A Lovers' Tale

Shamefully, there were nights I awoke to the feel of his tool between my ass cheeks dry humping me. Over time, I returned his sexual overtures, grinding my ass against him. Sometimes I felt the steel of his rod sliding through my engorged vaginal lips. I shivered at the intimacy. I drew the line at penetration. I'm not sure why. I wanted to.

Now, as the deputies stack our few meager possessions on the curb, his strong arms envelope me. They provide a physical and emotional barrier to the elements and our humiliation. Even now, with my world falling apart, I feel safe in his embrace. I am comforted when his hand slides familiarly over my hip and pats my behind. Often over the years I have sought validation and comfort from him. He is my bulwark against the abuse John has heaped on us. In those ways, he is more of a man than his father. He can accept and show affection.

This closeness, this emotional dependence has led to behavior some might find questionable. My only defense is the old one about walking a mile in my shoes. Spend 25 years in the emotional desert created by a distant abusive husband and you will seek comfort wherever you can. Perhaps we have touched each other inappropriately. Initially, it never went further than that.

***

I could feel mom's small breasts press against my chest as she clutched my forearm, her fingers flexing on my arm in her anguish. During our slide from a semblance of prosperity to a scant step above homelessness, she and I grew closer. We were always close in the mother/son sense. However, the financial calamity that befell us when dad's drinking finally cost him his job, also made us confidants.

After our confrontation, dad was rarely home. Those days were a relative heaven. He became the outsider who infrequently intruded on our meager existence. We tacitly accepted he had a slim hold on our lives.

Over mom's strenuous objections, I quit college and got a job working evenings at Burger Heaven. Many nights after working 10-12 hour shifts flipping burgers, mom and I would sit across from each other at the kitchen table and talk, I in my boxers; she in her thin flannel nightgown.

"Mom, you should leave him. He is never here anyway. You and I could find a place together."

"He needs me, Hank! I know you can't remember, but he was once a loving husband and father."

My anger welled in me as I slapped my hand on the worn cracked Formica of the kitchen table.

"He is an abusive drunk," I screamed, and if he hurts you again, I'll kill him."

Mom stood and walked around the table. She stepped behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her head is next to mine, her soft cheek pressed against mine. Her closeness calms me.

"Don't do that, Hank! If you do, they will take you away and I will have nothing."

***

We loaded the van with all we could. The heavier items Hank and John stacked to the front to balance the weight. The leaf springs on the old truck were in bad shape. What we could not take would be soaked by the persistent light shower and be worthless. When we finished loading as much as we could, Hank walked to the back and opened the cargo doors.

A small bench seat filled the back. His old truck was once a classy custom van with carpeted walls and mood lighting. It sported two captain's chairs in the driver's cabin and two more behind that. The rear bench seat folded down into a bed.

"I'll drive," dad said, his voice slurred.

"John, you've been drinking."

"I'm the man of this house," he said, his arm loosely waving at the place we were being evicted from.

"if you were more of a man, she would be sleeping with you. Not hiding from you in the basement."

"Hiding! Hiding!" My father's voice was derisive, his large meaty finger stabbed at the air. "I know what you are doing down there! It's sick! I should tell those deputies and see what they do about it!"

"Stop it! John, you drive. But you are a sick bastard if you believe what you are suggesting. Hank, help me into the truck."

"Why the hell are you going to sit back there?"

"Because, John, you and I have nothing to talk about."

"You skinny bitch! I suppose you are going to blame this on me too."

"Mom! Dad! Please! The situation is bad enough without you two fighting."

"Well fuck you then!"

"I may as well fuck myself. It's been years since you touched me. You're too much in love with the bottle and the sluts you pick up at the bar."

Something snapped in me. I'm not sure what it was. I loved my husband. However, somehow I still loved him but I felt different about him. I had tried to help him. I really had.

***

I was proud of her. She stood up to my father. However, to short circuit their argument, I scooped mom up and deposited her in the back of the van.

My hands caressed her warm bare legs as her short dress rode up on her thighs. She was as light as a feather. As I deposited her in the van, her skirt flew up, revealing her pink panties with the blue sunflowers. Dad snorted, turned, and walked to the driver's side door. He snarled at me when I saw him take a pull on a bottle of rotgut he secreted in the van.

