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A Son Comforts His Widowed Mum

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When my father died I danced a jig.

My fellow workers in the warehouse laughed and questioned my joviality. Tact restrained me from telling them that the piece of shit that was my father had kicked the bucket but brown-bread he was. And good riddance.

He was a horrible person. He was a bully and hypocrite. I grew tough enough to argue with him and eventually grew old enough to leave. The main reason, however, for my all-consuming animosity towards my father was the way he treated my mum.

I grew up watching him insult her, belittle her, push her around emotionally and physically. She was a drudge. She was a whipped dog. It made me sick to my stomach to think about it so, in the end, I stopped thinking about it. She wouldn’t leave him, but I could. So I did. I moved away and didn’t look back. I didn’t get far, I still live in the next town over. I visit every other month or so but it’s always tense. I always ended up with a overwhelming desire to punch the smug prick in his fat face.

My sister called with the news of his heart attack, his recovery and then his sudden remission and finally his snuffing it. As I say, I felt such glee that I danced in the warehouse aisle, between the rows of boxes of toilet rolls.

I should preface the rest of my story with a word about my wonderful mum. She never had an unkind word for anyone. She brought me and my sisters up with a soft, loving, caring guidance that left us all feeling even more acidic hatred for the ogre that she tried her best to protect us from. She never failed to put herself in the firing line of his moods if it meant shielding us from his bile.

One day, not too long ago, I realised I had a crush on my mum. It was a weird realisation. Something from deep within my subconscious told me that the reason I enjoyed watching movies that feature the actress Marisa Tomei was that she reminded me of my mother; she usually plays a kind-hearted, cute mom-type with a dirty twinkle in her eye and the comparison hit me between the eyes. It knocked me for six. There was some serious soul-searching after this broken lightbulb moment. Mum isn’t supermodel tall, she doesn’t have big tits or a big smackable bum; she isn’t even exceptionally pretty but what there is of her petite self is perfectly proportioned. This sounds horrifically callous, to asses my own mother’s attractiveness and physical attributes, but I can’t help the way my brain works.

In my defence, one of my first thoughts after I found about my dad’s death was that she was now free. Free of him. Free of everything. She could be happy.

I arrived late to my father’s funeral. I was putting it off because I didn’t want to be there. The thought of pretending to hordes of barely recognisable family that I was mourning the twat was almost too much to bear. But I wanted to support my mother and my sisters who were enduring it.

When I got to the cemetery I found out that one of my sisters wasn’t coming. She wanted nothing to do with it. Good for her, I thought. I stepped in the little chapel place and tried to lurk at the back but some idiot uncle recognised me and dragged me down the front. I sat on the wooden bench and scooted along next to my mum.

“Jeremy!” She said and beamed a smile at me. I was taken aback. The last time I had seen her she was ragged and bedraggled. Washed out and colourless. Here she looked more alive than ever. Her smile was illuminated by a vivid red lipstick. She was dressed completely in black, naturally, but it all looked so stylish. I’ve always had a thing for goths so it was immediately catching my attention. A strangely small hat at a cocked angle dangled a veil down to her smiling lips. Her black satin jacket had a flowery affair in the lapel and covered a dress with seemed very short (although maybe it was just the way she had to prop herself awkwardly upon these over-polished pews) and displayed her fine legs encased in sheer black nylons. It was hard to keep my eyes off her legs or the killer heels she was wearing. She wore lace gloves that felt warm and soft when she took my hand.

During the ceremony, every time some whingeing bastard got up to praise the character of my old man she gave my hand a tight squeeze and I returned the gesture, letting her know I felt the same.

We buried him. We went to the house of an aunt to have drinks and sandwiches and bullshit some more about how my father would be missed. My remaining sisters could only take so much of hearing these distortions and evasions so they skipped out as soon as politely possible. After an hour or so my mum came up to me and asked me to get her out of there. The strained sociable smile on her face made me react instantly, within a minute we were lordbahis güvenilirmi in my car and driving away from all those lying pricks.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“Will you take me back to the graveyard?”

