Dream A Little Dream Of Mom

One afternoon when I had just turned twenty and I was hanging out at my girlfriend's apartment while she was at work, I had a dream, maybe a half-awake fantasy, that I was having sex with my own mother.

I didn't know why the dream came to me, except that my girlfriend and I had had a big fight that morning and talking to my mom about it had made me feel better, but I went with it. I felt my cock get hard and without waking up I pulled my sweatpants and my underpants off, kicked them away, and leisurely started stroking myself.

It was a nice fantasy, it felt more like a memory than a fantasy, of bending her over the bed in the back bedroom and fucking her between her fat middle-aged thighs and pushing into her wet, waiting pussy. It felt incredible.

The truth was I desperately wanted to feel that feeling NOW, for real. I slowly stroked my cock into complete hardness and felt the need building in me for sex, but my girlfriend was gone and angry at me, and there was nothing to do but jerk off again, and again, and again, until she came back and we made up.

Then I heard a key in the lock of the front door. AH! She was back! Even through my closed eyelids I could tell it was still daylight outside, which meant she'd come back early, probably wanting what I wanted, thinking how much more fun life was with me inside her than without... and I'd be more than happy to oblige, no hard feelings, only a hard dick...

I heard the lock click and, keeping my eyes closed, I slipped my fingers around the base of my hard dick so she could see my cock standing straight up, waiting for her. I heard her come in, heard the door close, heard her move into the living room and then stop.

My eyes were still closed and I was enjoying the sight I must have been making for her. I smiled and jiggled my hand a little bit to make my dick sway back and forth, and waited to feel a hand or a pair of lips close around my big hard penis, and I would know I was forgiven.

"Oh my god."

That was NOT my girlfriend's voice. I opened my eyes and standing in the middle of the living room was... someone I'd never seen before. A young woman, about nineteen or twenty, with dark hair, shorter than my girlfriend, shapely and attractive with bright big eyes and full lips, dressed in a simple green knee-length frock commonly called a maternity dress, called that because the women who wear them are usually expecting a child, as obviously was the woman standing before me, with three large bulges in front of her, one big bump that was a very pregnant stomach, and two big bumps above that one that were her breasts.

Staring at her I realized that she was somehow familiar to me. I HAD seen her before, somewhere. Maybe not in person, but I'd seen a picture of her, wearing that same maternity dress and that same bouffant hairdo and those same teardrop-lens eyeglasses. Where had I seen her before?

She stood in the center of the living room, and even bigger than her stomach were her eyes, staring saucer-like at my own sizeable bulge, her beautiful bright-lipsticked mouth hanging open like a barn door.

For a moment: nothing. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, nobody breathed. Then the woman did breathe, gasping loudly for air as she stepped back and almost fell over. At the same time I quickly sat up and grabbed a throw pillow on the couch to hide my erection, which it did poorly, so I grabbed another throw pillow, and another. I turned beet-red and she turned bleach-white.

"Oh GOD I'm sorry!" I cried out, feeling so much blood rush to my head that I could have passed out right there. "I'm sorry I'm SO SORRY," I insisted.

The young woman sat down heavily in the chair next to the television, still staring at the spot where my dick had been sticking up into the air, her eyes still bugged out, her mouth still dropped wide open. She didn't say a word.

"I'm really really really really sorry," I said again, waiting for my brain to work. Again we were both silent for a minute, and then my brain finally did start to work. Why was she so familiar?

And, more importantly, why was she HERE? "Wait a second---who ARE you?" I asked. "I think you're in the wrong apartment. This is....this is my girlfriend's apartment. Her name is Angela---"

The woman swallowed, and gasped, "No, I know. I know. I, uh, I'm... Angela's neighbor. I, I live upstairs. We're friends. She gave me a key." She held up the key. "I thought she was gone, I saw her... um, leave this morning."

"Oh."

"I... I didn't know anyone was here. I... I'm sorry to, uh, barge..."

I shook my head, holding the pillows tight around my midsection. "No, please, I'M sorry. I'm so sorry you saw... what you saw. I'm really sorry."

"Well, no, I mean, I should have knocked first. I'm so embarrassed."

"YOU'RE embarrassed?!?" I said, and suddenly we were looking each other in the eyes and we burst out laughing together. We laughed so hard we cried, and it released all of the tension in the room. I sat back on the couch, accidentally dropping one of the pillows but quickly grabbing it back.

