The chain reaction continues! Another mousetrap is sprung, flinging more ping pong balls into the air.
Each chapter is standalone. Each chapter adds to the tale of the Misty Valley Cooperative.
Chapter 3 - The Journey
Mom was the anchor that provided my father with the home life that allowed him to pursue aggressively his passion for IT. She maintained home and hearth while he immersed himself in his career. When I came along, she became full time mother and part time father. She never questioned these roles. She saw them as her duty.
Her family defined her life. Traditional roles defined these pre feminist decades. She saw her role as wife and mother as the summit of her existence.
As I moved from childhood dependency to teenage rebellion and ultimately to early manhood, a void developed in her life. She began to fill that void with the occasional glass of wine. The occasional glass became daily glasses of wine.
I have heard that alcohol loosens inhibitions and gives permission for behavior that one might otherwise find objectionable. It also provides the excuse for that behavior. If that is true then mom was always harboring a repressed sexuality. That raises the old chicken and egg paradox. Did she drink because of her latent sexual desires or did her latent sexuality cause her to drink.
It was in my late teens when mom became more touchy feely with me. The overly affectionate hugs, the clasping of my head to her bosom were signs that she needed to feel close to someone, to hold and to be held. To an 18 year old with hormones exploding through my body, it was like pouring gasoline on a raging fire. The normal youthful male obsession with his mom as the female ideal became an obsession with her as a sex object. I began to lust after my mother.
For her part, she never saw her overly affectionate treatment of me as an entrée to sex. She was lonely, needy, trying to hold on to last meaningful thing in her life, her son. The more I spread my wings and flew farther from the nest, with friends and girlfriends, the more sexual her behavior became.
It began more than twenty years ago. It was the decade of the 70's. We had Watergate, the Nixon resignation and the Fall of Saigon and I started a lifelong affair with my mother.
Looking at me back then, nobody would have believed it. I was a skinny, snotty nose kid, barely eighteen and just out of high school. I had a circle of friends. We did the things all kids did. We hung out, rode our bikes and, when we got lucky, sneak a few beers.
It was shortly after I graduated from high school in 1979 that I experienced a disturbing instance of mom's tendency to be overly affectionate when she had been drinking. It was the night after my prom. Dad was out of town and had left me the car. My buds and I scored a few beers and went to the lake to contemplate life and drink.
I arrived back home about 9, more high than any 18 year old driver should be. Luck was on my side. I encountered no police or any immovable objects. I tottered to my bed and collapsed.
Mom went to dinner with the women from the homeowners association. That usually meant a late night for her. I vaguely recall hearing the titter of female voices, followed by a car door closing. My next recollection was the smell of gin and a warm body next to me. I struggled out of my beer-induced coma to find my mom lying next to me. She was snuggled up spoon fashion, her large ass pressed against my crotch.
There was a certain amount of role reversal in this. When I was younger, thunder and lightning terrified me. My cries would bring mom to my room. She would crawl in bed with me and let me snuggle to her warm pliant body. In this refuge, I would drift off to sleep.
Lately, when mom was drinking, she would come in my room and get in bed with me. I recall my mixed feelings about the practice. On one hand, there was the guilt when the closeness of my mother caused a painful erection. On the other, there was the intimate closeness I felt. I would snuggle and let my cock settle between the cheeks of her panty-clad ass.
Usually dad would realize where she was and come get her. I recall his disapproving looks when he woke her up and took her to their room. Occasionally I caught scraps of arguments. The conversations contain words like "inappropriate", "suggestive", and "sick".
That time she was dressed, as usual, in panties and bra. She rarely wore a nightgown when she drank. I sat up and shook her. She mumbled something incoherent. I glanced down into the valley of her cleavage. Her breasts heaved slowly as she slept in her drunken stupor.
I had two choices: I could leave her in my bed and sleep in their room or I could wake her and take her to their room.
I chose the latter. Yes, I knew the better option was for me to go down the hall to their bedroom.
As I stood next to her, I could see the dark mass of her neatly trimmed bush through the sheer white panties. Her large pink nipples and dark areola were clearly visible through her matching bra. My cock tented in my boxers as I stood over her.
I was familiar with my mom's body. I had checked the laundry hamper many times. I would steal her fragrant panties and jack off in them. Because of those clandestine forages of her hamper, I knew mom's bra size was 36D.
A sheen of sweat covered her body, causing the thin material to be even more transparent. My eyes trailed down from her nipples to the pooch of her abdomen. I continued gazing down to her panties. They had pulled into the crevice of her labia. The lips of her pussy were exposed. The exposed gusset of her panties were wet.
I shook myself out of my lecherous viewing of my drunken mom. I leaned forward. I wrapped her arms around my neck, placed my arms around her waist, and stood, raising her to her feet. Like a rag doll, she slumped over my shoulder. I shifted my arms to support her weight; my hands ended up wrapped around her ample ass.
Here I was at 18 with my semi-conscious mother slumped against my body. The object of my masturbatory fantasies lay helpless in my arms. Sweat covered both of our bodies. My rigid cock poked out of my shorts. It smeared pre cum over her belly. For a moment, I stood transfixed, looking at the glistening wetness.
I let my hands traced the pear shaped mounds of her behind down to her thighs. Mom moaned and pressed her crotch into me. Reflexively I squeezed her ass. Mom moaned and her arms tightened around my neck. I let my hand slide up the soft pliant mound of her ass to her waist. I caressed her ass again as I ran my hands over her. Mom's thighs pressed harder into me; her hips gyrated slowly. Her breath was hot on my neck.
I pushed her away. I looked down and saw the wetness of my pre cum coating her abdomen. I shook myself to regain control. I noticed a strong pungent aroma that mixed with the smell of sweat. My head spun with lust. At 18, I was unaware that a woman's arousal scent was designed to cause the mating lust in a man. Mom was in heat! I was the male her primal need was trying to entice.
I turned so that mom was next to me. I wrapped one arm around my neck. I circled her waist with my other arm. As I walked her the short distance to their bedroom, she mumbled:
