Although this is basically a mom and son incest story I've digressed a bit to try and make it more interesting. You can, if you wish, skip round the diversions if you find the story is too long. Inspiration for parts of the story came from YouTube.
Christmas is always a bad time of year. Nine years ago dad died, two weeks before Christmas. He was working flat out, as a HGV driver, trying his hardest to cope with the demands of British shoppers buying the latest toys, games and electronics for their children. His lorry journeys took him north, south, east and west of the UK mainland for a nationwide chain of stores.
That fateful day the fog on the motorway was patchy. People were driving way too fast and his lorry was in the middle of a horrific pile-up caused by a sudden dense fog patch. There was a fire which spread to the cab. Someone managed to get him out, and although the paramedics and hospital tried their very best to deal with the smoke inhalation, head injury and burns he suffered, sadly he only lived for two days after the crash.
I was 13 then, my sister was 12. Mom never got over the trauma of losing the man she loved so much. Thankfully she managed to find work herself and time slowly eased her sorrow but every Christmas season that went by brought back memories.
I'm Christopher by the way. Kenny, my dad, and mom Mary had been childhood friends. Their friendship eventually became a relationship. They married when he was 22, mom just a few months younger. They'd had precious little time to digest the wedding meal when mom became pregnant. I popped out from the very place dad had popped in, just 10 months after the register had been signed. In exactly the same way, Angela arrived just 15 months later.
Mom occasionally spoke about their long time together, especially as I got older and able to understand. This was usually when sis was out and I was home from university. Up to leaving school and starting university I tried my best to be the man of the house, odd bits of DIY, gardening, decorating, small repairs - anything to save a bit of money. My 'payment' was the odd treat, a bit of extra spend and always a hug from mom. Angela helped mom shop, clean, cook etc., and together we managed well as a family.
Such was the deep love between mom and dad, mom found it very difficult to find a new partner. She's beautiful - always was, and still is now (OK, I may be prejudiced, but just ask any of my friends. Mom is very much a looker).
She was and still is popular and a friend to everyone, especially when they were in need. It was no surprise then that friends and relatives rallied round after the tragedy to ensure mom was looked after. But people have their own problems and their support gradually became less and less.
Immediately after dad's death mom would cry, sometimes for an hour, sometimes longer. I remember giving mom a cuddle many times, her tears wetting my shoulder. I guess it was just my way of trying to offer support, but we became very close.
It was when I was around 17 that she began telling me in any detail about their life together. This was often when she felt down, especially during the long dark nights leading up to Christmas. It was always about their love, their life together, never about sex or any temporary relationships she had with men since his death.
By the time I had my offer to study medicine (though I hadn't then decided exactly what), Angie had been studying office skills. Although never an enthusiastic scholar, Angie was more than capable to do secretarial work, and had the ability to eventually become a Personal Assistant, a PA to a department manager or executive. Although intelligent, she just hated school and left with a handful of GCSE's. Money was tight and had been for some time. Every available grant and bursary was applied for. I got my chosen university.
The end of my first semester at university coincided with the anniversary of dad's untimely death. I was 19 then, having had my 18th celebration in October of the year before. The party was low budget - Angie and me, a few friends and a small supply of alcohol, nibbles, and a birthday cake, baked and iced in the shape of a pair of boobs.
That Christmas break, on my return from the Hall of Residence (university accommodation), mom hugged me like I'd been away for years.
"I've missed you a lot," she admitted, "More than you'll ever realise."
"And I've missed you too." That was the absolute truth. I'd missed her warmth, her smile and, yes, her excellent cooking. I'd also missed our little chats. I'd missed her taking less caution with how little she walked around the house in. Oh, and most of all I missed her hugs.
Unexpectedly, she turned my head and kissed me full on the lips. "That's for being such a wonderful son," she said. The kiss lasted just a little longer than it ought.
"You've been wonderful to me too," I replied, "Helping me get to university, washing, cleaning and cooking for me."
I really didn't know why, but I returned the kiss. It was never a sexual kiss, though it also lasted a few moments longer than necessary. I was aware, too, of that butterfly feeling - like you get when you go out with a girl the first time. Hell, strike that. It WAS a sexual kiss, who am I trying to fool?
