Mum was more or less comatose with alcohol. She woke me up in the early hours struggling to get out of bed, crying: God, I’m bursting. She only managed to get as far as dragging her legs over the side of the bed before she let fly with an enormous fountain of pee. I rushed to get the metal waste paper bin and held it between her legs. I thought the noise of her power hose hitting the metal would wake the corridor. She was peeing for so long I began to wonder if the bin would be big enough to hold it all, but the flow finally eased and stopped. I emptied the bin in the toilet, and brought back a bath towel to soak up the pee that had already flooded the tiled floor of the bedroom. To try and keep her hydrated, I managed to get mum to drink a large glass of water, before she collapsed back into oblivion.
It was not until early afternoon that mum finally regained consciousness. I think the combined effects of all the alcohol she had consumed during the week had taken their toll. In the meantime I had gone downstairs to get something to eat at the restaurant, and buy a couple of cartons of orange juice. Mum would need plenty of liquid and vitamin C to counter the effects of the hangover she was likely to have. Mum groaned as she turned over in bed. This time I had the waste bin ready, as she looked far too groggy to make it to the bathroom. After she had emptied her bladder, I propped her up in bed, and gave a glass of juice to drink. She drank it gratefully, and didn’t even complain about the lack of alcohol in it. Each time she drained the glass, I would refill it for her.
I savoured the view of my naked mother: full, fleshy thighs, broad hips framing the swell of her big but firm beer belly, and the ripe, weighty boobs surmounted by those proudly protruding nipples.
Did you enjoy yourself last night, I enquired. Mum looked as though she was trying to remember, but failing. Then a look passed across her face as though she was starting to recall something, but couldn’t quite believe it. After a pause she said: I think I must have had too much to drink, I hope I behaved myself. Well, I replied, I didn’t receive any complaints about your behaviour. Mum gave me a puzzled look, but didn’t pursue it any further. Maybe you should stick to beer, I suggested, then you wouldn’t get d***k so quickly, and mixing beer with wine gives you a worse hangover. You’re probably right, mum conceded, but I get too full if I just drink beer, and besides, I like drinking wine. Trouble is, I said, you like it so much you knock it back like it was lemonade. Anyway, mum countered, I thought you liked me getting d***k. Oh, I do, I assured her. Well then, she said, as though the matter was closed.
The thing is, I was fairly sure that mum got d***k because basically she was feeling insecure about her age, looks, and weight. As if on cue, she suddenly seemed to become aware that I had been ogling her all this time, looked down at the generous curves of her body, and asked if I really thought she was still attractive. Of course I do, I said earnestly, though to be honest it was more a case of lusting after her voluptuous body, rather than finding her particularly pretty. And you get always get plenty of attention, I reminded her, though this was probably more to do with her looking and acting like a tart, but I didn’t say so. And you don’t think I’m getting too fat, mum said, spreading her hands over her belly. Well, you’re certainly filling out nicely, I told her, but it looks good on you. The trouble is, mum said, my clothes are all too small now, the only ones I can squeeze into are the stretchy ones, and they show all my bulges. You should see me in my supermarket outfit, one of these days I’m going to burst right out of it, I’m beginning to look like a quart in a pint pot. I feel like everybody’s staring at me. I wasn’t sure how to respond, and after a pause she said quietly: That’s why I drink.
So I was right. It was as though she had been on an alcohol-fuelled high all week, brazenly flaunting herself, and now she had come down with a sudden crisis of confidence. I tried to reassure her again that I thought she looked really sexy in her clinging outfits, and had no need to feel self conscious. But she continued: And I’m spilling out of all my bras, some are becoming quite uncomfortable. Maybe you do need to buy a few new clothes then, I ventured, but mum said: I haven’t got the money for that, I seem to be drinking all my spare cash. Well just go braless, then, I suggested, a little too flippantly. I can’t do that, mum said, they’re too saggy. Nonsense, I said, many younger women would be proud to have a set of boobs like yours. And everyone would stare at my nipples, she added, which was certainly true. I knew a sure way of lifting her out of this mood of despondency, but I really wanted her to feel more comfortable with herself when she was relatively sober. Perhaps a distraction would do the trick.
I bent forward and nestled my face between her inviting thighs, kissing and licking them. After a few moments, she slowly parted her legs, and I gradually moved my attentions higher up the delicious soft flesh of the inside of her thighs. Her cunny lips looked red and sore after all the action they had endured last might, so I concentrated my tongue on her clit. I very gently worked my tongue around the little bud, with my hands resting on her hips, and I could feel the tension within her gradually abating. She let out a long sigh, and rested her hand tenderly on my head. I was in no hurry, and I judged that mum wasn’t either. That feels good, she told me, you can carry on doing that all day. Mum seemed totally blissed out, just lying there softly moaning, I carried on swirling my tongue around, caressing her pleasure bud for a long time. After a while mum’s hips started pushing up against my mouth, Mum was moaning a little louder now, and I knew that an orgasm must be building inside her. But I didn’t increase the pressure of my tongue just yet, I wanted her to hold out as long as possible, so that the moment of climax, when it came, would be all the more powerful. I could feel the need for release becoming more urgent within her, but still I just teased her with the lightest flicks of my tongue. By now she was groaning and writhing beneath me; Oh my God she kept gasping, but still I held back. Mum started thrashing around, the vocal accompaniment becoming ever louder, she was frantic to come. After a few more minutes of increasing desperation, she suddenly pushed my head down hard on her sex, and I had little choice but but to give her the rapid firm licking she craved. She bucked so violently beneath me, I thought she was going to break my nose, and let out such a strangulated cry that anyone listening must have thought I was murdering her. The waves of pleasure went on and on, until finally she lay back gasping with her whole body still trembling. I came up for air and smiled at her. Fucking hell, she eventually said when she had caught her breath, that was so good, I really needed that.
