They say shit happens. That saying holds true for many life experiences, none more so than in the realm of sexual encounters. Sex sometimes happens in the most unlikely, unexpected and inappropriate places and times, and with the most unlikely, unexpected and inappropriate persons. This story highlights that saying. It happened many years ago.
I had gotten myself into a pickle at my job for trying to cover for a fellow workmate and neighbourhood friend. I'd known for some time that Ken had been stealing from the factory where we both worked. One day he was spotted trying to pass stuff over a fence to a couple of guys waiting outside on bicycles. He managed to get away and make his way back to his workstation, but his accomplices were followed by security personnel and caught. One of them fingered him.
To save my friend, I had lied to the police and management about his whereabouts at the time, suggesting to the manager that the guys were probably trying to frame him to protect their real accomplice. Unfortunately, and unknown to me, another worker with whom he'd had a beef, had witnessed him committing the act and provided details to the manager and cops. Another one who worked together with us, thinking it not in his best interest to be part of the cover up had contradicted my statement to the police and management about the thief's whereabouts at the time of the incident. Ken was taken down to the police station and I was sent off the job and told to report to the personnel department the coming Monday. The incident occurred on Friday and office staff didn't work on Saturdays.
When I got home, I told my mother what had happened, and she told me that I would most likely have to face a suspension without pay for a couple of weeks or a month but would not be fired. I felt otherwise and was very dejected all weekend despite my mother's constant attempts to comfort me and assure me that I wasn't going to lose my job. I had only been working for six months, fresh out of school, and was enjoying being able to buy clothes and stuff, and go to dances, as well as contribute to the home.
On Sunday afternoon, feeling miserable, I went into a neighbourhood drug yard and smoked a huge joint. We lived in a low-income housing area just outside of town, where there were several drug yards and an abundance of drinking spots - licensed bars, West Indian style, as well as unlicensed private dwellings that sold out of windows to yard drinkers, and in some cases, a room inside the house. I had started smoking two weeks into my job. It was introduced to me by Ken at his home one day after I had stopped in to collect a borrowed tool. He smoked at home, even with his mother around. I suspected that she was into burning as well; her eyes sometimes appeared red and dilating. Ken's step father worked in the gold mining area and was hardly ever at home. Generally, I only did weed occasionally and only at parties, or at Ken's place, never in a drug yard or while hanging out with friends.
That afternoon, my mother recognized that I had been smoking and voiced her disappointment and concern. She sat me down and had a long, consoling talk with me. In my doped-up, depressed state, that talk just flew over my head.
Monday morning came and I headed to the office to know my faith. At the personnel dept they informed me that although other workers and supervisors had spoken up for me and vouched that I was not an accomplice in the act and was no thief, the manager had ordered that I be dismissed because of my role in trying to cover up for the thief. They were nice to me in the sense that although the month was only halfway through, they paid me for the entire month along with one month's pay in lieu of notice of dismissal.
On my way home, I stopped in at the drug yard and smoked a fat joint. I wanted to be mentally, somewhere too high for my predicament to reach me. Inside the house I headed for my room to try and sleep it off before mom got home from work. As I was passing mom's room, I noticed that her bedroom door was wide open. I looked in and was stopped in my tracks by the sight of my mother's plump, smooth, light caramel body sitting on the bed in white bra and panties only, one foot on the floor, the other on the bed, and a bottle of skin cream in her hand. Because of how she was sitting I could not avoid noticing the tightly clad lump of feminine delight between her thighs. And noticing it, I could not help staring with my doped-up eyes at the unexpected sensual attraction. Her face lit up at the sight of me.
"You're back, honey ... how did it go?"
Her voice shook me out of the astonished trance, and I averted my gaze from the hefty crotch of my juicy thirty-eight-year-old mother.
"You're home, yuh didn't go to work." I spoke.
"No darling, I couldn't work with you on mih mind, and not knowing what had happened. I called in sick."
I shook my head and in a choked-up voice, said, "Ah got fired. I'm sorry, I messed up, mom."
"Aww, doan worry honey, everything will be alright ... I might know people who can get you another job. When one door closes another one opens, and usually, that door leads to better things."
I felt a painful lump in my throat along with the sting of approaching tears. I tried to walk away before the tears gushed but was suddenly overtaken by dizziness. I leaned on the open door and almost fell as it moved under my weight. Mom sprang up and rushed to help me. She hugged me tightly against her soft half naked body, and I started to sob. With soothing words in my ears, she led me to the bed, and we sat down, side by side, her arms around my shoulder, mine around her waist, my sobbing head on her chest, just above her ample bosom.
After a while I heard her ask: "Yuh been smoking again?"
I nodded confirmation.
"Don't do this to yuhself, Akeem; promise me that this is de last time yuh do this."
"I promise." I muttered.
Mom was stroking my head and the back of my neck, while speaking softly to me, assuring me that all would be soon well. She said she was going to call someone in a while, who she was almost certain could set me up with a job, if not right away, at least within a couple of weeks. Her stroking hand and assuring words relaxed me and I suddenly moved from a state of sadness and despair to one of carefree buoyancy - aided, of course, by the ganja in my head. I gradually became aware of the near nakedness of my mother and the stimulating warmth of our closeness; a warmth that I liked and willingly surrendered my senses to.
Although feeling much better, I pretended otherwise and deliberately remained sitting on the bed hugging and being hugged by my mother, enjoying the feel of her bare skin against mine. I was looking down straight onto her bosom, thinking how creamy and lovely her breasts looked. I found her flesh interesting and exciting to look at.
As I stared at the slowly rising and falling bosom, interest in the body I was embracing grew, moving me progressively to a height of sensuality I had never before experienced when looking at my mother. I also felt daring and without reservation, let my gaze travel lower, past the juicy looking belly and deep-clefted navel, all the way to where her thighs joined her vaginal area, squeezing against her pussy. I felt a stirring in my crotch and for a brief moment, looked away, thinking I was crossing a dangerous line. But I soon realized that my body was urging me to cross all lines between me and my mother, and my cock began to swell uncontrollably.
My eyes moved back to her breasts and once again I marveled at their attractiveness. I felt like kissing them ... and did just that, pecking each one briefly with puckered lips. She did not say anything nor was there any change in her body to suggest awareness or any kind of emotion. As I continued to look at them, I felt my cock stretching out madly in my pants, and in response to that sensual titillation, I raised a hand and cupped one soft breast, applying just a gentle pressure. I kept my hand there, feeling the nipple harden against my palm. Shortly after, I heard her say:
