Looking Back

On looking back at one’s past it sometimes seems strange that there are so many things we did not notice at the time. Perhaps because at the time, especially during childhood, we take for granted what is there.

True we can experience the wonder of the world around us and bask in the love of parents and grandparents, but again, they are there and simply accepted as such. They are there just as we expect our meals to be there, our rooms cleaned and beds made, that is, until that fateful day when mother says, “It’s time you tied your own shoe laces”, or later, “You can look after your own room.”

It is at such times when you can no longer take things for granted and are gradually made responsible for your self, that you need to think more carefully about what you have and what you want.

To be more specific; it is a well known and accepted truth that in a healthy family mother and son tend to bond more strongly than father and son or mother and daughter. Often that bond lasts until death and beyond. Even when the son takes a partner of his own, the mother-son bond can remain.

Take for example my own case; when I was a child I thought my mother the most beautiful woman in the world. This had nothing to do with my mother’s actually physical beauty. My view of her beauty could not be measured on some beauty scale of one to ten. It was a concept of beauty that arose from my need of her love and care, and the fact that she gave this love and care made her beautiful in my eyes.

Apparently my father did not share my view of mother’s beauty because when I was ten he left her for a girl from his office. I can recall mother being utterly distraught and crying, and me trying to comfort her in my childish way, telling her, “I still love you mummy, and I’ll never leave you.”

For all her distress at my father’s departure, when, after a month of living with his new paramour he decided he would return to mother, she would not have him back.

I overheard some of that conversation through the crack of a partially open lounge door. My father’s pleading to be allowed to return was quite pathetic, and mother’s refusal adamant. I was cheering for her on the sidelines since I felt father had betrayed both of us.

After that there was much legal wrangling as father tried to get his revenge on mother by making the division of property as difficult as possible. He ended up the loser, with mother retaining the house, and getting an allowance for me.

One aspect I did not relish was that father was permitted weekly access to me. This meant trips to the zoo and things like that, but it didn’t last. I believe he got himself another woman who had four children and his visits to me tailed away to zero.

Mother who is a pharmacist continued a part time job in a local pharmacy she had worked in for some time. Thus financially we jogged along comfortably enough, if not luxuriously.

In some respects I was the winner in this situation because mother’s love and affection became totally focused on me. I suppose I became a substitute husband, and although this might be considered unhealthy for both of us, I confess I revelled in being the “Only One.” I no longer had to share mother, she was all mine; at least, I thought she was at the time.

When I entered the period of roaring hormones I think I became a very difficult and temperamental youth. I played the game of rejecting mother although deep down I still craved her love and attention, which I still received for all my irascibleness. Mother hung in, waiting for my hormones to calm down.

The hormonal peace began when I started to date girls and have sex with them. I suppose that this pleasant activity assured me of my manhood, and mother, being alive to my sexual activity, did her best to make sure there were no consequences by always seeing I had a supply of condoms.

I had no difficulty getting girls, and at first I was like a child let loose in a sweet shop. But like that child I soon became jaded by the honey sweet diet, and longed for something more substantial than a series of one night stands with girls who were “anybody’s.”

I suppose that is another stage on the road to maturity; the desire to establish a long term relationship with a beloved one. Not that I had a very good example in my own father, or from what I could see, many other fathers. Nonetheless that was what I hankered after. I wanted the fountain to which I could constantly return to slake my thirst.

Part of my problem was, that once my “difficult phase” had passed, I began to compare the girls I fucked with the other woman in my life, mother. I suppose mother was my ideal model, the female par excellence, the one against whom I unfairly matched all other females. I compared the girls with her, and found them wanting.

No doubt this is what happens with many males and eventually along comes “The One,” or at least, the one whom they think is The One. That the divorce rate is so high suggests that the task of finding “The One” is even more difficult than we might suspect.

This comparing the girls with mother led to my starting to see mother in a new light. Certainly she was “The Woman” as far as I was concerned, but in some respects she was an abstraction until I began my sex life. It was then that mother took on a more concrete form.