I remember that mom had her hands around my waist at that time. She lowered them, squeezing my butt to her. I pulled her closer to me. This was more than a hug, I was becoming aroused. Mom and I were becoming even closer.
Hell, I wondered if I, being older, had an attraction to mom, or if was the other way round. Maybe it was mutual. And just after my 18th, my coming of age, why was the bathroom door always open if mom was in the shower and Angie wasn't around? OK, I'll admit to you now I did take that opportunity to stand a while and look.
I'm quite sure you don't mind me telling you what I saw. Despite the slight misting of the shower cubicle, mom seemed intent on giving me a free show. Neither blonde nor brunette but halfway between, mom's hair was around shoulder length. Her brown eyes, rounded face and perpetual smile (except of course when her thoughts were on dad), guaranteed a second look. What all my friends never saw were her beautiful, still flawless breasts, each topped with mid brownish-pink plump nipple. Even though her excellent cooking always deserved a second helping, mom managed to always keep her figure. Perhaps slightly overweight, nevertheless the curves were almost where they should be. What I saw most of all was her bare butt, rounded to perfection.
Occasionally I dared spy on her when she was turned towards me. Very occasionally, and I think this was one of my little treats, I got to see her carefully shave all her pussy hair. That really was special and she never ever lifted her eyes to check if I was spying.
Oh shit. I guess I got sidetracked. Where was I? Ah, yes. Mom grabbed my butt, I pulled her to me, got a semi ... and now it's rock hard. It's about time I escaped.
"I think I'd better get unpacked," was my feeble excuse to pull away. I saw her quickly glance at the front of my pants. She said nothing.
I'd travelled the 120 or so miles back from university by train then bus. Even with my student discount I could barely afford it. I picked up my backpack and holdall and made to go up to my room.
"I'll fix you something to eat." Mom said as I was just closing the lounge door. She knew exactly what my priorities were.
"Thanks mom." Mom really was my rock ... and sometimes the rock in my pocket.
We ate the best meal meal I'd had for weeks. I cleared the table and went to wash the dishes.
"It's only fair," I said. "You cooked, I clean."
Of course, being mom, she kind of ignored that, coming though to the kitchen to ensure all was clean and put away where it belonged.
"Mom, I've been away barely 3 months. I haven't lost the ability to wash dishes."
"Yes, and I missed you a lot."
She came up behind me, squeezing my butt for the second time.
"You have been there for me all the while since dad died."
I detected the sadness in her voice. The anniversary of the crash was imminent. She left my butt alone to put her arms round my waist.
I was suddenly aware that her breasts were pressing against my back. She kissed the back of my neck and sent goosebumps up my spine. Why the fuck was I getting a woody again?
I turned around, soap suds on my hands. Mom and I kissed again. That kiss was real. Her breasts were pressed tightly against me, her hips pushed into mine. She knew I was getting hard. The fact that I pushed back was wrong. Again it was me that broke away.
"I've got to get these finished," I said, flustered and embarrassed.
"I really have missed you," she said, emotion in her voice.
The dish washing finished, I went back upstairs, sorted out my clothes. If they weren't tidily put away, mom would grouse. I dumped the dirties in the linen basket.
I remember feeling relieved when, come 5.30, Angie arrived home. She was settled in a new job, a junior secretary with a small legal partnership. It was the office Christmas party that evening. Showered, changed and with her usual blend of generously applied war paint she was almost ready to go out. Whilst waiting for her lift she tipped back the equivalent of a double vodka and lime. The weird UK alcohol laws permitted (at 17) an alcoholic drink with her meal, but only beer, cider or wine. The vodka ensured she'd enjoy the party.
That evening I was alone again with mom. Around 8 o' clock I was sat on the sofa watching a documentary on TV. Mom got a bottle of rosé wine from the fridge, poured us each a glass full.
"So, how did your course go?"
"Great mom, I'm still deciding what speciality. I may well look at alternative therapies as well as conventional medicine."
"Oh? What does that include?"
