My father was killed in an accident two years ago. He was a geological engineer, working for one of the major oil companies. and was frequently on site in many different areas of the world to provide advice on the current drilling results. At that particular time he was in Venezuela, and in company with three others, crashed in a helicopter. It took several days to find them in a mountainous area, but they were heavily loaded with fuel and the wreck was still burning when they did so.
My parents were married quite young. and I was a honeymoon baby! My birth was a difficult one, and my mother was advised not to have any more children. My father had a very good career, my mother was trained as a legal secretary; we had a comfortable life, a beautiful home and all was well with our world.
My parents were happy and contented with each other, and I cannot remember any serious disputes that threatened our home. My father was a very practical handyman and taught me the essentials of car repairs, home maintenance and the value of money. As an only child I could so easily have been overly indulged, but having come from a poor family himself, my father would not permit this to happen, and it was this seeming hardness that was the cause of the only minor friction between my parents.
I did not like it either, since, whilst my friend's parents bought them all the toys, bikes, cars etc, I had to work for mine! From an early age I had to earn all that I wanted by cutting the grass, cleaning the yard, washing the cars and fixing the house. I have never ceased thanking my father for this training, and the awareness he instilled in me of the importance of self-reliance.
At seventeen I lost the anchor of my life; I will not dwell on the catastrophic effect it had on my mother, who had lost her reason for living at the age of thirty-eight. I persuaded her to move away from so many reminders of the past, and begin to live again in a new house and a different location. At first she was reluctant to leave the place where had been so happy, but with the aid of her friends, I finally persuaded her.
A word about her friends, Beverly and Valerie. They were at school together, cheerleaders together, swam and ran together, and had maintained a close friendship through the years. They all married in the same year and I grew up thinking of them as aunts. Both are now divorced, childless, and have condos. My mother decided to buy a similar unit in the same area since this was convenient to the local university where I wished to study engineering.
The three of them are the same age, forty, still run and swim together. and have recently joined the local golf club. They all look terrific, are blonde, slim, medium height and always excite my friend's compliments when they see them separately or together. For several years, I have fantasized about my two 'aunts' in a way quite natural to a healthy nineteen year old young man. They in turn tease me about my love life in a way that excites me even more, particularly when the three of them are together. I frequently do little repairs at their condos, on their cars to minimize their expenses and they are most affectionate with their hugs and kisses of appreciation.
They always seem to be wearing very revealing clothes or dressing gowns when I go their homes and I invariably finish up with an erection. I am certain they have felt it press against them at the final goodbye thank you hug. This obviously does not deter them, since the clothes appear to become more seductive and the hugs tighter and longer. I have often wondered about making some more positive response, but if this gave offence and resulted in my mother loosing a lifelong friend, I would never forgive myself and I would not risk my mother's present calm.
Now, at nineteen, I am just under six feet and one eighty-five pounds. No jock, but I like boxing and am in the University boxing team at middleweight. With weight lifting and training, I look pretty good and am fairly popular with the girls. Being a competent mechanic, I work part time at our local service station so that I am not a burden on mother, who, with her part time work as legal secretary, widows pension and the generous insurance settlement from my father's employers, is financially secure.
My mother leads her own life; no other men, though I wager many have tried. I, in turn, do the same, and with my studies, training and boxing, do not have much time for other diversions. I have dated, and am no longer a virgin. I love the girls but find them too demanding in their needs for commitment. My mother has shown some concern for my lack of serious female company, but I have reassured her that this is not that I don't like the girls, it is just that I do not want any serious relationship at this stage. This appeared to satisfy her, and I now come back to the teasing from my 'aunts'.
I have, however, also become more aware of the hello and goodbye hugs and kisses from my mother. Very natural to an only son, but their effect on me is becoming increasingly more disturbing. I can appreciate her wishing to hold someone strong and on whom she can depend like her husband, but pressing her soft, warm, delectable body against mine is having the same effect as that caused by her friends; I get an uncontrollable hard on. And this with my own mom! I try to keep some space between us, but she hugs me as hard as she can, and there is no way she can not feel it pressing against her because I can feel the pressure on my cock, which only increases the size of my erection.
I have a respectable size penis which, though not in the major league, has provided audible sounds of satisfaction from a couple of girls without any subsequent discomfort. I can usually maintain a steady, full stroke performance for sufficient time to provide a shuddering climax for my partner, before achieving orgasm myself. Both girls are happy to go out with me and we enjoy each other's physical attentions without any promises or commitments.
Saturday, I returned home after spending an evening with several friends at a movie and burger house; I saw mom's car in the drive and the light in her bedroom, so I knew she was home from her golf with her friends. I went up to my bedroom, showered, donned my usual shorts and paused at my mother's bedroom door to say goodnight. Before I could knock, I heard some slight subdued sounds, and it took a few moments to identify them as sobs. My mother was crying.
I tapped, waited a couple of moments for her to answer, then walked in. She was standing by her dressing table, holding a photo, and trying to compose herself, but the sight of her drove all else from my mind. Through the years I have seen my mom dressed in every conceivable way, from stylish dress to brief bikini, but I had never seen her like this before. She was wearing the most alluring nightie imaginable, soft pink, form fitting, low cut, short mid thigh length, sheer, diaphanous, semi transparent, revealing all and showing nothing. A masterpiece of intrigue and a tribute to the dressmaker's art.
