PART ONE--MOM'S BUSINESS PRACTICE
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My name is of no importance. I am older now, looking back on a lifetime of wonderful sexual encounters, particularly the many occasions my mother permitted me to have sex with her. Some will say incest is disgusting, I understand that. You have to experience it, to realize how powerful those sweet wonderful moments of ejaculation can be inside your birth mother.
When I was in my early twenties, I dropped out of college for two years, ostensibly to chauffer Mom. She wasn't the best of drivers. Dad thought it would be easier for her if I could help.
My mother was the product of the marriage of an Italian and a Jew. Some say Jewish women are the sexiest. That always seemed to me to be a stupid thing to say, but there was an exotic sexual air about her. I once met a German who swore a Jewish woman had a special sexy smell. I don't know if those ideas have any validity, I doubt that they do. Mom's skin color was darker than the Scandanavian girls I bedded in college and her complexion was clear. Her large eyes were emerald green. She wore her hair, with a natural wave, at shoulder length, bangs in the front.
Mom was in her forties at the time. She was still a strong attractive woman. She had large breasts, a curvaceous rear, and very pretty legs. She had dyed her hair a shiny jet black to cover a few gray hairs. I thought she looked very Italian. Our community was mostly of Italian extraction, so she fit in easily. She even knew a sprinkling of Italian words that she'd use at Mario's ItalianDelicatessen when she'd order cheese and sausages, "Soni duri la tua salsici?".(Are your sausages hard) and Mario would say, "Certo, sempre per lei Senora" (Of course, always for you Senora. Before you knew it everyone in the store was laughing.
I was aware of the lewd glances strange men made at her, even when in my she was in my company. That bothered me. Mom was an account executive for an outdoor advertising firm that specialized in billboards along the highways. Besides offering the best service to clients wanting advertising media with their own special sales message, she offered some services that were not in her contracts. At that time, I wasn't aware of those extras.
There are many stories I can tell about fucking Mom, but the one that stands out in my memory like a holy man's ripe dick listening to young women's confessions, began one morning when she was putting on a provocative outfit. She'd called me into her bedroom to help her pull up her stockings that were caught in her thigh-high boots. She was wearing only her bra and red lace-trimmed panties. Perfume filled the room. Channel Number Nine was very popular, and it was intoxicating.
Her request was something she'd never asked of me before. It was a very intimate thing, pulling up her stockings and attaching them to her garter belt. I felt embarrassed when forced to put my hand inside her boots, grabbing the stocking top and pulling it up alongside her leg, the smell of the chaffing of the fabric on her skin, feeling her well-muscled thighs as I struggled to pulled the stocking up her leg to meet her garter belt, gave me a hard-on that I tried to hide. She glanced at me, as I finished the procedure on both legs. That was when she must have noticed the bulge, and said,
"It's about time you learned to feel around with the girls."
Mom's garter belt was hardly visible under her short red skirt unless she bent forward or backward. Her bountiful breasts lay beneath a matching red cashmere sweater. It was a cool New Jersey day. We were near the Jersey shore, where the salty scent of the sea breeze carries inland. Mom wore a red wool cape with black leather piping, and a black beret like the one Monica wore when she was sucking Clinton's cock. Her high black leather boots had leopard trim.
My job was to drive her to her appointments. Since it wasn't always easy to find a parking place, I usually sat in the car and waited until she completed her job. I noticed right away that she seemed to have no track of time. She'd say,
"I'll be out in an hour,"
and three hours later, she'd arrive. I usually took some reading material to pass the time, usually a copy of Playboy. I would hide it when I saw her approaching and put my jacket over my crotch.
One day I drove her to two clients. Don and Luigi were middle-aged partners, in their early forties, in the construction business. They were completing an extensive housing development with several model homes of original designs, yet harmonious with one and another,
Donald was a tall Anglo with a full head of straight brown hair. He was good-looking, taller than I was by a few inches. Don was refined, an engineer from a well-known university. His partner, Luigi, was even taller, wide-shouldered, with a heavily pockmarked face. He had a drooping mustache and had a full head of black wavy hair lacquered with a greasy pomade. Luigi was very earthy, but one sensed he could be dangerous. The two men seemed mismatched as partners. I foolishly wondered if they were lovers.
I had met them at a local builder's meeting months before. They were there with their wives. Don's wife, Nordica, looked like a Swedish princess. Luigi's wife Gina looked like a plump peasant character out of a Fellini film. The men treated me nicely, recommending I get involved in construction. Nordica ignored me but Gina pinched my cheek and winked at me.
The builders were self-made millionaires back when a million was a lot of money. Don drove a large black caddy sedan with short tail fins. Luigi had a red Alfa Roadster, and when he saw my eyes light up at the sight of the two-seater, he told me, if I wanted to try it out, "No problema."
Thinking back, I wondered if Luigi was connected to the local Mafia. There was a bump under his jacket where he kept a Colt .38 snub-nose revolver in a shoulder holster. At least, that's what my Mom had reported. How she knew, I never thought to ask.
That morning I had to help her carry a folio of drawings for potential billboards. They were large scale on heavy cardboard with tracing paper covering the images. There was one illustration of a young woman in a sparkling kitchen, another with a family group around a fireplace, and a third drawing that featured the curved staircase that was a common feature in each of their models. In fact, that was the name of the development, "Staircase to Happiness Homes." I think my Mom had thought up that slogan.
After I carried in the promotional material and set it down, and looked around, Luigi tossed me his brown pigskin leather key case with keys to the Alfa. The fine holes in the leather looked like Luigi's cheeks.
"The car—take it for a spin, Sonny, but keep it on the road."
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."
