Having no real money, and no time besides, I had nothing in the way of female companionship. I was working my film job, plus two part-time jobs just to make sure we made it through the bills. Mom's job took care of food, clothes and whatever else came up. I didn't have a life to speak of. I had television and I had mom. I had, to my shame and to my apparent lack of any real moral fiber, begun to use mom for sexual fantasies when I was in need. She was all I had. She was still perfectly attractive. She was fit, tall, busty, and blonde. All the sweet comfort of mature ease, and she was a sexual-thought magnet. I tried not to think of her like that. I tried to think of anything else. She's part of the reason I stopped masturbating. When I was a kid I could hear her using a vibrator to masturbate at night. I found it one day when I was looking for a pen. It was in her nightstand. I didn't know what it was at first, but when I saw that it was shaped like a dick and the switch on the bottom made the same noise I'd heard coming from mom's room nearly every night, I figured it out. It only took me ten minutes. I put it back and never mentioned it. She stopped using it when I was 16. At least, she stopped using the vibrator part. Either that or it just up and quit. I tried not to think about those things. I just made everything worse. I looked over to mom and sighted. She WAS really pretty. Why dad left like he did, I'll never know. She had very feminine features but they were strong and striking. Even under bargain makeup and an exhausting workday, she was pretty. I hated to leave. "Goodnight. I'm gonna read a bit then call it a night." "You have to work early?" Her voice was like honey. "About 6." "Which job is this?" She bit at her lower lip as she thought. Must leave. "The water delivery." "Oh, right. You work so hard, Paul." Her eyes killed me. "Just what has to be done. I'm not industrious by any means." "Right," she laughed. "Good night, Paul." Her breasts shook as she laughed. "Night." I walked to my room and tried not to shut the door too hard. I was keyed up. I needed some relief. We were just too open in an apartment. Neither one of us could do much without the other hearing. My dick was like a crowbar in my shorts. I kept seeing her in my head. I always pictured her in what she called her "Sunday best". This was her weekend outfit, usually consisting of a horribly worn pair of cut-off sweats, and a loose t-shirt. The standard pose for such maddeningly revealing clothing was a kind of sprawling/lounging action that put her limbs in all sorts of interesting positions. Her body had a sculpted, creamy golden craft to it. Her hair was a mild yellow and hung around her head and shoulders in soft, simple drifts. She was like the metropolitan cousin to the beach dwelling wild child. For me, she was the pink elephant. Try as you might, you can't stop thinking about her. I wanted to picture the hot teenager who worked at the Value-Stop where I picked-up film. She was a lanky, athletic looking brunette with delicate hands, who made eyes at me on occasion. I tried to picture her. I tried to picture a waitress from the local Denny's. She was a tiny, compact redhead with a tattoo of her baby's name that she gave up for adoption when she was 15. I tried to see her, in her flimsy white blouse and her tight pants that showed the perfect outline of her panties. I tried. The Mexican girl down the street who sounded 10 and looked 30. The woman from television who did ads for skin crème. There was a list a mile long of women I should have been picturing in my mind. The only one I could see was the one name on my list of "shouldn't". I manage. I keep my thoughts back. I push the pink elephant in a box and tell it to go to sleep for a while. I knew that if I were dating, that I wouldn't picture what my mother looks like as she stands in the shower. Nevertheless, in a way, I felt guilty about even the idea of it. She didn't date as I as growing up, so that I wouldn't see a parade of men come in and out of our lives. Now, she had no one but me. I couldn't leave her alone at night, too tired to start dating right then. We were a team. I knew her company was training her to take a better paying management position. With the better money, she wouldn't have to kill herself for so little. When she could take the time to go out and start her life again, I'd do the same. She had gone without for so long in deference to my well-being, I've always figured the least I could do was take a little time doing the same for her. One night, at the end of the week, I was feeling unusually...cranked. I felt ready to burst. Everything made me think of running off to my room to masturbate. I was walking around with a loaded weapon and I was filing down the hammer. Mom and I were sitting in the living room watching TV. At least, I was watching. She was stretched out on the couch reading a book. Everything I turned to was crap. I couldn't find one thing to take my mind off my hard-on. I went to the financial channel. Some genius at the network had decided to hire a young woman with deadly blue eyes. The news channels all had pretty women hosting talk shows. Commercials were filled with hot soccer moms, confident businesswomen in skirts and tight hair buns, radiant young girls selling body cleanser while wearing small towels, bikini girls selling me beer, and on and on. Music videos had hard bodied dancers slutting around on screen, sitcoms, dramas, documentaries about natives in the jungle, travel shows about the best beeches for spring break - television was trying to kill me. Mom just read her book and didn't seem to notice that I was about to explode. I left it on the most innocuous talk show I could find. That usually kept me entertained. That night, it just made me worse. "Why don't you just shut it off?" "What?" I had drifted off into a haze of frustration and had nearly forgotten the object of my true frustration. "I said, why don't you turn it off. You've been zipping through the channels for half an hour. Why don't you read, or we can just talk. We don't have many chances to just talk. If I'm not exhausted, you are." She shut her book and shifted to turn towards me. Her long, gorgeous legs twisted to a more comfortable position. "Okay, let's talk." I shut off the TV and turned on the stereo. As usual, it was the classical station. We sat and talked about her job. She couldn't wait until she was ready to take that managerial position. We talked about her co-workers. We talked about things that just plain got to her. When she asked me about how my various jobs were going, I gave short easy answers. I didn't think about work that often. I was a bit distracted as well. Her skirt had ridden up quite a ways and I could see a mile of smooth thigh. Each time she moved it made my underwear tighten a bit. When she laughed, her face became brilliant. She was radiant when she smiled. She had her hair pulled back in a loose tussle. As I pulled my mind back to what I was telling her, I realized that there really wasn't anything to talk about on my side. She looked at me oddly when I told her that there isn't anything more to tell. "Tell me about your friends. I haven't heard about them in so long." "I don't really see them anymore." "Why not? You were always out with them." She sounded almost confused. I think it was just hitting her that I don't have anything in the way of a life. "Well, I guess they went away after school and we lost touch. People grow apart. That's why they have to have reunions every ten years." "You mean, they all went off to college," she said. Her face had a mix of shame and sorrow. "They all went off to college and you're stuck here with me." "Whoa! I never said anything like that. I love you mom. I've never complained once about our life." "No sweetheart, and you wouldn't. I'm sure that whenever you do hate this, you come up with a perfectly good reason to stick around." She looked about ready to cry. "I'm so sorry things have turned out the way they have." "Mom, I want you to believe me when I say that I don't resent a single thing about staying with you." It was a lie. I wanted to be out on my own, but I'd told that lie to myself so often that I sounded perfectly believable telling her. "That's sweet of you. I'm sorry I couldn't afford to send you to college. You're too bright to muck around here." "So, when you get that job, and when things are comfortable enough, I'll take some tech classes at the community college. I'll have a useful education instead of some ridiculous Art History degree that won't pay me anything. It's fine, mom. Really." "But what about girls? I haven't seen you on a date in over a year. You do like girls, don't you?" She looked worried for a minute. "Of course. I know plenty of girls." This was true. I just couldn't do anything about it. "There's time for everything. But there are things that have to be done, first." "I'm sorry that you can't have fun like you should, but I am proud of how you've turned out." She smiled again. Her face went from sad to breathtaking in a snap. "I do wish you'd take some time and have some fun now and then. Call one of those girls you know and have a night out. God knows you deserve it. I've been out more than you, Paul. Who do you think you'd like to go out with?" She leaned forward, her breasts pressing threateningly at the fabric of her blouse. I paled, then blushed, and then paled again. "I just don't feel like it, mom. I can barely care enough to feed myself at night. Don't worry. Things will work out." I thought that did it. She sat back, and then sat forward again. She put her hand on my knee. A serious, concerned look crept over her stunning face. "Paul, you know about girls, right? I mean, we never had 'the talk'. Your father should have been here for that. I should have done it, but I always thought you knew that- " "Yeah, mom. I know. I know all about that." "Well," she laughed in relief. "I figured you did. You're 21 and all. It's just - " "Mom. I know. It's fine. I'm just tired at the end of the day. That's all. Don't worry." Her hand was still on my knee, and at the mention of "the talk", everything I knew about sex came flooding into my mind. I looked at her with her skirt now cinched up to her red panty covered crotch and her big round breasts pushing at - "It's late," I told her quickly. My brain was on fire. My body was ready to do something weird. I had to get out of there. "I don't know about you," I said, "but I'm