Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Craig's Story

The room was dark, darker than the living room but I could still see that she was already in bed. She hadn't left the bedside lamp on or even the bathroom light. She couldn't have had time to even wash her face or brush her teeth. There would barely have been enough time to get into her nightie.

Slowly, my eyes acclimatized to the night and I was able to make out some details in addition to just the outlines of the major pieces of furniture ... the bed, lamps, dressers and chair. I could see the multicolored quilt on the cot I was supposed to be sleeping on though I couldn't discern the colors. There was a clump on the floor across the foot of the bed; the covers had been pulled down and piled in a heap.

My eyes traveled up onto the bed where I could see both of Mom's feet pointing toe-down into the mattress about three feet apart. I followed the line of one elegant calf to a knee and beyond, encountering the hem of a nightie, no a dress slip, very high up her thighs. The slip had a rumpled look and wasn't smooth over Mom's bottom, denying me the pleasure of the detailed outline of her buttocks but that disappointment was quickly replaced by the exciting twinge in my groin wrought by the discovery that the slip ended at her waist. Bare skin greeted me over her shoulders to her tousled hair hiding her face buried in the pillow, her arms bent at the elbows to allow her hands to be hidden under the pillow too, but spaced far enough from her side for me to see the bulge of a breast squeezed out under her chest. This was definitely not the pose of a woman who didn't want to excite any man who might find her, son or not.

Quietly, I loosened my belt and unzipped my pants, trying very hard not to make a sound. Carefully, I slipped my pants and shorts down my legs together, placing them on the ground and stepping out of them instead of whipping them off. My shirt was next and then I stepped behind Mom, centered between her feet. I lifted my feet one at a time and removed my socks. Somehow, it would seem tacky, to crawl up behind my Mom with my socks on. My cock stiffened when I regarded Mom's form stretched before me with parted legs, my eyes now able to see the rise of her buttocks clearly, and something else. There, beside her on the bed, next to her knee. Her panties!

I felt like jumping on the bed and shoving my cock inside her but I held back and considered what to do. Should I gently kneel behind her, get the skin cream and rub it on her legs, working my way up to her slip and then underneath to what I know knew was her bare ass? Should I lay on her and whisper a story about that other mom and her son? That's what had worked last night, but could I make it through a story? I didn't think so. My cock was hard and stabbing into the night like a spear and it was already leaking.

I crawled onto the bed and eased forward, my knees brushing the inside of Mom's legs which widened to accommodate my approach. I could see the outline of her body in detail now and could even make out the beautiful contours that made her such a sexy looking woman. I reached forward to grasp the slip so I could lift it to reveal her bare ass before tossing it up onto her waist. It came away in my hand. Shocked, I drew my hand back, drawing the slip completely off Mom's naked body, dropping it on the bed beside her leg on top of her panties. She had taken the slip off and laid it across to cover herself. My cock hardened to breaking point as I realized how she had made herself ready for me.

A groan escaped my lips as I hooked my hands under the side of Mom's hips, fingers curling to grip her bones. I lifted her up, raising her tummy but leaving her tits pressed against the mattress, her back arched but still showing a deep groove running along her spine, glistening with sweat. Mom's cheeks, at first squished together as my hands pressed in to lift her, parted as her legs draped to the sides of my own. She was silent as my cock probed her pussy lips, eager to slip inside her without foreplay of any kind, no sacrifice to offer in exchange for permission to enter, just pure, raw demand, or, more accurately, need.

I can't recall the instant my cock first entered and stretched her pussy but I distinctly remember rejoicing in the exquisite feel of her cunt clutching my shaft as it thundered like a runaway train through her slippery tunnel. Bang. I stopped dead as if I'd popped the track stop, my breath exhaled in one loud gasp answered by an appreciative, motherly moan. I hunched over Mom's back, slipping my knees further underneath her and started humping her vigorously from behind, intent on maximizing the amazing feeling surrounding my cock. I fucked her desperately, as if I'd never had a woman and never would again. I needed to come and my fucking showed it.

