My Son's Ed

Chapter 02: The Left Hand Path

[1]

I have no fockin' idea how I managed to get out of me mum's office that quickly. I suppose it was similar to when athletes recount being in the zone during a particularly impressive feat.

I just pulled my briefs and pants up, at once, buttoned up, grabbed my backpack, jacket and stormed out of there.

First I didn't know what to do. I stopped right around the corner, turned around, looked for something to cling on to I guess, but nothing presented itself. So I just started running again, not before properly buttoning up my trousers, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten all too far without them dropping down to my ankles again.

I fockin' love this city, but right there and then... I hated it... with all my heart. London... you shitty cunt!

It was only the second time I visited mum's office, and the first time was fockin' ages ago.

Truth of the matter was, I had no idea where I was but still I kept running. I was in good shape, even though it was early January and all that Christmas food was still lying heavy in my stomach. But almost like all the professional footballers in the English leagues, there was no leaning back for us youth players either, come Boxing Day we were back on the pitch.

After running for a while longer I was panting heavily. What the fuck? Am I in this bad a shape? To be honest, I kinda lost track of time so could be I ran for an hour or so. I highly doubted that though.

When I looked up I saw I was running down Exeter Street. Alright then, we were getting somewhere.

I turned a left corner, ran some more, finally came to a halt on the Strand.

I felt my heart pumping, no, it was racing. Honestly, I expected to drop down any second and just die from heart failure.

Under the current circumstances, that wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

Well, I managed to snap out of that depressive cloud right away, looked around and saw a hotel actually right in front of me, the Savoy.

'Looks fancy this!' I thought to myself.

I looked down at myself, as always dressed like a fockin' casual, I could as well be coming from a game, and the way I was panting, I could have easily be running from another crew so I wouldn't get the shit kicked out of me.

To be honest, I'm not much of a hooligan. I dress the Casual part, I like going to the games, looking for trouble, but most of it is pretend. Don't get me wrong, I've been involved in my fair share of fights, but nothing like you would see in movies like Green Street or The Football Factory.

You know, I never really aspired to be a professional footballer, and I don't think I'm actually going to get down this way, and I didn't have footballing idols like Gascoigne, Shearer, Lineker or other English greats.

Admittedly, back then, when I started to develop a healthy interest for football, I loved watching Shearer play and score one goal after the other for Newcastle United. Too bad I fockin' hate those Geordie fuckers, but Shearer was a god.

But when I turned 15 or so, I first came in touch with a book called Terrace Legends, and bam, it hit me, that's what I wanted to be. A fockin' hooligan legend like Cass Pennant. Well, until the first fight that was. I got beaten up pretty badly, but the real drama of course awaited me at home. Dad was home, he refused to talk to me that evening, so I knew he was superbly pissed, but my mum of course wasn't one to punish me with neglect. No, she was beyond mad and screamed like I never heard her scream before or after (well, that's not quite the truth).

I wasn't allowed to go to the stadium for a whole fockin' year. At my first game back there was another fight, in the stands actually, but I kept my head ducked and tried to stay away. And that's what I've been doing from there on out.

Since fighting isn't really my thing I got more interested in the Ultras movement that originated in Italy. 90 minutes of clapping, singing, chanting, choreographies, banners, that is exactly my kinda thing. There are a few groups developing in England, but basically Ultras are no existent here. So for now I settled to dress the Casual part but stay away from the fighting when I'm at the game.

There'll always be a West Ham While there's a river Thames Descending from the ironworks These proud and loyal men.

"Sir? Sir?"

The concierge or whatever this grey haired wanker is called snapped me out of my footballing thoughts as I was already standing in the hotel lobby.

"I think you're in the wrong place" he said, with all the obvious snobbery he could muster.

"Oi mate, I think you're in the wrong place!"

I wasn't using my indoor voice and I made myself look bigger. I was ready to go. This old geezer I could take out in a second.

'You fockin' bellend!' I thought as he already phoned hotel security.

Truth is, I didn't want any trouble, because I didn't want to search for another place to sleep this night.

"Alright mate" I said, "I didn't mean to raise my voice. I'm sure you're a fine lad and I want to apologize."

He still had the telephone receiver by his right ear looking at me with suspicious caution.

I held up my left index finger signaling him to wait for just a second as I grabbed my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans. I got my credit card out and placed it on the counter.

"I'd like to have a room please" I said in my best John-Cleese-aka-Basil-Fawlty-English.

The old geezer behind the counter put the phone back down still looking at me with utter snobbery. He took the credit card and did his thing obviously checking if I really had the means to stay in this fancy place, even just for a night.

"Very well sir" he said after a minute or so.

A couple minutes later I was taking off my shoes and jacket and lied down on a big fockin' bed.

I managed to avoid thinking about what had happened just an hour earlier in my mum's office, but I knew I had to deal with it sooner or later, above all with my mum of course, but for the time being with my own stupid self.

I took out the phone, snapped a picture of the room, sent it to mum via WhatsApp and captioned it: "I'm staying at a hotel. Don't worry."

I put the phone on the bed.

I looked out the window for a while, taking in the sight of London by night.

I grabbed my phone again, saw that my mum had received my message but had yet to read it.

"I'm sorry" I typed next and sent it.

The moment I did, I saw that mum read both my messages. My heart was racing. I looked away, phone still in my hand. I didn't dare to look at it.

My phone buzzed. I received a WhatsApp message.

I still didn't dare to look. I couldn't.

Well, obviously I had to move out of our house the next day, because if I couldn't look at a message from my mum, how am I supposed to look at her in person, actually talk to her?

Fuck this!

I brought up the phone in front of my face, eyes closed.

One... two... three.

"Me too" She put a heart next to it.

I can't quite describe what I felt at that exact moment, but I think it was joy mixed with relieve mixed with love mixed with butterflies in my stomach.

And all of a sudden I felt a twitch in my cock.

I throw the phone onto the bed but the impact made it bounce up again and it fell on the floor.

'Stupid blitherin' idiot! All this is your fault you fockin' bellend!'

I actually screamed these words, but soon after I realized I was staying in a hotel room and I didn't want to cause any trouble with other guests. I laid quietly on the bed, carefully listening to any voices which might indicate I'm in trouble.

Nothing happened.

I got up from the bed, grabbed my phone from the hotel room floor.

For a couple minutes I stared at the message mum just sent me.

I started typing and deleting it, started typing again, deleted it again. That went on for a while, until I finally sent her another message.

"Good night" I also put a heart next to it.

I could see mum read it right away, I also saw her typing, but then it stopped and she didn't answer for a while.

"Good night" she answered then.

I was still standing beside the bed. I let the phone fall back on it, unbuttoned my jeans and started to completely undress.

I looked around the room, wondering what this would cost me.

Yeah, I know, how could I afford a room at the Savoy in the first place?

Well, for my 18th birthday my parents gifted me a credit card with 18000£ on it. They're fockin' loaded. Of course I don't know how much money they both got in the bank, all I know is we're living the good life. Even though it may sound like I got sugar blown up my ass all my life, it sure wasn't like that.

Both mum and dad know a great deal about saying 'No!' to their two children, no matter how much we screamed for a toy or stuff we wanted to have. My sister and I, we're not spoiled, not in the common sense of the word that is.

I walked around the room a little, still wondering what I would have to pay in the morning. I had no idea. I wasn't living in the real world yet, I didn't know what stuff costs. Anyhow, I googled the Savoy.

"Hahaha... 500 and 50 pounds!"

I think it's a good thing that I didn't know what to make of that, I had no clue if it was too expensive or an actual steal. But I didn't really care either. I was there, I had the money, and I was going to pay.

I put the phone back on the bed, stepped over my clothes which were now lying on the floor and I made my way to the bathroom.

Despite all my wannabe toughness and dreams about hooliganism, I still loved a good ole bath. It always relaxed me, no matter what the day was like, as soon as I stepped into the water and lied down, I was off to another world.

Water poured into the tub, I put a fluid from one of the glass bottles which were placed on the edge into the water and I got in.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, waiting for the warm water to engulf my whole body. I closed my eyes, let go of all thoughts and feelings. I tried to sleep a little.

