A Dash Of Rum And Mums Tits

Cuban rum and his mum's boob job are the catalyst for this encounter. I hope you enjoy it.

As usual, please send feedback. If there's a point you didn't like, let me know, but be constructive please. The 'you suck' comments don't help with future improvement.

Any errors in the text I apologise for.

I hope you enjoy reading this.

GA -- Camino Verde, Santa Elena, Costa Rica -- 8 April 2012.

'Come all over Mummy's tits,' she breathed, eyes gleaming with excitement. 'Show me how much you love me. Plaster me with lovely spunk.'

*

Earlier that evening she told me to pretend I wasn't her son. OK, I thought, this I can do. I also wondered if asking to feel her tits would be a step too far. I decided that it would probably provoke a negative reaction.

They did look good though, her breasts, and all I wanted to do was feel them.

'For God's sake,' my mother hissed at me in the bar. Her eyes flicked left and right while the benign cool of a Cuban evening breeze wafted over us. I looked around the place and saw a barman pouring rum, a handful of tables under a roof of woven branches and, amongst the sunburned couples and groups enjoying their Caribbean holiday, a middle-aged man smiling uncertainly. He appeared to be nonplussed by my presence, and the fact I was talking to her, my mother. 'Don't let on you're my son. I don't want anyone to know I have a son your age,' she muttered through a fake smile.

The middle-aged bloke stood up and then paused with a degree of uncertainty before nervously approaching.

Out of the corner of her mouth my dear mater muttered: 'Go away.'

Pretending to be hurt, but also enjoying her look of horror at my raised voice I replied: 'Well thanks, Mum. I followed you all the way out here and this is it. That's how you greet me?' I looked her up and down, noted the long, light blue dress with inch-wide shoulder straps. It suited her, complimented her tan and showed off her boobs. Those tits taunted me, the deep, smooth cleavage begging to be touched ... I ached to kiss those smooth orbs. 'You're looking good, Mum,' I said as nonchalantly as I could manage in a parting salvo. 'Meet me for breakfast?'

She nodded, no doubt relieved I was leaving.

As tired as I was after the long flight, sleep remained elusive. I lay on my back in the big bed and thought about

her.

The boob job had done it for me. Before that, before the transformation, my mother was just my mother to me; but after she'd had her breasts done things changed. My mother had always looked after herself, obsessing over her figure -- diminutive and somewhat athletic. Compact. Yet after the boob job her sexual allure was multiplied many times over. And I became aware of her as a sexual entity; she was no longer 'just' my mother.

'Do I look forty?' she'd ask. 'I don't feel forty, and I don't think I look forty ... Do I look forty to you?' The next year it was, 'Do I look forty-one?' etc. 'I'm having a boob job,' she blithely informed me on her forty-second birthday.

Nothing or nobody could dissuade her.

The effect on me when I saw her new figure for the first time, when I returned home from an extended trip away following an internship at one of Dad's banks, was instant. My body reacted to my mother as she confidently walked up to me at Heathrow and embraced me. I saw her approaching and was forced into a double take. This woman, a good-looking, pretty, blue eyes and long black hair, dressed in a pair of loose fitting cargo pants and a Lara Croft vest was my mother.

Her tits ... Wow!

'Welcome home,' she'd breathed into my ear after a chaste, motherly brush of her lips on my cheek. I struggled to make sense of the feelings, the confusion of my sudden, savage erection her appearance elicited. The feel of her ribcage under my fingers as my hands encircled her body, with my thumbs just below those fantastic breasts, and the scent of her clean hair and perfume in my nostrils added to the whirl of conflicting emotions within me.

This was my mother; I shouldn't be feeling like this.

Unaware of the effect she had on me, but probably noting the admiring male glances as we walked through the arrivals hall, my mother jabbered away about family goings on and neighbourhood gossip. 'How's your father?' she asked, sniffing derisively before dropping that subject completely.

That had been two years ago. I'd had two years of struggle to keep my hands off her. Whenever she was close my cock thickened with interest. Damn but I wanted her. She became an obsession; so much so that I'd contrived an excuse to join her on her holiday in Cuba. I might only have just turned twenty-five but I was earning enough working for Dad to be able to afford the trip.

Madness. How would I cope with seeing her in a bikini? I kept that image in my head however and, using those pictures in my mind, masturbated to a swift, teeth-grinding orgasm. Thick spurts of semen squirted across my belly and chest while, in my head, it was my mother's breasts that were garlanded with my ejaculate.

