Incest/Taboo Mom and I Go on Vacation

My parents stopped fighting when I turned sixteen. It's not like they started getting along; they just stopped fighting. They were polite and civil, like business acquaintances who mildly disliked each other but understood decorum would help get them through the day. Over the next two years I would, through observation, their occasional comments, and remarks of friends and family members, piece together most of what happened; I would not learn all the details until the events described in this story.

On the evening before my sixteenth birthday Mom and Dad were set to look at a car they were considering buying for me. Dad was going to bring a mechanic friend. Dad did not show. He said he was detained at the office.

Dad was a vice-president of Citizen's Bank. His boss was Beverly D'Angelo. Ms. D'Angelo, you always called her Ms. D'Angelo, was formidable. She was fifteen years Dad's senior, looked and dressed like a battleship, and, as far as I could discern, had no sense of humor. She was the bank's owner, chairperson, and president. She'd built Citizen's from scratch and its eight branches prospered in Cobb County, Georgia, despite competition from an array of national banks.

Mom was mad because she believed, correctly, that detained at the office meant that Dad was cheating on her. Dad and Ms. D'Angleo were...? I'm not sure if I know the correct word. His mistress doesn't come close. Her master certainly doesn't capture it; Dad was definitely not in charge. Gigolo is too trivial. Paramour might be best. They were...? Again the word eludes me. Lovers ain't right; intimates ain't right either. They had sex - she was apparently voracious in the sack - but she was in charge and outside the bedroom they showed almost no affection for each other. Propriety was the rule. They always seemed to be, even years after she sold the bank and they married, boss and subordinate.

Mom had come home crying, but by the time Dad arrived, steeled for Mom's onslaught, she had rebooted. She showered, her hair was in place, her make-up, always minimal, perfect. I was asleep when Mom, her presentation imperturbable, made Dad an offer. They would keep the marriage together until I went to college. They would live parallel lives in the same house. He could be detained at the office as much as he wanted, but he would do nothing, like he had that night, to publicly embarrass her; she would do the same for him.

Dad said he would think about it. The next day, having consulted with Ms. D'Angelo, he agreed.

Remarkably, it worked. Mom and Dad were polite, but didn't bother with each other's business. Dad seemed to age, becoming more staid by the month, which is how I suspect Ms. D'Angleo liked it.

The effect on Mom was even more telling. Making plans for life as single woman, she took a job in the Cobb County Parks Department. She quickly became a department favorite and when the position of Assistant to the Director of Public Relations opened, she was promoted. She became a fixture in our community, appearing before civic organizations and schools touting the Parks Department and its services, winning over people with her enthusiasm, sense of humor, and husky sexy voice.

She also came to live her job. She returned to the gym, worked herself back into shape, went for a run each morning. Her weekends were filled with the activity she promoted: horse back riding, kayaking, canoeing, hiking.

My friends started commenting about the new Mom. She was, I knew, to a large extent the old Mom who had rediscovered the joy of the things she has surrendered when she became the proper wife of man of stodgy semi-importance. But there was a new Mom there also; her confidence grew, she was outgoing, friendly, perky. She discarded the regalia of a banker's wife, cut her blonde hair short and practical, favored jeans, shirts and shorts.

Dad kept his word; he did nothing to embarrass Mom, but he spent most of his time at the office and often accompanied Ms. D'Angelo out of town. When he did Mom was, at first, sad and wistful. I'd hang with her, try to cheer her up. Over time that changed. Her ceaseless activity in the community brought her an array of new friends; she became a skilled cook in a number of Asian cuisines; she planted a vegetable garden; she taught at the Wright Environmental Education Center.

More then anything else, however, she went outdoors. At first it was when Dad went away for a weekend that she'd head for north Georgia to rock climb, or canoe, or kayak, or hike. Soon it was most every weekend.

And in the process of Mom rediscovering the outdoors, I discovered it. I had always been most comfortable in front of a computer. The first few times Mom went out-of-town she asked me to come along, saying she needed the company and, I suspect, not trusting me home alone. At first I protested, I was a teenager after all, I protested everything, but after I stopped whining and paid attention I found Mom was right, the outdoors was great. Over the next few years I became Mom's regular companion as we explored the countryside. I also found a bit of the activist in me and she and I became active in the Atlanta Audubon Society and Environment Georgia.

During my senior year I set my sights on the University of Vermont with the hope, on graduation, of getting into the Vermont Law School and its environmental law program. I felt some guilt about leaving Mom, but my guilt was assuaged by Mom's enthusiastic support of the idea. When I received my letter of acceptance Mom gleefully jumped into my arms.

I graduated high school, worked that summer for the Parks Department, a job Mom procured for me, and spent more time than ever with her. It was on one of these trips, camping at the Crooked River Park, thinking of how much I'd miss these excursions with her, that I made the suggestion that would change my life.

"Mom, you haven't had a real vacation in years. Why don't we drive up to Vermont together? We could take a week, ten days, and stop at some of the places we've talked about visiting."

And that is how in August, four months after I turned eighteen, that Mom and I came to pack up my car and head north.

Our first stop was the New River in North Carolina. We had planned a two day canoe trip, camping overnight in the New River State Park. During the first afternoon we saw a thunderstorm heading our way and lost our bet that we could beat it to the campground. By the time we got to the shore and erected our tent, we were drenched. We crawled inside, turned our backs to each other, changed clothes.

Mom lay down, but she was shivering. I crawled up behind her and wrapped my arms around her, trying to warm her up.

Mom's not a big woman - five foot seven inches, 121 pounds - and I was able to envelop her in my grasp. I lay an arm across her chest. She shifted, a braless breast pressed against my forearm. I began to pull away, but Mom had laid her arm over mine and snuggled up against me.

"Thank you, that's better, it feels nice."

So we were quiet, trying to warm each other up, and Mom's breast was pressed against my arm. I began evaluating it. Nice size, not too large, B cup probably. I would have thought ladies her age all drooped, but Mom's were firm. Her nipples, I figured from the cold, were semi-erect.

And I began thinking about her life after I got to college. As a few of my friend's had commented, Mom was a good looking lady. With me out of the house and her marriage dissolving, she'd be dating again. Guys would be lining up for this 39 year old: outgoing, up-beat, positive, ready laugh, slim, flat stomach, green eyes, sexy voice. More than any of that, however, Mom radiated life. She was observant and questioning, her mind alert, curious, flexible, open, enthusiastic about anything new and, despite sometimes being scatter-brained, she learned easily. Dad loved for things to stay the same; Mom looked for variety and change.

Was I ready for a step-dad? I was not ready for a step-dad.

I woke the next morning to the sound of Mom building a fire. While the storm had broken over night, our stuff was still wet. Mom had hung our clothes on a tree branch to dry. I joined her and after breakfast, we packed up and headed down river.
​

* * * *​

Our next stop was the Kanawha State Forest in West Virginia for the Black Bear Weekend, two days of mountain biking with the West Virginia Mountain Biking Association. The second night, around a campfire, everyone was tired and dirty and the beer was flowing freely. I was talking to a good looking red head when I noticed a couple of dudes, they looked college age, flirting with Mom. She was a sight: her jersey and shorts were covered with mud, her knees cut, specks of dirt on her face, pink nail polish chipped. Still she seemed to be enjoying the attention and flirted right back, laughing at their jokes, laying a hand on their chests. I found myself getting annoyed - these guys were hitting on Mom - excused myself, and wandered her way. There I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into me, kissing my cheek. She introduced me as John. The guys hung around for a few more minutes, but wandered off when they figured they weren't going to score.

In the tent that night, as I had in North Carolina, I rolled over and held Mom.

"You're nice and warm," she said, "feels nice."

"Those guys out there, they were interested in you."

It took her a second to get my meaning and then she laughed, that husky throaty laugh of hers. "Oh c'mon son. I'm an old lady, I could be their mother."

"Mom, you're a good-looking woman. Guys are always checking you out."

Mom rolled on to her side and looked at me.

"So you think your Mom's a fox you gotta protect, do you?"

"Well, I meant attractive in a Mom kinda way."

She smiled. "Demoted from fox to Mom-kinda-way so quickly. My poor ego can barely sustain the blow."

Mom saw me trying to craft a response.

"Well son, before you put your foot back in your mouth, why don't you give me a leg rub. I am some sore."