Obviously sleep wasn't an option right now. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the running water, all my senses right in here with me, in the tub.

Well, I guess I was just delaying the inevitable and my thoughts suddenly started to form again. I saw my mum, kneeling in front of me, getting sprayed with my cum. I could feel the sensation again that I felt back then, all the shivers running through me like I was struck by lightning. In my mind, in that moment, I knew it was wrong, yet I trembled with excitement as I looked at this white seed of life splattering all over my mum's face, into her mouth and onto her tits.

Funny thing is, I never actually saw me mum's tits, except for that time in my life when she breastfed me. Our family wasn't uncomfortable with sexuality as a subject of life, but we clearly drew the line at being naked in front of each other. Thinking about it, I don't want to see my sister's tits or pussy, but... well... but now that I was really thinking about, I kinda wanted to see my mum's bosom.

Out of all the MILFs or mature women I personally know, she's definitely got the biggest ones, at least what I can tell. Trish's mum actually has a pair of knockers that could match those of my mum's, but who knows.

Well, and those two got me going in the first place.

Fuck, that whole examination thing was awkward from the very beginning, but when I was standing there and my mum sitting down on that swivel chair, I couldn't help myself but look down her glorious cleavage. To be honest, there wasn't all that much to see, even if she had released on more button from its counterpart, there still wouldn't have been all too much to look at, but I guess it's all about the things one cannot really see.

What if... 'No... stop it! This... has... to... stop! She's your fockin' mum you pervo!'

But a really hot one, that much one has to admit.

When friends came to our place, at least when we turned 15, 16, some of them would always comment on her looks. It was obvious that all of them, even those who didn't say a thing, would wank their fockin' cocks off thinking about my mum once they got home.

The craziest thing though is the fact that even some girls would comment on my mum's looks once they had laid eyes on her.

Older/younger lesbian porn has always been a staple in my wanking repertoire, but now that got a whole new twist, thinking about some of those girls getting their hands on my mum.

Fockin'ell, I should have groped her tits once I had the chance!

Even though with all the guilt and shame I felt, there was still a part of me that enjoyed this whole episode that went down earlier. If I tuned out the fact, that this woman I planted my seed on was actually my mother, it was a glorious experience. Having my cock groped and jerked by a beautiful MILF, then spraying her with my cum and her draining me till every last drop went down her throat.

Brilliant!

Except of course, that beautiful MILF was in fact... my mum.

You sick fockin' bastard!

I opened my eyes and saw my cock in full attention, poking a good portion out of the water, my bellend glistening in the bathroom light.

Ah what the hell!

I started stroking my rock hard shaft and the first thing I saw before my inner eyes was my mother's face from earlier, when I was about to cum. I didn't even last 30 seconds until I erupted into a stream of white cum exploding from my cock.

Alright then, this whole thing won't be going away anytime soon.

I actually napped a little, then got out of the tub, dried myself off and went back to bed, where I turned on the TV with the remote. I switched to Sky Sports where I caught a game of Darts, the Premier League I supposed, between Gary Anderson and Raymond van Barneveld. Hahaha, two fat blokes throwing darts at a cork target, I'm fockin' loving this! But every so often when I'm watching Darts, I dozed off to sleep.

[2]

"Please come home!"

That was what the WhatsApp message read my mum sent me the next morning.

"I will" I replied adding a kissing smiley at the end, which she sent in return.

I smiled, got out of bed and walked to the windows. I let my eyes wander over the mighty Thames, and all of a sudden I was in good spirits and life didn't seem quite as gloomy and grim as it did last night.

Since I hadn't anything with me I blatantly skipped brushing my teeth, instead took care of my morning wood, got dressed, collected my things, as in one backpack, and went down to the lobby.

I put the key card on the counter wondering if that old geezer was here again.

'Probably not' I was thinking to myself as I locked eyes with an amazingly beautiful woman, possibly in her mid-30s, long brown hair that reached gracefully over her shoulders, brown eyes, and a mouth that for all I knew could do magical things with and to you.

She wasn't quite as beautiful as mum though...

"Alright asshole... this has to stop, in all seriousness!"