I met no resistance from Mom though how she could have shown any the way I held her is hard to say. Nevertheless, her pants and groans and moans showed no disapproval of the hard, fast route I took to satisfy my own immediate need for release. Maybe she needed to feel the pummel of my hips against her ass, the hard thrust of my cock, repeatedly plugging her puffy pussy, as much as I had to act. There was no technique, no variation, just steadily harder and harder, faster and faster, louder and louder, until my hot, searing liquid gushed forth, exploding from the tip of my cock only to be immediately absorbed by her welcoming, maternal cunt.

Exhausted, I draped over Mom's back, my arms falling loosely over her sides and hands lying limp on the bed, panting, waiting for a rebuke for my selfishness. But none came. There was only the sound of Mom's recovering breath in addition to my own. As my breathing returned to normal, my cock slipped out of Mom's pussy, satisfied for the moment. Mom rewarded my retreating soldier with a parting accolade of disappointment on its retreat, a sad farewell. Her hands slipped back to take mine, pulling them underneath to her tits, pressing my palms tightly over her nipples. Mom's head turned sideways on the bed and her ass thrust gently back to contact my softening hero.

"Fuck me again," she whispered hoarsely.

She didn't have to say it again. My little general lurched into the breach once again but bounced harmlessly at the gate though it was held wide open to receive him. Again, Mom brushed her slick entrance against my tired soldier's head, her slippery softness encouraging him to rise to the challenge, to follow his former path to glory. Bump, bump, bump. Ah yes, she managed to get his head inside and squeezed him, exerting cuntal pressure to focus his thoughts.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," I groaned as Mom shoved back, her doors closing tightly behind my helmeted trooper to block his retreat, urging him forward, like a powerful snake swallowing its prey. It amazed me how that soft, wet, spongy pussy could apply sufficient force to forge my limpid penis into a tensile rod within a single, excruciatingly slow but ecstatic thrust. I was fully hard by the time my hero reached his destination and I mentally instructed him to leisurely inflict maximum pleasure using any subterfuge to coax reluctant and complete surrender.

I didn't get much sleep that night. I remember waking up to the wonderfully warm pressure Mom's sleeping body against mine. I tried to stay still but couldn't help reacting to the warmth and resilience of her flesh and her own reactions to my responses. Soon we were writhing against each other and I moaned my love to her just as I realized she was now awake, pressing and pulling and whispering in the night. We coupled again but this time face to face, muscles strained to the max as we sucked pleasure through every pore of our sweating bodies.

Mom was gone when I awoke. The window was open and a fresh towel and face cloth had been laid on the bed beside me. I felt refreshed after a long hot shower. Though I had been reluctant to wash away the smell of my mother I knew I couldn't greet my grandparents carrying the lingering odor of our incestuous evening. I squared my shoulders and burst from the bedroom with a smile on my face.

"Well, good morning. At long last ... he lives," Gramps turned from the stove to greet me with a large grin.

"Hiya Gramps," I responded, rubbing my eyes, looking around for Mom. Neither she nor Nana were in sight.

"I put bacon and eggs on when I heard the shower," Gramps bellowed as he flipped something in a smoky frying pan. "Now that those women are gone we can put some meat on you. No more fruity stuff," he waved in the general direction of the fridge.

"Mom and Nana are gone?" I couldn't help the disappointment that crept into my voice but Gramps didn't notice it.

"Yup. Gone shopping. What a surprise." Gramps was shoveling the entire frying pan onto one plate. "Sit yourself down," he indicated the spot on the table already set with a huge glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. By the time I sat down a huge plate heaped with bacon, eggs, hashbrowns and fried tomatoes clattered in front of me. "There's your toast," Gramps yelled, already turning as I thanked him and wondered how I was going to eat all of this let alone the four pieces of toast that had just popped up.

I had already decided this maybe wasn't such a big problem when Gramps sat down with his coffee and pushed a sideplate full of toast at me.

"Eat 'er up," he growled.

I tucked in expecting Gramps to chatter away but he just sipped his coffee without talking.

"Never talk when a man's hungry. He won't listen nohow," Gramps said. "Women. Takes 'em years to get that, if ever."

Gramps refilled his coffee as I was finishing up, a little surprised that I had finished it all. A matching mug of black coffee was shoved in front of me. I decided not to ask for cream even though I didn't enjoy the taste of coffee on its own.

