It had been several years since I had seen her, my now 45-year old but still youthful-looking mother. In the service, then at work, I had thought of her and, of course, corresponded with her. She had told me some of the details of the divorce of two years ago. Long before that, I had surmised, her relationship to my father had gone downhill. Now, back home again for a vacation, I had been talking with Mom about her life. I must admit that she turned me on. She was very tall, for a woman, almost as tall as I was. Her body was that of a big woman, but not overweight. Long ago, she had been a feminist protester and burned her bra. I noticed that she still went without one. She favored relatively short skirts and a loose blouse, with the top buttons open, leaving her large breasts free to move easily, as she moved. Even at home, she wore flattering shoes that showcased her the shapely calves of her long legs.
Hanging around the house now, seeing her body again, I began to remember my teenage masturbation sessions when she had been the porn star of my dreams, going down on me every night and often during the day. I would see her doing something, like vacuuming, and get a sense of her luscious breasts that I longed to suck, then go to room, close the door and strip naked. I would stretch out on the bed with the box of tissues nearby and close my eyes, feasting now on the dream lady going down on me, my Mom! After coming into the tissue, I used to dress, wash up and then go to the living room to watch TV or something. Often, it would not be long before she would be there, sitting down and unknowingly showing me her long shapely legs, bare and smooth, just made for her boy to lick -- or so it I day-dreamed. Pretending to watch TV, I would be watching my own private porn movie in which I would go to my mother and kneel before her and caress her long legs, then lick up her thighs until she spread for my teenage tongue to lick her waiting cunt. Hard-on showing, no doubt, I would then jump up and rush to my room once again and ... yes, strip down and jerk off as I completed the daydream by having my mom go down on me.
And here I was at home, years later, only me and mom, sitting there watching TV that evening not long after my return, ogling her shapely smooth legs ... and at first remembering the fantasy ... but then having it all over again. Except that I did not rush to my room.
My hard-on showed but mom looked immersed in the TV program. In fact, I had been so absorbed in my fantasy that I had hardly noticed that the cable TV movie had entered an erotic scene. I saw my mother flush a little but her eyes remain steady as we watched a young blonde girl fuck up and down on her lover, all in simulated cable-TV fashion, of course. The TV-scene switched and now the girl was under the boy as he plowed into her.
Mom shifted a bit and I saw more of her smooth white thighs. Her chest was moving more rapidly, drawing my attention to her substantial breasts covered by a white blouse with just a few buttons closed toward the bottom. I couldn't help surreptitiously rubbing my groin, slowly. Mom looked over once and then covered her mouth and I saw she was smiling, while also blushing.
When the movie was over, Mom looked over at me.
"I don't' know about you, but I could eat something -- how about it, like some pancakes -- a kind of midnight breakfast?"
"Hey, great idea, mom!" I said.
As she puttered around the kitchen, I sat at the table and watched her, becoming aroused again.
"Hey, mom, you're more beautiful than ever," I said, as she prepared the pancake batter. She looked back at me and grinned.
"Thanks, honey, I love that kind of compliment."
"Mom, maybe I shouldn't ask this -- tell me to shut up -- but have you ... do you go out with any men?"
"Honey, it's OK, ask me anything. Actually, since the divorce, I went out a couple of times, but the guys were ... not for me. So, for the past year, it's been just me and my shadow."
"Oh, mom, that's a shame. A woman like you ... I mean, you still have needs don't you?"
She blushed and was quiet.
"I'm sorry, mom, I guess I shouldn't..."
"No, no, it's OK, you're old enough to talk with about these things and who else have I got to talk with about them? Yes, I have needs, very much so, but they're just not being satisfied ... for the time being anyway."
The pancakes were done and we sat to begin eating. She had turned on the radio and some quiet melodies were playing in the background. I sipped my coffee and watched her eating.
She reached across the table and poured more syrup over my pancakes, spilling some on my fingers as she did so.
"Oops," she cried.
"Ok, mom," and for some reason, I don't know why, I stretched out my hand across the table, with syrup dripping from two fingers.
"Lick it off, mom," I said with a laugh.
She giggled but held my wrist and licked the syrup from one finger.
"That's nice, mom, I like that," I said.
She laughed cheerfully and then licked the other finger.
I took a chance, then, and things went in a direction I would never have expected.
As she finished licking the other finger, I took up the syrup bottle, reached over and poured more over my fingers.
She looked up at me with a strange look in her eyes. She blushed. Then renewed the licking, sweeping her tongue along each of the three syrupy fingers.
Just as she seemed about to quit, I poured a lot of syrup over my thumb and then took another chance: I left my hand in the center of the table rather than near her mouth.
"Come get it, mom," I said.
Her face flushed, she stood a little and then leaned over.
"Suck it, mom, suck it," I whispered.
Her mouth had been poised over it to lick it, and now, turning beet reed, she paused and then went down on it, sucking it. It was deep throat action.