Mom was sitting with her back against the carpeted wall of the van crying. Her skirt was still up.

"Nice girls sit like ladies," I teased, trying to lighten her mood.

She smiled through her tears. Then she straightened her skirt.

"Who told you I was a nice girl." She smiled through her tears.

For a moment, we held each others eyes. Then I climbed into the van and closed the cargo doors.

Boxes and suitcases filled the floor between the seats. Our pitiful few clothes were draped over the captain's chairs. From the back of the van, dad was clearly visible. If he turned his head, he could see us. I sat against the opposite carpeted wall with my legs spread. Mom sat opposite me with her legs between mine and crossed at the ankle. The hem of her skirt pulled up to mid thigh, revealing her satiny slim legs and thighs.

We both looked toward the front as father yanked the truck in gear and sped off. In front of us was an uncertain future. The manager at the motel where mom worked agreed to let us have a room. Behind was the evidence of our destitution piled haphazardly on the curb in the quickening rain.

"Here mom! Wrap yourself in this blanket until we get to the motel and we can change out of these wet clothes."

Instead of taking the blanket, mom leaned forward and got on all fours. She crawled the few feet to me, turned and sat down with her back against me.

"Cover us both! Our body heat will keep us warm."

After I covered us with the blanket, mom found my hands and placed them on her abdomen. Then she lay against my chest, her head turned to one side watching dad's back.

***

I arranged for us to stay in the motel where I worked. The manager was sympathetic to my circumstances. However, he could only give us one room and that for only a few days. The three of us would be cramped into that one room.

We had made no plans past that. Sleeping in the van was not an option, it was filled with our stuff. A homeless shelter was a possibility.

Long ago, I read a travel voucher about California. In the hills above Monterey Bay, in the Santa Cruz mountains, there was an enclave called the Misty Valley. The brochure said it was a private community of technical professionals and artists. It went on to say the residents led an alternative life style and were fiercely independent. My heart ached for that live and let live life style, to be free of my life's entanglements.

There are times when you never really decide to do something. It just happens. I read somewhere that our individual life experiences accumulate and move us in a given direction. My decision was like that, an accumulation of experiences.

As Hank watched perplexed, I turned and straddled him.

"Cover us with the blanket."

"What are you doing, mom?"

I held my finger to my lips and nodded at John driving.

As Hank leaned to wrap the blanket around us, I took his face in my hands and kissed him. It was a soft kiss. A lingering kiss. He sighed as my tongue probed his lips seeking entrance.

Our tongues played as we gave ourselves up to the passion of the kiss. I felt my son's hands tremble as he lifted the hem of my dress. I shivered as his large hands grasped my ass.

"Push your pants down," I whispered in his ear. I could feel his delicious hardness pressing against the wet gusset of my panties.

"Are you sure, mom?" He nibbled at my earlobe as he whispered to me.

Unable to speak because of my nervousness at what we were about to do, I could only nod my head. I rose to my knees and let him struggle down his pants and underwear. I reached between us and for the first time held my son's cock in my hands.

It was a thing alive, hard and pulsing yet pliant to my touch. With my other hand, I pushed the gusset of my panties to the side. We giggled nervously, stealing furtive glances at my husband's back as I took several attempts to get his tool positioned at my hole. Our foreheads touched as, for the first of countless times, my son's cock entered my pussy.

I could feel him pulsing in me as we kissed. I wrapped my arms around his neck. We held each other's eyes as I slowly slid back and forth, relishing the feel of him in me.

The van was caught in slow moving traffic. I saw John place the whiskey bottle to his lips, toss his head back and take a long draught. A torrent of emotion rushed through me as began to move up and down on Hank's cock. He was large but not overly so. His father may have been larger. However, he touched parts of me that had not been touched in years.

My climax came quickly. I'm not sure if it was the passion of the moment, the illicitness of our incestuous act or years of denial. I came hard with my face pressed into my son's shoulder. I sank my teeth into his shoulder as my body quaked with the release of my pent up need.