wiped out. I think I just want to wash up and go to sleep." "I can understand that, at least." She smiled up at me as I stood up. My long T-shirt hid my creeping hard-on. "Not a very exciting Friday night." "Right now, it suits me just fine." I started to walk away, trying all the while not to run in an uncomfortable boner-waddle. Mom reached out and squeezed my arm affectionately. "Good night, Paul." "Night." I actually managed to make it to the bathroom without running. What was I going to do? I felt ready to explode. I ran the water hard. My hands filled with the icy liquid, splashing my face, trying to take some of the need away. I looked at the narrow shower stall. I couldn't get in. SHE was right out there. I'd get in the shower, I'd start fine and then I'd start to jack-off. I knew I would. I'd be in there, I'd be naked, and my dick would be just begging to have a little attention. I'd start jacking off. Mom would wonder what was taking me so long. After our talk, mom would be unnecessarily concerned about me. I would surely be halfway to relief when she would knock on the door and ask if everything was all right. I would try to ease her concern with a few non-committal answers about just relaxing. She'd ask more questions. My frustrations would eventually creep into my voice, she'd figure out what I was doing and I'd have to kill myself from the embarrassment. I stood there in front of the sink and let this all play out in my head. Despite my need, I wasn't in the mood to even try it at that point. I wiped my face, shut off the water, took a piss, cleaned my hands, and ran to my room at the end of the hall like a frightened child. I was in bed, lights off, trying to sleep. I stared at the green numbers on my alarm clock until my eyes hurt. Sleep wouldn't come. I kept thinking about her. I couldn't stop. She was the unfortunate target of all my lustful needs. From her, I started thinking about sex in general. It had been so damned long since I'd had any. Women don't understand the need we have for them. They think it just animal lust. But it's so much worse than that. We don't need the emotional connection they need, but for us, the sense of touch - the feel of a woman's skin on ours, or the taste of their lips on ours - it keeps us going. We inhale the very nature of women. I remember the first boner I ever had that was directly sexually related. It had noting to do with a picture or a story. It was when a girl I liked looked me right in the eyes and smiled. She smiled just for me. Boom. Instant hard-on. That was what it was like all night. Random memories and fantasies refused to let my cock go down. I was lying on my side, trying not to grab hold and jerk myself off. I could hear mom turning pages in her book, so I knew she would definitely hear me. I couldn't bear the thought. I heard her get out of her couch and turn off the lights. The walls were teasing me. They were letting me hear this. Normally I would have a radio playing softly to blend the background noise out of my head. It was a trick everyone in the building knew. Unfortunately, my radio wasn't working. The dial just spun around and all I could hear was a cranky humming noise if I tried to use it. Therefore, I was left to be taunted by the walls. I saw the lights go out through the fraction of an inch of a gap between the door and the doorway. I heard her pad softly down the hall and into her room. Her room was right next to mine, so the taunting continued with, if anything, greater clarity than before. If only, I thought to myself, the walls were all like the walls between apartments. At least there, the sounds were muffled. But they weren't. They were thin. Paper thin. I heard mom flip the top to her hamper. I had become quite familiar with this routine. She stepped hard as she pulled first one leg and then the other out of her skirt. My ears strain to hear the faint rustle of a blouse and then more movement as she strips completely. She opens her door and stops. For the longest time I could not fathom why she waited so long to walk down the hall. And when she did finally go down the hall, she kept the lights off. It was the only time she did that. She turned lights on to do anything. But not that. I couldn't figure it out. Then I did. She was undressing first and walking naked to the bathroom for her shower. She was waiting to see if I was yet asleep. She didn't like to carry her clothes back after, nor did she care to drop them on the floor. We tried a small hamper once, but it was just too small a room for that. Therefore, mom's solution was to walk naked down the hall to the bathroom. Maybe she got a thrill out of it. Maybe I was making more of it than I needed to. Maybe I had peeked through the tiny gap between the door and the frame once night. And maybe I had seen the shadowed silhouette of mom walking naked into the bathroom. I hadn't seen more than the outline of her body, but the knowledge that she was walking ten feet down a hallway that we shared, and that she did this every night - well that was more than I could take. Paper Walls So, laying there, already in great torment, I listened to her move down the hall and then shut the door to the bathroom. It was the same every night. The water would come on