She became much more a flesh and blood female; a female who had given her body to a man, my father, and, as I by then began to suspect, several other men after father left us. Not that she paraded these men before me, and I had no actual proof even of their reality, but in my mind I began to picture her murmuring words of love and crying out as my girls did when they orgasmed.

Unreasonably I felt terrible pangs of jealousy as I pictured the lurid scenes of lust as mother coupled with these men of my imagination. I was tormented by these visions of my beloved and beautiful mother with her lover, giving herself as he held her in his lascivious embrace.

It was the torment of these visions that first led to my new way of perceiving mother. I began to view at her as a desirable woman.

Features that had always been there for me to see started to take on a new significance; her firm unbridled breasts pressing against her blouse or shirt, stirring as if with a life of their own as she moved; her long slender legs that led me to envisage that paradise at the top of them. I fantasised seeing her naked, touching those breasts, kissing, smelling and tasting her womanhood. Perhaps feeling her handle my penis and saying, “I want you, my darling.”

As these fantasies grew ever more insistent, so the girls I fucked became less and less pleasing. They were but passing shadows that temporarily sated my lust as I released the pressure of my testes into them.

To put it bluntly, every time I looked at mother I started to get horny.

The constant presence of the unobtainable object of sexual desire in one’s life makes for a particularly excruciating agony. “So near and yet so far,” as they say. To copulate with another or to masturbate is to fantasise the truly desired one, but with scant satisfaction, either for the self, or where a partner is involved, for her.

Mother seemed blithely unaware of how I was feeling about her, which in a way seemed fortunate at the time because I had to constantly hide embarrassing erections from her. These came unbidden; at times simply by looking at her, but most powerfully if she was close to me, perhaps embracing me. It was then I could smell the fragrance of her body and it was this that sent me nearly frantic with longing for her.

I had reached this problematical point in my life as my eighteenth birthday approached. In our society this gave me the right to vote in elections. In addition, for those who stayed on at high school for the final year, it meant that at age eighteen you finished with that part of your education, depending in which part of the year your birthday fell. It is usual for there to be some form of celebration for the occasion, and that is how it was for me.

Mother organised a big party, inviting relatives, friends and my fellow students. Speeches were made, toasts drunk and gifts given. During the course of the party I noticed some of my fellow students, male and female, sneaking off to a dark and unused path running down one side of our house. They returned a little later, dishevelled with faces flushed, but looking somewhat relaxed.

I had formulated my own plans and since I obviously had access to my own bedroom, I would have been fairly sure of privacy while I entertained a young lady on the bed. Unfortunately, it did not work out as planned. Mother stuck close to me the whole evening and this gave me no chance of propositioning a girl, let alone inveigling her into my bedroom.

I must admit I cursed mother for her close attention to me. She made the whole matter worse by linking her arm with mine; her close proximity having its usual frustrating result. She and I moved among the guests as I tried to hide the embarrassing projection she inspired.

Around two in the morning the party began to break up, the older people leaving first, the young ones drifting off, except for those who could be heard in a couple of dark corners of the garden, making noises that sounded incredibly like people copulating.

Surveying the ruins of the feast mother said, “I think we can leave the clearing up until the morning Kayne.”

With that we both headed off to bed, and as I undressed I could hear mother showering. Tired as I was, I still had the erectile evidence of my evening’s sexual frustration to deal with. Mother usually came in to bid me goodnight if we went to bed around the same time, and so falling into bed and covering my nakedness, including my throbbing penis, I waited impatiently to see if she would enter my room before I began masturbating.

I heard the shower stop followed by a pause. Then mother came in. She was wearing her customary towelling bath robe, but instead of her usually peck on the cheek and “goodnight,” she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been very naughty tonight, haven’t I, darling?”

“Puzzled I asked, “Have you? How?”

“You’ve wanted to sneak off with one of those pretty girls all evening, haven’t you? And I made sure you didn’t, my love.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got a special birthday gift for you, darling.”

