Mom is a truck driver. I don't mean that literally, because all she ever drove was a used Honda Civic, but to hear her talk you could believe she was a teamster. That's because she worked for a construction company as a 'Gal Friday' for years. I guess you have to be tough to survive if you're the only female surrounded by the blue collar 'Bud Boys' all the time.
But mom could give as good as she got. More than a couple of the boys received a quick kick to the shin when they stepped over the line. One of the guys called her 'Juicy Joan,' but only once. Many days she seemed powered up on something when she went to work, but I never could tell if it was high energy, or from some 'Mother's little helper.'
I think she actually liked sparring with those guys. I could see it by the look on her face when she told me, "Bobby was staring at my 36's all day, so I finally told him, "You like these so much, why don't you buy your wife a pair?" She mimicked what she'd done by cupping her tits. She laughed and said, "He's probably home now still thinking of what he should have said."
She did have great 36's, made more prominent because she was fit and on the slim side. And therein lies the ignition to my story. I guess I eyed her body more than once when she wasn't looking, and by the time I was out of high school, I had admitted to myself that no matter how much our personalities clashed; I did find her physically attractive. It wasn't a big deal; I just accepted it as a fact of my life. I never expected to do anything about it, besides indulging in some occasional fantasies.
Even though we were each other's only relatives, Joan and I weren't close. I think we just got on each other's nerves. She never said anything about it, but I even got the feeling she preferred me calling her Joan rather than mom. There was nothing keeping me at home any more and I figured my best bet to get an education, and to get out of town at the same time, was to join the military. Joan thought it was as good an idea as any.
When the day came for me to leave, I was nervous and had a couple of beers, which is one more than I usually have. Mom was being a pain as usual and said with a bit of a manic laugh, "Hey Matthew, do you want me to bake you a cake before you go?" Since she'd never turned on the oven, I figured that was Joan just being Joan.
So my equally flip response was, "Naah...why don't you just show me your tits Joan?" It was just some backtalk probably coming from the second beer. Mom looked at me with an 'Oh yeah Mr. Wise-guy?' face and pulled up her sweatshirt and bra all in one motion. I was stunned.
She'd done some crazy things but this...? Since her arms were holding up the shirt, her tits jutted straight out. What a magnificent pair for a thirty-seven year old to have. What a magnificent pair for a twenty-seven year old to have. I said 'Whoa' and she still stood there. Those boobs were an invitation that started my chest thumping. Instinctively I reached for them, and as I touched the silky skin, she pulled the sweatshirt down and said, "Uh uh. You just asked to see 'em, not to feel 'em." She laughed that crazy laugh again and said, "Get ready young Casanova, it's time I took you to the airport."
I got ready even though I knew we had plenty of time. It was a cold and bleak New England evening with a matching threatening sky. As we drove the empty rural road, I couldn't stop thinking about my mother's tits. When she took a turn into an unpaved lane I said, "Joan, where the hell are you going?"
She pulled over and said, "Matthew, I'm going to give you something to remember me by." She got out of the driver's seat and came around to the passenger side. She said, "Whenever you want me to stop, just say so." She put her hand on my cock and rubbed. I didn't tell her to stop. I don't know if I was more stunned or turned on. She unbuckled my pants and pulled them down. I was up and hard. "Oh, very nice, very nice," she said.
She straddled me and when she opened her jacket I could see that she was naked underneath. She said "I know you like to look sonny boy, so here's a close-up." She pushed her tits into my face and when I grabbed one and started sucking on the nipple, she laughed. Her laugh was wild enough to almost make my dick go down – almost.
When we had left the house, I was wondering how come she was wearing a skirt and boots when she usually wore jeans. I found the answer when she reached under and took hold of my cock. It went directly up into her pussy since she wasn't wearing panties. She moved up and down and said, "Fuck, that's good." She did it again and there was a bit of surprise in her voice. "Fuck that's good!"
I was also having a good time, but I was sort of observing the whole thing in disbelief. It felt great, and at that age I was willing to fuck anything that moved, but this was my mother riding me. She was starting to move faster and repeating her 'oohs' and 'fucks' and 'yeahs' as she impaled herself deeper with my pole. After a few more long deep insertions into her pussy, she let out a "Fuck, I'm coming..." and a long "Ahhhhh..." reverberated through the car until she finished.
She looked at me and said, "Jesus, I never come like that...and you didn't? You've got some kind of control for a boy in his mother's pussy." I was still hard in her and she said, "You fit real good up in there." She moved her hips and did something with her body that changed my angle of entry into her pussy. As she moved on me I felt the friction that I knew would lead to orgasm.
I said, "Mom, I'm going to come inside you if you don't get off; I'm not wearing anything..."
She laughed and continued riding me. "Did you think your momma was a virgin? Don't worry sweets, it's all taken care of, you come all you want." It was only a few more strokes before I started shooting my cum up into my mother's pussy. My eyes squeezed shut and I pressed down on the seat to push myself up higher into her pussy. I was saying her name under my breath as I spurted. She must have felt me coming in her because her bouncing became frenetic and she repeated "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." as she went up and down on my shaft. I was mouthing the word mom as I kept myself from saying it out loud. As the intensity of my releases lessened, I realized that she had been coming too.
As she got off me she let out a lungful of air and said, "Well now...okay," as if it was a job well done. As she walked around to get the driver's side, a feeling of discomfort came over me. It wasn't so much that my mother had just fucked me, it was my realization that, not before, not during, and not after, had she even kissed me, not once. There were quite a few times in my life where I had said to myself, 'She can't really be my mother.' At that moment I was almost sure she wasn't.
When we got to the airport and she dropped me off, the only sign of affection or caring she showed, besides a stupid wink, was to make me promise I would call her. Even that was unusual for her. As she drove away, a sentence that had never crossed my mind flashed, 'That is one cold bitch.' I stood there shaking my head as if telling myself, 'You got that right.'
Over the next week, whatever spare time I had, was spent thinking about what happened with my mother. I changed my mind over and over about whether it was a beginning or an ending, and what it meant to me, and to her. I put off getting in touch with her until my promise bothered me and I made the call.
It was awkward, for me at least. After telling her about basic, and listening to what was going on with her job, she brought it up. "We had fun didn't we kid?" I didn't know what to say, but before I could even answer she whispered, "You know something, I'm getting a funny feeling just listening to your voice."
I knew one thing; I wasn't about to have phone sex with my mother. I said, "Mom I have to go." She protested a bit, but after I repeated it, she let it go and we said our good-byes.
It was two months before I went home for a visit. In my mind I filed the whole business under 'Case closed,' and neither of us had mentioned it on the phone after that first conversation. She seemed to be calmer than before and I noticed she didn't curse as much. I didn't make too much of it.
When she picked me up, she said, "I missed you." For most people that wouldn't be a surprising remark coming from a mother who hadn't seen her son for over two months, but for me, it set off alarm bells. I had an instinct to be moved and pleased, and one just as strong to be wary – like, 'what the hell is going on?'
As we walked into the parking lot, she said, "I have something for you." She stopped walking and I put down my bag as she went through her purse. She pulled out a set of keys and handed it to me. She slapped the trunk of the blue Mustang she was standing next to and with a bright smile she said, "This is yours baby." I just didn't know what she was talking about. She said, "Get in and I'll tell you all my news."
