For years I had been driving my mother up to visit her girlfriend. Ever since I had turned sixteen, gotten my license, I’d taken mom on her monthly pilgrimage to spend the day visiting with her long time friend during the summer months. It wasn’t like it was a cross-country trip, but mom hated driving on the freeway. And I didn’t mind taking her as Valerie; mom’s friend had a couple of sweet looking twin daughters. I’d become friends with them too and we’d spent some interesting moments together whenever we came for a visit.
My father had passed away shortly after I had turned eighteen, now at twenty-two, living in my own place, I still enjoyed taking mom once a month at least for a weekend visit with her friend.
I understood mom’s reluctance to start dating or seeing anyone again, but the fact was, she was still damn good looking at forty-two, exactly twenty years older than I was. She wore her dark almost coal black hair in a very young stylish sort of way that made her look ten years younger. In addition to that, she had a figure that I’d seen several men and women give notice too, not overly large breasts, but certainly noticeable, along with a tight firm ass that looked spectacular in a pair of shorts.
I’d often been told I had my mother’s eyes, a beautiful bluish green, and hazel as they called them, which were identical to hers. And though my hair wasn’t quite as dark as hers was, we did again share the same olive complexion, though on her it looked far more exotic and alluring.
As I usually did, I picked her up early on a Saturday morning for the hour and a half drive up to visit with Valerie and the “twins”, something I was quite frankly looking forward to as they had made a point of being home themselves when we came for our visit. I had hopes of making out with either one, or perhaps quite possibly both of them, doing a lot more, time and circumstance permitting.
It had been raining for the better part of the night, a light drizzle still falling as we headed out, though the weather reports had assured us the skies would soon be clearing with temperatures once again warming, promising a bright sunshiny day.
We’d not gotten quite halfway there when a fairly large eighteen-wheeler for whatever reason blew a tire. The roads were still slick in places, especially over the overpasses, where the truck just happened to blow the tire. Driving just behind it, I hit the brakes, plenty of distance between us, but the slick roads and wind kept the car from breaking nearly as quickly as it should have. We both watched the truck suddenly swerve, first hitting the guardrail and then careening wildly back into the cross lanes of traffic. Suddenly things seemed to happen in slow motion, and I knew there was no way we were going to avoid hitting the truck. I yanked on the wheel as hard as I could, throwing the car into one could be best described as a controlled spin. It was the best I could do beyond looking over towards my mother and yelling out towards her.
I remember saying, “Hold on mom…hold on.”
That was the last thing I remembered before waking up in the hospital. The bright lights hurt my eyes at first, so I closed them again, immediately hearing the sound of my mother’s voice seconds later after doing that.
“Brian? Brian?” I opened them immediately, the fog slowly dissipating, clarity coming back to me as I glanced over in the direction of the sound of her voice. My head hurt, but as I tried to sit up, I realized I couldn’t.
“Shh, you’re going to be ok honey, you’re going to be ok. Everything’s going to be ok.”
Her words though reassuring, held an underlying worry that at the moment at least, things weren’t.
“What, what happened?” I asked still feeling a bit groggy, which I knew then had to be from the pain medication, whatever that was I was on. I finally managed to lock eyes with her however as she stood leaning over the bed. She had some cuts and abrasions on her face, but beyond that, she still looked to be in pretty good shape. Once again I tried sitting up, but the pain from my injuries, alerted me to the fact it was best to remain lying still.
“You remember anything?” she asked after kissing my forehead, her fingers gently running through my hair. I did and I didn’t. I remembered throwing the car into what was at best a controlled slide, purposely directing the point of impact away from her side of the car as I remember seeing the truck’s cab suddenly pointing in the opposite direction facing towards us. The impact had been almost head on, on my side of the car. I then learned how I’d been pinned, with the paramedics and fire department literally having to cut me out of the car. Miraculously, mom had survived the impact with just a few cuts and abrasions from the flying glass, the airbag giving her a black eye and a rather nasty bruise across her chest, which she later showed me. For myself, I now learned I’d suffered a broken leg and two broken arms, one of which had been sever requiring immediate surgery to repair, now pinned in place, along with my leg. I groaned, once again feeling the pain.