The woman also relaxed and settled back in her chair, and her legs spread just enough that, with the help of the sun shining in through the window, I could clearly see that she wasn't wearing any panties. She was wearing a bra, from the size of the straps a pretty heavy-duty bra, but I could still see faint impressions of her nipples through the fabric.

We fell back to silence, smiling at each other, and finally I cleared my throat and said, "So, uh... were you here to get something, or...?"

She quickly sat up again, and the smile faded. "No. Oh, oh no, not at all. I'm... I'm just... I don't have a real reason to be here. I'm sorry to disturb you." She stood up. "I should go."

"No, please don't leave," I said a little too insistently, and she stopped. "I mean, of course you can leave if you WANT to, I just mean, you don't HAVE to. I'm not doing anything special."

The absurdity of that statement struck us both at the same time and she laughed again, and I could feel my face turn red again. I swallowed and tried one more time. "Well, I mean... uh..."

"No, it's okay," she said. "I know what you mean. It's not a big deal." And then the absurdity of THAT statement struck us, and we laughed yet again, and it was her turn to blush.

But finally she did sit back down, and smoothed her hair back, and her knees parted just enough that I could see a glimpse of her pussy again. That secret intimacy, she's seen mine and now I see hers, caused my loins to stir once again, and I clutched the pillows tighter around myself.

"Well anyway," she said, crossing her legs and hampering my view, "my name is Lori."

Maybe you're ahead of me already. Maybe you're not. But I was not expecting that; I was gobsmacked. Lori was my mother's name. And more than that, it suddenly struck me with the force of a thunderbolt from Mount Olympus that I knew who this woman was.

This was my MOTHER, twenty years ago, when she was nineteen. I HAD seen a picture of her looking exactly like this, wearing that dress and that hairdo and those glasses. The picture of that beautiful young woman had stared down at me on the wall of my bedroom since I'd been a boy. It was a picture of her when she was pregnant... with ME.

I stammered, "I'm... I'm Paul."

"It's nice to meet you, Paul," she said. And I realized I knew her sweet voice.

"It's nice to meet you too," I said, and we smiled at each other a bit nervously, considering the circumstances of our acquaintance, and then I said, "Hey, listen, um, I'm gonna go put some clothes on---"

"No don't!" she said. "You don't have to, really," she said, laughing to herself. "I mean, you know, whatever, I mean it's fine, I really don't, um, MIND or anything. Whatever you want to do."

She shrugged and smiled such a sweet, sincere smile that I knew she actually didn't mind, which was very interesting, but I said I'll just go put on a pair of shorts and she said okay and closed her eyes and I bolted for the back bedroom. I put on shorts and a teeshirt and came back to the couch. Her sweet smile remained.

After a minute I said, "So... what did you mean when you said you don't have a real reason to be here? I mean..."

"Oh, well, uhm..." She paused, seeming to consider whether or not to tell me, and then she shrugged her tiny shoulders and said, "Well, sometimes I come here to get away. Your girlfriend, Angie, she gave me the key a few months ago and said I could come here when she's gone."

"Oh," I said. "To get away from what?"

"Well..." She blushed again, and looked down, her hands unconsciously smoothing the material over her extended belly. "I, uh..."

"Listen, it's okay, you don't have to tell me."

"No, I don't mind telling you, it's just..."

"Really personal?" I suggested.

"Well, yes, but... I feel like I can trust you, Paul. I just have that feeling. You know?"

I smiled. "Well, you already know all MY secrets, so..."

This made her laugh, and her face lit up when she laughed with such spontaneous beauty that I wanted to tell her then and there that I loved her. "That's a very good point," she giggled. "Okay, well, I come here to Angie's apartment sometimes because I need to get away from my apartment, because... well, I have three children, one ten year-old boy from my husband's first marriage, and a five year-old boy and a three year-old boy, and as you can see I'm expecting another, and I already know it's going to be another boy, and... and I have a husband who isn't very nice to me, and so this is a place I can go to get a little break from all that. The girl who lives next door to me comes over to babysit sometimes, and I come down here and just... relax. That's all. Just to have a little time to decompress, or whatever they say. You know?"

Another thunderbolt from Mount Olympus. OF COURSE I knew what she was talking about. She was talking about my much older half-brother Larry, and my two older brothers Darryl and Darren. And the husband who wasn't very nice to her was my father.