'Come all over Mummy's tits,' she breathed, her eyes gleaming with excitement. 'Show me how much you love me. Plaster me with lovely spunk.'

I groaned with frustration into the night, masturbation was only a temporary respite. After wiping myself with my travel-dirty tee-shirt I rolled onto my side. Sleep came eventually, but my dreams were full of her.

*

'Stay close to me today.'

I looked up bemused from the croissant and coffee at the sound of her voice. Yesterday she'd told me to get lost, now here she was with conflicting instructions.

'What?' I replied.

My mother, wearing sunglasses and smoking her morning cigarette enlightened me. 'It got a little ... awkward last night.' I swear she blushed then, unusual for my over-confident, narcissistic mother.

'How?'

'Well, I had a little rum.' She held her forefinger and thumb and inch apart. 'Just a drop.'

I nodded, not quite believing as she continued.

'And rather stupidly agreed to ...' My mother paused and drew on her cigarette.

'Go on,' I encouraged with a nod of my head at her reticence. 'Tell me.'

'... Skinny dipping,' she replied,

sotto voce,

as clandestine as Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther films.

My emotions vacillated -- jealousy at who had been with her, and desire when images of her naked in the moonlight sprang to mind. There came the usual self-loathing for entertaining carnal thoughts for my own mother, yet even so I imagined the water dripping down her body, her hair, short and shaggy, almost boyish these days, plastered to her head, nipples thick and long, areola puckered from the cool sea water.

'And Raymond got a bit too ... amorous ... Are you listening?' my mother asked when she noticed my glazed expression.

'Uhm ... Yeah,' I responded absently, adding: 'Who's Raymond?'

Somebody I wanted to strangle. The bastard who'd been skinny dipping with my mother. Did he get his paws on her boobs?

'Just a man I met here. Nothing's been going on -- he's not really my type. He was good fun at first, and has pots of money, but ...' she pulled a face. '... Just not my type at all,' she concluded, dragging at her cigarette again.

There was more to it but I decided not to press the issue. 'So what do I have to do?' I asked.

'Well,' my mother began hesitantly, which was definitely not like her. 'I thought that ... what I mean is that you could sort of pretend to be ...' She laughed, obviously embarrassed.

'What? What could I pretend?'

There was a hopeful moment when my mother leaned close across the table towards me that I thought her jugs would spill out of the sarong she had wrapped around her body. 'Just pretend to be interested in me. You know ... Like ...

interested

in me.'

'As in fancy you?'

'Yes, if you want to put it that way. Just keep near me, walk around with me, holding hands as though we've just met and are suddenly mad about each other.'

I saw myself reflected in stereo in my mother's sunglasses. I wondered if she noticed my eagerness.

'I reckon I could do that,' I grinned. 'It wouldn't be too much hardship.' I added: 'You're a good-looking lady, Mum.' My voice caught on the next sentence. 'If you weren't my mum I'd probably fancy you for real.' If I'd stood up at that moment, my mother would have seen the evidence of my sincerity; a hard-on that could cut glass.

Her reply shocked me. 'And if you weren't my son,' she said, an odd grin on her face. 'I'd take you skinny dipping one night.' Apparently unaware of my flabbergasted, slack-jawed stare my mother ground out the stub of her cigarette in the ash-tray. 'Meet me by the big pool in half an hour,' she continued brightly, pointing elegantly in the general direction of our rendezvous. 'You can make yourself useful and rub lotion on my back.' She sighed and rolled her eyes. 'Raymond was

ever

so keen to do that.' Across the back of her hand she whispered: 'And a bit pervy.' In her normal voice, she finished, 'See you soon.' She stood and picked up her cigarettes and lighter. 'Half an hour,' she added with a wave.

I watched her walk away, admiring her trim figure and shapely backside as she wove between tables, moving graceful as a dancer. She might have hair like a boy but no way could she be mistaken for one. All I could do was sit, order another coffee, and wait for my cock to settle down.

*

My eyes were on stalks. 'Jesus, Mum!'

'Call me Elaine,' she said. 'And what are you oh Jesusing about?'

I hadn't meant to blurt but seeing that bikini -- or what passed for a bikini, as far as I could see it was three insignificant triangles of cloth and some string -- forced the cry from my throat. 'That ...' I waved my hands ineffectually

... swimsuit.'

'Don't you like it?' she asked, examining herself critically.