By now mum had finished most of the orange juice, and must indeed have been feeling better, as she then announced that she was hungry. I’m not surprised, I said, you haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime. It may be too late for the buffet restaurant, but there’s a pizza place down on the front, we could go there. Perfect, said mum. I let her lie a while longer to recover whilst I thought about what she would wear. She looked really sexy in the clingy white tube dress she had on last night, but that was now covered in semen stains, and would need a good wash. Then I noticed the skimpy white briefs and bikini top, and took them over to her. I can’t wear that, she said, it barely covers my tits, and anyway, it’s not even sunny today. Well, you were happy enough to wear it yesterday, I reminded her. Yes, well, I was already half cut when I went out yesterday. You’ll look great, I said, I’d feel really proud to be showing off my sexy voluptuous mum in that outfit. Mum didn’t look at all convinced, but she reluctantly took the things from me and wriggled into them. You look gorgeous, I told her, giving her a big kiss, so let’s go.
We went down in the lift and across the lobby. Mum looked incredible. She really did have an eye-popping amount of boob flesh on view, which wobbled as she walked and threatened to escape from the slender cups at any moment. As always, she was getting plenty of stares, lascivious from most of the men, but either jealous or hostile from some of the women. In her unaccustomed state of sobriety, mum looked really uncomfortable, staring at the floor. As we went outside and past the pool bar, one of the men drinking there said quite loudly enough for mum to hear: You don’t get many of those to the pound. I need a drink, mum said, but carried on walking. As soon as we got to the pizza cafe, mum went up to the bar and ordered a beer, undeterred by the leers and suggestive banter of the Lothario behind the bar. She sank the beer greedily as we sat at a table and studied the menu. When the waiter came over to take our order, he seemed to spend an unnecessarily long time writing it down, as he stood behind mum, staring at her boobs as they bulged out of the narrow confines of her bikini. Mum then went over to the bar to order another beer, much to the delight of the barman, who devoured the view as he kept her talking there, until mum’s discomfort was spared by some more customers wanting to be served.
By the time our waiter had brought our pizzas, mum was ready for her third drink. The waiter said he would bring it for her, which he was quite happy to do, as it gave him another chance to ogle mum’s chest. The pizzas were very good, just as well as they were quite large. After we had finished, the waiter came over to clear the plates, and asked mum solicitously if she was ready for another beer. Mum of course replied in the affirmative. I was now beginning to get a bit concerned, because we had a night flight back home, and I certainly didn’t want her to get incapably d***k again, and be refused permission to fly. So I said: Steady on, mum,remember we have to go to the airport this evening. Don’t worry, she replied, I won’t overdo it, and gave me a big kiss. Tell you what, she said to try and appease me, I’ll soak it up with one of those nice cakes they have on the counter. Once again, the barman kept her talking for as long as he could, and mum eventually came back with two large slices of cake. I couldn’t decide, she said.
As she ate, I asked her what she wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon, as it wasn’t really beach weather, but she just said that she didn’t mind. We could go shopping, I suggested, I could buy you a new dress or something, as your holiday present, which mum readily agreed to. We sat and talked for a while. Was it my imagination, or was mum starting to shift in her seat, as the combined quantities of orange juice and beer filtered into her bladder She finished her drink, smiled, and patted her plump belly. I always feel so much better when I’ve got some beer inside me, she told me, with satisfaction. It’s quite a long walk into town, perhaps you should use the loo before we go, after all that beer, I suggested. No, I’ll be fine, mum replied, a little too confidently. I looked at her doubtfully, but she just gave me a conspiratorial smile. We started walking along the prom towards the main shopping area. And it was certainly noticeable how mum was holding herself with greater assurance as she walked along, more comfortable with the way her boobs swaying and her belly wobbling, meeting the various stares of passers by, rather than looking away.
It was quite a long walk to the town centre, and after a while I could tell by the odd way mum had began to walk that she was urgently in need of a pee. Sure enough, she presently stopped and said: I’m bursting, are there any toilets round here. I don’t think so, I replied, you’ll just have to wait. I told you to go before we left the cafe. Perhaps we could stop at a bar for a another drink, mum said craftily, then I could use the loo there. So that was her game. I really don’t think you should have any more to drink just for the moment, I said, ignoring her pleading look, I took her by the hand and her led her slowly on, as she looked longingly at the several bars we passed. By now mum was having quite a job to walk straight as she tried to contain the pressure in her bladder. Presently, I stopped to watch some paragliders on the sea. I stood behind mum and put my arms round her, exerting a little pressure with my fingers at the base of her belly.