And, as the fading noise of the party gave way to the sounds of the forest at night, that is what I did.
​

* * * *​

Our next stop was Pennsylvania Amish country for two days of road cycling. Instead of camping we stayed at the Richmond House Bed and Breakfast in New Holland. Riding with a local bicycle club we put in eighty-five miles the first day. On our return Mom showered, emerging from the bathroom in a pink shirt, white pants, and sandals. There was a healthy glow to her skin.

We had dinner at a restaurant named, I kid you not, Lickity Split, shared an ice cream sundae, and headed back to the room. Mom returned to the bathroom to get ready for bed. There, through the door she had left half-open so we could continue our conversation, I saw her reflection in a bedroom mirror. She was naked, bending down to pick up a flannel shirt. My eyes were drawn to her ass. Mom had a great ass: skin smooth, symmetrical, rounded at the top and bottom, shapely, taut and firm, and set high on her body. What was Mom? I'd guess 34-26-34. She put on the shirt.

I changed and although the room had two beds, she asked if I wouldn't mind sleeping next to her. She said she liked the warmth of my body. I, of course, assented, taking her in my arms. She feel asleep first and I lay there, thinking about the dudes who had flirted with her last night. It had probably been years since Mom had sex. After I got to college would she try to make up for lost time? I'd seen the ways guys looked at her. I had a few prurient thoughts about the ass separated from my penis by only a flannel shirt.
​

* * * *​

The final leg of our journey was a three day hike on Vermont's Long Trail. The weather was perfect and the days glorious as we walked a small portion of this wonder. We were walking in the middle of the week and so had the trail and its abundant wildlife mostly to ourselves. While it was before the leaves changed, the scenery was still magnificent.

On the second day we camped by Duck Brook Shelter, next to a small water fall and pond. We were the only people there. By this point Mom no longer needed to ask; during

the night I held her body to mine. When I woke I wasn't surprised to find her gone - she usually got up before I did and prepared breakfast - but when I poked my head out of the tent she wasn't there. I pulled on my shorts and shoes and headed for the water, thinking Mom might be hoping to catch a moose come for an early morning drink.

I found her there. She was swimming, wearing one of my tee-shirts. Her sleek athletic form moved effortlessly through the water. I didn't hide, but I didn't alert her to my presence. I just watched. She was, I thought, quite a beautiful woman.

After about ten minutes she stopped, stood, and headed for the shore. The wet tee-shirt, now near transparent, clung to her, outlining her slender build. She was naked underneath. I could see her breasts, which stood high on her chest, and her full erect dark nipples. I could see the dark thatch of hair between her legs. Her skin, the result of the exercise, was flushed red. Water was running down her body.

Good lord she was striking. And sexy. How could Dad prefer Ms. D'Angelo, the tug boat, when this sleek sexy destroyer was available?

Then she saw me.

"How long have you been standing there?" she shouted.

"Just got here," I lied.

"Well don't stare. It's rude. Make yourself useful. Get my towel."

I followed her eyes to the right. A towel was hanging on a tree branch.

I grabbed it and approached Mom, struggling mightily to keep my eyes on hers. She covered the top of her head with her towel and dried her hair. Then she turned around, faced the pond, and continued to dry herself. Water was dripping down her body, flowing across her back and over her butt. Her ass, high and firm, was clearly outlined in the shirt.

Was she aware of how sheer this thing was?

Was I ogling my mother?

Her back still towards me, she said, "The water's cold, but clean. You should try it. It's a refreshing way to get up in the morning."

"I'll keep it in mind."

She turned back to me. Again I concentrated, trying to keep my attention on her face, but as we headed back to the tent I slowed, followed her, looking at Mom's tight firm body.

I thought I'd gotten away with it, but when we got back Mom, playfully, snapped the towel at me. "I told you, its not polite to stare. Why don't you get the fire ready. I'm going to change."

She disappeared into the tent.
​

* * * *​

We finished our three days on the trail that evening and drove to Burlington, the terminus of our trip. We also ended our string of rustic accommodations, checking into one of those national chain suite hotels. That night Mom and I grabbed a pizza, had a few beers, and headed back to the room. She pushed off her shoes and got onto the bed, fully clothed. She curled up, suddenly sad.

"Come hold me."

I did.

We were quiet. Then Mom was crying. Not bawling, but gentle tears.

"Mom, you okay?"

"Yeah, I know I'm being silly, but I've had a wonderful time and I'm going to miss you so much and I'm not sure I want to go home."

And then she cried harder and then the entire story of my father and her, detail after detail, gushed from her. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, holding her while she talked and cried, stroking her hair, occasionally grunting to affirm I was listening. And although I can't really take credit, that turned out to be exactly what she needed. Finally, cried out, exhausted, she fell asleep. I sat up awhile, thinking about what she'd said. I had my own bed, but when I went to sleep I pulled the blanket back and slipped next to her, holding her for another night.
​

* * * *​

The next day Mom played tourist while I attended orientation. Everyone was talking about the party that night at Phi Phi Phi, its annual event welcoming incoming freshmen. It sounded great, but I couldn't see abandoning Mom. When I got back to the hotel I learned that Mom had heard about it; it was the talk of the town and Burlington, I would discover, was a very small town.

Mom suggested I go. I told her no, I would not leave her alone. She said don't be silly, she'd be fine. I suggested she come with me. She told me college boys do not go to parties with their mothers. I pointed out that most college boys don't have moms as cool as her and, who knew, maybe she'd get lucky.

Mom laughed. "Really, an old lady like me."

"Well Mom, you're not old, you're beautiful, and college guys dig hot older chicks."

Mom, at least, did not seem repulsed by the suggestion.

"Think of it as revenge on Dad. Pick up a young kid, show him a good time."

Mom and I went to a Lebanese restaurant, shared a bottle of wine, and she finally agreed to go, saying it was only so I would go. She'd wander around for a few minutes, leave.
​

* * * *​

When we got there I noticed a cute slender blonde talking with a group of friends. I thought I caught her looking at me. My eyes wandered her way several times and it seemed like she was occasionally glancing at me. When Mom excused herself to go to the bathroom I took the opportunity to introduce myself. Her name was Sandy. We started talking. Over Sandy's shoulder I saw Mom come out of the frat house, see me talking to Sandy, nod, and wander off, giving me the opportunity to make time with this cutie.

The crowd at the party increased. I saw Mom a few times, eventually settling into a conversation with a big hulking kid who seemed completely fixated on her. The way he looked at her, well, he was interested and when the two of them left together I felt something akin to jealously.

Sandy invited me back to her place. We settled on her couch, drank her excellent French press coffee, talked. She was native to Vermont, starting her second year at the university, intending to major in chemistry. The conversation was interesting and increasingly flirty. Soon I had an arm around her. I kissed her lips, nuzzled her neck, licked her ear, sucked on her shoulders. She pulled my shirt over my head and lapped my nipples. Then she pulled her shirt over her head and I ran my hands over her exquisite body, then squeezed and licked her firm full Soon we were in her bedroom, my face buried in her cunt.

I like to think I'm a pretty good pussy eater - I love feasting on a woman's sex - and Sandy was digging it, squirming, digging her hands in my hair. She was incredibly responsive. Whapping her clit with my tongue, finding, then stroking her g-spot with two fingers, I brought her to several orgasms, finishing with her squirting into my mouth and hollering loud enough, I thought, to be heard throughout the building. Finally she cupped my face, moved me away from her clit, and said, between gulps of breath, "No more, no more."

I brought her down slowly, licking lightly around her sex, like a cat with a small bowl of milk. When I was done she was still awhile, breathing, enjoying her body, laying her head on my shoulder. Then we began kissing again, she stroked my cock, and opened a drawer in the table by her bed. She handed me a condom. But there was a problem. My dick had deflated, it was only half hard.

Embarrassed, I said nothing. Sandy looked at my penis, understood my sudden silence, and said, "Let's see if we can help this bad boy along." She took me in her mouth and while it took awhile, she got me fully erect, pushed the condom over my dick, straddled me, and slid her pussy onto my dick.

I thrust twice, came. I couldn't believe it. Me? Premature ejaculation? I hadn't feel the pleasure of an orgasm, but I'd definitely come. I never had premature ejaculation. I was mortified. My dick was also incredibly sensitive. I put my hands on her ass, stopping her movements.

"You okay?' she asked.

"Yeah fine, but I mean, I just came. I'm sorry, it's never happened before."

"Do you want to stop?"

Gasping, "Yeah, it's real sensitive."