Before I could respond mother, who had spoken very quietly but with a touch of mischievousness in her voice, suddenly shrugged her robe from her shoulders to let it fall to her waist.

I was stunned. I lay there looking at her naked breasts as she smiled down at me. She had never exposed herself to me like this before, and what I saw was all I could ever have hoped for. Firm breasts, the flesh like ivory; up pointed pink nipples seeming to show signs of her arousal.

She stood and let her robe fall to the floor. There was a pause as she stood still before me like a lovely statue. Still smiling she gazed at me, perhaps trying to gauge my response, but I think she really knew what that was, for she said;

“This is how you want me, isn’t, my love.”

She came to lie beside me and placing her hand under a breast she went on, “You want to suck me there, don’t you, darling?”

Her nipple was touching my mouth and I uttered one word, “Mother!” Then I took the nipple into my mouth.

As I suckled her she spoke in the tones of a crooning mother.

“I’ve kept you waiting a long time, haven’t I my love? You’ve looked for me in so many other women. But I was to be a special gift to you, a gift that was worth waiting for.”

I felt her hand embrace my manhood and she began to slowly stroke it.

“It’s so hard and throbbing, my love, you must be needing relief very badly, so here’s my special gift for you.”

I was on my back and she came astride me, and still holding my penis she lowered herself on to me and brought me to the entrance to her vagina. I entered a place of moist warmth, velvet smooth and welcoming. She let herself drop and as I penetrated to her full depth, she suddenly clenched her vagina around my shaft.

I gasped out that one word again, “Mother!”

I felt as if I had found heaven on earth as she leaned over me and began to raise and lower her hips, slowly at first, but with ever increasing speed. I felt a tingling sensation in my testicles then semen began to pump up my shaft.

I grasped her hips to drag her down to gain full penetration, and somehow, possibly by some instinct, she new exactly the rhythm to mesh with my fierce ejaculations into her.

I now lost all vocal restraint, and moaned into her, crying out with each new thrust of sperm. I never wanted the moment to end, but end it did. With the last pulsation of my orgasm mother gave a final downward thrust, and then stayed still leaning low over me so that her breasts brushed against my chest.

There was in our union an experience that was entirely new to me. Apart from the sheer exquisiteness of the coupling itself, it was the aftermath that came as a complete surprise. In all my sexual relationships with other women, once I had finished ejaculating, I wanted to end the connection.

Because some of the women complained if I withdrew too soon, I would stay with them, but the thought had always been, “Let me out of here.”

Now the thought was, “Let me stay here for ever.”

Mother, it seemed, had sought nothing for herself. She had only wanted to give to me and I began to wonder what state she might be in. Had I left her frustrated, hanging on the edge of an unfulfilled orgasm? Yet she seemed calm as she spoke.

“Did you enjoy my gift, darling?”

“Oh God, yes, mother, it was...” I struggled to find a word that could describe what I had experienced, and finally came out with the wholly inadequate word, “superb.”

“Then we shall have to do it again, won’t we, my love?”

I think she took her cue from the fact that having partially slackened after my ejaculation, my penis had grown stiff inside her, and I was ready to go again.

This time, with mother still on top of me, she remained leaning close, holding my shaft deep down in her vagina and making only very short sharp movements with her hips. Probably my penis did not move in her more than an inch with each thrust.

I felt her thrusts begin to intensify and she started to give out little gasping sounds that culminated in a loud outcry of, “Oh darling,” followed by a tumult of squealing sounds as her vagina flooded with lubricant. When she passed beyond her climax she continued to vocalise with soft, “Ah...ah...ah…” sounds.

As her orgasm diminished my own broke out with an eruption into her.

Now it was my turn to make the movements and as I raised and lowered my hips to dig in deep, mother seemed to revive and began screaming out, “Oh my God…oh my God…” not calming until I had finished.

As she relaxed against me her lips were touched mine. They were wet and warm and she began licking my lips as I once again started to fondle her breasts with my hand.

She stopped tonguing my lips and gave a shaky laugh saying, “Well, that’s opened the ball game, hasn’t it my love?”

