If you haven't read the previous Chapters, the author suggests you take a moment to go back and read them to understand how Joey and his Mom got to this point. All participants in this story are over 21 years of age.
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Being Monday, it was a busy day for Mom and me, and it was almost 11:00 by the time we finished our conversation, had sex at the kitchen table, ate breakfast, and washed up. With winter approaching, I'd ordered another half-cord of firewood to be delivered to our storage, so I waited for the delivery man to call on my cell while Mom went out and food-shopped. Hopefully I'd be downstairs with him when she returned and I could escort her up from the basement parking garage.
It worked out and Mom called saying she was pulling in just as I was paying the man for the wood. As he pulled away, we each grabbed a couple of sacks full of groceries and went to the elevator.
When the elevator doors closed, Mom asked, "Do you think they have a hidden camera in the elevator?"
I thought for a moment. "No, I've never seen any cameras anywhere in the building." I looked around the elevator. "I don't see one here."
Mom smiled, then leaned in and gave me a big, wet kiss. "I missed you, even though I was only gone for a while," she said when the kiss ended. Needless to say, after we got in the front door of her condo, it was an hour before the groceries got put away.
So started what was one of the best weeks of my life so far. Mom and I settled in to being together as a couple, not just as son and mother. I was amazed at Mom's sexual energy. We've all heard that women reach their sexual peak around the age of 37, and I can only think that Mom is living proof. I wouldn't say she is insatiable, because there were times that she was satiated, orgasmed out, and couldn't fuck any longer. But she came right back in almost no time. Never sore, never not in the mood, she was down for anything, any time, and anywhere in the house. We fucked in the kitchen, in the shower, in both bedrooms, in the living room, in the dining area, in the family room. We even fucked one night on the small deck outside, she leaning, shivering, against the railing and me standing behind her, holding her dress up, fucking her slowly and in the deepest parts of her cunt.
I'm a twenty-two year old man, and as such, am pretty much horny all the time. Mom is the only woman I'd ever met who was just as horny as I am. Plus, she initiated the sex at least half the time if not more. She was just so damned sexy.
She was also highly orgasmic. Few of my previous lovers had been able to cum during intercourse. For many, they had one way of reaching orgasm, and would slowly and silently let me know what they wanted and needed. It was like putting together a 500 piece jig-saw puzzle to figure out what they needed in order to climax.
Not so with Mom; she could cum in a variety of ways, and seemed eager to chase down her orgasm no matter what kind of sex we were having. She wasn't afraid of telling me exactly what she wanted me to do to her.
For example, one morning that week she was giving me a "good-morning" blowjob in bed and she started rubbing her wet cunt up against my lower leg as she sucked and licked my cock. I could feel her slick wetness against my shin as she positioned her labia on either side of the hard bone and started working her pussy and clit up and down it. Her blowjobs were amazing and it wasn't long before I was getting close. Mom picked up the speed of her leg-humping and just as I came and started spewing into her mouth, she orgasmed on my shin. It was wet and sticky when she finished.
It was an incredible week of incredible sex an incredible number of times. Again, we just couldn't seem to get enough of each other.
Reality did begin to intrude on us as the week wore on, however. We both were aware there would be complications to our new-found love, and we began to bring some of them to the surface during that first week.
The first was what I should call her. We had gone out to dinner on Wednesday night, and Mom was concentrating on the menu choices and didn't hear the waitress approach and ask if we'd like a cocktail before dinner. I touched her arm and asked, "Heather, would you like a drink or a glass of wine before dinner?"
Mom looked up at me suddenly and gave me a look, like, "What the Fuck?" She quickly regained her composure and gave her order to the waitress. When we were back alone, she asked, "So when did you start calling me by my first name?"
I whispered back, "Well we're in here all lovey-dovey, holding hands, all googly-eyed. I can't very well call you Mom. That would freak the waitress out!"
"We'll talk about it later, when we get home," she said briskly and went back to studying the menu. After a few minutes she was fine, but I could tell it had upset her.
As soon as we were in the car she said, "I don't want you calling me Heather. I'm your mother."
While we were eating I had thought about it a bit and had a plan jelling in my mind.
"Look, Mom, we can't be out in public on a date, obviously a couple in love, and have me calling you Mom. We have to come up with a plan on how this is going to work."
"Being your mother is what makes our relationship so special. I don't want to minimize that by having you calling me Heather."
I could see that she was only focused on the problem and not on the solution at that moment, which was okay. I understood that she was still a little in shock from hearing me call her Heather.
"Well, why don't you just think about it, Mom, and see what kind of solution you can come up with for when we're out in public?" I changed the subject quickly when I saw some Christmas lights up on a commercial building. "Look," I said, "not even Thanksgiving yet, and already Christmas lights!"
"Way too early," she answered, and commented that she wished we lived in a house so we could put some up.
"We'll decorate inside, Ma, with all the cheesy stuff we can find at Target." She laughed and seemed to have forgotten the name-calling problem.
The next day, after an energetic noon-time fuck, we lay there on the carpet and she said, "You know when we were with your father's business associates or clients, I never called him Joey or Big Joey. I always called him Joe or Joseph. Same for when I was around his family. They hated the name Joey, so I called him Joe. When I was mad at him, sometimes I called him Asshole. When we were making love I sometimes called him Big Daddy. So I called him a lot of different things, depending on the situation."