"Ahm... what?" I suddenly heard the girl say.

What? Did I just blurt that out loud?

Fockin'ell, maybe it was time to check into a mental institution.

"Oh, sorry... ahm... didn't mean to... sorry!"

"Checking out sir?"

I certainly wouldn't get used to everyone calling me "Sir" around here. I'm not a fockin' royal!

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy your stay?"

"Very much so!"

"I'm glad to hear that." She hammered away on a keyboard, took several glances at the computer screen, and then turned back to me. "That would be 595 pounds."

I handed her the credit card.

Upon giving it back to me a couple seconds later she said: "You care to have a breakfast sir?"

"How much would that be?"

"Oh, that's included."

"Alright then!"

"Have a great day sir!" she said to me as I was making my way to the breakfast room.

'Oh I'm gonna show you lot!' I thought.

For almost 600£ I would be really digging in, and I meant it.

I took off my jacket and put it on the chair next to me, where I already placed my backpack. Got my phone out, snapped a picture, and sent it to mum via WhatsApp with the caption 'Breakfast'.

"Bon appetit!" she replied with a winking smiley.

I wanted to send her that too, instead used the kissing one again.

A little embarrassed I turned the screen off and put it in one of the jacket's pockets.

When I stepped out on the Strand I thought about puking. I overdid it a little with my revenge breakfast. Almost two hours I was in there. I was actually ushered out, well, in all friendly formality which of course was accompanied by calling me "Sir" a couple times.

Since it was Saturday I didn't have to go to school, so I guess there was no point in delaying another inevitable action.

The happiness from when I was standing at the window earlier was suddenly gone. Gloom and doom was tweaking its ugly head again and I could see dark clouds on my personal horizon of thoughts.

Well, I could shy away from fights at a game, but I sure couldn't shy away from this particular confrontation.

Hmmm, wait, I could walk all the way home, which would take at least three hours off the clock. And so it was decided. I started walking.

What I didn't think about of course was the fact, well, that I had a lot of time to think about.... things.

Oh my, I really dreaded this moment, when I finally stood in front of my mum, having to face her, having to look her in the eye, having to talk to her, above all about the things that happened yesterday.

Both my parents weren't ones to dissect every little detail about our lives. They knew when and how to leave things be. But this wouldn't go away just by ignoring it, that much was clear.

I was wondering what she was thinking? How she felt? What she had to say about all of this?

Fuck I hated my life right now!

Why in the fockin' hell couldn't you just let it go, just let her do her exam and that would have been that. Of course it would have been awkward for a while, it still wasn't an all too common occurrence, but it would have been way better than how things were now.

But thinking back to this very moment, when my mum first touched my cock, was that really the way how a doctor would touch a patient?

Well, I'm her son, so I wasn't a normal patient, yet still, the way she let her fingertips slide across the length of my flaccid shaft, that wasn't supposed to be a mother's touch either.

Did she actually enjoy this?

Of course she did, otherwise it wouldn't have gotten that out of hand. So the question was, did she actually initiate it?

'Huh!' I thought, that was a whole new vantage point.

Suddenly I felt a little more comfortable again, pushing aside some of the clouds still lingering over the landscape of my perverted 18 year old mind.

'Maybe it was just the size of my cock?' I began to think about it again, reasoning with me.

I know I'm pretty big, given all the cocks I've seen, which is not too many mind you, be it friends from school, teammates and of course porn actors, I'm right up there. So maybe that whole thing was just a natural, in one way, reaction to the sheer size of my cock?

The only other girl who had actually seen my cock was Trish, and her jaw fell open the moment she laid eyes on my member. And she didn't even see it fully erect.

I also know that she told some of her friends about it, and maybe I was imagining things, but I could swear them sizing up my crotch the next time our paths crossed.

Women always tend to underline that it's not about the size of a man's cock, but what if it is?

To be honest, I'm not experienced enough to be able to answer such questions, but I assume if there's love involved, real, deep, undying love for each other, I guess then it really doesn't matter. But in the heat of a moment, when the sheer size of a man's cock induces lust and sexual hunger in a woman, it's all about that size.