Her words seemed so incongruous that I had to respond with my own unsteady laugh, saying, “Yes, mother, I think it has, and I also think we’ve got to play it out to the end.”

“That was the idea, my love,” she said, changing the metaphor; “That was just the curtain raiser, the big show is yet to start.”

She smiled coquettishly and said, “Darling, I feel rather sticky at the top of my legs; I get the feeling that something’s been going on there; I wonder what it could be?” She gave a throaty laugh. “I’d better do something about it. By the way, you look a bit of a mess your self; I think you could do with a little cleansing as well.”

She laughed again as she got up and saying, “Kayne my love, I think we’d be much more comfortable in my nice big bed, don’t you?” then she disappeared in the direction of the shower.

I was tempted to follow her but since she had not invited me to do so, I lay where I was, the mingled residual sperm and her fluid festooning my penis and pubic hair growing colder and glueyer by the minute. The post coital fishy odour that usually follows copulation seemed to permeate the atmosphere of the room, but most especially in the region of my sexual organ. I decided I would, as mother put it, “cleanse” myself as soon as she had finished.

When mother had finished she put her head round the door and said, “Don’t be long, darling,” and went on her way to the “big bed.”

During the course of showering the combined relaxing effect of the warm water and the thoughts of what might await me in the big bed, brought on another erection. Impatient to get back to my lover/mother, I went naked still drying myself with a towel to her room.

I got just inside the room and stopped. Perhaps it was the thought of my father, and possibly other men, who had taken mother on that bed. There was also the sudden sense of the enormity of what we had been doing. I had actually been fucking my own mother, or more accurately it seemed, she had been fucking me.

I had fantasised about being with her many times, but the fantasies were mingled with the experiences I had had with other women. Fantasies, when sometimes they become reality, do not live up to the illusion we have created. In this case what I had experienced with mother went far beyond what had been my fantasies. She was indeed, “The Woman.”

Yet for a moment the thought crossed my mind, “Perhaps some Supreme Being will punish us for our deed.”

I looked across at mother as she lay naked on the bed. From her mons ran a narrow strip of pubic hair that extended to just above her vulva. Her legs were wide open and drawn up, as if in readiness to receive me. The lips of her vulva were slightly parted and I thought I saw the sweet pink inner lips.

I had for long wanted to taste and smell her femaleness, and she seemed to be inviting just that.

Her breasts stood up large and firm and were surmounted by delicate pink nipples set in very light brown aureoles, and they also seemed to be begging for my attention.

Mother extended her hand to me saying, “Come on, darling, let’s make each other happy.”

Thoughts of divine wrath dissipated. The only divinity that now engrossed me was lying on that bed, offering me heaven on earth. I took the paradise that was there, and let the Almighty do what he willed with me.

I knelt between her legs, and putting my hands under her buttocks, I raised her vulva and bent to kiss it. For a while I explored her complex female organ as I had never done with any other woman, first running a finger along the little valley formed by her outer lips, tantalising her to the point where she began to give out soft sighs.

I moved in deeper to touch the delicate inner lips that seemed to pulsate in response to my touch, as if pleading for me to penetrate deeper.

I slipped one finger into the moist warmth of her vaginal tunnel and heard her moan, “More, darling, more.”

I penetrated with two fingers, then three, and began a rapid movement back and forth in her. She started to move to my rhythm, making little lifts with her hips and gasping, “Oh darling, oh darling…”

I ceased pleasuring her with my fingers and began to trace her thighs with kisses, moving up slowly to her vulva. As my lips touched that luscious place I ran my tongue over its lips, and mother began to cry out, “Oh no, darling…no…I can’t bear it…no…”

I pressed open the outer lips and began to lick the inner petals and at last began to taste and smell her female fragrance. Her lubricant was a little salty and she smelt of that beguiling musky perfume some women wear, but I am sure mother’s fragrance was perfectly natural – all her.

I lapped up her juices that were flowing freely and still she pleaded with me to stop, but I had no mercy on her.