It was never supposed to happen, and looking back, I often wonder if I only imagined it. But my mother died last week and I found her journals, including the one for the summer of 1955…
We lived in Boston, outside Boston, really, now all part of the city, it used to be a neighborhood. The house was brick, sharing walls, row houses. We moved there just after I graduated high school, July 1955, a hot, humid summer. I was at a funny age, not really independent, but wanting to be. I was 18, starting at State University in the fall, but still living at home.
I was shy, and not willing to admit that I was scared. I would be the first one in our family to go to college. I didn’t want to leave home. I didn’t want to meet anybody. As much as my mother tried to get me out, I preferred to stay in. I loved the tiny back yard and spent most of my time watering plants and playing with the hose. That first hot summer I’d set up the sprinkler, lie down, and let the twirling spiral of spray cool me down. I was happy, safe in my little world.
Dad was a salesman. He sold supplies to drug stores. When he wasn’t on the road, he was gone during the day, heading into town on the train early in the morning, coming home late, after I’d already had my supper. I’d be up in my room reading when he would come home. He was like a tornado, loud and complaining, about how everything was somebody’s fault – his boss, a customer, management or a politician, never his own. Mom would listen to him, nod sympathetically. I wanted Mom to tell Dad to “buckle up” and “quit whining,” but she never did. I knew when I got a job, I would never come home and complain. I imagined how I was going to be. If I wanted something, I would go out and get it! I felt sorry for Mom that way, that she had married such a weakling.
I had hoped that the summer heat would be over by the time school started in September, but it was still hot and muggy. Mom saw me off to school with a good breakfast every morning. Late in the afternoon I’d come home, drenched from the heat. The first thing I’d do when I got home was strip down to my underwear and sit under the sprinkler in the back yard.
It was only the second week of school when Dad went off on a sales trip. I liked being home alone with Mom. School was a confusing place. There were girls, older girls, girls that seemed so confident, so sure of themselves, of their bodies, and what they wanted from the boys. I enjoyed how safe I felt at home, especially when Dad was gone.
“You love Dad?” I asked Mom.
I was home after a hot day at school, standing in the doorway, dripping wet, just standing there in my briefs. I guess I wanted her to notice me, notice how I felt safe around her. She was ironing, rocking with the iron as she pressed dad’s shirts.
“Course I do…” she said.
But her voice told of far-away dreams, what might have been. She looked up from her ironing. I saw her eyes glide from my hair, down my face, to my chest, where she smiled, then down to my wet underwear.
“Your dad was handsome when he was younger.” She turned her attention back to the shirt she was pressing. “Just like you,” she said. “I met your father when he was about your age.”
I watched a smile grow on Mom’s face. The years seemed to melt away. Her smile turned sneaky, sly, like she just swallowed a secret. When she looked back up at me, she was different, kind of mysterious. She stared at me. I couldn’t keep from staring back.
I could see her, what she looked like, when she was younger. She was pretty. She smiled and it sent a shiver through my body. Her eyes darted to my crotch, where I now felt the discomfort of a bent-over erection trapped in the wet, clingy cotton.
“He was so eager,” she said, and looked up at my eyes with the happiest, biggest smile I’d ever seen on her. “Just like you.”
I blushed bright red, turned, and ran upstairs to my room. I closed the door and pulled off the wet briefs. I was breathing hard and it wasn’t just from running up the stairs. I was scared. I looked at myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my door. There it stood, hard as wood.
I was embarrassed that the erection had happened, that my mom had seen it. I was scared, too, not because she seemed to enjoy seeing my reaction, but because I realized it was looking at my mom that had given me the erection, her smile, the way she seemed almost playful.
The next day I went straight to my room after school. I shut the door and read about all sorts of new technological wonders. What an age I lived in! New inventions every day! By the time Mom called me for dinner, I had forgotten about yesterday.
“Weren’t you hot, today?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said, then lit up as I remembered a story about how we would control our planet’s weather in the future. “Someday, we’ll be able to set the temperature on a dial,” I said, excited at the prospect.
“Yes, I expect you will…”
I started to eat, then realized my mom was watching me. I stopped eating and looked up.
“You like your dinner?” she asked.
“It’s swell, Mom,” I said.
“It’s your favorite,” she said. “I made it just for you.”