I thought it was fucking sensational. It made me want to push her onto the deck, part her legs, rip the bottom piece away and just suck at her clit until she squirted on my tongue. My mother, I couldn't fail to notice, was either completely devoid of a pubic bush or had it severely coiffed. Her pudenda positively bulged inside the scrap of bright yellow cloth. I swear I could make out the indentation of her cleft. The apology of a waistband was two thin lengths of string that looped high on my mother's hips, exaggerating the length of her legs and disappearing between the cleft of her buttocks.

And on top it was simply jaw-dropping. She'd chosen her implants well. Perfect size for her, not the overinflated, stretched look I'd seen in pictures of glamour models; they looked so real too, completely natural. I wondered again how they would feel.

'It's stunning,' I managed eventually, sincerely.

'I wasn't too sure,' my mother responded, flicking a towel over the recliner. 'It certainly got some attention,' she added neutrally. 'Be a good lad, Eric,' my mother said after settling face-down on her sun lounger. 'Oil up my back will you please?'

I'd forgotten about that in the excitement of seeing my mother virtually nude. She held out a bottle of lotion. I took it with a trembling hand and, kneeling next to the woman on the bed, drizzled some of the gunk onto her shoulders. 'Mmm,' she murmured appreciatively as I began to massage the stuff into her sun-warmed skin. 'That's nice.'

The feel of her under my fingers, my palms gliding over her flesh, and her purr of approval stiffened my cock. Thank fuck she was face down and couldn't see my discomfort. I began high up around her shoulders but soon worked my way lower, massaging the sun lotion into her back, feeling the knobs of her spine under my hands. At her instruction, with a gulp, I pulled the string of her bikini top to undo the bow. She was now bare from the waist up. If she got up for any reason I'd be able to see her breasts; her nipples would no longer be a figment of my imagination, next time I pulled my cock I could visualise them. In a moment of daring I allowed my fingers to stray down either side of my mother's body; she didn't flinch when I brushed the flanks of her breasts. I day-dreamed about my mother's bare tits as my hands slid closer and closer towards her buttocks. Reckless with desire I let my hand slide over one taut cheek. My heart hammered in my chest. Would she object?

'That's a little bit inappropriate,' she commented. I lifted my hand and muttered an apology. 'But carry on, silly,' my mother added as she squirmed against the towel, lifting her hips and actually pushing her arse into the air an inch or two. 'You've done one, now do the other.'

Sweat poured off me. Melted sun lotion oozed from my forehead and into my eyes. It was hot under the Caribbean sun, but not that hot. I shifted on my knees and gently massaged my mother's buttocks, even considering the highly risky tactic of sliding a finger between her legs. Oiling her arse cheeks was one thing, fingering my mother's vulva was a whole different league.

But I was sorely tempted. I could have cried with frustration.

'I'll do you now,' I heard my mother say. 'You're so pale you'll burn to a crisp in a day.'

At first I had a crazy notion she meant sex before it dawned on me that she intended to rub cream into my back.

And it all happened at once. She rolled onto her side and there they were, the breasts I'd longed to see for the past two years swung into view. Unfortunately, in my panic to hide my jutting erection I stood up, bringing the front of my shorts to the optimum point for her to observe my tumescent state.

Even as my mother hefted herself onto her elbows for the turn I gabbled a refusal: 'No, need Mum, I'll sit in the shade and read.'

Too late.

'Oh!' she cried with her face inches from the damning evidence. 'Eric ...' she spluttered. 'Oh my ...' A hand came to her mouth. The moment stretched endlessly. There was no ignoring the huge bulge, and the cause was obvious. 'Jesus, Eric,' my mother spat, recovering somewhat and sitting upright. She lifted the sunglasses from her eyes while I just stood there staring at her tits, with my hard-on like a rock star's microphone tenting my shorts inches from her face. 'What on Earth caused that?' my mother asked in surprise, eyes scanning the poolside for witnesses to this embarrassing scene. Fortunately it was still early and we had the place to ourselves.

'Mum,' I croaked hoarsely. It was all I could manage at that moment. I stepped back and then sat heavily on the chair which neighboured my mother's; all the while, even then, keeping those superb tits in sight.

My mother, Elaine, noticing my sight line, regarded me with comprehension dawning. 'Oh!' She exclaimed.

I confessed, all of it, beginning at Heathrow and ending by admitting I'd even considered sliding my finger along the cleft of her pussy. My mother stared at me throughout my low-voiced monologue. When I'd finished she kept on staring. Then she looked down at her breasts, the catalyst for all of this.