“Are you sure? Alright.” I swung the car down a street in the direction of the cemetery. When we arrived my mum held on to my arm as we walked up the path (well, I walked but she tottered on unfamiliar high-heels) to the pile of dirt that was my father’s new home.

“Can you see anyone around?” She asked, looking this way and that. I also scanned the grounds and told her I saw no-one. “Turn around.” She swivelled her finger at me, I turned my back. I heard a rustling so I turned my head just enough to sneak a peek. My mother had hitched up the hem of her dress and was squatting, inelegantly, over the mound of freshly-dug earth. Her ornately decorated stocking-tops caught my eye and I couldn’t help but be aroused, despite the comedy of the situation. The moment quickly moved from funny to bizarre as I covertly watched my mother taking a piss on my father’s grave. I couldn’t help snickering. She turned my way and laughed but angrily said, “Turn around!” I turned my back on her, chuckling to myself.

“Um, Jeremy, do you have a tissue?” I turned but she raised her voice, “Don’t look!” I pulled the folded fast-food napkin (I don’t own a cotton handkerchief) from my breast pocket and held it out to her with my hand over my eyes. I peered through the gaps in my fingers at my mum dabbing her dark brown bush and then trying to stand up. She tumbled awkwardly and I caught her. We laughed together as she smoothed down the hem of her dress. She bent over and used the napkin to wipe the mud from her shiny black heels.

“That was a great idea, Mum.”

“I always told myself I’d do it. And today’s the day.”

I was still holding her, she looked up into my face. She kissed me. I felt evil for the way it sent an electric charge through my cock.

“You’ve been very kind to me today,” she said, “You really looked after me.” I felt ashamed. I’d done nothing. I felt I could at least do this: I walked over to the grave, turned my back to my mum and released my semi-hard cock. Embarrassment soon overtook me as my pee failed to materialise.

“Um, you… you don’t have to do it as well.” Mum’s slightly mocking tone made me shrivel even more.

“Just give me a minute.” I called over my shoulder.

“I’ll wait in the car.” I heard my mother’s steps as she walked away and I cursed my prick. Eventually it came, not much but enough to be the final insult. I zipped myself up and spat on his headstone before I walked back to the car.

We drove off giggling. It was wonderful to hear her laugh, I’d heard it all too few times in my life.

“Jeremy, I’m starving. I couldn’t eat anything back at Aunt Nicole’s.” We stopped at a junk-food place and sat outside to eat a greasy burger and fries. The day grew cold. We didn’t move. It dawned on me that she was putting off going home.

“It’s getting chilly. You want to go?” I suggested.

“I suppose.” She sighed.

Back at the house I’d grew up in, we parked outside and just sat staring blankly out of the windscreen.

“We can’t stay out here all night.” Mum said with no intention of moving from her seat.

“You don’t want to go in.”

She turned to me. “Everything, every single thing, in there reminds me of him. I want… I don’t want to owe him one more, oh I don’t know, he doesn’t deserve any more space in my mind, in my life! Shit!”

I’d never heard my mother swear before. I was genuinely shocked.

“Shit.” She repeated and got out of the car and walked up to the front door. By the time I’d caught up with her she was standing in the dark lounge. I flicked on the light-switch. She was a statue in the middle of the room, her stillness disconcerted me.

“I’m going to get a drink.” I headed to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. When I walked back into the lounge I thought she must’ve gone upstairs but then I heard a quiet sob. I found her down on the floor, curled up in the foetal position. My heart broke to see her like this. I scooped her up in my arms, she was heavy but suddenly I was superhuman, I carried over to the front door, bungled for a while with the latch, got it open and carried her down to the car.

In the cold air, Mum came to her senses. She asked me what was happening.

“We’re going.”

“Going? Where?”

“My place.” I put her down on her feet, opened the passenger door and helped her inside the car. I got into the driver’s side and started the car.

I turned the ignition off. Mum asked what was lordbahis yeni giriş wrong.

“I have to go close the front door.”

“Leave it. Let burglars take it all. They’re welcome to it. Just drive.” I switched on the ignition and drove.