“Nurse?” I remembered hearing mom call out as I once again closed my eyes, a wave of nausea coursing over me. “Can we give him something more?” I heard her asking.
“Not for another hour yet,” I heard the nurse respond after checking my charts. “He’s already at the maximum we allow for injuries of this nature, he’s very likely got a pretty good concussion as well, and we don’t want to overly sedate him because of it.”
I groaned, the pain though not intense, was extremely uncomfortable, and now that I was more fully awake, there was no way I was going to be able to sl**p until I got a bit more to at least take the edge off. Feeling my mother’s hand once again stroking my forehead, her hands and fingers gently running through my disheveled hair seemed to help, surprisingly. And I moaned again, though this time in more of a relaxed gratefulness as she stood there. In time, I fell asl**p again.
When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. The lights in my room were dim, but it was obviously night with the darkness of the evening clearly showing through my window. I looked over, this time being able to do so without too much pain, surprised to see mom sitting in a chair next to the side of my bed, obviously asl**p.
She immediately woke at the sound of my voice. “Brian? Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?” she asked worriedly.
I was, but I wasn’t about to tell her that either. “I’m ok,” I reassured her. “You should go home…get some rest, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” she said bursting out into tears, though quickly recovering, and steeling herself. “And I’ve already been home,” she added. It was then that I realized she had indeed changed clothes, her face already looking a hell of a lot better than I remembered seeing it the first time. “You’ve been asl**p for two days now,” she told me, her comment startling me, as it seemed like I’d only been asl**p for a few hours now.
Once again she stood at the side of my bed, her hands gentle, reassuring, soothing as she stroked the side of my face, leaning over, kissing me softly on the forehead, and then on my lips, lingering there only briefly. As she had done that however, I felt the fullness of her breasts brush against my arm, pressing against me momentarily as she literally hugged herself to me.
I was injured, still in a little pain, but astonished that her close contact with me had sent a jolt of pleasured sweetness coursing through my body, particularly my head. I silently chastised myself for allowing it, surprised that I did on the one hand, though immediately using the excuse that whatever d**gs I was on, were obviously interfering with my inhibitions, feeling still a bit loopy and somewhat out of it. It was the only thing I could come up with to explain the sudden emergence of unexpected, unexplainable arousal between my legs.
I had never really entertained sexual thoughts about my own mother. Sure, I had on more than one occasion admired the way she looked in some of the clothing she wore, and had indeed found my own mother attractive looking. But I’d never found myself thinking about her, particularly when I pleasured myself, which I very often did. Maybe it was semi normal for boys, even young men to occasionally fantasize about their mothers or s****rs, but not having any, I’d never really done that, the few times those type of thoughts had actually entered my head, even hinting at going in that direction, I’d immediately turned my thoughts elsewhere, effectively heading them off.
Now however, I lay there in bed, feeling my erection growing, which was both frustrating as well as embarrassing. I again could only contribute the emergence of arousal as being due to my body being screwed up with the d**gs and the simplistic, though very welcome touch of her hands and fingers on me. Though the contact of her breasts had certainly triggered the rest of it.
The one thing I will add. Even before the death of my father, mom and I had always had a frank and open relationship with one another. We could talk and discuss just about anything, which we very often did. By the time I was old enough to date, it was mom that counseled me on contraceptives, women in general, and things she felt I should be aware of. Surprisingly, I was never uncomfortable being around her when we did that, and found it refreshing more than anything else that we could. And never not once, did I found myself becoming inappropriately aroused because of it, nor did I feel either one of us to be shy or embarrassed in discussing some of the things that we had. It was something I had always appreciated and admired in our relationship, the fact that we could so openly, so candidly do that, without fear, shame or guilt in having done so.