She was twirling her fork in her fingers, flipping it over and over, not really using it to eat, just turning it. I looked up towards her face, but was distracted by her other hand, which was delicately holding the neck of her dress, just above the buttons that climbed the front. She was fanning it open and closed. I watched as the motion caused her dress to billow, a wave of cloth, which washed over her chest. I stared as her movement became more pronounced, and she lifted the material further away with each flick of her wrist. I saw her bosom, the top of her breast, then more. Afraid she would catch me, I looked up at her face, expecting to be chastised, but she was daydreaming, staring out the window. My heart was beginning to pound in my ears, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as I looked down at that flapping cloth, looked underneath at the milky white skin. The top button came undone and I was sure my mother would notice, but her eyes were closed, now. She seemed to be enjoying the coolness on her skin. With the next couple flaps, I saw she wasn’t wearing any bra. I got a glimpse at her dark center, and her nipple. I swallowed hard and leaned just a bit to the side, hoping to see further inside.
“Oh, it is so hot,” Mom said. “I do believe I’ll take a bath.”
I quickly stared down at my plate, afraid to look up at her. I squirmed as I felt that uncomfortable swelling in my pants. I reached for the napkin in my lap, looked up and smiled as I gave my erection a gentle push to straighten it out.
Mother was just smiling at me, the same smile I’d seen the other day. She seemed so much younger when she smiled like that. And she had a sense about her. She was more confident, more relaxed, just like the girls at school. I knew that she knew what it was all about, knew that something that I didn’t know much about. My only education had been the stories the boys would tell, about kissing and touching, about tongues and fingers, and the hole between a girl’s legs…
I swallowed, a dry swallow, that made my chin lift as nothing went down my throat. That’s when I noticed the nipples, the little poking rise out of her dress. I just wanted to touch those, and the breasts, just to see what they felt like. But she stood up.
As she rose, her hands spread her dress down her body. For a split second, as her hands passed her crotch, I saw the outline of the “v” where her legs came together. I thought she was doing this on purpose, to show me, to teach me. She didn’t say anything, just turned, swirling her dress with the grace of a dancer, and walked away. As I heard her start the bath upstairs, I imagined her getting undressed. I imagined she getting undressed with me watching, with her knowing I was watching.
“I just want you to know, what it’s all about,” she says, the dress sliding off her body, her breasts, her crotch now fully visible. “Here, feel what it’s like,” she says, taking my hand, pulling it onto the pillow that is her breast. “Do you want to learn?” she asks, spreading her legs, closing her eyes while I stare, then push and probe.
I opened my eyes and pulled my hand out of my pants. I listened, then called out, “Mom?” There was no answer, so I headed upstairs. “Mom?” The bathroom door was open a bit. “Mom, were you calling me?” As I got closer, I heard her washing herself. I pushed on the door and called to her from the hallway. “Mom, did you call me?”
“Would you come in and help me,” she said. When I didn’t answer, she said, “I need some help. I can’t reach.”
I pushed the door open all the way and stepped in. She was in the tub, her back to me. I couldn’t see anything except her hair. She had taken it down. It was hanging long and wet down her back. God, her skin looked so soft. Something deep inside me wanted to touch that wet skin, stroke that wet hair, but instead, I said, “Mom! You don’t have any clothes on!”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m taking a bath.” Without seeing the struggled reaction on my face, she went on, “I’m sure I’m not the first woman you’ve ever seen naked! Besides, you’ve seen me without my clothes many times…”
She must have felt my question.
“When you were smaller, when you were a boy,” she said, turning now to face me, her breasts dripping with water.
“Mom, I’m not a boy anymore!”
She smiled, that sly, mischievous, melting, exciting smile.
“Yes, I can see that.” Her eyes were drilled at my crotch, where another uncomfortable erection was bunching in my pants.
“Come here,” she said, not a question, a command so sure and confident I immediately complied. “Wash my back.” Another command. I knelt down and took the wet facecloth, dipped it in the water, and lifted it hot, wet, and dripping onto her back. “Mmm… that feels good,” she said. She hunched her shoulders forward, leaning almost down to her knees. I squeezed water over her back, lay the facecloth open on her back, and washed. She reached behind and handed me a bar of soap. I rubbed the soap into the facecloth and scrubbed. “Use your hands,” she said quietly.
My hands were already slippery with soap and slid easily up and down her back. I washed her carefully, as if it was an important job, and I wanted to do it right. “Use your fingernails,” she whispered, and I did.
“Oh… oh… that… feels… so… goooood!”
She sounded different, and the sound was having its effect on me. I pressed harder, my fingernails leaving visible tracks. I started at the top of her spine and slowly scraped down her back.
“Mmmmm…” she purred.