She got off me, removed the condom, and lay to my side, snuggling up next to me. "It's okay. After what your mouth did for me, I owe you a few." I held her sweaty body in my arms and thought about Mom. I hoped she was having better luck than I.
​

* * * *​

I woke the following morning to Sandy, wearing a tee-shirt and jeans, bouncing onto the bed. She handed me a cup of green tea and a bagel. "Morning. My pussy still feels so good. You've got a talented mouth."

"Thanks." I could feel my dick hardening. I thought, maybe, we could try again.

She must have seen it in my eyes. "No time, gotta run. Meeting with my advisor in half-an-hour. I have a proposal for you. When you get over her, give me a call."

I was confused. "Excuse me."

"When you got to the party last night I saw you with that woman. Couldn't figure out who she was, attractive lady. Could have been a friend, could have been a date. But you kept looking at me so I figured you two weren't together and when you wandered over I figured you were game. But still, you kept looking at her talking to that guy, his name is Bruno by the way, good guy. I thought I saw something in your eyes. Not sure what it was, jealously? When you came so quickly last night, that confirmed it. You're a nice guy, not the cheating kind, so this is what I figure: you two been dating, broke up, and are trying to be friends, so you go to a party together. The problem is you're not over her and so last night when you're with me guilt creeps in and, presto-bango, you come before your time. I got it right?"

I wanted to say hell fricking no, SHE IS MY MOTHER, but said, "Not exactly."

She stood. "Well whatever it is, like I said, when you get over her give me a call."

I dressed, walked her to campus, and returned to the hotel. Mom was not there. The bed had not been slept in. I took a much needed shower.
​

* * * *​

Mom dragged in a couple of hours later. I was going to make a smart ass comment, but she gave me a look, the kind that says don't make a smart ass comment, and headed for the shower. Her shower was long and hot and when she got out she was wearing the same tee-shirt in which she'd gone swimming at Duck Brook Shelter. She said she was tired and needed to lay down. She asked me to hold her. I cradled her in my arms; she fell asleep almost instantly. I got up and went to the living room.

About ninety minutes later I heard Mom stirring in the bedroom. I reved up the coffee maker and stuck my head in the door.

"Hey son, how long have I been asleep?"

"Hour and a half."

"I need some coffee. Be a dear and make me a cup."

"It's already brewing."

"Thanks."

I headed for the kitchen. Mom visited the potty and joined me. When the coffee was ready we sat on the couch in the living room, the sunlight streaming into the room through a large window overlooking Lake Champlain. I was on one end of the couch, Mom on the other; our legs draped across each other.

"Well, how did it go last night?" I asked.

"Do you want to know if your Mom's easy? Did she do it with some guy who picked her up at a party?"

"Well, you should tell the story your own way."

She smirked at me, then said, "Okay, I did. He was actually quite nice, very sweet. We went and got some ice cream. He was tentative, unsure of himself. I'm not sure he's done this before. I said to myself, what the heck, why not. Your Dad hasn't touched me in years, he's been getting it on the side, here I am with this good looking 20-something kid who's eager and ready to go. He wants me, no one will ever know, so I let him know I'm interested. We get back to his place, surprisingly neat and clean - you could learn something from him - and we're kissing and our clothes come off..."

The image of my mother stripping had a weird effect on me. I was angry. How dare this kid touch Mom. I suppressed the thought, the important thing was to listen, to support Mom through her confession.

"... and we head for the bedroom and all of a sudden it all seems wrong. And I can't

figure out why it seems wrong. It's not like I feel like I'm cheating on your father, its not like I feel like I'm corrupting this kid, but still it feels wrong. We start and, and..."

Mom started crying. She slid to my end of the couch and I pulled her into my arms. She buried her head into my chest. I held her, but mixed in with genuine concern was the memory of her swimming in this shirt. I felt the warmth of her body. She cuddled against me; I felt a breast against my arm.

She continued, her voice almost child-like. "Well, he did his best. After he, y'now, tried his fingers, then his mouth, he kept at it, but y'know, it was pretty clear it was not about to happen. I wasn't even excited. Finally I asked him to stop, told him it was me, that it had been a long time, that I was nervous. I got him hard again and used my mouth on him. It used to be that whenever I did that I'd get really excited, but I still felt nothing. After he came he fell asleep; he seemed happy."

