I am writing this story because I can't share what happened to me with anyone. For which society has placed these laws and beliefs around the world I could spend the rest of my years behind bars and worse not taste and fuck the one cock that has brought ecstasy which I have never known.
This cock belongs to my son. Now don't just start thinking that I am this hot older slut. Well the older part is true but I am not slut and I am far from to being considered hot. I am a 180lb 5’4” woman with brunette hair with a touch of gray, and green eyes. I don't turn heads, unless I am trying to catch their attention. Now then there is my son whom is a stud, muscular, with some baby fat, brown eyes, and 6’2” and a 7 inch cock that is so sweet.
My life has been dull for many years. My husband whom I can't stand to be around for no more than a few minutes sleeps downstairs. Next to that room is his office where he spends most of his days sitting there, coughing, smoking his Marlboro's and watching CNN all day.
Me I work all day while the bum stays home and does nothing. The only enjoyments I get are seeing my grandchildren and having a few glasses of wine before bed, which contributed to how me and my son have become sexual lovers. Unfortunately my son does not live with us any longer. He has gone off and bought a house and found a wife to spend his years with. But he does pay me visits from time to time.
I remember the first time my son and I were together. It seems that it was only yesterday though it had been two years. I was sitting in the family room with a fire going, there was seven inches of snow on the ground and it was still falling. I sat on the couch wrapped in a fleece blanket, though the heater was working hard and the fire was roaring there was still a chill in the air. I had a novel on my lap and a glass of wine on the table. I had been trying to read the book but my worries over the fact that my son had not made it home yet made it impossible to get into the words on the pages.
I heard the front door open and had to fight the urge of running into the foyer and questioning John on where he had been all this time. I could feel my heart pounding hard in my chest, partly due to relief that John had made it home and then partly due to anger that he had even gone out in this weather and had kept me worrying this whole time.
I listened as his footsteps got closer to the room I was in and turned around when I heard him in the doorway.
He stood there smiling, waiting for me to explode with questions but I didn’t give him that benefit. I smiled at him and said hello. He looked disappointed that I was not going to do my typical over reacting Mother thing. He walked into the room and sat on the couch beside me. I kept quiet, staring at the fire.
"Well mom, I brought the snow blower like I promised, I'm going to take care of the driveway right away."
I nodded in response, and off he went. Sitting here on the couch with nothing but my thoughts; thinking what a nice boy I have, who comes over in times of need. Too bad though, there are other needs I need filled, but he is my son. I shouldn't have such thoughts like those. Granted he is a tall, strong, handsome man and I know he is good with the ladies. I remember the days when the phone was ringing off the hook, and he would leave for a few hours and then come back smelling like sex. Hmmmm how that smell turn me on. Oh god, look at me. Thinking about my boy in such a way. I should be ashamed. Gosh, to think he would even be interested in an old lady like me. What do I have to offer? Nothing, but my love as a mother. I wonder how he is doing out there.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. He came back in, shuddering from the cold, "all right I’m not going to that right now. Snow’s coming down too hard and it is way too cold out there." I smiled at him, "would you like some hot chocolate or some of my wine?"
"I’ll take a cup of hot chocolate." I got up to make him some, "oh Mom don’t worry about it. I’ll do it." I nodded my head and sat back down.
When he came back in with the steaming cup of cocoa, he sat down on the couch beside me, sipping the warm drink, "now that hits the spot! Where’s Dad at?"
"Where do you think he is?" I said a little more mean than I should have.
He cleared his throat, "I see. I don’t know why you stay with him Mom. He is no good for you."
Tears came to me eyes as I heard the protective tone my son’s voice had taken. "There is no reason for you to worry about that John."