next, leaving me to contemplate whether I should try to masturbate while she was in the shower. Then I remind myself that she takes incredibly short showers. In. Scrub. Out. Not even enough time to really get going. So, I listen. I hear the water stop, I hear movement coming from the bathroom and I hear the door shut. She comes closer and closer to my door and then I hear the click and catch of her door. Small rustling noises, and then I hear the soft yield of her mattress as she climbs under the covers. Then, finally I'm able to close my eyes. I tried to ignore the pink elephant and go to sleep. Pink Elephant had other ideas. She had forgotten to use the toilet. This, too, was not unusual. Again, the door, and then a pause to make sure I was asleep. This meant that she sleeps naked. I knew this, from previous sweaty-bed detective work. However, such is the nature of my torment that each time I must remind myself. Finally, she moved. All I could picture was the exquisite form of her tall, shapely backside. I could see in my head what her amazing heart shaped ass looked like as it popped back and forth while she strode confident in her supposed privacy. When she returned, I could see her big, full breasts bobbing as she walked. Her stomach, tight from years of good care, and the trim, firm legs moving as she stepped. Pink Elephant had fully destroyed my mind. It was rogue and it was going to trample what was left of me, and leave me for the vultures. I knew this. I did. I lay there, crushing my eyes tight, trying like hell to stop. Long after I heard her truly go to sleep, I was still lying there, wide-awake. God, I thought. I have to fuck something. Jacking off won't do it. I have to fuck something. I needed to feel that pressure and that wet warmth. I needed to feel the unique sensation of flesh against my body. I needed the smell and the sweat and the many fluids. I needed, with every ounce of my being to fuck my mother. I needed to put my cock so far up her cunt she'd smell it on her breath. I needed to fuck my mom until I didn't care anymore. That's all. I woke up early the next morning. It was the first Saturday that I didn't have to work at all that I had managed to get in over two months. Mom was gone already. She had her classes on Saturdays. Three classes starting at seven in the morning. She was gone until 3pm, easy. I looked at the clock. It was only 8am. I had awoken to the lovely sounds of Norwegian black metal. This is a kind of speed metal cranked up about 90% and consisting of a man gutturally screaming while every member of the band beats their instruments to death as fast as they can. My neighbors are big fans of the "scene". I sat up. I was naked, as I had begun to sleep that way when I had a devastatingly hard erection. "Mom?" I yelled. No answer. She was gone. I stood up and plodded naked to the kitchen. I was alone, for at least the next eight hours. It was a first. I grabbed a beer, drank it down, and grabbed another. I stopped in the bathroom to piss. I stood in front of the mirror for a moment. I was in great shape. I had a trim, hard, thickly muscled body. Not much in the way of definition, but there was a lot of muscle under that pale skin. My arms and face were tanned from driving all day into the sun. My dick was long and thick. It stuck straight up and I cursed its power over my mind. I turned to piss, nearly breaking my cock as I aimed it down to the bowl. Finally, it went down and I could walk normal. For the first time in a day, I had no hard-on. I took the next beer from the sink edge and went into the living room. I didn'tfeel like getting dressed. I was alone and enjoying it. I sat down to catch some cartoons. I found none. It was one stupid teen show after another. Where the hell were the superheroes? Where were the dragon fighters? Where was Mr. T? Where were the reasons for little kids to bother getting up on a Saturday when they didn't have to? Finally, to my abundant and child-like glee, I found the crown jewel of all Saturday programming. Hidden away on a small local station, I found THUNDAR THE BARBARIAN. I was beside myself with nostalgic joy. I watched this, slumped down on the couch, my knees resting against the edge of the coffee table. The beer was helping to make me sleepy. I also realized that my situation was truly getting desperate. The chick from Thundar - the one in the blue suit - was giving me another raging hard-on. I was cursed. However, I was also alone. I could finally relieve myself. I closed my eyes, smiling at my opportunity and promptly slipped off to sleep. I woke up, blinking in the bright sun. The clock over the dead TV read 12:05. Perfect. I still had plenty of time. I looked down and saw that my cock was still hard. It had to be a record, I thought to myself. It lay long and flat against my belly. I snorted a laugh at the monstrous nature of my dick's ambition. I turned my head to work out a kink in my neck and nearly screamed. On the counter that separated the kitchen from the small dining area, sat my mother's purse. She only had one. It wasn't there that morning. I sat forward, hand on my head, elbows on my knees and tried to think. The TV. Oh, sweet Lord, the TV. It was on when I fell asleep. The beer. THE BEER. It was in my hand, and as I sat there feeling the floor drop away from me and the walls became distant specks in my mind, I pictured mom seeing me, raging, asleep, and bending over me to take the beer from my hand and setting it on the table. She was right there. Oh, Lord. I wanted to die. Why did she come home? She never came home! Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen. I heard her bedroom door open. I grabbed the red and black afghan from the chair and wrapped it around my waist. I had just closed it around me when she came out of the hall. "Hi, sweetie," she said. She smiled and walked into the kitchen as thought nothing had happened. She looked me right in the eyes and never blushed, or even acted oddly. I just stood there. My mouth was surely open, and my eyes were undoubtedly the size of half-dollars. I couldn't think where to begin. So I started with a little of everything. "Mom - I don't know why - I never do that when - I'm sorry I - I - I - " She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. She smiled and waved it off with a flick of her slender wrist. "Sweetie, don't get all worked up over it. I know you're probably embarrassed, but I don't want you to worry about it. Look. You're an adult and I'm and adult. I understand, Paul. Really. Relax. Breathe." She smiled and kissed me on the cheek as she went back to the kitchen. "Would you like some lunch?" she asked me. I just nodded. I walked to my room, clutching the blanket around my waist. She was just being nice. That was all I could think. There was no talking myself out of the situation. I was furious with myself. If I had just put on a pair of shorts - fine. But I had to play Mr. Natural and do what I did. I pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. I sat down on the bed and just put my head in my hands and sat there until I could bear to face her. I heard her putting plates on the counter. I figured that I might as well get it over with. I ran my hands through my hair and walked out. I came into the kitchen and she was putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches she was making. "You think I'm awful, don't you." I blurted out. I was immediately sorry I said it. I didn't want to think about it, let alone bring it up, but I did. Mom just looked at me over the sandwiches. She sighed and pulled a stool around to sit on the kitchen side of the counter. I pulled up a stool and she slid a plate over to me. She looked at me a moment and then finally said something. "Paul, I want you to put this out of your mind. I know that you don't have any female companionship." The phrase "female companionship" sounded as if she'd been going over this in her head. "I know it must be difficult for you. You should be out there, having fun. I know, I know. You told me that it didn't matter to you. You're a wonderful son, a fine man, and a very transparent liar." She smiled, making it all a little better. "As for this place, I know it isn't that great as far as privacy. But, you've said it yourself a thousand times, this is where we live, and you're right." We finished our sandwiches and she cleared the plates. "Now, I want to clear something up, Paul. I want you to listen very carefully." She walked into the living room as we talked. We sat down as she chose her words. "I am you're mother and you are my son. I watched you grow up, and I tried my best to bring you up right. We've had a wonderful relationship so far. I never want that to change." I nodded my agreement, but was uncertain where it was going. "I think you're old enough that maybe we can be friends when we need to be. Sometimes that's important as well. When - IF you're having...problems, then I want you to feel free to take care of them. "I don't understand." I really didn't. I suppose my brain was blocking out my reference to the thing that had so hampered me over the last few months. It just didn't register as a possibility. "I mean, if a situation should present itself - a situation such as this morning - if you should need to ...relieve a situation, I want you to feel free to do so. I don't want to be the reason for so much obvious discomfort. I especially don't want to be the reason you can't feel free to do what you have to do after everything you've done for our small family. It's because of you that we've made it. You understand?" I wanted to die. Right there, right then. I couldn't feel my feet. Odd thing to go numb, but it always happened when I was extremely embarrassed. I could feel myself shutting down. I don't know how long I sat there with the same blank look on my face. She patted my knee and went off to straighten the kitchen. We didn't talk about it the rest of the night. A week later, mom and I were watching TV. It was another exciting Friday night. Dinner was done and we were both doing our usual. She was reading, I was trying to find a good talking heads show on cable. My week had been particularly full and I was only home long enough to eat and sleep. Despite my mom's little talk about fixing certain situations, I hadn't been able to do it while she was there. I just couldn't. We all build certain walls of behavior and that was one of mine. No jacking while mom can either hear me, see me, or knows for a fact that