0 comments/ 179968 views/ 14 favorites After The Obsequies By: Starlight It was the day of my father's funeral. The reasons for his death seemed to have been connected with heavy smoking, heavy drinking, and if my mother was to be believed, heavy sexing, mainly with her, but not exclusively so. My father was a believer in sharing his talents. When the funeral cortege set out from the town, the weather hadn't seemed too bad. By the time we got to the cemetery, which is on a bleak hillside about three kilometres out of the town, the wind had blown up to a howling gale driving sheets of rain before it. The parson was temporarily sheltered by the undertaker's umbrella, but as this blew inside out, he had to bear the soaking along with the rest of us. My brother, standing next to me, muttered in my ear, "Just the sort of weather to conclude dad's life. He went through it like a storm, and is leaving it in one." I grunted agreement, but said nothing. Looking across the grave at my three sisters standing there with their moronic husbands – they'd have to be moronic to marry my sisters – I saw what might have been crocodile tears, but most probably it was the rain. I could almost feel their tiny brains working out how much longer mum would last before she fell off the twig so they could divide the spoils. Mum was standing next to my brother. He's the oldest and so I suppose, head of the family now, whatever that means. I'm the youngest of the family. Looking at mum, a fairly lusty lady – "Beautifully abundant" I think its called – at fifty years of age I reckoned she was good for another twenty-five years at least. She'd married dad and had my brother when she was only eighteen. She said she got pregnant to dad after a boozy night at the local football club, but rumour has it that she could have got it from anyone of half a dozen blokes that night. In her day, so I'm told, she was the best looking girl in town. "Could have had her pick of the blokes," they said. She's still a pretty good-looking bird given her age and if you like them buxom. Me, I'm a bit like dad, I'm not all that fussy as long as they open their legs for me and haven't been eating garlic. I'd come in from the gas fields up north where I worked as a fitter, to attend the funeral. Hardly any females up there, so it's hard to get a screw. "Might have a look around town for a bit of talent while I'm here," I thought. We get big money up at the fields, and the crumpet usually goes for that. The parson stopped mumbling and they lowered the coffin – or if you're posh, "casket" – into the grave that was rapidly filling with water. A few more mumbles from the parson and we were on our way out of the rain and into the cars. We all headed back to the old place and the keg of beer we'd clubbed together to buy. The blokes sat around the keg in sopping clothes, drinking beer and discussing footy, while the women drank some muck out of bottles and cried, or pretended to. A couple of neighbours had come in to get the food ready while we were getting gale lashed, so we got stuck in. After a couple of hours we had stuffed and drunk our selves stupid, and a couple of the blokes got arguing over their footy teams and went outside to settle the matter in the street. That broke the party up, not because of the fight as such, but because a nosy bastard across the street had called the police. One of the arguers spent the night in hospital and the other in jail. Out of all mums' kids, I'm the only unmarried one, so I'm the one who had to stay with mum. Not that I had anywhere else to go, this being the old family home. So, they all cleared off, including the parson who was pissed out of his mind. Don't blame the poor bugger, having to put up with some of those mealy mouthed bastards who attend his church, it'd drive Saint Francis to drink. I'm alone with mum. She's not much used to booze but had got stuck into on this occasion. So she was staggering around trying to clear up some of the ruins of food and bottles we'd been left with, and I'm turning my head this way and that to try and stop seeing double. I took a look at one of the bottles that the women had been drinking out of, and I was just able to see though the alcohol haze it was about three times more potent than the beer we'd been drinking. No wonder mum was weaving around as if she couldn't see what she was doing. Making a mighty effort to talk straight, I put my arm round mum and said, "Leave it mum, we can fix it in the morning. You get to bed." She looked at me with bleary soulful eyes. "Yer right, Gav (Gavin), I can hardly shtand up." I managed to guide her to her bedroom, but at the door, and with amazing firmness given her condition, she stopped and said, "Gotta clean me teesh. Must clean me teesh." She staggered to the other side of the hallway and entered the bathroom. I decided to leave her to it, and went into the lounge and had a last cigarette. When I finished I decided on a shower, then bed. I showered and felt a trifle more coherent, but not much. When I finished, I cleaned my teesh (sorry) teeth, and wrapped a towel round my middle. Gawd knows why since