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[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; FOR AGES 21 OR ABOVE]
[To a great extent, the love is romantic and not physical. If this is not of interest to you, we will see you next time. Thanks.]
[Although in the mature genre, the story concerns the relationship of mother and son in their later years.]
The same situation, the status quo if you will, existed for year after year. My mother, Sue, was locked into a marriage of convenience. It was not unpleasant for her, and her husband, Mal, stood to inherit some money. So, it was just so easy for her to stay put. There was no harm in that, of course, except that her heart belonged to another. I should know, because I was that ‘other’. She tolerated her husband but loved her son, James. Everything happened when I had turned 40, my mother 60.
During the formative years, my mother and I had had the most innocent of relationships. We were in love in a sentimental, non-physical way. As mom’s husband aged, he got more distant. He did not have the time, or take the time, to address mom’s needs and desires. He was content in working and vacationing occasionally. He never got around to expanding their family as mom had wanted; he was satisfied with the single child (i.e. me) Sometimes mom and I would spend our Saturdays together at a drive-in, while her ‘old man’ was either working overtime or catching up on sleep. But, while other cars had steamy windows from couples hard at it, mom and I would hold hands, exchanging words of devotion in between the crackling intermittent sound from the drive-in speaker. Poignantly, one time I even offered to marry mom, since she appeared to be so distraught. Mind you I was only 13, we only held hands, and my ability to support myself, let alone a wife, were rather minimal. That offer was so moving, if unsupportable, that it was the only time that mom kissed me.
As the later years passed, my dedication to my research job kept me from dating, or so I thought. However, whenever I went home on holiday, I felt an overwhelming relief and joy at seeing my mom. I also was struck by seeing the effect my appearance had on her. I came to realize that this was the real reason that I stuck to my job and didn’t take dating opportunities as they arose.
One Thanksgiving, I was moving from the university long-stay hotel suites to a small home. Mom offered to come up and help me move. When I politely begged off, she told me that her ‘old man’ wouldn’t be there—he’d go to his sister’s place and be fine. She broke me down…I said okay.
At the time, I was 29 and mom 49 (her ‘old man’ 59). It had been two whole years since I actually saw mom, as I couldn’t get away the previous year even during the holiday. We did speak every weekend; my questions always covered how she was or whether she was taking care of herself, going to her usual doctors for checkups. She always was moved, but puzzled, that I would worry whether she had made her appointment with her family doctor or her OB-GYN. But I did.
Now we were together. This was the first time that we were truly alone since, well, ever… Our visit started with the traditional holding of hands and hugs. Okay, there was a tear or two when we reminisced. It appeared that her love life had come to a crushing end sometime before. I had to admit that my devotion to my craft had stifled my social life, too.
Mom: “Baby, you really have to go out in the world and find that certain someone. I mean, even if your broken down old mom never did, maybe you can beat the odds and find Mrs. Right.”
We both laughed and shared a hug. We held hands, looked in each other’s eyes, and kissed. The innocent kiss from years gone by was exchanged, but now a more fervent type emerged. Soon we were embracing while kissing. Then, it truly was magnetism alone that pulled us into my bedroom. It was a mystery to me how we ended up on my bed with no clothes; it all was a blur really. But the pent-up love and devotion we felt over all those years just exploded forth. My mother was beautiful and I had never noticed that before. I never noticed because it had never been about sex, only love. However, adults affirm love with sex, gorukle escort so here we were.
Mom was gently stroking my cock which was a generous nine inches. As I said, mom was 49 to my 29, so we had to have ‘that’ quick discussion.
Mom: “Honey, I love you more than life itself; what we are about to has been building up for so many years. It has been so long for me that I can’t wait. I do have to tell you that you will have to be careful; I can still get pregnant and I’m still married.”
Me: [I took mom’s hand.] “Mom, admit that you love ME more than anyone, much more than you love that robot that walks out in the morning and comes home to go to bed at night.” [She smiled, nodded, kissed me on the cheek.] “Mom, you will not be able to have a baby forever; I’m asking you, begging you, PLEASE..LET’S MAKE A BABY TONIGHT…I WANT TO GET YOU PREGNANT. I HAVE ALWAYS DREAMT OF GETTING YOU PREGNANT. Have my baby, mom, please, I love you so much…”
Mom filled with tears. She said that she couldn’t because ‘the old man’ has been impotent for years and neglectful of their love life for even more years. So, he would know immediately and tell everyone. Also, the money from his parent’s estate was soon to be divided between him and his sister. Mom always hoped to have some of that to ensure my success.
Me: “Mom, I don’t know how much that money would be, but I don’t care. No amount of money can buy time…the chance to make a new life. Please.”