But now, lying there in bed with a full-blown erection, I found myself very much embarrassed for the first time. And though she hadn’t as yet noticed it herself, I already had of course, looking down, seeing the telltale tent in the sheet between my legs. I moaned, not from necessarily being in pain, but again from the awkwardness of my situation. Though mom again took it for being in pain, immediately turning to call out to the nurse.
“When can he have some more pain medication?” she asked her, for what I knew had to have been the umpteenth time.
Bad enough that she’d called out to the nurse who now came into my room, but the direction of her eyes, where she then looked told me she now saw what I had feared my mother would soon discover for herself. Though initially startled, she quickly averted her gaze, spoke to my mother and then left the room.
“He’s still got a couple of hours yet,” she told my mother sounding not quite irritated, but not in the happiest tone of voice either. I couldn’t help wondering if she found my lying there in bed with a woody disgusting or what. Especially with my own mother standing there next to my bed. But then as I feared, as she turned back around to face me with an apologetic look in her eyes for not being able to bring me some additional relief, she then spotted it too. Time for that brief moment seemed to stand still. For both of us. There was indeed a surprised look on her face upon seeing me, and one of those classic “double-takes” as she briefly closed her eyes, opening them again immediately as though not quite believing she was actually looking at what she obviously was. It was as though she herself had hallucinated the obvious, finding that she hadn’t, and then looking back at me with surprised wonder, though I immediately saw her own look of nervous embarrassment and awkwardness appear in her face.
It reminded me of another time, so very long ago now. She had that very same look back then too.
I was still pretty young, lying there in bed playing with myself, the first signs and sensations of my impending orgasm already upon me. I hadn’t heard the simple quick warning knock on my door, too engrossed in the mental sensation to have been aware of it when mom walked into my room. How long she had stood there, I never really knew, though it couldn’t have been more than moments, just long enough to realize what it was I was doing, a surprised comment that perhaps she shouldn’t have even made, alerting me only then to her presence.
“Oh…I’m, I’m sorry!” she said stuttering, stepping out closing the door. At the sound of her voice my eyes had popped open, seeing that look in her face just before she turned heading back out of my room. I lay there in shock, my dick still in my hand, though already withering, seconds later rolling out of bed, throwing on a pair of pants and a tee-shirt, then sprinting out of my room down the stairs where I heard her fumbling around in the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect, perhaps some sort of chastisement perhaps, actually feeling like I deserved it for what I’d obviously been caught doing. But much to my surprise, I received a smile from her instead, albeit a nervous looking one when I entered.
“God mom…I’m sorry!”
“For what? There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m the one who should be apologizing for walking in on you like that. Serves me right, next time I’ll wait for you to give me permission before just walking in.”
Her response had surprised me. “But…”
“But what?” She then realized by the look on my face that I wasn’t just embarrassed, but ashamed. “Sit down,” she told me still smiling, a look of understanding at my discomfort etched clearly within her face. “Maybe this is time for one of those talks,” she then stated.
And we did talk, for hours. She had begun by explaining to me that what I was doing was perfectly normal, perfectly natural, and nothing that I should ever, ever be ashamed at doing. I remembered asking her.
“You mean…you do it too?” I asked innocently. Again remembering that as we’d so often done before, being free to talk to her about things we already had, and things we soon would be, that my question didn’t really shock her, or upset her, though perhaps surprising her to some degree when I asked it. Her response however was in line with our mutual openness.
“Yes, of course!” She’d freely admitted.
As I said, we then talked about the subject for a considerable length of time after that. She’d told me once again it was a natural way of self discovery for one thing, learning about our own bodies and how we best felt when pleasuring ourselves in this way, how it would later on lead to sharing that intimacy with a partner. But she also told me how it very often helped to relieve stress, anxiety, and how it very often helped her to fall asl**p at the end of a long busy or keyed up day.