"We need to talk, you and I."

Oh, oh. I had never had a man to man talk with Gramps, and it sounded like one was coming. I had thought he was about to tell me how we were going to spend the day, with me being dragged around to meet a bunch of old coots, but this sounded ominous.

"You know, I grew up in tough times ... in the thirties ... it weren't easy, and then I went to war."

I nodded, relaxing. This wasn't going to be so bad. I knew Gramps had been in the war for years, in some pretty tough battles, but he never talked about it. Mom said he never talked about it to her or Dad, and he never talked about his childhood in the Depression either. She assumed he hadn't had much of one.

"I wasn't a boy like the others when we went to fight, though I was the same age. I thought like a man already, and that probably kept me alive." Gramps took a long pull from his mug, set it down on the table, and looked at me. "I'm going to tell you why, and I don't want you to ever tell anyone else."

Gramps looked steadily at me, his eyes piercing through mine.

I nodded, shaking my head slowly but deliberately up and down. "No sir."

Gramps eased back in his chair, swinging one arm back and sliding his coffee mug to the edge of the table with the other.

"My mother was a beautiful woman," he said. "You've only seen pictures of her at the end of the war, when she was sick, haven't you?"

I nodded again. Gramps reached into his shirt pocket and tossed three old pictures across the table to me.

"That's her when she was younger, by eight or ten years."

He was quiet while I looked at the pictures. Aside from the plain clothes, strange hairdo and lack of make-up, it was clear that this was a very attractive woman. The simple cotton dresses, though covering my great grandmother's legs almost to her feet, clung to a very womanly figure.

I was confused. I knew Gramps had been close to his mother but she had died before he came home from overseas, and like the war, he never talked about her. Too emotional, Nana had explained to me once after I had asked when I was little. Her query, "You don't want to make a tough old man like your Gramps cry, do you?" had stopped me cold.

Expecting some adventurous war stories, I had an inkling that this might be about something deeper, more important.

"She really was beautiful," I said, a little bit of awe and lots of respect in my voice.

Gramps scooped the pictures up and looked carefully at each one before putting them back into his pocket.

"She was the most beautiful woman in the world," he said, in a voice I could hardly hear.

"My father," his voice grew louder, "now he was cut from a different cloth. Not that he wasn't a handsome devil. That he was. But he was a salesman, and a successful one too, until the Depression. And then it got hard to get by with just talk, but that's all he knew and it weren't enough. Nobody trusted nobody."

Gramps took another long sip of coffee.

"Yup. I remember them being so happy when I was little, before the trouble started. And then he started going on his road trips and except for that first time, they seemed less happy each time until finally they acted almost like complete strangers. He was still cheery and talkative, most of the time, but it was all kind of hollow, phony like."

Another pull off the mug.

"Each time, he came home with less money, though he always wore these nice striped suits. He needed them for work, he said. I could hear them arguing at night. Mom started taking in laundry, and his trips grew longer and longer."

"I remember her crying after I found a fancy, bright red crayon in the back seat of Dad's car. You could twist it and it would come out of this little tube. It was lipstick, of course, but I didn't know it then. Mom just went off by herself and sat on the old bench looking out over the prairie."

Gramps looked up from the table where his eyes had been all along but he looked past me over my shoulder, staring into space as if he was watching the scene that taken place so long ago.

"My father came out of the house and looked at her sitting there. Then he looked at me and asked if Mom said she was going to make dinner soon. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what I was playing with and looked at Mom again, long and hard. Then he just turned and walked back into the house. He was gone when I got up in the morning, before breakfast even."

Gramps got up and walked to the counter. "More coffee?" he asked.

I shook my head. My mug was still full. Gramps filled his mug and sat down again.

"It's harder, I think, for beautiful women to be passed over. They're not used to something different their whole lives and they don't understand how to deal with it when it happens. It can break them."

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Your mother looks like your great grandmother, my mother, more than Nana. Doesn't she? You can see that in those pictures, can't you?"

Gramps focused his eyes on me, expecting an answer. I nodded.

"She's a beautiful woman too, your mother." I nodded. Where was this going?

"And your father is a lot like mine."