there was no one to observe my manly assets, and even if there were someone, they would probably be too pissed to notice. I made my way toward my old bedroom but on the way, I noticed mum's bedroom door was open, so I thought I'd pop in and see if she was ok. It was a daunting sight that met my eyes. Mum was standing starkers with her clothes dropped all round her, bawling her eyes out. I wasn't sure how to handle the situation. I didn't want to leave mum standing there weeping. But mum, despite the nightly fucking she used to get from dad, and which could be heard all over the house, had always been modest where us kids were concerned, so I'd never seen her in her underclothes, let alone naked like now. Mum didn't seem to have noticed me, so I stood there looking at her. She was an interesting sight, because despite the battering she had taken giving birth to five kids, and the fact that dad never lifted a finger around the house, she wasn't in bad nick. As I said before, she's a buxom lady with plenty of hip and heavy thighs. Her breasts, which in their glory days must have been a remarkable sight (no wonder dad and the other blokes wanted her), were still large. But they now swung pendulously, the nipples big and brown, and from the distance I was standing from her, seemed to have little knobs or pimples over them. I'd seen them like that before on some of the older birds I'd fucked. "She fed five kids with those, so I suppose they've had a bit of a battering, " I thought. I decided that retreat was my best option after all, so I was just turning to go when mum spotted me. She seemed completely unperturbed that she was naked in front of me, perhaps she didn't even realise she was naked, and she just stood there wailing. "Gav, love, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?" I wasn't sure to what she referred, so a took a punt and said, "The money'll be okay mum. You know dad left you comfortable." "I know Gav. Ish not that, love. Ish the other." "The other?" "You know, Gav,…the…other…" Light dawned. Had mum been sober she would never have spoken of sex even in general, let alone refer to her couplings with my father. "D'yer know, Gav, the bugger ushed ter shcrew me every night, even up to a couple of weesh before he shnuffed it?" I almost admitted to knowing about their copulating habits, but decided to try to circumvent the revelations and said, "Come on mum, let me help you put your nightdress on and get you into bed." "Never wore a nightie after me honeymoon. Bugger jush tore 'em off, sho wash washte of money." "All right, but what about getting you to bed?" I moved towards her and she sort of swayed towards me. I grabbed her and found myself with an armful of mum. She seemed to tuck herself against me and spoke in a drunken but purring sort of voice. "Yer look like yer dad, Gav. Shpittin image you are. Come on, give yer old mum a cuddle." I had little option but to "give my old mum a cuddle." I'm a strong sort of bloke, but like I've indicated, mum's a hefty lady. So, there I was trying to hold her up while she's starting to sort of crawl over me. "Betcha good with the girlsh, Gav, eh? Got a big one like yer dad?" She tried to whisper this in what I suppose she thought was a seductive voice, but it sounded like someone being strangled. Now, I must ask you to forgive me, folks, but I feel I need to make a few explanations, or perhaps they are confessions, before I go on with the action. I work at the gas field for two weeks straight, then I get a full week off. I admit that I'd neglected mum because I never came home on those weeks off. I went to the city. It wasn't really mum I was avoiding, but the old man. We never got on, always arguing. When I got my week off, as you can imagine, I was really horny. I went looking for crumpet, but its not as easy as you think to get anything, unless you go to the whores, which I don't like unless I'm really desperate. Now here comes the confession. If someone like mum was on offer when I had my week off, I'd screw the backside off her. I prefer the older woman anyway, they put a lot more into it, and they have a lot more to put in. So there you are. And there I was, with my arms full of mum, and her pulling up against me, pressing her breasts and belly to me. Now, even though she is my mum, I started to get a stiff one, and still being a bit sloshed, the old morality wasn't working so well. Mum felt my stiff pushing against her through the towel, and in her inebriated condition, she let nature have its head, and I felt her hand reach down and start to feel along my shaft through the towel. "Gawd boy, got a beauty there. Reckon ish bigger than yer dad'sh. Get yer mum inter bed, then." I struggled her over to the bed and she plonked down on it in a sitting position. I stood before her for a moment, recovering from the battle, and she reached up and ripped the towel off me. "Thash what the bugger did to me nightiesh." She gave a cackling laugh. "Now I got you ripped off, ain't I?" "Yes mum. Now I really must go to bed." "Courshe yer going ter bed. Yer goin ter bed, with yer mum. Wouldn't leave yer old mum in her