I'm doing it. My mad dashes through the cable line up had landed on one of those idiot channels that show bikini movies on the weekend. It was nothing all that risqué, but it was all I needed. After a gaggle of thong wearing asses ran by on the screen, I was at full staff. I tried to make it go away. Mom was reading, so she didn't notice. My hand tried unsuccessfully to push it down. Even though I know that will only make it worse, I tried. It made it worse. I exhaled loudly in frustration. I looked over to mom to see if she'd noticed. She was locked in to her book. She was wearing her short t-shirt and a pair of shorts that gapped around the cuffs. I saw skin and straps that drove me over the edge. I got up and waddled/walked to the bathroom. I was on a mission. My balls felt like sand bags in my shorts. I shut the door, flipped on the light, and dropped my pants. My cock popped up and slapped me in the belly. I grabbed mom's hand lotion, squeezed a bit into my hand and started to jack back and forth like a baboon on speed. It felt like I was in another world. Pure pleasure. Then, as I was furiously attacking my cock, I stopped. I just couldn't stay into it. She was right out there. She was listening. She wanted to make sure I could do it. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I looked in the mirror. There I stood, half naked, pants and shorts down around my knees, and my big stupid cock just sticking up covered in hand crème. The only good thing was the depressing nature of it all made my dick go down some. Some. I took a towel and cleaned myself up. I stuffed the Captain back in my pants and left the bathroom. I went to the kitchen. I grabbed two beers. The first was gone before I made it to the hallway. The second was more than half empty by the time I'd slumped back into the couch in defeat. I stared past the TV at the wall. I did this for about five minutes before she said something. "You're going to have to get over this whole thing, or else you'll snap." She held her book in her hand and fixed her reading glasses on her perfect nose. "What?" "I know what you just tried to do, Paul." "I -" "And I know you didn't make anything better," she said, pointing to the big bulge in my pants. I lamely tried to cover it with my hand. "Are you embarrassed, son, or do you just not know how to do it?" Oh, God, I thought. She's serious. She really thinks I can't masturbate. I just wondered, Why can't I die? "I'm just...I can't...I'm embarrassed because you know what I'm doing. I can't do it with you here." "I'd leave, Paul, but I can't go running off every time you get a boner." "Oh, God, I didn't mean for you to do that! I wouldn't even - Oh, just let me die. Please?" "Paul, you don't need to be anymore embarrassed about that than about using the toilet." "That's different. It just is." "And I always thought it was the same parts." She smiled and I laughed, burning a little nervous energy. "I'm fine mom," I said, suddenly feeling wiped out. "Don't worry about it." "Well, I do worry about it. I'm your mother and I will always worry. I hate that you're feeling this way. I want to help." "Last Saturday, when you came home early. Did - did you see me?" "Tough to miss, sweetheart." I mumbled something about asking Satan to take me right then. "Don't be ashamed, Paul. It's your body. You should be proud of it. It's beautiful." She sounded concerned. "I think the problem is," she continued, " that we've created a few barriers over the years. I swore that when I had kids I'd never do what my parents did to me. I guess it's pretty normal to do, really. Well, it stops now." She stood up. She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her magnificent, large, bra covered breasts. She reached around, unhooked her bra, and suddenly I was staring at the two most perfect, most alluring, and most forbidden tits I'd ever seen. I was stunned. My mouth didn't know how to make words. Then she bent over, slid her shorts and panties down at the same time, and flicked them away with her foot. She stood there, arms slightly raised and pointing straight out from her sides with palms raised. Ta-fucking-da. "Oh, god." I was babbling. I started to leave. I averted my eyes as if she was making them bleed. She sat down, repeating my name over and over to get my attention. "Look, Paul. Look. It's nothing bad. It's just a body. Yes, it's designed to attract sexual attention, but that's just part of it. It's just my skin. You always knew I had breasts. You always knew I had a body under my clothes. The same skin that covers my face and arms covers my breasts. Calm down and look. I want you to understand that there's nothing wrong with the body, or with sex. If you need to look until you get it, then look." I start to get up again. "No, Paul. Stay. Stay here until you get this. I didn't know you had such a problem with this. We're family. You came out of my body. Calm down and look." I was freaking out. I couldn't think where to look. The safe place would have been her face, but I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes. She was almost angry about how I was reacting. "Okay, look." She reached down and pulled her plump pussy lips apart. Warm, pink flesh gaped at me from between her painted