What we did was wrong. I accept that. As my son's cock pulsed in my spasming pussy, I did not care. I did not care what society thought about incest. I was fucking the man I loved and who loved me.

The van lurched to a stop. A blast of cold air hit us as John lowered the window to curse the driver in the car next to us. I could feel Hank's cock pulsing in me as we stopped making love.

"Mom, He is too drunk to drive. He could get us killed."

"I know baby! I know!" I felt tears run down my face.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted this moment to be special." For perhaps the first time, I looked at my husband with not quite hate but a strong distaste.

My gaze flicked from my son's face to the back of my husband's head as he drove. A part of me wanted him to turn and look back, to see us. I wanted him to know that his son replaced the emptiness in my heart and in my pussy.

I felt no horror at the forbidden act we were committing. I reveled in my son filling me with his manhood. I felt like a woman, who after a long courtship, finally consummates her love.

I couldn't stop kissing him as I meet his thrust with my own. Forgotten was my husband of 25 years sitting not 15 feet from us cursing the traffic and drinking from his bottle. Even my parents strident warnings about the wages of sin faded. I will pay the price. If an afterlife in Hell is my punishment for fucking my son, then I will enjoy my Heaven on earth.

He fills me so completely. Our movements are like practiced long time lovers. I can feel what he needs and he knows mine. We break our kiss, gasping for air at its length. I wrap my hands around Hank's neck and lean back. I mouth the words, "I love you." What's left of my world has shrunk to the back of this van and my son's cock.

***

It's almost like a dream. I was making love to my mother. I could feel her sheath flex and massage my cock as she rode me in the back of the van. We are in a world apart, softly thrusting against each other. Then mom trembled again and her pussy tightened, almost pushing me out as she came.

I'm close. I want to fill her with my seed to consummate our love. Mom came again, whimpering.

The van lurches again as my father brakes hard. I need to take over, to save us from his drunken driving.

"Mom! This is awesome! I don't ever want to ever stop! But dad..."

The van lurches again and mom and I look to the front of the van. I can feel her pussy flexing, massaging my cock. Her small nipples are rigid and red with her passion.

My father is not even hiding it anymore. He has the bottle to his lips with one hand on the wheel. The rain has picked up and traffic is crawling.

"Mom, I'd better drive. Dad is in no shape!"

"I know baby," she sighs.

As she rises to her knees, we both look between us at my cock exiting her. Our eyes moved from that to each others eyes. When my swollen cock head finally comes out, we look at each other and, incongruously, giggle.

***

Hank had not cum. And I so wanted him to. I wanted to feel his seed fill me. However, we did share something so intimate we were sated just by committing the act, by finally crossing that last taboo. I was his now.

I helped Hank slide his underwear and sweatpants on. Before I tucked his cock back in, I kiss it, tonguing the slit.

Somehow, Hank and I convinced John to pull onto the shoulder. Hank opened the cargo door on the van, jumped out and walked up on the driver's side of the still running van. I sat in the back of the van wrapped in the blanket. As I look at my drunken husband draining his whiskey bottle, I could feel my wetness in my panties.

When he opened the door, John fell out to the pavement in a drunken stupor. He was barely coherent as Hank half carried, half walked his bulk to the back of the van. I dropped the blanket and helped roll John into the van.

Hank lifted me in his arms and carried me to the passenger side door. He opened it and sat me in the seat. Then he returned to the driver side and climbed in.

I turn my captain's chair sideways. I feel amazingly free. To my right, the rain falls relentlessly. I could see the seemingly endless line of red brake lights in front of us as the traffic inches along.

To my left, through our pitiful belongings, I see John lying on his back. His eyes are closed. His mouth is open, saliva running down his cheek.

I kneel between the seats. "Pull your pants down."

Hank looks at me then quickly to the back of the van. "Are you sure, mom?"

"I'm sure."

He raises up and I pull his pants down again exposing his cock encased in his underwear. I fish it out and French kiss his slit, sliding my tongue up and down it. For the first time in my 42 years, I taste my pussy juices on my son's cock. It is ambrosia, a nectar of the gods! He is instantly hard. As I take him in my mouth, I watched my husband. I wanted him to wake up. I wanted him to see me sucking our son's cock. I wanted him to know that another man's cock had been in my pussy and now was in my mouth.

Hank's cock is a thing alive! It pulses and throbs in my mouth. The taste of his precum is a sweet nectar. It mixes with my saliva and slides down my throat to my belly. I suck harder. I want him to fill my mouth with his essence. All the while I watch my husband, willing him to wake up.

Hank groans. I feel his cock pulse rhythmically. My son is cumming. He is going to fill his mother's mouth with his hot sticky cum. Even though I have not touched it, my pussy pulses in harmony with Hank's cock. As he fills my mouth and my belly with his sperm, I cum with him.

***

At the motel, mom directed me to the room her manager rented her. When she opened the door, the view into the room depressed me. The ceiling was water stained. The non-descript wallpaper hung in strips from some walls and was nonexistent in others, the moldy drywall showing through.

Against one wall was a freestanding face bowl with a rust streak under the faucet where water dripped. The shower was merely a cubicle placed in the corner adjacent to the face bowl as though it was an afterthought. The grimy shower door hung by one hinge.

On the far wall opposite the face bowl, the motel manager had placed two twin beds adjacent to each other. The size of the room meant that you had to turn sideways to move between the beds.

"Hopefully the shower works," I said as I sat our battered suitcases on the floor. "I'll go get dad."

I was surprised when she turned and grabbed me around the waist.

"Hank, I'm sorry for what happened back there in the van. I...I...just feel so lonely sometime."

I embraced her, holding her slim body to mine. Even damp from the rain, her hair had a heady aroma. I kissed the top of her head then pushed her back and held her at arm's length.

"Mom, the only regret I have is I couldn't lick you and return the favor. I can't wait to taste you."

She giggled like a school girl, bringing one small hand to her mouth. "Promise," she giggled.

***

I watched Hank duck walk John into the room. They both were soaked by the rain and the perspiration of their exertions. John is semi coherent. He leered at me and reached out. I shied away, repulsed now by his advances. He no longer has a right to my body.

Hank dropped his father, fully clothed, into the bed by the far wall. I felt a thrill shoot through my body as I realized Hank and I would sleep right next to his drunken father.

"Where the fuck we at," John asks drunkenly, trying to rise from the bed.

"Home, John," I answered, "YOU are home."

I watched as he rolled to his back and started snoring.

Hank's strong arms enveloped me. I leaned my head against his broad chest.

"We'll have to take short showers," I said nodding my head toward the shower. "This place never has enough hot water."

"What about him." Hank pointed at his father.

I looked at my husband. For the first time in our long painful marriage, I saw him for what he was. His dissipation and lack of self esteem brought us to this point. It was not my fault. I knew that now. I supported him in every way a wife could. I did not fail him; he failed me. I did not feel sorry for him. I did not hate him. I was just tired of the constant struggle.

"He's got a skin full. Leave him there."

"We should shower together. Otherwise the hot water might run out before one of us finished showering."

***

"Are you sure, mom?"

She walked to the shower, turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. I was torn, my eyes moving from her to my father asleep again on the bed.

"Hurry baby, while we still have hot water."

I pushed my rain soaked sweat pants and boxers down in one motion. I walked over to mom and we stepped into the shower together. The hot water was heaven. Mom and I took turns washing each other.

We were as lovers frolicking in the water. I soaped her body lingering over her hairy pussy. Mom moaned and covered my hand with hers.

"I used to keep it shaved. Your father didn't like it. He said it made me look like a prepubescent school girl."

"I'll shave it for you."

Mom looked at dad snoring on the bed. Then she looked back at me.

"I have scissors in my sewing kit," she said pointing at the black zippered bag sitting on top of our luggage.

We rinsed the soap off us and walked naked across the room. ,

***

Sensuality is one of those words that gets a lot of use. It's used to describe shoes, perfumes, people, etc. I have another use for it. It describes my son first trimming and then shaving my pussy. All of this while his father lay sleep not ten feet away.

First, he had me sit in the lone chair in the room. It was an old wing back with the rolled padded arms. I scooted down in the chair until just my ass clung to the edge of the stained dark cloth. Hank had me spread my legs with one leg on each arm of the chair.