bere…buriv…her mishery, would yer!" She had moved back on the bed a little, spreading legs to reveal a thoroughly wet cleft, and was tugging me over her. "Come on, Gav. Good for ush. Yer not a man till yer'v had yer mum." Mother or not, she'd got me really going. I had a throbbing cock that wasn't going to rest until it had found a home, and there was one right in front of me. I got between her legs and shoved towards her slit. I felt it enter a warm, wet world. If I thought about it at all, I suppose I would have expected her to be sloppy inside, but she was as tight as a drum round me. Mum gave a long sigh and muttered, "Thash it Gav. Jush were yer belong, love." I would like to give you a detailed, blow by blow account of this coupling, but I fear I cannot. I know I shot a fortnight's frustration into mum, but whether she had an orgasm or not I really don't know. When I finished I must have just rolled off her and went straight to sleep. I assume much the same happened to mum. I came to in the morning with mum facing me and her arm across me. She was still asleep, and I had a splitting headache. My mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage, and I decided that some aspirin and a glass of water was the thing. I made a move to get mum's arm off me, but in doing so, I woke her up. She gave an agonised moan as she came to, and looked at me through slitted eyes. "My God, Gav, I feel terrible." "Me too, mum. I'm just going to get some aspirin. I'll bring you some." Suddenly mum seemed wide-awake. Her eyes opened wide and she sat up staring at me. "Here, what the hell are you doing in my bed?" I felt a cold knife shoot through my guts. "Here's trouble," I thought. "Well, you sort of invited me in, mum, don't you remember?" Her face seemed to contort in an effort to recall the doings of the previous night, then she burst out; "Don't give me that young Gavin" – sure sign she was angry with me when she called me "Gavin" – "As if I'd let my own son get into bed with me." "But you did mum." "Gavin, you haven't been mucking about with me, have you?" "Well…" I felt rather than saw her hand go down between her legs. "My God, you have! You've defiled your own mother! You dirty beast! I've a good mind to call the police." Mum had done three years at high school, so she knew how to use words like "defile," accept, of course, when she was sloshed. I tried to explain what had happened, but mum was in no mood to listen. She yelled and shrieked abuse at me, and ended up telling me to get out and not show my face in the house again. Mum can be very formidable when she's riled, so I packed and left. I spent the rest of my time off in the city, but was so dejected I didn't even go crumpet hunting. I was glad to get back to the gas field and work. About the middle of the second week of my work period, I got a letter. I recognised the writing as mum's, and not wanting to cop any more wrath I almost didn't open it, but then thought I might as well take the rest of her abuse. She was fairly much to the point, as always, but not to the point I expected. It read: Dear Gav, Sorry about the way I bawled you out the other day. I had a terrible hangover. I realised what happened that night, and as we were both drunk, especially me, I understand how it happened. I don't think now it was really so bad, and I want to say I still love you, so please come home for your next week off and we can talk. As Always Your Ever Loving Mum. The letter seemed reassuring and I ruminated on whether I should go home or not. A worm of doubt still worked away in my brain. Mum had written, "we can talk." What sort of talk was it going to be? When I was little and mum was pulling a splinter out of me, she used to say, "Now be a brave little soldier." I decided to be a brave soldier, and go home to face the music, whatever it was. My week off began and I set out in the car for the long drive home. My stomach felt as if it had a thrashing machine churning inside it. Arriving home things started well. Mum had the front door open as soon as I pulled into the driveway. She came and putting her arms round me, said, "Give your mum a kiss, then." Now I had avoided kissing mum ever since I was about twelve. It was not that I didn't like kissing her, but I thought it seemed a sissy thing to do. I went to give her a peck on the cheek, but she pulled my face round and gave me a soft wet one on the lips, right out there on the driveway where the neighbours could have seen us. Mum has very nice full lips, and they should not kiss anyone unless there's going to be something at the end of it, if you know what I mean. This public kiss lingered and her lips moved over mine in a suggestive sort of way. She broke from the kiss and said, "Come in love, I've got some dinner cooking for us." We went into the kitchen where most of our family living had been done over the years. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that the "talk" was not due to take place yet. Food came first, and the only mealtime talk was concerned with the financial woes of my sisters and their husbands, and the fact that my youngest sister, Dotty, had "another one on the way." "Thank God I'm past having any more," mum said significantly. I took this to mean she was glad that my one venture into her female private parts could come to nothing, however potent my seed. I can't say I was sorry either. It was not until after we had cleared away and washed up that the main item on the agenda was opened up. We went into the lounge and sat facing each other in armchairs. Mum opened the subject. "Gav, I wrote to you I was sorry about the way I spoke to you. I really do mean it. We were both sloshed, me a bit more than you I reckon. These things happen, and it's no use being sorry afterwards. Your not sorry, are you?" Her voice and manner were very calm, but her question was a twist I hadn't expected. I needed to be careful how I answered it. I felt sure there was a trap in there somewhere. I opted for what I thought was a neutral sort of answer. "Well, I'm sorry if you're sorry and upset, mum. I mean, I wouldn't want you to feel…" I groped for an appropriate word and remembered the one she had used, "defiled." She gave a quirky sort of smile and said, "No, I don't feel defiled, Gav." Then she threw another question at me. "I don't remember anything about it, Gav," she said in a rueful sort of voice. "Was it all right, love. I mean, did you find it unpleasant or anything?" I sought in the recesses of my memory to recall just how it had been, and at the same time kept in mind, that one wrong word could bring on a real upset with mum. I could see that her female pride was on the line here, and if I said something like, "It was horrible, mum," she'd be really put out. On the other hand, if I said something like, "It was fantastic," she might think I was a pervert. I tried for neutrality again. "Of course, mum, I was pretty tanked up as well, so I can't really remember clearly what it was like, but I did…you know…I did shoot into you." "I know," she said, "I was still full of you in the morning. Gav, would you have done that to me if we hadn't been drunk?" Another one to try to skitter round. "You mean, if you was still you, but not mum?" "Well, all right, let's say I'm not your mum and you met me, would you like me enough to want to do it with me?" The reader will remember I have previously touched on this matter, so I gave mum a truthful answer. "Yes, I would." A seraphic smile washed over her face. "You mean, if neither of us was drunk and I wasn't your mum, you'd still fancy me?" "Yes, mum." I thought I'd put a bit of icing on the cake. "After all, you're a good looking woman." "Do you really think so, Gav?" "Of course I do." There was a long pause, as she seemed to contemplate my answers. I waited, wondering what was coming next. I did wonder if we had finished this talk, but I felt there was more coming, and there was. "Gav, if you would fancy me if I wasn't your mum, wouldn't that mean you still fancy me even though I am your mum? I mean, even if we weren't drunk, like we're not drunk now, and I'm still your mum, as I am right now, would you still fancy me?" I still wasn't sure if she was setting up me so she could pounce, so I decided to dive in with a question of my own. "Mum, if you weren't drunk, and I wasn't your son, would you fancy me?" I could see she was, what they call, "Hoist by her own petard." She sat staring at me in a disconcerted way. She paused for so long I thought she wasn't going to answer at all. Then finally she said: "Do you really want the truth, Gav?" "I asked the question mum, and you and me have always been truthful to each other." "Yes, that was always the nice thing about you, Gav, not like your sisters or brother." There was another long pause, then: "All right, I'll tell you straight, I'd fancy you, son." Turning her final question to me right round on her I said, "Does that mean that though we aren't drunk, and I am your son, you still fancy me?" She flushed bright red, then said very quietly in a strangled sort of voice, "Gav, love, I've wanted you for years." Tears started to roll down her cheeks and sobs shook her. I think that she was humiliated at having been trapped into telling the truth, when she had expected to trap me. I had always loved mum. I suppose being the last of her children I had been closer than the others had been. Seeing her now, weeping over her confession, the exposure of what must have been deeply suppressed thoughts and feelings, I felt a wave of compassion and love pass through me. I got off my chair and went and knelt in front of her. After The Obsequies She was holding a handkerchief up to her face, in part to wipe away the tears, but also to hide her face from me. I took her hand and said, "It's all right mum. I understand how you feel. It wasn't a bad thing you said it was lovely. I bet many mums and sons have those sorts of feelings, but never speak about them." Through her sobs, she began to speak: "Oh Gav, I'm so lonely. I go to bed at night and its so cold and empty, and I lay awake wanting…don't think I'm awful, Gav, I want a man there with me. I want a man I can give to and who wants to give to me. Can you understand what its like, Gav? All the