Suddenly I had a devilish idea. I think you should take your bikini top off, I said. What?! Mum exclaimed. Well, it doesn’t really fit you any more anyway, and it will make it easier for trying on clothes. I can’t do that, she said, everybody’s staring at me as it is. So it won’t seem any different, I reasoned. Mum was in an agony of indecision. If I take my top off, she finally offered, can we go to a bar, otherwise I’m going to wet myself. Oh, all right then, I said with mock reluctance. But no wine, I cautioned. So she whipped off her top, handed it to me, and pulled me firmly along to the nearest bar. Her boobs seem to relish their new found freedom, bouncing with abandon, as mum hurried along. With the cloudy weather, the bar was crowded with people who would otherwise have been on the beach. They weren’t expecting to see anyone in a bikini, let alone topless, with such an abundance of flesh on view, so it’s fair to say mum caused quite a stir when she went in. The men couldn’t believe their eyes, and some of the woman looked quite scandalised. Mum looked around desperately for the toilet, momentarily unaware of her near nakedness, and the effect she was having.
A man of about mum’s age immediately went over, gave her an appraising smile, and asked if she wanted a drink. He looked very toned, his tanned face enhancing his Mediterranean good looks, and his English was very good. You could tell mum was flattered, but said: I’m not sure, I’d love a drink, but I really need the loo, and besides, my boyfriend’s with me. I’m sure he won’t mind me buying you a drink, he replied, glancing over to me. I gave him a look which said: OK then, but don’t get any ideas. He ordered a beer, whilst mum bobbed up and down, her face contorted with the effort of holding her swollen bladder. When he handed it to her, she drained almost half the glass straight away, so as not to spill it. So what is this thing, the loo, that you need, he asked her, feigning ignorance, and transfixed by the site of mum’s boobs bouncing and wobbling as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. The toilet, mum said, I need the toilet, I’m bursting. Bursting? He queried, obviously enjoying mum’s predicament and his little game. Are you going to explode? he teased her. I’m breaking my neck, mum said, which of course just gave him further cause to question her on the peculiarities of the English language, whilst mum jiggled ever more frantically in a lather of desperation and embarrassment. Listen, she said finally, spelling it out, I’ve d***k a lot of beer and I have an extremely full bladder, can you tell me where the Ladies is. OK, OK, he said, as mum drained the last of her beer. All eyes were on her as she hobbled off to the toilet, clutching herself between her legs.
The men in the bar continued glancing at the toilet door, waiting to see when mum would re-appear. After a few minutes the door opened, and mum walked back over in a futile attempt to look ladylike and decorous. As she returned, her admirer said: one for the road? No more, I said firmly, but mum pouted and said: don’t be such a spoil-sport, it’s the last day of my holiday. Come on , the man said looking at me, I’ll buy you one too. Ok, I said reluctantly, just one more, then we really must be going. He got the drinks in and said to me: does your ladyfriend always go around like this? It was a dare, I replied, I think she’s got a great body, and I like her to show it off. Well, you’ve got plenty to show off, he said, staring appreciatively at mum’s boobs. You mean I’m getting fat, mum said, patting her full belly. Too much beer, she offered by way of explanation. Not at all, the man assured her, we don’t all like stick-thin women, I think you’ve got a very sexy figure. You’re not so bad yourself, mum said, pawing his chest. Emboldened by this, he put one arm round her bottom, drawing her closer, and slid his other hand down her belly. When mum didn’t pull away, he discretely wormed his hand inside the front of her briefs, and started caressing her clit. Mum jolted like she’d had an electric shot.
Now at this point, if I really had been her boyfriend, I should have intervened and told him to back off, but he had correctly deduced that I was either too timid, or too dumbstruck, to do so. It was a bizarre situation. He carried on making light conversation about our holiday etc, whilst continuing to finger mum. After a while, mum pushed her hand down the front of his Bermuda shorts, which now clearly showed the outline of a huge erection, and started gently rubbing him. At this point, even Mr Cool was rendered momentarily speechless. I wondered how long this could go on before we all got thrown out or arrested, but he must have been well primed, because after a few minutes his eyes glazed over in that tell-tale fashion, and mum withdrew her hand, cradling a great gob of goo in her palm. I wondered what on earth she was going to do with it, but that soon became apparent as she passed her hand over her mouth and swallowed, washing it down with a lengthy swig of beer. It was now mum’s turn to cum, the man clamping his lips over her mouth to muffle her cries, as he expertly frigged her to her second tumultuous orgasm of the day. That’s quite a lady you have there, he said to me, as mum slowly tried to regain her composure. She sank the rest of her beer greedily, and we made our way arm in arm out of the bar, in a ridiculous pastiche of normality, as those around looked on in disbelief.