I stroked my soapy hand back up her side. She sat up a bit, lifted her arm, inviting me further. I pressed my aching erection against the edge of the tub, pushing on it the way I liked to squeeze it. I closed my eyes and let my hand slide up her body. I slowly leaned forward. I soon found the softest skin I had ever felt. I cupped my fingers and let my fingertips press into the edge of her breast. I couldn’t stop and let my hand wrap around until I felt a hard rubbery tip that I knew was her nipple. Everything was so quiet.
Suddenly, I knew she was watching. My eyes flew open and she was smiling, staring at me. I was so embarrassed. I froze as something in the way she was staring at me frightened me. Something inside me knew, knew she was hungry, knew she wanted me to do more. I stood, then slowly backed out of the bathroom, afraid to turn my back on her. When I got to the door, I ran to my room.
It was very quiet. I heard myself breathing hard. “Oh my god!” I thought, “she wants to…” I couldn’t get the image out of my head, her hands touching me, undressing me, stroking me. I didn’t want her to, but at the same time, I wanted her to. I couldn’t help thinking how it would feel, to have someone else put their hands around my cock, someone else stroke up and down. My hand was already around my shaft as I imagined my mother, in her bathtub, hands slippery with soap, reaching up and undoing my belt, my button, my zipper, reaching into my underwear and… I came hard, my cum spurting as waves of pleasure rang through my body. I kept my eyes closed, keeping the fantasy going, until I relaxed and took a deep breath. I looked at myself in the mirror, then smiled when I saw a white blob of cum on the mirror, over three feet away. I cleaned up, then lay in bed to do some homework, but fell hard asleep until morning.
It was Friday morning, and I had fallen asleep before doing my homework. I got up to go to school like usual, trying to figure out what my excuse would be. The night before seemed distant and unreal. I decided to act like it had never happened, then I remembered that it hadn’t happened, it was just a fantasy. I was late and ran downstairs to grab a quick breakfast. Mom had made fried eggs and toast.
“Hey, tiger,” she said, smiling over her shoulder from the stove.
But part of it wasn’t a fantasy. I had really washed her back, seen her breasts in the bath, touched her. Now it seemed silly for me to have been embarrassed. I had acted like a little boy, but she still called me “tiger.”
I sat down and poured out some corn flakes while Mom finished the eggs. I was reading the back of the cereal box when she turned and brought over my plate.
“Over easy, just the way you like ’em,” she said.
I looked up to take the plate and I was surprised how I wasn’t surprised. Mom had on her morning bathrobe, but it wasn’t tied in front like usual. As she handed the plate to me, her robe parted, and I watched as her breasts floated into view. Enjoying their gentle sway, but not making anything of it, my eyes followed my plate, which I took and lowered to the table. But I wasn’t focused on the plate. I kept my eyes on what was just beyond, the skin flowing down my mother’s chest, down her abdomen, past her belly button, to a black nest of hair. I looked at that curly mass, surprised at how similar it was to my own. I imagined I was staring in a mirror at myself, except where my dick would normally be hanging, there was only a dimple.
I knew she was watching me stare at her, but I didn’t care. She was giving me a lesson. I was the student, eager to learn. I cocked my head a bit to the side and knitted my brow. She understood my question, put a hand on the table, leaned back, and let one of her knees swing aside. I saw what looked like a crack with lips on each side. I must have still looked confused because she pulled out a chair, lifted her leg, put her foot on the chair, and spread herself.
A feeling of awe and amazement swept over me as I watched those two lips slowly pulled apart, revealing a hairless slit, moist and red. I knew immediately what this magic entrance was for. I shifted in my seat as I felt my body’s reaction to this sight.
“Eat your eggs,” she said, dropping her leg back down, returning to the stove top.
I couldn’t eat. It just didn’t seem that important anymore. She came back to the table with her plate and sat down.
“You don’t look so good,” she said, reaching over to feel my forehead. “No temperature, but you sure look flushed.”
I just sat there, staring at the soft, rounded globes that jiggled when she spoke. It wasn’t my idea, but when she said, “You better stay home from school today,” I knew it was the answer to all my problems. “I’ll call and let them know,” she said. “You better get back to bed. I’ll come up and check in on you later.”
I didn’t eat anything, just went up to my room. For the first time in a long time, I left the door open. I stripped down to my briefs and crawled into bed, under my covers. I could hear her down in the kitchen, cleaning up. Then I heard her vacuuming the house. I imagined she was vacuuming naked, and she was on her hands and knees, cleaning under the couch, moving the hose in and out. I imagined I saw her cunt, that hole that the boys had talked about. I knew, now, where the hole was, where to put my cock. I closed my eyes and saw her, open, ready. I imagined coming up behind her and sticking my cock into her cunt…
I came quickly, my fingers barely needing to stroke my pulsing pole. The cum erupted like a volcano. I wiped myself clean on my underwear. I smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be long, knowing I was going to get a lesson, knowing my mom was going to teach me. I started taking a few deep breaths and before I knew it, I was asleep.
I woke up and it was hot and sticky. I looked at the clock: 2pm! I had slept like a log for over six hours! I was sweating now, and kicked off the covers. My door was closed. She had been up to see me. I jumped out of bed and went downstairs. Mom was ironing, just like she did every day. Suddenly, I was afraid, scared I had misunderstood. Maybe she wasn’t going to…
“Hey, sleepyhead. Feeling better?”
“Not really. I thought you were going to come up…”
“I did, silly. You were sound asleep.” She looked down at my crotch. “And when I checked, it seemed like you were feeling better.”
I followed her gaze to the yellow stain, now dried and stiffened, on my briefs. I scrunched my face up as I felt confused and outmatched. I didn’t know what to do. I was so frustrated. Then I remembered what my teachers always said, “You’re going to have to let me do the teaching. You just do what I tell you and you’ll learn.” I took a deep breath and decided to surrender. If it happened, it would happen. It was up to her, up to teacher. She smiled that magic smile and I just wanted to hold her, fuck her. “It may be up to her, but I can still do my part,” I thought. I stepped up to her, waited as she put down her iron, then gave her a big hug.
“I want you, Mom!”
I pulled her tight against me, tighter than I had ever hugged her before. I know she could feel my skin pressing into her breasts, nothing between us but that thin cotton dress. I turned her towards me as I hugged her, slipped my foot, then my leg, between hers. I gave her another hug. This time my hands went down around her butt. I held her tight as I pressed my knee into her crotch while I pressed my crotch into her thigh. I felt the squeeze. She must have felt it, too, because her arms came around me, her hands sliding over my back, and she wrapped me tight. I lifted my knee, felt her legs open. I felt her rock her pelvis into me, pressing her slit onto my thigh. I held her, rocking her, until she let go.
“I have to finish the laundry,” she said. I could see she was working hard to control herself. “Your father is coming home tonight. Everything has to be done before he gets home…”
She stopped, seemed a little confused, kind of out of it. I decided to give her have some time. All of the sudden, I was feeling very much in control. All of the sudden, it was Mom who was acting a little goofy.
“You do what you have to,” I said. “I’m going to cool off in the sprinkler.”
My heart was beating fast, but I felt collected. I walked over to the door to the back yard. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I smiled and without turning to look at her, I slipped my thumbs under the elastic of my briefs. I slid my underwear down my legs to the floor. I stepped out of my underwear and let the screen door slap closed behind me.
I enjoyed the way the water felt on my body, especially my new found balls, as I splayed my legs and let the water land on my crotch. I saw Mom watching, from the kitchen. I lay there, opening and closing my legs, until I was cooled down. When I was done and got up, she was gone from the window. Dripping wet, I sneaked back into the house. I wanted to surprise her. I was ready, felt ready, to take the initiative, even if she didn’t.
At first, I didn’t hear her in the house. “Maybe she’s taking a bath,” I thought. Then I heard a kind of whimper. I stopped, trying to hear where it came from, but I only heard the washer going. Then it came again, this time louder, like Mom was hurt or in pain. It came from the back, towards the porch. I stepped quickly now, closer, then heard Mom crying out, moans. I reached the wall to the wash room and peeked around.
At first I thought Mom was caught somehow, maybe her finger was stuck in the lid of the washer. She was leaning over the corner, almost lying on top. The washer was making lots of noise as it jiggled. Mom let out a yelp. That’s when I noticed how she kept spreading her legs, pressing herself against the corner of the washer.
“Oh… my… god…” she gasped. She held on tight as the machine continued to wiggle, spinning with a poorly balanced load. She was having a hard time holding herself up. Her knees kept buckling, causing her legs to spread wide. Then she reached behind and slipped her hand under her dress. I watched her fingers disappear between her legs. When she let out another moan, I knew what I needed to do, and what she wanted me to do.
With only three giant steps, I was behind her. When she felt me lift her dress, she was startled and looked over her shoulder. I pressed my body to hers. She looked frightened for a second, then turned forward, again, and buried her head in what I now recognized was my stained underwear. I let my fingers find her panties. I gave a quick yank, trying to pull them down. They tore away, removing my last barrier. I curved my hand up between her buttocks and plunged my fingers into her slippery, wet pussy.
And oh how wet it was! I had heard about this, but never imagined it would feel so good, fingers sliding into her, up a far as they could go. She gasped, jerked, moaned and sucked. I couldn’t to wait any more. I pulled out my hand, grabbed her hips, and pressed my engorged cock as close as I could get it. She responded by arching her butt back and up. My cock disappeared under her crotch. I started thrusting, but didn’t realize I wasn’t even in her cunt until she reached under, grabbed my dick and guided me up, at more of an angle, up even more, and then she stuffed my cock in, and I was sliding into her pussy.
I’ve never felt anything as satisfying, not in my whole life, nothing has even come close, to the warm, soft, feeling I had as I pressed my cock into my mother’s pussy.
“Oh, Johnny…” I heard her gurgle as I bashed into her, bashing her into the washer, bashing me into my orgasm…
I don’t know if she had an orgasm, just then, but during the next few hours, I know she had several. We started at the washer, then moved to the floor. Then she went to the bathroom to clean up. I went with her. I fucked her sitting on the counter, lying on the floor, bouncing on the toilet, in the tub with her on top. We went into the kitchen to get some supper, but never ate. I fucked her as she bent over the sink and looked out the kitchen window, I fucked her on top of the kitchen table.
Suppertime came and went, and just when she said we had to stop, because Dad was coming home any minute, I dragged her upstairs into her bedroom, threw her face down on her bed, and fucked her dogie style, right there where she and Dad fucked, in the same bed where I was conceived.
That made her pussy pulsate with the strongest muscle contractions I’d felt all afternoon. When her twitching stopped, she tried to turn over.
“Your father will be home any minute,” she implored.
“I’ll bet he’s never done this,” I said.
And as she shook her head “no” I pushed her face back into the bed, lined up my pole with her asshole, and gave a push.
“No, not…” she said, muffled by the covers.
“You have to relax,” I said, then I pressed into her again. She wasn’t catching on, so I leaned up, spit on my dick like I’d heard men do. Then I held my cock stiff with my hand and pushed into her. This time, I slid in about an inch.
“Oh my god!” she cried, looking back over her shoulder, fearful of what I was doing. I didn’t stop, but pressed in deeper. “Oh my god!” she said, sounding more awestruck than afraid. I felt her give up and I sank in.
It was tight, but as I pumped in and out, she relaxed and loosened up. I reached around and fingered her clit, now an old friend of mine, and she started to twitch. As she cramped with yet another orgasm, I rammed her and she rocked back to meet my intruding cock. Her asshole was tight, and I was anxious. I came after only a dozen pumps, spewing deep inside her. Suddenly, she was very slippery. I wanted to keep going, but I shrank and plopped out.
Mom turned over onto her back. I collapsed beside her. We just lay there, unable to move, unable to speak, until I heard the key in the front door. I jumped up and flew into my bedroom. Mom was close behind and made a beeline for the bathroom.
“Hello! I’m home!” Dad bellowed. Then after a few more seconds, “Where is everybody?”
“In my room,” I yelled back, looking frantically for a pair of pants and a shirt.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” Mom called from the bathroom.
Once I got dressed, I waited in my room for a while, trying to hear what Mom was saying. I finally got the courage to go downstairs. Dad was in the kitchen with Mom. She was at the sink, wearing her bathrobe, washing dishes. Dad put his hand on my shoulder.
“Mom tells me you helped her with the laundry today,” he said. “And you home sick from school?”
I looked down at the floor and watched Dad as he nodded his approval. He gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“How is school going?” he asked.
“It’s going good,” I said. “Mom is helping me… She’s a great teacher.”
A pan rattled as it fell in the sink. Dad smiled, patted me on the back, then turned to Mom. She was still hovering over the sink, still washing the dishes.
“I gotta go,” I said, jerking my thumb towards my room. “Homework… Good to see you, Dad.” He gave me a wink and a nod as I left.
I slowly climbed the stairs. I could hear Dad’s voice and the sound of running water. I waited at my door until I Dad’s booming voice began to tell Mom all the things that went wrong on his trip. I closed my door, got undressed, and crawled into bed. Unable to even think of jacking off, I fell asleep and dreamed about the next time my dad was out of town.