years I had your dad with me, there was never a night when we didn't do it, except when I had my women's troubles." "It was then that he went to one of his other women. I didn't really mind so long as he still wanted me. I could have had other men, but I never did Gav. I was happy with one bloke because he could give me everything I needed, and I loved giving to him. And now it all gone, and when I knew what we'd done, I was really angry not because we'd done it, but because we'd done it when we were drunk. Can you understand that, Gav?" "Yes mum, I can understand that." Her sobs had subsided, and she had pulled my head to her breast. I told the truth when I said I could fancy a women like her, and mother or not, I was starting to get a stiff one. "Gav, you never did answer my question." I knew quite well to what question she referred, and not liking myself for doing it, I pretended I didn't know. "What question, mum?" "Could you fancy me even though I am your mum?" It was clear where we were heading and what the outcome was going to be if I answered truthfully. It was my turn to pause. My head was still on her breasts and her hand was stroking my face and hair. I could smell her womanly aroma, and my stiff got stiffer and started to throb. I decided to say it as it was: "Yes, mum, I fancy you." "O God, boy, then don't make we wait. I'm as hot for you as an Indian curry." That did it. I tore off her knickers and got out of my trousers and underpants, and there, on the lounge room carpet we went howling and screaming mad. We were like a couple of scratching, biting cats in a fight. I don't think I'd ever been so frantic for a woman before, and mum was beyond anything I had ever experienced in a female. She was soaking wet with her lubricant and the second I entered her she seemed to suck me into her. She swallowed me up, gripping me with her vagina as if she'd never let me go again. She was screaming out, "Fuck me Gav, give it all to me…put it in to me…please…" I'm yelling back, "I'm going to fuck you to death…I'm going to spear you till you beg for mercy…" It didn't really work out like that because we only lasted a couple of minutes. I had a load of sperm to get rid of and it wouldn't wait, and she'd been so deprived she was bucking up and down with her orgasm in no time. We ended up gasping and still holding on to each other, me with my hands under her buttocks and she with her legs wrapped round me. Gradually we returned to sanity. We were still holding on to each other and looking into each other's eyes. I saw love in hers. I had seen it before, but never like this. It had always been the love of a mother for her child, but now it was…what was it? I struggled to interpret what I was seeing as she gazed at me, my penis still inside her, and she spasmodically flexing her vagina round it. Then of course, the obvious came to me. I was seeing the eyes of a woman looking, not at a child, but a man she loved. My world seemed to spin around me. It was as if everything in my life had been jarred loose, and was striving to realign. I had never loved a woman in anything but the sense of a son for a mother, but now, as I searched inside myself, I knew I loved this woman. I whose only interest in women had been getting their legs open, now I found myself in love with a woman many years my senior, and she my mother. Mother was speaking softly to me. "All right, sweetheart? Was it all right? Did you like…enjoy me?" "It was beautiful, mum. Didn't last long enough, though." "We can fix that, darling." I made an attempt at humour. "And we weren't even drunk." "No, so I'll always be able to remember this time, won't I, darling?" Without knowing quite why, I responded, "And all the other times." "Are there going to be 'other times,' Gav?" "If you want them." "Of course I do." These were words of promise and commitment. They should not have sat well with me, as commitment to women had never been my strong point. Yet now I felt somehow comforted. It was as if I had come home, not in the sense of coming back to the house, but coming to this woman. A whole galaxy of thoughts and emotions were racing around inside me, so I was glad when mum suddenly turned practical…down to earth. "Sweetheart, I think its time we let each other go and perhaps had a shower. We can get around to more talk…and other things, after." Unwillingly I withdrew from her; again, a change from my usual wish to get out and depart when I'd finished with a woman. We proceeded to shower together, and having at least temporarily had my sexual needs satisfied, again I was able to consider mum's naked body with some degree of objectivity. As I have said, she is buxom but not fat – perhaps generous and curvaceous best describes her. There are the marks of childbearing on her thighs and abdomen. Her hair, once almost black, now streaked with gray. She has dark brown, deep set eyes that give expression to her thoughts very easily The plumpness of her face has tended to keep wrinkles at bay, and she has a tilt tip nose. It is her mouth that most attracts, it is wide with soft full lips. I made a note to remember that her mouth