It was for me an open door, an opportunity to dispel a few myths, a few rumors I had heard. It had gotten to the point that I was masturbating every day, sometimes two, even three times during a day. I had heard that doing so was a sign of some form of perversion, a sickness. And having heard that, I had become alarmed, even trying to refrain from doing so at all, but then giving into the urge the next day, and if anything, doing it even more often, more frequently than I had been. I’d begun to wonder. So I asked her about that, even going so far as to asking her how often she did.
It was indeed one of the few times she actually looked a bit embarrassed at the question, but then honestly answered it, bringing me some measure of relief at least in once and for all, dispelling the myth that I was some sort of sexual monster.
“Usually, two, three times a week, depending on my mood,” she’d honestly told me. “Though again, I do so to help me get to sl**p for the most part, though I’m normal…just like you are,” she’d added. “Sometimes, like any woman would be…I’m simply horny.”
That night I remembered going to bed, the first time I’d actually allowed myself to entertain the thought, imagining my own mother lying in her bed, touching herself. Masturbating, climaxing. I had even tried shaking off the thought, picturing a particular girl I sort of had a crush on in school, trying to imagine her being naked, playing with herself, but the image kept coming back to my mother, seeing her instead. It was the only time I actively remembered allowing myself to actually orgasm while thinking of her as I lay there stroking my dick.
The touch of her hand on the side of my face returned me to the present. I sighed, closing my eyes, her simple touch bringing me some comfort. “That feels good,” I told her, relaxing to some degree.
“You should try and get some more sl**p,” she offered still caressing the side of my face with her fingertips.
“I wish I could,” I responded. It wasn’t so much the pain really, though that didn’t help, but the still very obvious erection between my legs wasn’t going away, and had acted like a shot of adrenalin. I was wide awake, a bit more relaxed perhaps, but still very much wide awake. She took my response as being something else however, discomfort of course, but not the discomfort I had actually eluded to.
It was then that I felt something I would never have imagined, not in a million years. At first I thought she was leaving, my eyes opening as I felt her withdraw her hand from my face. There in the dim light, she crossed towards the door in my room, closing it, returning, pulling her chair over much closer to the bed before sitting down.
“Let me help you, close your eyes,” she told me. I did so, having no idea what to expect, and certainly not expecting what happened next. It was then that I felt her hand slide beneath the top sheet of the bed, seconds later the warmth and softness of it as it wrapped itself around my stiff turgid member. My eyes once again popping open, looking at her as she sat there, the warmth and love of her own in return, catching me by surprise.
“Close your eyes, relax,” she admonished me. Which I did, though every nerve ending in my entire body was suddenly alive as a wave of goose bumps coursed up and down my entire body. “Let me help you…the only way I know how,” she then added as her hand began to slowly fondle my prick, lovingly caressing it there beneath the sheet as she sat next to me, her words soothing, gentling, reassuring.
The touch of her hand as she stroked me there beneath the sheet soon had me drifting on a sea of bliss, exquisite was not powerful enough a word to describe the emotions, sensations I was experiencing. Enough so, that before long I knew I was rushing towards the inevitable, only then worrying, rather than enjoying the sweetness she’d been giving me. Once again I opened my eyes looking at her, the unspoken concern of what was about to happen trying to find words, though she seemed to have already guessed them answering in her own way. She pulled the sheet away, gazing at my rock hard cock for only the briefest of moments, then her head leaning over, her mouth surrounding my shaft sucking me.
I was after all twenty-two. I’d had and experienced a few blowjobs by now. But surprisingly, I had never before come in a woman’s mouth before. I couldn’t tell you why exactly I hadn’t. Some women I had been with simply made it known, they wouldn’t for whatever reason. One or two others had shared with me they had and enjoyed it, but then either circumstance of whatever, never brought that about. One other nearly did, but then it was I who had at the last second removed it from her mouth, telling her I wanted to cum on her tits instead, which I did. So that one had been entirely my fault. I’d never experienced what it was like. Until now, with my very own mother.