'I need a drink,' she said finally.

'But it's only half-ten,' I replied.

'So what?' My mother stood and wrapped her body in the pale blue sarong. 'I still need a drink after that revelation, Eric.' She gathered her accoutrements. 'Come on,' she ordered with a jerk of her head, indicating I should follow. 'We need to talk.'

Rather than go to the bar as I'd expected, my mother led me to her apartment. The air-con hit me like a fist. I noticed my mother's nipples react to the blast of cold air. Despite my chagrin I still desired her. The door closed behind me while my mother went to the fridge and took out a large bottle of Coke. She poured a generous measure of rum from another bottle, and then splashed the cola into the glass. When I nodded at the proffered bottle she poured a drink for me as well.

'I don't know what to say,' she began, and then swigged heavily at her drink. She lit a cigarette. I thought it prudent to keep quiet about the no smoking rule in the rooms, there was no telling how incendiary her mood might be now. 'I'm angry ... But I'm flattered too, which is confusing the hell out of me,' she said at last. She smoked in silence for a few moments, and then carried her drink to one of the hugely cushioned armchairs. 'Sit,' she instructed, using her cigarette as a pointer. I sat in the chair opposite her. My mother crossed her legs, automatically my eyes flicked to her bared flesh. 'My own son,' she mused, speaking to herself. 'I know I said to act like you fancied me, Eric, but you took it a bit too far.' To my relief she laughed. 'I'm flattered,' she said emphatically, nodding as though she'd reached her decision. 'It's what I wanted. A good-looking, personable young man to lust after me ...' She looked levelly in my direction, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. '... I just never imagined it'd be you.' She laughed again, this time shaking her head at the irony.

'I'm sorry, Mum,' I said, my eyes downcast.

'Elaine,' my mother reminded me. 'I still want to carry on the charade.' She then added: 'But this will take a bit of digesting.' My mother drained the last of the rum from the glass. 'I still want to use you as a deflection from creepy Raymond. I don't need him complicating things. He was bad enough last night. I need you, Eric. Let me process your bombshell, but in the meantime we'll keep up the pretence.' She stood. 'Another drink?' she asked moving to the counter upon which the rum bottle sat.

Ah, the rum, thank God for the rum.

*

I woke up with a start, in a strange room, head woolly from a cocktail of rum and jet-lag and strained emotions. Hazy images came to mind; I could smell sun tan lotion. I sniffed my hands ...

That was it! I was in my mother's holiday apartment, in her bed. It all came back to me then. I'd crashed out in the comfortable embrace of the arm chair. I dimly recalled my mother leading me gently to her bedroom, pulling back the cover to reveal white sheets, and me collapsing, still in my shorts onto their crisp freshness.

'You have a little snooze,' my mother said, kissing me lightly on the forehead. Then she was gone. I slept.

When I emerged from the bedroom my mother was sitting on the balcony, smoking and reading. I noticed the glass of rum in front of her and quickly checked the level in the bottle.

'What time is it?' I asked, still woozy, scratching my head.

'Just after one. We should have some lunch.' The rum in the bottle had dropped by a few inches or so. I estimated she'd been on it since I'd crashed and burned, but wasn't in too bad a shape. 'I'll just shower,' my mother continued. 'I'm still plastered in sun oil.'

She left me alone on the balcony. I looked out across the immaculate grounds of the complex. With my head throbbing, and with a raging thirst I took several quick swallows of Coke. The brain freeze hit me, eventually abating to leave me marginally more clear-headed. Then, just as I was putting the cola back in the fridge, my mother appeared covered in only a towel.

She looked at me for a long time, saying nothing; I just stood and gawped at her tanned legs and bare, sun-kissed shoulders.

'We should get this over with,' she said enigmatically.

'What ...?' I managed.

'You said you wanted to feel them,' my mother said with a shrug of her shoulders. 'Other people have asked,' she pulled a face, 'And I've let them. Women, men ...' She shrugged again. 'Why not you?' The towel parted, my mother holding the edges like a park flasher. Of course she was completely bare beneath. I took it all in. The contrast between her pale skin, the tan lines from the bikini bottoms high on her hips and the golden hue of the darker flesh; I saw the precise stripe of her waxed pubic bush -- that answered that question -- and, of course, her jugs. 'Come on,' she said as casual as you like. 'Come and feel them.'