Mom shook her head no. That was that. She told me it was $11 million and ‘her old man’, ever paranoid, had secreted it in his own non-commingled accounts. So, she had to be real careful for the next few years. At that, we broke up for the night, not wanting to ‘tempt fate’ by fooling around without protection.
My little house had a guest room and the master bedroom. I forced mom, against her pleading, to take my master bedroom. One neat feature of the house was an intercom between those two rooms. Well, 30 minutes after we split up for the night, I got a call that mom needed me in her bedroom NOW. I rushed in, only to find her under the covers, with the blanket and sheets open on the other side. I was being invited in. Given the ardor of the moment, and the built-up passion we had, there was no force on earth that could prevent me from getting in.
Mom and I embraced and kissed as we always did. Shyly, I cupped her breasts, which were remarkable for a 49 year old and pretty damn good for anyone. Her tanned nipples popped just as I touched them, inviting me to kiss and lightly suckle on their magnificence. I kissed mom again, and then bent down to give her ‘more southern parts’ some attention. It had been so long for us that we were both out of practice. I did pretty well on the wet lips of her pussy, though. As I gave her my full attention, doing a pale impression of Gene Simmons (KISS) on her ‘female zone’, she moaned in orgasm. It had been so very long for her. Later she told me that her ‘old man’ had never deigned to ‘service her’ and she never had had the big ‘O’ with her ‘old man’.
Mom offered to go ‘down on me’. I thanked her but pointed out that I was stiff as petrified wood and ready without her help. I wanted in at this point. Putting mom in the middle of my king-sized bed, I mounted her…finally. So long, so very long, I had waited for this…dreamt of this! For Mr. Johnson, it was as tight, as warm, as welcoming, as he had always hoped. Just as I began the rhythmic motions of love, mom stopped me.
Mom: “I hate to be the nag that everyone hates…a real Killjoy. Just remember, sweetheart, as much as I want your baby…desperately want your baby, I cannot do it in good conscience, being married and being so close to getting us the money that would preclude you ever worrying about block grants or your next paycheck.”
Tearfully, I said I understood. I pulled my cock out and actually milked out a large dab of pre-cum. Though it wasn’t likely to do anything, I wanted to follow mom’s wishes to the letter. I did a re-entry worthy of the Space Shuttle. Soon we were ‘at it’ as before. At the point of climax, I pulled out. My cock was on fire, about to explode after the torrid sex and all altıparmak eskort bayan of those years of waiting. My poor testes were ‘distended’, bloated, swollen to the size of two mangos. I grabbed mom’s beautiful face, kissed her really hard. Then, I put her at the level of my nine inch cock. She quickly got the idea and ‘serviced me’. Soon, a huge wave of spunk, laden with sperm, was exploded into her waiting mouth. Her cheeks swelled, but she somehow contained it and swallowed. Another complete mouthful was ejaculated and swallowed noisily. Finally, one last tremendous jolt of seed was emptied into her waiting mouth. She had taken too much as it is; this last mouthful was the last straw and out if came, like the Niagara Falls, with a huge frothy waterfall around the entire width of her pouting lips. It was a sexy sight.
As the years went by, we would meet either in her town or mine. Our love life only grew more intense. The OB-GYN whose appointments seemed to concern me so much fitted mom with a diaphragm, just to be safe. Thus, we could have normal sex without worries, with me able finally to pump my virile sperm into her cunt. If only those sperm were allowed to alight on her treasured ovum and ride it until it affixed itself on her walls.
This went on, year after year. Very quietly, mom passed from here to there, from being able to have children into ‘that other world’ of older women. It was very hard for her to tell me, but certainly no surprise. I tried to be as supportive as I could, and made sure that our love making did not differ in any way whatever.
So, we now get to the year where I was 40 and mother was 60. By this time, her old man’s sister (who was always nice to me) passed away at 75. Sadly, as he was driving back from making the arrangements for her final rites, he was struck by an errant driver. He passed away within days of his beloved sister.
It was materialistic, if not ice cold, to think about it, but these developments did mean that my mother finally received the estate funds that she had hoped for. After asking me three times, I finally agreed to accept her check for $5 million, which was a sizable portion of the proceeds. And, she was right. I would no longer have to prostitute myself in those dreaded bid proposals for grant money.
My research had gone stale. Arthur C. Clarke once said that no scientist over 40 should ever darken the door of a lab. Well, I was over 40, and he was right. I quit the university job, dumped that little home, and finally got my dream of co-habiting with my beautiful mother.
The first day I was there, I asked her, begged her, to go to her OB-GYN, and get that damn diaphragm removed. I knew it was ‘too late’ for babymaking but at least she could have more comfort and natural feeling when we did it.
She dutifully went to her doctor.
Mom: “Wow, my OB-GYN took a really long time on that diaphragm removal thing. I always wondered why her exams took so long, much longer than other doctors. I was tempted to find another one, but you were so insistent that I use her.” [She kissed me as the opening to our love session.]