She looked out the window. "He was a nice perfectly attractive guy. Heck, I have loads of friends who'd die for a roll in the hay with a hard-bodied twenty year old. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Then she sniffled. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. She changed the subject. "How about you. That sure was a pretty girl you were talking to."

"Yeah, real nice too. It's weird, I had an experience kinda like yours. She was great, there was not a thing wrong with her. But..."

Now I stopped, not sure how to say this to my mother, my discomfort plain. Mom filled in the blank.

"Your thing wasn't working?"

"Eventually, after a long time and a lot of attention, it did. Then it lasted about a minute. I mean, that's never happened to me. It's always worked just fine." Then, feeling defensive, I added, "I mean its not like I left her high and dry. I have other skills."

Mom pecked me on the lips. "Other skills are important, sometimes the most important."

She understood. I continued.

"This morning she said the strangest thing. She saw us, you and I, come to the party together, talked about the way we looked at each other. The bottom line: she thought you and I had been a couple, had broken up, but weren't over each other. She attributed my, my performance, or my lack of performance, to that. Told me to give her a call when I got over you."

Mom was quiet awhile. Then she said she was hungry. She went to get dressed.

Over what was either a late lunch or early dinner we did not revisit last night . After eating we walked to the campus, explored the grounds. It was early evening when we came upon the Jeffords Gardens. Mom and I sat on one of the large benches, her back to my chest. We had the place to ourselves.

We said nothing at first, just watched the setting sun. After it disappeared I rubbed her neck and shoulders, kissed the back of her head, told her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me, how much I'd miss her. She turned her head and I kissed her cheeks and lips. Then her lips puckered and she returned the kiss. I felt its impact throughout my body; I wanted it to happen again, but wasn't sure how Mom felt.

And then, deliberately and with a peculiar quivering smile that seemed to overspread her whole body, Mom placed her mouth on mine. My arms folded around her and it was not a mother-son kiss, our lips were aggressive and intent. It was a long kiss and when done she drew her head back, as if trying to understand what just happened. She put her strong fingers on my neck through my open collar, closed her eyes, and brought her mouth to mine, giving herself up in a long sweet sexy kiss. I ran my tongue over them and her lips parted, welcoming me inside.

And so Mom and I began smooching. It was like I was back in high school. We were not kissing on the road to something else; we were kissing because kissing was the best thing in the world. Mom's lips were soft and wet and sweet and I loved the feel of her body as she leaned into me. My hand went to the back of her neck and shoulders, hers rested on my arm. Our first kiss was long, the next longer; her lips dueled with mine, her tongue danced with mine; we pulled away, breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes, and began again. I ran my tongue behind Mom's lips, she explored the roof of my mouth. We kissed hard, we kissed soft; Mom nuzzled my ear, I kissed her, lips dry, lightly, all over her face; looping from forehead to temple and back to her mouth.

After while, I'm not sure how long we'd been there, but it was dark and we were alone, Mom said, "'Let's see if I can help you with this, he's working fine today," and her hand was inside my shorts, grasping my throbbing erection.

Mom started frigging my dick. We kept kissing. Mom varied, but steadily increased, the tempo of her hand on my shaft. Then she reached down and palmed my scrotum, four fingers on one side, thumb on the other, and thrust upward. I groaned, I was loud. Mom slowed down, placed an open hand on my chest, calmed me.

"Sweetie, better keep it down."

She kissed me, looked around, saw no one, and grabbed the hem of my shorts, pulling them down, freeing my cock.

She inverted her right hand, thumb pointing down, and took hold of the top of my penis, torquing her palm around my cockhead. Her thumb worked my dick's sensitive underside; she twisted her other hand around my dick's base. She stared at my penis, waiting for me to come. MY MOM WAS STARING AT MY COCK WAITING FOR ME TO COME. It felt insanely good.

I was a balloon ready to burst. "Mom, oh Mom, uuunnnh, uuuuunnnh, Unnhhh, Uunnnnhhhhhhhhhhh, uuuunnnnnnnnnn, uuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," and then I exploded. Cum geysered from my dick, spraying into the air. Mom released my cock and twisted her body, leaning into me, looking into my eyes, smiling broadly.

"How'd I do?"