I nodded. "I understand." I wondered whether I had the right to ask, and decided I didn't, but then I decided to ask anyway. "What do you mean, your husband isn't very nice to you? Do you mean he... does he hit you?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," she insisted. She was quiet for a moment. "I mean, not really. Not when he's sober. And not even then, not really. He hardly ever drinks." I knew that was a lie, but I kept my mouth shut.

She went on. "He doesn't hit me or anything. Actually... actually he hardly ever touches me at ALL, to be totally honest. Just, you know, sometimes he goes out with the guys and gets drunk, and then he comes home, and then, well, next thing you know, here comes another baby boy." She took a deep breath. "And then of course it's nine months of not touching me, because pregnant women are disgusting."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry. Jesus."

She shrugged. "Well, it's... I'm probably making it out to be... I mean, I love my boys, I really do, it's just sometimes I feel like I'm going CRAZY, you know? Boys crawling all over me all day, a man who won't come near me, my car was stolen and we didn't have insurance for me to get another one, so I'm just trapped up there. Angie is really a lifesaver, letting me come down here to hang out when I need a break."

I nodded. It was true. My mother had raised four boys, and we were all nightmares. I like to think I was the nicest of the bunch, but I had my doubts. I was flooded with feelings of guilt. What a jerk I'd been as a kid.

"I'm sorry to lay all this on you," she said.

"No it's okay, Lori," I said. "I'm interested. Really."

She took a deep breath. "It gets really... you feel so alone sometimes. Even in a house full of people. That's for sure. You just want... you get so..." She looked off into space for a minute, then abruptly she stood up and smoothed down her dress. I could see that she was blushing again, for some reason. "I should get going."

"No, please, you don't have to go," I said, standing up too. "I mean, you came down here to relax and get away for awhile, right? Well, you haven't done that yet. Why don't you stick around, and I could go for a walk or something, or just go back in the bedroom and hang out back there so you can chill."

"Oh no, no, I could never... I don't want to put YOU out, really. It's not fair."

I shrugged. "Well then, we can just sit here and watch TV. If you don't mind me being here." I picked up the remote and handed it to her. "What do you say? I promise I won't bother you."

She smiled that smile again. "Oh, I don't think you could ever bother me, Paul. Um, okay, as long as you don't mind, sure I'll stick around for a little while. It'll be a nice, you know, a nice break."

And so we sat down on the couch --- not together of course, but not strictly at opposite ends either. Lori clicked channels until she found something we both liked, an old rerun of "Leave It To Beaver," and we put our feet up on the coffee table.

I offered her some water, milk, or pop and she accepted a Coke. I got one too, but it had been shaken up or something and looked like it would explode if I opened it, so I just threw it away. When she saw that I didn't have one, she insisted we share hers. I accepted. I offered her some chips, and she accepted. We drank and ate chips and watched TV.

Pretty soon she got to her feet and said, "I'll be right back." She was gone a few minutes in the bathroom, then returned and sat down again. "Sorry. You, uh, you have to pee a lot when you're pregnant."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Like, a LOT. All day and all night, I'm up and down all the time. It's one of the things they don't tell you about when you're dreaming about having a baby someday."

"Oh yeah? What else don't they tell you?"

She looked at me. "You really want to know?"

"Sure. It's interesting."

"Well... uhm, they don't tell you that your back is going to be KILLING you for nine months, well more like five months, once you really start showing. I mean, in my case it's twice as bad because..." She stopped and blushed again. "Oops. Sorry."

"What? Tell me."

She took another deep breath. "Well, I just mean that, uh, you know... I mean you know how a woman's breasts fill with milk, right? For the baby? Well, I..." She put her face in her hands and laughed. "Oh my GOD I can't believe I'm talking about this." She looked up at me. "Is this too gross for you? I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "No, believe me, it's not gross at all. I want to hear it."

"Okay, well, see, I normally have pretty big, um, boobs anyway." She pointed at them. "And NOW they're HUGE because they're so filled with milk. From what my doctors have told me, usually women don't get THIS much bigger than normal, so I guess I'm like an overproducer or something. I mean, like, I start lactating when I'm barely three months. Lactating means producing milk."

"I know."

"Although it's not really MILK yet."

"Wait. Seriously? It's not milk?"

She nodded. "It's true, women don't actually usually produce milk until a day or two after they give birth. Before birth, it's called colostrum."