Finally, we were going to make love, without reservation, birth control, concerns about impotent husbands back home, estate money in jeopardy, or anything else. My mother was 60. Now Sophia Loren, Farah Fawcett and Joan Collins all looked fantastic at 50 and beyond, but that was 3 women out of how many billion? My mom was 60 but looked, umm, 50, which was okay. To me, she was perfect. My memory skirted over any ravages of time. My love covered up any imperfections.
We came together with the pent-up passion of 40 years of togetherness. We had made love before, to be sure, but never in the marital bed of my mother, and never totally free of all concerns. This act of love would mark our union as man and woman. As I held her hand, I did not focus on whether it had a blemish or two. It was the same hand that had held me as a child; the same one that had comforted me on the loss of my favorite pet. The same hand that I held in the drive-in theatre when I proposed marriage to mom, when I was but a lad of 13.
Here I was in nilüfer eskort bayan the marital bed, finally. Mom came out in the trousseau that she wore on her honeymoon, the same diaphanous peignoir. I had to, I just had to leap out of bed and pick up this precious female. As we kissed, I carried this woman who meant so very much to me to the marital bed. Careful to leave her nightgown intact, I caressed her still firm, luscious breasts underneath the silky shimmering cloth of that nightgown. Her nipples came up, thrilling my loving hands. Pushing that nightgown up, I inserted myself inside of her. My trusty nine inch babymaker was hard as steel, determined to transfer a huge backlog reservoir of my very potent seed from my swollen testes to her soon to be swollen womb. It could no longer be called ‘fertile’ but it was, at least, unprotected this night.
I used all of my strength to make mad, passionate love to the most wonderful woman in the world. Nothing could stop me from my mission of delivering my potent seed. If it was no longer possible for my vibrant, lively sperm to make her pregnant, then they would still be delivered and sent on their way.
Me: “Mom, I love you so much!” [I screamed and she joined me. We held hands tightly and then she felt the fiery hot spray from my nine inch babymaker, spraying shot after shot, spurt after spurt, relentlessly unburdening my hugely swollen balls while transferring all of that copious liquid into her womanly depths. With a final drip, drip, it was over. We kissed lightly and fell asleep, lovers now and forever, joined by my still erect cock, plugged into her womanhood. At her advanced age, after the ‘change of life’, no miracles could be expected, no surprises in store. That was pure medical science.
The next night we had a similar experience of love that was both passionate if poignant. In such cases, the feeling of ‘we are too late’ always supersedes ‘well, better late than never’.
The following night, mom had to beg off, saying she felt strangely dizzy and ill. I told her the symptoms sounded just like pregnancy. She said they did after all, but that was impossible, as we all very well knew. She actually got mad at me for suggesting it, saying that it was in bad taste considering her age and condition in that regard. I told her that I had a tester (which I just happened to have) and that she should just humor me. She glared at me and took the test into the bathroom.
She emerged and gave me the test kit, leaving me to monitor it (as if any reaction would be forthcoming.) She was slightly irritated by this whole thing and went to suave her nerves at the Home Shopping Network.
A while later, I let out a whoop. She came flying in, asking what was going on.
Mom: “My God, what is the big hullaballoo?”
Me: “Well, see for yourself…it’s blue…you are PREGNANT, mom!”
Mom: “That’s obviously wrong! I went through the ‘change’ a few years ago! This is obviously a false positive.”
Me:”No, mom. I am happy, so very happy to tell you, you are wrong. You ARE pregnant! You WILL have my baby. It’s time for me to ‘fess up’. All of those years that I wanted you to go to that PARTICULAR OB-GYN, well that was for a reason. She and I were good friends from charity work; I asked her to do a particular procedure on you without your knowing, year after year. She collected ova from you. I was concerned about our lives, being separate as they were. What I had feared came to be. You felt compelled to be free of my sperm until it was too late. As you know, a woman cannot CREATE a baby after ‘the change’, but she can BEAR one until she’s perhaps 70. At your last check-up, where that diaphragm was removed, that sweet woman implanted two of your ova, both lovingly fertilized by the seed of yours truly. So, as we made love the other night, I KNEW that you were pregnant or soon to be.”
Mom broke down in tears. This news was just too much to digest at once. When I asked her if she was happy about the surprise, she told me she was so very happy. We hugged in the same way we hugged when I was ten, thirteen, twenty, thirty, and forty. We held hands in the same way, hugged, and kissed.
Time had taken much, but also given us much. Now we had all the money in the world, a wonderful set of twins on the way (and one more set after that), and a home for the six of us. No, we did not have ALL the time in the world, but we had just enough time to enjoy being together and sharing the important things in life. And for that, we were both grateful.
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