Driving into the setting sun, we didn’t speak. Mum kicked off her heels and leaned down to massage her feet. My eyes couldn’t help leave the road to glance down at her fingers toying with her small feet wrapped in delicious dark nylon. Each time I caught myself looking at her legs I attacked myself inwardly, disgusted with myself.

Mum snuggled up against me, she leaned her head on my shoulder. She curled up on the seat. My despicable eyes couldn’t not look as her dress rode up on her thigh, revealing to me her ornate, expensive stocking-tops. Mum lifted her face and kissed my cheek.

“You’re a good boy.” She said and snuggled back down on my shoulder. You got THAT fucking wrong, I thought. Not a good boy, not a good boy at all. Far from it. I changed gear and my hand nudged her knee.

“Am I in your way?” Mum asked.

“Never. Not in any way what-so-ever.” I rested my hand on her knee, gave her a reassuring pat. She placed her hand over mine and held it there. Slowly our hands trailed down slightly and after a mile or two I was gently stroking her nylon leg as I drove. It all seemed very natural and consentual and intimate. My brain was telling me that it was nice. Just a nice thing to do. To offer some comfort to my grieving mother. My cock was screaming at me: What The Fuck!!??

We arrived outside my place. I turned off the car and realised Mum was fast asleep. I gently woke her up. She held on to my arm as we walked up the steps to my flat. We entered and bumped into my flatmate, Hal.

“Oh hey. How did it go? Sorry, stupid question.”

I explained that my mother didn’t want to stay at home. I opened the door to my room.

“Do you want anything?” Hal asked, “Can I do anything?”

“No thanks. It’s cool. Thanks.”

In my room there was a sudden, stomach-wrenching dawning that a single bed was my only furniture. There was barely room to swing a cat.

“This is where you live? It’s… very nice.”

“It’s a dump, Mum.” I grinned, “Do you want to take a shower? Do you want a drink? Something to eat?”

“I’m exhausted, just want to sleep.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Mum took off her jacket and slipped her arms out of her dress; she pulled it down and exposed a very cute lacy black bra. She wriggled out of her dress. It didn’t appear to be a deliberate strip-tease aimed at me.

“I’ll go kip down on the sofa.” It felt like I stuttered, my tongue felt like a dog’s tail wagging. Mum turned her back to me, unhooked her bra then slipped into my bed.

“Please don’t.” She said.

My hand was on the door-handle. “Don’t what, Mum?”

“Don’t leave me alone. Please?”

“No. I won’t.” I flicked off the light-switch, stripped down to my shorts and got into bed. Mum immediately hooked her leg over mine and held me tight.

“It’s going to be alright, Mum.” I tried to sound reassuring. She lifted her head and kissed me. It was just a fraction longer than perhaps it should’ve been. I looked into her eyes. I smiled. She kissed me again, this time for longer. I felt a pressure from her lips. I questioned my senses. It had been a weird, long, tiring, odd day. Maybe I was misreading this. I mean, this can’t be fucking real, can it? Stupid fucking idiot, of course it’s not real.

Mum snuggled her head on my chest.



“Do you always wear nylons to bed?” There was a sleepy chuckle in the dark.

“No, silly, but I know you liked touching them in the car. And I feel less alone when you touch me.”

I ran my hand along her thigh. I kissed the top of her head. “I love you.” I said. She was asleep.

I woke up with a start. It was the dead of night. My room was lit only by a flickering orange lamp-post that stood just outside my window. Mum was sitting on the edge of the bed. I watched her. Her skin seemed translucent in the dim light.

“Did I wake you?” Mum asked, turning her body to me, the orange glow illuminated her naked breasts in the darkness.

“Yeah, are you okay?”

She leaned back on the bed and ran her hand down my chest.

“When did you get so big?”

“I’ve been big for a while, Mum.”

My heart stopped when her hand rested on the front of my shorts.

“But even so. I guess I hadn’t noticed quite how much you’ve grown up.”

She slid her hand into my shorts and curled her fingers around my cock. She pulled it free and stroked it. It throbbed instantly to life. lordbahis giriş I am dreaming. I AM dreaming.

“Am I dreaming?” I asked.