should have special attention paid to it. It was her breasts that I found slightly unattractive. I have tried to describe them before, but it was only at a distance and through an alcohol-induced haze, that I had observed them then. They hang down, but not in the flat, flaccid manner that I had seen with some of the older women I had been with. Mum's breasts seemed to still have some substance to them. One would still be able to fondle them and derive some satisfaction in doing so. The nipples were as I have described them before, brown and having little bubbles over them. "They've done some hard work in their time," I thought. "Nourishing five kids, including me. They're entitled to show some wear and tear. I bet dad had some fun with them." As I washed her vagina, trying to remove the residue of my love juice, I made a further note to explore that region, in great detail, especially with the aid of my tongue. Mother permitting, of course! That was a point! I had to find out what she liked and disliked. How far would she let me go with her? To sum up things as I saw them then, I can honestly tell you that I had often had my fantasy of the ideal woman. I suppose everyone one has their fantasy of their ideal man or woman. You can read many of those fantasies in erotic stories or see them in sexy pictures. But I'm realist enough to know that the ideal fantasy is just that, a fantasy. I had, in the shower, a flesh and blood woman. She was real, not a flight of fancy. She wanted me and, I believed, really loved me. On the other side – the me side – I had discovered for once in my selfish life, I was in love. I wanted this woman like I'd never wanted a woman before, and much to my amazement, I wanted to give to her. The fact that she was my mother – sorry if that offends – seemed to be irrelevant. I had been lost in reflection, and came to as mum, drying my genitals, was saying: "Let's go to bed and have a talk, love." I agreed that talk was in order, but hoped it would be more than that. We climbed into mum's big double bed, and had the not altogether welcome thought that it had once been mum's and dad's double bed. Mum snuggled up to me, and I put an arm round her. I could have started the journey to our next coupling right then, but decided that for the moment a talk was more important. Mum started things off. "Gav, you do believe that I really want you, don't you?" "Yes, mum." "You know I love you?" "Yes." "Tell me truthfully, darling, how do you feel about that?" "I can't properly say, mum. I mean, I'm confused. I know it's happened between us, but how do I become my own mother's lover?" "Gav, love is a funny sort of thing. It doesn't always fit into the pattern we are told is right and proper. It can just happen with the last person we thought it would happen with." "I know. Mum. It's just that there's been such a…a sudden…er…sudden change in the way we are with each other." "Look, sweetheart, I don't want you doing anything with me that's going to mess you up. I really do love you, and you don't mess up people you love." "I don't want to mess you up either, mum." "It's all right, love, you won't do that, I promise you. Now suppose…just suppose, instead of staying in the city when you get your week off, you come here…home. Would you do that? I mean, could you come home and be happy about it." "I think so, mum." "I'd be able to give you what a young chap needs, and be happy doing it, I can promise you that. I won't hold anything back from you and there won't be any other blokes while you're away." Things were getting heavy. Mum was talking commitment and faithfulness as if we were married. This only added to the confusion I felt over the new way we were relating with each other. I wasn't sure that I wanted us to be tied together so closely. Mum seemed to understand my dilemma, and she went on to say: "I don't want to tie you down, Gav. You're young and will probably want to marry and have kids one day. All I'm saying is, let's see if we can make a go of it." Marrying and having kids was something that had never appealed to me, and as I thought more about mum's idea of seeing if we could "make a go of it," the more it began to look good. There'd be no binding marriage, so no problems if we wanted to bust up any time. She couldn't have babies any more, so there'd be no whining little buggers running round the place. Above all, I wouldn't have to go women hunting every time I go my week off. It would all be waiting for me here at home. Of course, so far we'd only had sex once when we were drunk and a quickie on the lounge floor carpet. There'd been no foreplay, and in a long-term sexual relationship, it's the sex games couples play that are vital. Mum had said she could give me what I needed, but that was a skeleton that required some flesh on it. I know all this sounds utterly selfish, but no doubt, mum had weighed me up in a similar way. She had been married to one bloke for over thirty-two years, and perhaps she wanted to feel free in a relationship. What's more, she would get a reliable supply of sex, even if it were only one week in every three. There was one other