I answered, "Fantastic," and my gaze drifted to her cheek. There was a smattering of semen there. She noticed my look, used a finger to capture the cream, and brought it to her mouth. We kissed. I pushed my hand inside her shorts, touching her pussy lips. She was wet. I grazed the surface. Mom moaned. She was ready. I slipped one, then two fingers inside her.

Then I heard, "Can I help you kids?"

I pulled up my shorts. Shit, there could be no question as to what had been happening. A man, carrying a flashlight, approached. He was wearing the uniform of the campus police. Mom spoke first.

"Good evening officer."

"Evening ma'am. You a student here."

"I am sir, just starting actually. Just got through orientation."

"Well, ma'am, there's been a lot of complaints about kids well, y'know, doing it around campus. Citizens of this fine city will be walking along and see two students making it in the bushes. We're under strict order to crack down. Dean figures if we arrest a couple of students it'll stop. So if I thought that's what you two were doing, I'd have to arrest you."

My heart stopped beating, my libido was obliterated.

"But that's not what you were doing, was it?"

Mom again. "No officer, we were just sitting in this lovely spot watching the sunset, enjoying the evening. In fact, we were just about to head home. But thank you very much for the information."

With a slight nod of his head he said, "You have a good evening ma'am, sir."

"You too officer."

Mom and I walked back to the hotel. My mind was racing. What just happened? What was wrong with me, this was my mother? Trying to work out my frustration of the night before, I had taken advantage of her, used her own bad experience to my benefit. Last night she had wondered what was wrong with her, felt asexual, and now I was making it worse. "Yeah Mom, at least you make your son horny." Jeez, how could I? I felt ashamed, guilty, I knew I should shut up, but I didn't. When we got back to the room, near tears, I said, "Mom, back there, I apologize, I mean, I'm your son, I shouldn't have. I got carried away. God, I'm sorry."

Mom looked at me, not angry, more disappointed. Then she comforted me. She held my hands and stepped back, "It's okay John, I guess we both did. We had hard times last night. However, son, if you don't mind, since I'm leaving tomorrow, would you hold me again tonight, one last time."

It sounded like she was forgiving me. I knew my face was beaming when I said, "Of course Mom, I'd love too."

I dropped Mom at the airport the following morning, headed to campus, met my roommate, moved into my dorm, started college life.
​

* * * *​

I missed Mom, more than I thought I would. We were in daily contact. If it got me the reputation of something of a Mama's boy, so be it. And although Mom and I never mentioned it, the memory of Jeffords Garden was burned into my memory. The guilt I felt could not stop it's aphrodisiacal effect as, cock in hand, I replayed it in my head when I masturbated. If a girl didn't want to go all the way I was always amenable to a hand job, surrendering to the fantasy that it was mother's fist wrapped around my dick.

At Thanksgiving I was to return home. Mom let me know that Dad was planning the big announcement: they were getting a divorce. Mom met me at the airport. She was wearing a yellow pull over dress. It was short, showing off her legs and body to good effect. We stopped at the grocery store, fixed a light dinner, split a bottle of wine. It was clear Dad had already moved out; the bathrooms were devoid of his things, the closets half empty. After dinner we adjourned to the porch swing. It was getting late.

Then it came up, the 600 pound gorilla, the night in the rose garden.

"John, what happened in the garden, that last night in Burlington, do you ever think about it?"

Yes, I thought, constantly, every fucking day.

"Yes."

"And what do you think?"

I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't tell her the truth, that it might have been the best moment of my life, but that seemed nuts. I could be graphic and tell her I constantly jack off to the memory of it. That seemed a bit crude. Maybe I should I apologize. Maybe I should ask forgiveness. Maybe I should be a coward, not say anything, get on a plane back to Burlington. Indecision and cowardice triumphed; I said nothing.

Mom saw my discomfort. "Would it be easier if I went first?"

Sheepishly, "Yeah."

"I wanted you to make love to me that night."

While her tone was demure, there was absolute certainty in her voice. My response, in contrast, was slow and haltering. "I wanted to, I wasn't sure, I mean, y'know, that cop..."

She put a finger to my lips, shushing me. The she hung her heart out.

"I should have just told you that is what I wanted. Sometimes we girls, we expect guys to just know, like if you really cared for us you'd be able to read our minds. Magical thinking I guess. Tomorrow, at brunch, your Dad is going to announce what you already know, we're getting divorced. Would you make love to me now, tonight?"