fingernails. "It's just a part of my body, Paul. There are over three billion of them on the planet. What do you call it? Pussy, cunt, cooter, coochie? I've heard them all. Life didn't start with you, young man, and you should remember that the next time you think this is all so shocking. "You've got a dick. I've got tits. You've got balls, I've got a pussy. Do you get it yet? The body is beautiful, exciting and erotic, but it's also nothing special." She sat down, crossed her arms over her perfect, massive tits, and waited. Like a religious epiphany, it all happened. Suddenly, I saw the gorgeous woman in front of me, but then, for the first time in a long while, I just saw mom. More skin and body parts - but the same skin. It was like a door opening after sticking for years. Fresh air replacing stale, musty air. "Okay," I said. Two weeks later, Things were a little different. Mom didn't wait until I was asleep to walk naked to and from the bathroom. She strode down the hall as though she was the only one there. She came out in the morning, clad only in panties and nylons while she grabbed more coffee. I was feeling more comfortable as well. She knocked on the door when I was in the shower. She was running late and had to use the bathroom. I said for her to come in. It was odd at first. I couldn't hear her over the water as she sat down and pissed in the bowl. But she could see me through the cheap shower curtain. She finished, told me to flush it when I was out and said she'd see me later. This was, for me, a gigantic step. After the first week, she was spending more and more time completely naked. She sat comfortably on the couch; book in hand, glasses on her face, and nothing on. No underwear, and not even a sock. I still stole the occasion glance, but I was getting used to it. I didn't stare any more than if she'd had a tight shirt and shorts. And if I did happen to look for more than a second, she didn't say anything. She knew she was pretty, and it was just looking. Saturday night, two weeks after the incident of her early arrival, we were watching television. I had a magazine and she had a book. Occasionally, we would glance up to see what was going on, but mostly, we listened. Mom was naked, as was her new usual. Maybe it had been lurking under the surface, but she took to our new "clothing optional" apartment like a fish to water. More surprisingly, I had begun to venture into her crazy world of nudity. It had taken some time, but I finally did it. I was sitting on the couch, reading, listening, occasionally glancing at the tube and all the while, wearing nothing. Naked as could be. The more embarrassing aspect for me was the obvious display of my sexual frustration. I was at least half-hard all the time. That, I could deal with. At least then, it hung down and stayed there. When I would pop full wood, it sat right up and was impossible to conceal. Finally, I was sitting there, fully nude and watching TV with my hot, naked mom, and I was fine. In a strange way, it helped me. Being a little more free with our bodies, it wasn't eating at me all the time. Before, just the act of concealing my arousal was enough to make me obsess on sex for hours at a time. So, this had helped. Sort of. We were watching a TV edit version of OUT OF SIGHT. This has, to my consternation, one of the most vague, non-linear, and amazingly sexy love scenes I've ever watched. This means that although it was network, they didn't have to cut anything. In seconds, I was hard as a son of a bitch. There was no hiding it. It was flat on my belly and that was that. I put everything I had into that one act of self-pleasure. Mom sat not three feet from me in her chair. My hand grasped my dick and I pulled it down to begin lightly fondling it. A squeeze at the base and then a slow stroke to the nearly purple head as my thumb flicked over it. Paper Walls Mom, seeing that I was finally going to do it, sat very still. Her book lowered a bit and her eyes were locked on what I was doing. She'd told me to do it over and over. She said if I wanted to pull it out and do it right in front of her, then I should do it. She wanted me to feel comfortable doing anything in front of her. She as much as told me to start whacking off while she waited. I never did. Now was the time. I just couldn't take anymore. I felt like my body would implode from the pressure. I moved up and down the shaft. The familiar feeling of release was just around the corner. I watched the scene play out and never thought about anything else. Then I saw mom reflected in the television. She was watching me like I was green and had horns. My dick started to soften. My hand slowed down and eventually I stopped altogether. My God, I thought. I was just masturbating in front of my mother. Oh, God. I was horrible. And to top it off, I hadn't cum. "Don't stop." I looked over and she was leaning forward, her heavy tits falling forward while her crotch was hidden in the smooth crease of her thighs. "I can't." "Just do it, Paul. Just get it over with, and it won't be a big deal. You started, so you can finish. Forget about me. It doesn't embarrass me, or make me uncomfortable watching you." I didn't move. She exhaled in loud frustration. "This has gone on long enough. Here." She clicked the TV to the pay-per-view line-up. She moved the cursor down the list and punched the enter button. She punched the access code in, and in a second, I was watching a woman give a man a sloppy blowjob. Full on the screen, with spit, glistening skin, and bouncing tits. "Just let go, Paul." The couple on screen moved to a doggie style fucking position. He was pounding in and out of her tight ass as she grabbed the sheets and ground back against him. I spit in my hand and stroked slowly. My eyes flicked to mom. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, her eyes locked on my cock, her face was meanwhile, surprisingly passive. I kept going. This was more than I'd been able to do in a month. I didn't last long. I felt the warming sensation and then I was ready. The last wall just fell away. "Oh, God, I'm ready. Where do I -?" "Just do it." Her voice was soft and calm. I did it. I came in a burst of thick, white cum that shot up in an arc, over the table, and onto the TV screen. It was one giant spurt after another as I kept stroking up and down. My eyes rolled back and I felt it come from my toes and chest. Over four weeks of built up need and desire came shooting out of my cock. More cum than I'd ever seen in any movie. Mover cum than I knew was possible. The last bits ran down my still hard cock as I lay back, almost passed out from the experience. "Good lord, Paul. I've never...I just don't believe..." My dick was still hard. I couldn't wait anymore. That was just the tip of the iceberg. I needed to have more. Mom was in shock. I turned my head to her. "Let me fuck you." "No." She didn't even hesitate. "Please. I have to. I have to fuck something. You don't understand. I have to fuck something. I don't want to be your husband. I don't want to be your lover. I don't even have to kiss you. Please, mom, let me fuck you?" I couldn't help it. I had to. Mom stood up and pulled me to my feet. She was so beautiful. Her body was so smooth and firm. Her tits pressed against me as she kissed my forehead. My dick pressed into her belly. She turned and walked toward her bedroom. I followed her. My eyes were glued to her ass. I wanted to throw her to the ground and just pound away at her. This wasn't going to be soft, I told myself. She climbed on the bed, and I stood in the doorway for a moment. I waited. I wanted to be sure. She smiled at me as she laid back. Her knees were pulled up and her heels touched her ass. I had seen her naked for two weeks. But it looked different this time. Her pussy was trimmed and bare except for a neat triangle of hair at the top of her slit. My cock was so hard it hurt. I walked over to her and moved between her legs. I was going to slide a finger in her to get her ready. She stopped me. "Just do it, baby." Her voice was soft. Her eyes were firm and intense. I positioned my cock at her lips. She was soaking. My big cock slid in up to the hilt in one move. She had her hands around the back of my neck. I looked in her eyes again. She needed it almost as much as I did. We were moving together easily. Her cunt was hot and gripped my cock like a fist. What started out slow and soft was soon replace by my animalistic need to fuck her hard. She just held me tighter. I went at her as hard as I could. The bed slammed into the wall over and over. The neighbors had turned off their stereo, no doubt in order to hear mom being fucked. She started making loud noises of effort and pleasure. I lifted her up and turned her over. Her huge tits pressed into the mattress. Her smooth, round, perfect ass was high in the air as I drove into her, forcing her to push back against the wall so she didn't slam into it. She started screaming as her cunt spasmed and tightened around my cock. She came loud and hard and then came again and again. Mom has the wonderful ability to cum repeatedly if she's hot enough. I looked down and saw bite marks on her shoulder. I didn't remember doing it. They were still wet with saliva and red around the impressions. She was bucking back against my efforts and looked over her shoulder at me. She was smiling and laughing as we fucked. I slammed hard into her, knocking the air from her as she was crushed under my body. My cock erupted. I could feel the force of the expulsion. She rolled her eyes back and moaned as I poured as much cum into her as I had dropped in the living room. It came out around my cock, running out of her cunt, and dripping down her thighs. We collapsed and slept for a while. I woke and left her there to sleep. I felt like I'd been cured. My mind was clear. Mom was still mom, and I was her son. We didn't act like lovers. I never kissed her, and when I said I loved her, or when she said she loved me, it was never more than a mother and son. Sometimes we fucked. But it was just fucking. It was amazing fucking, but it was just fucking. We still spent time naked. Mom hardly ever had clothes on. We both masturbated quite a bit. I'm much happier and so is she. All I had to do was fuck her. Simple. AUTHOR'S NOTE: As always, thanks for taking the time to read this. I would ask you to read some of my other stories if you have the time. Voting is appreciated and any feedback you have is encouraged. Again, my thanks for your time.