thing, something I have already written about, and which must be chucked into the equation, "Love." In relation to sex, for me love had never been a factor up until now. Now, having seen that love look in mum's eyes, and experiencing some strange feelings about her myself, I knew it was there in the sexual aspect of our changed relationship. Perhaps I can best express it by saying that I had found a woman I wanted to have sex with, and wanted to go on having sex with. This had not happened to me before, and I could always have gone on quite happily from one woman to the next. Now it was this particular woman I wanted. As we lay together in bed mum was pressing her body against me. I think that was a hint that it was time we ended the talking. She felt warm and soft, just like a woman should, and this helped me make up my mind. "All right mum, let's do it. I'll be home every week off in future." Her first response to this was to cock her leg over my thigh and say, "All right, you young stud, let's start finding out about each other." She brought her mouth down to mine, so I got my hands behind the back of her head and held her into me for a long, mouth exploring kiss. Her lips were soft and wet, and her tongue battled with mine for penetration. While this was going on I let a hand wander down to her breasts, and drawing one up from its base, it didn't seem so flabby as I thought it would. I decided that further action on her breasts was the thing, so breaking from our kiss I went down to suck on her nipples. They are, as I have said, large and a little knobby, and at that moment, they stood out very erect. They were, without doubt, the largest nipples I had ever tasted. I think an extra dimension was added because I knew I had once sucked them as a baby, and in fact, mum was moaning out, "Suck me like you did when you were little, sweetheart." While the suckling was in process, my hand was exploring farther down caressing her mound, then passing on to slip a finger into her opening. I was pleased to feel how wet she was. I went back to kissing her mouth, and mum's hand had found my pride and joy, and was gently massaging it to very considerable effect. I had to exercise a lot of self-control not to penetrate her right then, but I had one other thing I wanted to do to her at this time. I coaxed her to the edge of the bed, and getting her with her feet up on the bed and legs wide; I knelt in front of her and began exploring her genitals. It must be clear I was preparing to engage in oral sex with her. I had given women oral sex many times before, but there was something I had never done. When I was about seventeen an older bloke, talking about women's genitals, said to me, "Don't ever look at it, boy, it a horrible sight." I had always taken his advice, and shut my eyes when indulging in oral sex. Now, with mother I wanted to look, to explore. Perhaps it was the fascinating thought that it was through this passage that I had made my way into the world. It was as if there was something sacred about mum's vulva. It was a place to approach with reverence. I parted her outer lips with my fingers, and for the first time looked upon a woman's inner lips. Far from seeming "horrible" to me, they looked like beautiful pink rose petals. I next opened these inner lips and saw the entrance to her vagina. "The gateway to heaven leading to the tunnel of love," I thought rather poetically. Such was my awe for what I was looking at, it was with great gentleness I slowly inserted a finger into her. As I did this, she gave a soft little whimper and said, "Oh God, I love you so much, Gav." I next lifted the hood that protected her clitoris. Again, I had never actually looked at this little nub before. Now I was surprised to find it larger than I thought; like small penis. I said nothing, but mum must have divined my thoughts because she said, "It's bigger than most, Gav. Lick it, sweetheart." I licked over and round the little hill of pleasure, tasting her fluids; it seemed sweeter than others I had tasted. Mum was starting to cry out loudly now, begging me, "Don't stop, darling…don't stop…please don't…" Her words suddenly were cut off. I felt her starting to shudder, and had to hold on to her thighs to retain contact with her clitoris. Her cries had become incomprehensible, sounding like, "Mmmm, nah, nah, ha, ma, ma." Suddenly she gave a great shriek and her whole body heaved, then began to shake with violent vibrations. Her hands were behind my head, and she was dragging me to her. I heard her sobbing and weeping, and her lubricant came flooding out of her. I had never experienced such a furious, intense orgasm in a woman before. It was as if a tempest was raging through her. The cries and frantic movements reached a climax, then gradually diminished. Her vocalization became comprehensible again, and she was moaning, "I love you Gav, I love you." I had reached the point where I could hold back from her no longer. I pulled her back into the middle of the bed. Her legs were wide apart and drawn up, ready to receive me, although as it turned out, "take possession of me" would better describe