The relationship between me and my mother has always been strained. Now, with my face buried between her legs, I feel like things could be looking up.
I go to college about a two-hour drive away from my hometown. I couldn't wait to move, either. Nothing was ever easy with Mom; she'd turn every little argument into a full-blown crisis. Throughout high school, she hated every girl I ever dated. It seemed like I was always the preferred target when it came to exorcising her daily frustrations, and I was sick of the drama.
So, I traded a full-ride scholarship at a local college for considerably lower financial aid at someplace further away.
Now, I live with a girlfriend who has evidently decided that she will not fuck me anymore. Mom lives with my stepdad, a straight-laced band director at a private Christian school. I'd be willing to bet they don't fuck all that often, either. It's Thanksgiving break and I could use some distance from the girlfriend, so I make the drive home to surprise the family.
We live in the Northwest, so there's already snow and frigid, biting cold wherever you go. My car is not equipped for snow, and I'm sliding all over the place for the majority of the drive. It takes longer than I expected, and soon night falls. I can hardly make out the road, so it's a small miracle that I arrive at Mom's house without slamming into a snowbank.
I'm shivering violently as I step out of my car's comfortably heated interior and walk down the driveway towards the front door. I ring the bell and stand there, holding my arms tight over my chest and trying not to freeze. It takes her awhile, but eventually Mom answers. She looks happy and surprised, and once I step inside and the door's shut behind me, she wraps her arms around me.
"Hi, sweetheart! I had no idea you were coming down!" she says.
I say, "I didn't really either, not until this morning."
She's so warm compared to the outside air. It feels amazing. I hug her back and squeeze a little. It's a happy side-effect that the gesture squishes her tits up against my chest, and I can't help but take notice. They're huge, always have been.
At 42, Mom looks pretty good. She's about a head shorter than I am with a slightly chubby hourglass frame. She's got reddish-brown hair and pale blue eyes. Wide hips and a rack to match them. Not a supermodel, by any means, but not far enough away from one to prevent her from becoming the object of my teenage fantasies.
Somehow, the fact that she could be an overbearing bitch never took away from that. In fact, sometimes it made her all that more appealing to me . . .
"Where's your husband?" I ask.
She tells me that the school's band is performing at some out-of-town competition, and he'll be back in two days.
We make our way to the couch and initiate the standard small talk. Eventually though, like it always does with her, it starts to turn ugly. She launches into a rant about how my new girlfriend seems like a slut. If only that were true.
But then she brings up the scholarship and how it would have been much smarter to stay here for college.
"Why did you want to get out of this town so badly?" Mom asks.
Already on edge from the drive, I can't stop myself from giving her an honest answer.
"Because I needed to get away from you," I say coldly.
She's hurt, and it's immediately apparent. There's tears and everything escalates from there until she storms off, declaring that she's going to bed. Growing up, I was usually the one who did the storming off. I feel bad. I'd like to think it's not usually in my nature to be an asshole, but there's nothing good about what I said.
After wallowing on the couch for awhile, I doze off. Maybe it's the lack of action back at college, but I've been having weird, intense sex dreams lately. Usually about my girlfriend or one of the attractive women I catch my self ogling in class. But tonight, it's about Mom.
She's so damn warm, and we're hugging just like we did earlier. Only now, she's not wearing any clothes. Her skin is hot and soft to the touch, and her breasts are now pressing firmly into me. She reaches down and grabs my wrists, guiding my palms to brush against her nipples. She kisses me on the neck, and the little hairs back there stand up.
I can't take it anymore, I want her now. I take her face in my hands and bring my lips hard against hers. She slips the edge of her tongue between my lips and I meet it with mine.
Moving my hands back to her magnificent tits, her long nipples are growing so hard. But the kiss ends, and as our faces pull away, I see that she's crying.
"I'm sorry," I hear myself say. "I didn't mean it." But she begins to slowly back away, sobbing and slowly shaking her head.