Mom would later tell me how frightened she was when she said this, worried that I'd be repulsed, that she'd be humiliated, her heart-broken.

In actuality, I was not sure how I felt. I had accepted the fact that I was attracted to her. I fantasized about her. But now I was facing the reality of making love to her. However, whatever else I felt, I knew I could not say no, could not disappoint her at this moment. I'd figure out what it meant tomorrow.

I lay my arm over her shoulder, leaned forward, kissed her. At first gently, a peck on the lips. Then on the cheeks. Then on the forehead, each eye, her nose, her lips. Mom put her arms around my neck, looked up and smiled. I knew it was going to be okay. Our lips met, I could feel her hot breath. She opened her mouth slightly, surprised me by licking my lips and, when my mouth parted, slipped the tip of her tongue inside. Although I had started unsure of what would happen, I felt the heat. I gave her my tongue, let her play with it. Our kiss continued, we probed each other's mouths and lips. I was light-headed, dizzy. Mom tightened her grip on my head, pulled me to her. On and on we kissed. Mom nuzzled my neck, my ears, my throat. My breath was coming in short gasps. My cock was hard.

I eased from her arms and breathlessly whispered, "Wow, you are some kisser." Mom smiled and our lips joined together. The connection between us seemed palpable and we were kissing deeply, tenderly probing, searching each other's mouths. I was swept up in the carnal taboo. I kissed her neck and when she leaned back, licked and caressed her throat. I ran a hand down her side. She wasn't wearing a bra. I moved my hands to her breasts, cupping them as we kissed. Mom kissed me even harder. I felt her nipples. Mom took my face in her hands and kissed my eyes, nose, lips, neck.

I released her breasts and pulled her close: our tongues met before our lips did. We were kissing with a fiery passion. Panting heavily, Mom kissed all over my neck, and clumsily - her hands were shaking - opened two buttons of my shirt and kissed my shoulders and chest. I ran a hand up her leg, loving the firm hard muscles. Our lips brushed against each other. She continued to unbutton my shirt; her hands felt good on my chest. Then it was all the way open. Mom pushed it off my shoulders; it feel to the floor of the porch.

I whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't know, that night I was afraid you'd be angry. Like I made you go too far. I haven't been able to get that night, you, out of my mind."

I took her hand in mine and brought it to my lips, kissing each finger tip and then, starting at the bottom, kissing up their sides. Returning to her mouth, I licked her lips and commenced a re-exploration: tasting her tongue, her cheeks, her lips - front, top, and back - flicking my tongue in an arc along the roof of her mouth. I was intensely hungry for this woman.

I was trembling; I pulled back. I looked into my mother's eyes; she was so beautiful. I started to kiss her lovely face, left soft gentle kisses across her forehead, on her temple, kissed back down to her mouth. My mother ran her hand down the side of my face.

"Son, maybe, we should go inside."

"I'd like that."

I followed her to the bedroom. She turned to face me, took hold of her dress, and pulled it over her in one motion. She was wearing only yellow panties. For the moment I was unsure of what to do. Mom sensed my hesitation.

"You like?"

"Yes. Mom you're beautiful. That morning on the Long Trail, you went swimming, the tee shirt, when it got wet, I could see, almost all of you. I haven't been able to forget it."

Mom smiled and walked to me, took my hands in hers, kissed my lips, unbuckled my belt, pulled it out, dropped it behind me.

"Its time for bed."

Mom turned and walked to the bed. I watched her butt. She pulled the sheet over herself. I pushed my shoes off with my toes and dropped my pants and underwear to the floor. My penis was erect, swinging free.

"Son, you're gorgeous."

Feeling surprisingly calm, I crawled under the sheets She rolled on to her back and I kissed her. We started slow, but things quickly heated up, months of desire were poured into those kisses. I had intended to be patient, to carefully caress and touch each turn and curve of her body - and her body was so sweet - but she took my hand and placed it on her sex. She was warm and wet, very wet. I slipped my hand under her panties, spread her pussy lips, and rubbed small circles around her clit with my thumb. I slid my thumb down, stroked her vaginal lips, then brought it back to her clit coated with her juice. I resumed the small circles, pressing harder when I slid over the clitoris.

Mom was gasping into my mouth.​