what happened. She was saturated with fluid, and I started to slip easily into her tunnel when her legs wrapped round me. Then the walls of her vagina seemed to suck me in. It was my turn to howl and cry out, though what exactly I said, if I said anything comprehensible at all, I have never been able to tell. I do know that I wanted to express love and lust and passion for her. Mum was working with me, suiting the rhythm of her gripping and releasing my penis with my movements. She was crying out again, "Fuck me, Gav… fuck me… Sperm in me, darling… Put it in… sweetheart." I had reached my own explosive moment, when I felt her start to shake again, and within seconds, I was hammering my semen into her and she was screaming and crying again, her whole body jarring and jolting. We seemed to be in the grip of something savage, almost brutal. Primitive forces seemed to be at work between us. Despite the impossibility of my fertilising her, and my own lack of desire for children, in that wild and ecstatic coupling there seemed to be the primeval desire to reproduce the species. I did not seem so much to empty myself into her, as have the juices sucked out of me by her. She seemed to be determined to have the last drop. The climax passed, we came down from the heights to a peaceful post-coital plain. Mum still murmuring her love for me, and I was striving to find the words to describe the joy and fulfillment of our climatic moment. I had never experienced such a deeply satisfying sexual intercourse, and I felt none of the regret or guilt that had so often followed my sexual contacts with other women. Such doubts that I had about the future of our relationship were now dispelled. As mother had said, she could give me everything I needed. I might spice my story by telling that we came together three or four more times that night, but it would not be true. We slept wrapped in each other's arms. In the following days we continued our voyage of discovery, a voyage that never seems to end. It is most often mother who takes the lead. Despite my many women there were things I had not experienced. For example, on the third day of our love making, mother was sitting across me. She lowered herself onto my erect shaft and I anticipated vaginal penetration. But something was different. Penetration seemed a little more difficult, the sensation once I had entered was of a tighter hold. I looked up and saw that I was not in her vagina at all. Mum had selected anal penetration. At first, it felt a trifle harsh, but as my own pre-cum began to lubricate, it grew smoother, and the tighter tunnel added zest to this coupling. After a minute or so, mum reached down and took my hand. She drew it to her vagina, and placing one of my fingers on her clitoris said, "Stimulate me there, darling." I began to move my finger round the little mound, and mum moved towards one of her explosive orgasms. We seemed fortunate in that most times our orgasms synchronised, although at times I managed to delay my own, so as to be with her longer as she slowly came down from her climax. Six months into our sexual relationship began our hunger for each other had not diminished. When I arrived home for my week's leave, our first act was to engage in one of our howling, screaming cat-fight couplings on the lounge carpet. I ripped off so many of mum's underclothes that she now met me on arrival home clad only in a housecoat. "Like father like son," she said, referring to my father's early propensity for tearing off her nightdresses. After The Obsequies It was at about the six month mark, that mum proposed a big change in our relationship. One night after a particularly wild coupling, and we lay embracing and trying to recover, she said, "Gav, why don't you stay home all the time? You've earned good money at the gas fields and you've saved, why not get work locally? The power industry is expanding here all the time, you could get work with them." The idea had its attractions for me. My single room at the gas field hostel, and the canteen food, was a bit less than desirable. The isolation for two weeks at a stretch was beginning to pall. On the other hand, would constantly living with mum work out? Would our sex life descend into a dull routine? I told mum I would come to live at home all the time and work locally, but in my head I said, "You can always go back to the gas field, they're always looking for fitters." One problem that did arise by my living permanently at home, were my brothers and sisters. Mum got visits from them and the grandchildren occasionally. She usually managed to work it so that it was while I was away from home. Now it would be more difficult, and if they suspected what mum and I got up to, there would be hell to pay. Our way out of it was for me to play the permanently bachelor son, being looked after by his loving mother. It's more than twelve months now since mum and I started to be lovers. So far, I have no reason to complain. Sexually mum is a source of constant pleasure, and her cooking is a whole lot better than canteen food. Who knows, I might have more to add to our story in the future?