People kept telling me that we need to recycle to "save the climate" so I saved up the three years' worth of cobwebs insulating the loft of my imagination. Due to readers thanking me a lot for this story series, which was really quite experimental and unplanned, I figured it'd just be a good place to bridge past to present.
It's entirely up to you whether you want to begin here and then go read the first four chapters, or to use this link to find my back-catalogue and begin at the very start. I'm not exactly writing for HBO here, am I?
Probably less fucking in my stories for that matter.
1
The very next morning I awoke lying on my side, spooning Sara, my mother. I was first aware of myself being semi-erect and sensitive to the heat generated between my body and hers. I was pressed against her full apple bottom, nestled between her buttocks, and not daring to move and to rouse her just yet I revelled in all that I was feeling in those waking moments.
The night prior I had made love to my mother in her bed like never before - "our bed," as she'd said.
It was not just meant as a consummation of how we felt about each other, but as a stronger bonding moving forward in life. A new kind of relationship was opening up, one in which we were going to explore adult life together with less of society's stupid standards.
I was back home, but I was now also coming around to the reality that I was now the man of the house, her man, her lover, but to the outside world a confident mama's boy who didn't care what the Carols of the world thought or said.
In a way it was overwhelming to think about, but we weren't being stupid about it. We weren't fucking around with thoughts of getting married, thinking we could get away with something like that.
We were loving each other the way some families do, just very, very intimately!
Right now life was strange, strange but undeniably great. The dark days of unhappiness in a doomed relationship were gone. My mother and I had been in a physical relationship long before Carol, but now it was different. Absence had made the heart fonder. Past encounters romanticised on account of loneliness had fuelled something greater, more confident, unabashed.
But the bonds were tighter, the love stronger, the expression of that love unlimited. I could love her like I tried to love Carol, who for some fear of intimacy with me ran off to fuck the worst kind of parasite. I was not going to suffer her. Sara was not going to let me.
Sara wasn't afraid of that level of intimacy, of embracing what we had. We weren't going to let each other go to waste, to suffer fools.
Family to my mother and I now meant giving each other what nobody else could, which was really just like an infinite cycle when you think about it. Not even spouses in this day and age give each other the unconditional love a mother and son develop for each other.
Thinking about that long and passionate night, I could still feel it in my flesh, my blood, the tingling nerves that had explored her, caressed her, penetrated her, and fell prey to her prowess and sexual appetite as a lover.
My sex throbbed as though the afterglow of that burning love still remained, and fondly I found myself back in the familiar old territory -- that sexual limbo where to be sated left me forever hungry for more.
For moments I just lay there, feeling myself harden hopelessly against the smooth flesh of her rump, and thought about the next time she would invite me to couple with her. And happily I thought the rudest thoughts about us as I watched her shoulders rise and fall with deep but silent breaths.
The morning air was cool though bright sunshine pierced the blinds of the bedroom bay window. If I could have hazarded a guess, the vivid golden hue and the angle of the light told me that the sun was still low in the sky. I heard no traffic, only the chatter of birds, but I didn't dare look at the clock.
Moved by another inevitable urge, I gently pulled away from Sara and eased myself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to relieve myself, and after some quick thought I crept down to the kitchen to make coffee, revelling in the refreshing chill against my sleep-heated skin, even as it caused my cock and balls to "shy away" a little.
After helping myself to a cup and feeling stimulated and relaxed at once, I headed back to the bedroom -- to our bedroom, and to our bed -- and slid back in under the duvet to relish both the cooling of the cover sheet and the welcoming warmth of my mother's voluptuous naked form.
I wrapped myself around her lovingly, and instantly she began to respond, first with a hiss as my cooled flesh contrasted her hotness, and then with a delighted moan as our bodies writhed together to spoon deeply.
I became instantly hard again, my cock erecting itself like a flower in time-lapse, only seeking the sun where it didn't shine. And as I grew between her upper thighs, as she wiggled and gyrated her bottom against me, aided by my hand now gripping her exposed hip, we both sank into each other and just loved for a while the feeling of sleepy, naked, smooth flesh on flesh.
I leaned back away from her, spasming into a hard stretch, forcing out a happy yawn, which made my hard length brush up against the once taboo place that I was now all too familiar with. Her pubic hair tickled the sensitive tip of my penis, which was now so hard that it shone like a little pink balloon.
I felt more like a horse drawn to water, seeking moisture, and angled myself differently to rest at a warmer, damper spot. Mother gasped sleepily, prodded back with the weight of her posterior, and then hissed again, betraying my position.
I knew better than to push too hard just then though. I didn't want to drill for water, I wanted it to come to me. So with the slightest movements I nudged at her hot spot with my throbbing hardness over and over, listening to Sara's faintest gasps multiply and fall into the very rhythm with which I teased her.
It wasn't long before her round backside rolled toward me, and it was me gasping as first I was met with the sight of one gorgeous plump 36F breast spilling over, the thick punk nub of a nipple, almost as erect as I was, and then her lazy blue eyes smiling at me from beneath the bed-ridden mess of her blonde hair.
At first she propped herself up on one elbow, regarding me with what appeared to be mirth and a sexy shyness I didn't know she was capable of at this point in our lives, but as her eyes rounded, became more alert, and her gaze penetrated me, she then relaxed back into the pillows and together we just gazed away in silence.
She took her lower lip into her own mouth, bit down softly on it as her cheeks began to flush, and there again was that shyness, made all the more apparent when her shoulders hunched. She relaxed and took a deep breath. I made my move.