"That's crazy, I never knew that. Colostrum. Is it like milk?"

"Yeah, it's close, but not exactly the same thing. It's yellow and kind of thicker than breast milk. I guess it's to get the mother ready to start producing the real stuff, I don't know. They explained it to me but it went right over my head."

"Can you drink it?" I asked.

"Oh sure. It's kind of... salty, not as sweet. Have you ever tasted breast milk?"

"Not since I was a baby," I said, and reflected that I had tasted HER breast milk when I was a baby, and all this talking about her breasts was starting to cause inappropriate changes in the tumescent state of my affairs inside my shorts. I shifted uncomfortably and I grabbed another pillow.

"Well, it's not nearly as sweet," Lori said, "but I think it tastes pretty good. The baby drinks it until the milk is coming, it's got lots of nutrients and things like that in it." She paused, and laughed. "How'd we even get onto this subject, anyway?"

"Uh, well, you were saying your back hurts because your breasts are extra big when they have milk, except they don't have milk right now, they have colostrum."

She looked at me and blushed. "Oh, right. Okay. Yeah, it's true, my back aches all the time." She shrugged. "Comes with the territory. My knockers are huge and my back is killing me."

We laughed and I looked at her breasts, and she saw me looking at her breasts, and she smiled, and I shifted again. I swallowed. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Paul. You can ask me anything you want."

"What do you... I mean, you said you OVER-produce the colostrum. So what do you DO with the leftover milk? Do you drink it? Do your other kids drink it?"

"No, nobody else drinks it. You CAN, like I said, I've tasted it and I think it's good, but the little boys don't want it, they want real milk. I mean store-bought milk. Nobody wants breast milk for regular milk."

I laughed and said, "Heck, I'd drink it all the time if I could get it."

"Really?" She blushed furiously, giggling, then she cleared her throat. "Wow. Um. Um, where was I? Oh. So... no, what happens is they get so full that they start hurting, so I collect it in jars for when the baby comes."

I knew I should stop talking about this, things were getting very tight down there, but I was fascinated and couldn't stop. "How do you get it out if there's no baby to... you know... suckle it?"

"Well, you just kind of... squeeze your nipple." She made a pinching motion with her fingers. "It's kind of hard to explain. It just comes out. When my breasts are really full, like really full and hurting, there's so much pressure sometimes it SHOOTS out by itself, like a little fire hose."

I laughed. "Seriously?"

She nodded, laughing too. "Yeah, it's like... one time I was trying to aim it into the jar and it shot out and hit Jerry. That's my husband. A big huge blob of it right there." She reached over and touched me on the chest. "Oh, GOD, he was so grossed out! I mean he ran for the bathroom and made sounds like he was going to throw up. He's so grossed out by all of this pregnancy stuff he can't even stand talking about it. He can't stand it. Like, if I tried to tell him what I just told you, he'd probably get angry and leave. He HATES it."

All of this made sense. My father had been a complete asshole. I could have eased Lori's mind a bit by telling her that he was going to have a massive heart attack in seven years and be gone forever, but I kept my mouth shut.

"But doesn't he... I mean, doesn't he take advantage of, you know, how BIG they are and everything? I mean, you'd think he'd want to get in on that, at least. Guys love big tits. I mean breasts. Excuse me." I really never talked like this in front of my mother.

Lori shook her head. "It's okay. Uh, no. Nope. Like I told you, he doesn't touch me. Nothing. I mean NOTHING. Won't even look at them."

"Well, he's crazy."

She smiled. "Thank you. I think it's crazy, too." A long pause, as we looked at each other, and she said, "You wouldn't be like that, huh? If your girlfriend was pregnant?"

"No way. Oh man, if I... I mean, seriously, if I had access to... something like THOSE, I'd be all over them, I'd be suckin' on 'em so much the baby would probably be yelling, 'Hey! Leave some for ME!'" Then we were laughing our heads off, and it took a few moments for us to settle down again.

At this point we pretty much forgot about the television altogether, and Lori turned to face me on the couch, kicking off her shoes and heaving up her plump legs and settling back against the pillows. "I hope you don't mind, this is easier on my back."

She took a deep breath. The big round mass of her belly, and the two big round masses perched on top of her belly, almost eclipsed her face, and she stretched out her legs, nearly touching me with her toes. She closed her eyes. "Much better."