Gramps had never said anything bad about Dad before. Did he think they were going to get a divorce. Was that why Mom was staying longer?

"But she'll live with her choices. She's made her bed and she'll live in it. She won't leave."

I nodded, implicitly agreeing with Gramps' assessment.

"She deserves to be happy, your mother. She's a good woman, and she has a right to have love where she finds it."

I stared at Gramps, confused. I really had no idea why he was telling me all this. Evidently Mom and Dad weren't getting a divorce so he must be telling me to provide extra comfort and support because she wasn't happy in her marriage. Gramps must know that Dad was fooling around. Had Mom told Nana, and he heard from her? I couldn't see Mom confiding in her Dad.

"I can see you're wondering why I'm saying all this. I'm going to tell you a little story so you know what I'm talking about, and you can figure it out from that."

"By 1937, Mom and I were essentially living on our own. Dad rolled in every month or two, sometimes three but by that time we could get by without him. I was working a few odd jobs but made most of my coin playing for the house at the local pool hall. I played against men, drifters mostly, but some local guys too. And Mom didn't treat me like a boy anymore."

"Sometimes I came home late but Mom was always there to greet me with a mug of hot milk or some other little treat. She would already be dressed for bed and as time went on, she became careless about cinching it around her waist. There were a few nights where she simply forgot and I could see her with just her nightgown covering her, an old nightgown worn thin by too many washes. There wasn't much left to the imagination, and I had quite the imagination then."

Gramps snorted, his eyes staring up into a corner of the kitchen, mind wandering. I was glad he wasn't looking at me. It was pretty uncomfortable to have your Gramps talk in a sexual way about a woman, let alone his own mother.

"Then one night he came come again, looking the worse for wear and tear, and this time was drunk. There was an awful row. When I woke in the morning, he was sleeping, passed out really, on the chesterfield. He was sullen when he woke and he didn't say much of anything for the rest of the day or the next. Mom was equally short with her words and when she did speak, it was brief and terse. Dad slept on the couch again and was gone the next morning. Mom seemed relieved."

"Mom made a special dinner that night and though I didn't want to go I left for the pool hall. She told me she understood, a good man has to do what he must for his family. I had a good night and was later than usual but Mom was still up when I got home. The lights were off except for one lamp in the living room where she greeted me, which was strange since she always waited for me in the kitchen. When she handed me the mug of hot milk her robe opened. It wasn't even loosely tied and she was wearing a different nightgown underneath, one that tied together with several cotton laces, but only the bottom one near her tummy was done up. I could see her breasts."

"Well, I drank that mug of hot milk in two gulps. It was fresh from the stove and burned my lips but I didn't take my eyes off Mom for a second. She smiled at me and said something about milk, then stretched her hand toward my face and her fingers delicately wiped the sides of my mouth, slowly, her smile widening below her soft eyes. 'You look so tired,' she said. 'Come to bed now.' She turned the light off and led me by the hand upstairs toward the faint light coming from her bedroom. I tried to continue past toward my room but Mom pulled me into hers until we stood beside her bed."

Gramps cleared his throat, then continued.

"She let go of my hand and, still facing away from me, took her robe off and let it fall to the floor. Turning her head to the side, she said, 'I told him not to come here anymore. I told him it's not his home now.' She turned her face forward and though she spoke softly and was facing away from me, her words rang in my head, 'You're the man here now.' And on her last word, her nightdress fell from her shoulders, sliding down her arms and past her hips to the floor. My eyes followed as it dropped but quickly rose up her legs to her buttocks, firm from hard work and a lean diet. I didn't get a long look because Mom threw back the bed covers and twisted around to lay down on her back, completely naked. She didn't make any move to cover herself. 'It's time to decide, Hank, if you want to be the man of the house.' And with that, she opened her legs, her soft eyes fixed on mine, and waited."

Gramps let out a long sigh and for the first time looked directly at me.

"Well, I stood there for a minute. Not because I couldn't make up my mind. I just couldn't make my body move. She waited, without moving and her expression didn't change except to smile when my fingers started undoing my shirt. A minute later, I was between those legs, and I was there every night after that until I went to war. If I'd known that she wouldn't be there when I got back, I never would have gone."​