“Do you often have dreams like this, Jeremy?” Mum leaned down lower and whispered “My baby,” before licking my swollen cockhead. I am not dreaming. I definitely felt that. FUCKING HELL!

“Mu-Mum?” I tried to speak but her free hand put a finger to my lips.

She rubbed my dick and eased her mouth on to the head. She sucked and kissed and licked it. I lay there spellbound and silent for a few minutes until she released me and crawled up my body. She laid her naked body on top of me, naked except for those smooth soft nylon legs which she made sure were rubbing deliciously up my legs. She pressed herself on me, her mouth by my ear.

“Do you want this…” She whispered, “…to happen?”

“I do.” I affirmed in my most masculine voice.

Mum reached down and held my cock, she adjusted her position and before I had a chance to adjust my mind I was inside my sweet little mum and she was screwing me. Her whole body moved in a sensual slinky motion. She kissed me. This time it definitely wasn’t a motherly kiss. Our tongues met. I raised my hips and pushed deeper inside her. She purred as she kissed me.

I was half in my mind and half out of it. I tried to ignore the fact that this gorgeous female, that my rampant dick was invading, was my own mother, but the fact that this was truly happening was making my balls tingle with an imminent explosion.


“Shhhhhh, baby.” She kissed me silent again. After a minute or two, I had to pipe up again.

“It’s too much, you’re too exciting, I’m gunna cum.”

She smiled and told me to hold my breath. I frowned at her then I felt something I had never felt before. Her wet, soft pussy-walls suddenly became a rigid clamp that squeeeeezed my hard dick so tight. I’m sure I squeaked like a mouse before I held my breath. Mum looked into my eyes, in complete control of my manhood.

“Hoooold it! Concentrate!” She encouraged my test of endurance, after a minute I felt the urge to empty my balls into her subside a little. She sensed the change in me, a subtle loss of urgency.

“That’s it, you feel it? Alright, now relax and breathe.” I felt her vaginal muscles lessen their blood-boiling grip on me and she began to screw me again, very gently at first and then resuming her previous pace and pressure.

“What, what was that?” I asked as she humped her sexy furry cunt up and down the length of my dick.

“What do you mean?” She kissed me again then leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Didn’t you like that?”

“I…” I had no words.

“It’s been so long since I made love.”

I decided to stop asking stupid questions and just let my prim, gentle, polite mother fuck the life out of me. I kissed her and she clawed her fingernails down my chest and purred into my mouth.

Five more times I was brought right up to the brink of a volcanic fountain of spunk deep within her maternal womb, and each time my mother’s hot pussy showed an adeptness at delaying my termination of her pleasure. This was her time to enjoy herself. My dick was being used. I felt it was my honour to offer my body to her enjoyment. I would do anything for her. She deserved some happiness. My conscience slapped me across the face and told me to stop feeling so heroic about getting some pussy.

Eventually, my quivering mother finished the last of a series of orgasms. She held my hands, our fingers interlocked, as she rode my stiff and slightly sore dick until she seemed to come back from whatever planet she had travelled to and looked down at me, sweating, smiling. She slipped her pussy off my rock-hard cock and lay panting across my body. I became aware of our surroundings, the grubby little room, the posters on the walls, the filthy carpet, the peeling paint, the first rays of dawn creeping in through the window.

“You can come now, baby.” She said softly, her voice croaking. Had we been crying out together? Had my flatmate heard us? It was all a bit of a blur. Her nylon thighs rubbed their warm soft fabric on my charged skin.

“I’m not sure I can, now.” I laughed.

She kissed me and I felt her hand slide under my balls, she squished them carefully then I felt her fingertips seeking underneath me, seeking, pressing…

“What are yo-” Before I could register my protest at this personal invasion I shot my spunk in a rapid stream of spurts over Mum’s leg. I was speechless. What were all these tricks I knew nothing about. My mother was showing me I was an utter sexual novice.

“There’s so much of it.” Mum giggled and dipped her fingers in the splattered pearly gloop soaking into her black nylon.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I won’t wash these,” She kissed me, “I shall wear them every time I want to think of you and remember this.” She kissed me again and we curled up together. I pulled the blankets over us both and we slept in the first rays of the sun.

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