Mom and son experience

Mom and son new experience,… I received the call around four o’clock. It was simple enough. “Johnathan, I need to speak with you. Come by around eight.” It was my mother. The fact that she addressed me by my proper name was enough to let me know the subject matter, whatever it may be, was serious in nature, and the fact that she offered no more than she did was her way of informing me that any questions I might have before eight would go unanswered. I told her I would be there, and I was.

I sat on the recliner adjacent to her position on the sofa. I was not reclined at all. In fact, I was sitting forward, my forearms on my quads, to show I was listening intently to whatever it was she had to tell me. After what seemed an eternity of silence, Mom said, “I had a doctor’s appointment today.”

“How did that go?” I asked.

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Silence. Thirty seconds, a minute, a minute and a half, then, “Not well.” More silence. “I have a brain tumor.”

“I thought they got rid of that?” I asked, for it truly was my belief. It had been three years ago when she was diagnosed. She had had two of those gamma knife procedures, and ever since she had been told that it was shrinking more and more, up until the point where the doctors told her it was completely gone.

“It’s not the same one,” she told me. “This one is more deeply rooted. They overlooked it because they thought the one they found was the only one. This one, though …” She stopped and collected herself. “It’s been too long, Johnny. It’s grown too big. They said it was inoperable.”

“Have you gotten a second opinion?” I asked.

She lightly snorted a laugh. “This was a third opinion, actually, and they all say the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“I have less than a year to live.”

So that was it. My mother just told me that this time next year, she would no longer be a resident of the physical plane. “Um … I know it must be a lot to take in. Have you made any preparations for this?”

“Everything will go to you.”

“No, Mom. I’m not talking about that. What I mean is, do you have a burial plot? You know, things like that.”

“Yes. All my funerary needs have been taken care of.”

“When will you tell your friends? I mean, they deserve to know as soon as possible so they can prepare themselves for the eventuality.”

“I’ll let them know,” she said as she nodded her head in agreement. “In the meantime, I need something from you.”

“Sure, Mom. Name it.”

She laughed loudly. Once calm again, she just stared at me. In all honesty, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was about to ask what it was she wanted when she said, “There is so much I never experienced. So much I have wanted to do, but never did.”

“Bucket list,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s called a bucket list. You know, like when someone dies people say, ‘he or she kicked the bucket?’ A bucket list is a list of things someone wants to do before he or she dies.”

“Yes, then that’s what I mean,” she said as she sat back a little. “I have a bucket list, but I suppose mine would be a bit unorthodox, considering the subject matter and my age.”

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“How so?”

Another laugh. I waited. Finally, she said, “I am seventy-four years old and I never experienced oral sex, either giving or receiving.”

I was shocked, to say the least, both by the declaration and her willingness to talk about it. Still, having said time and again that I was as uninhibited a person as anyone was likely to meet, I pushed through that and asked, “Didn’t you and Dad ever do any stuff like that?”

“Your father? Heavens, no,” she said emphatically. “James was the type of man who believed in missionary sex only. He felt that oral sex was sodomy, and any position other than missionary gave the woman dominion over a man, and according to his religious beliefs, he refused to differ as he thought that would be to challenge God.”

“His beliefs?” I asked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said immediately. “Yes, when your father died, I threw myself into the church, fanatically at times, and I’ve lived the life of a prude ever since. The truth of the matter, though, is when James died, I never had sex again.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” I stopped her. “Dad died over forty years ago and you’re telling me that you haven’t been with anyone else since?”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Uh … I guess,” I answered, “but just understand how hard it is to believe something like that.”

“I have no reason to lie,” she assured me.

Silence, then, “So, you said you needed something from me,” I reminded her. “I hope it’s not to hook you up with anyone, because I don’t know anyone your age.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone my own age,” Mom told me, “but yes, I would like someone to live this fantasy out with.”

“One of my friends?” I asked in disbelief.

“Understand something here, Johnny: If I entered into a sexual relationship with someone at this stage of my life, I would really have to trust him. Right now, as it stands, the only person I can think of who I could trust that much is … You.”

“What?” I knew what I heard, I just wondered if what I heard and what she said were the same thing. I actually dug my pinkies into my ears to unclog them, then leaned forward.

“Would you allow me to experience oral sex with you, Johnny?” she asked, making herself perfectly clear.

“Oh, wow!” I exclaimed as I sat back. I looked up, through the ceiling and into the cosmos. I really couldn’t fathom what she was requesting of me.

Making note of my inability to make sense of things, Mom said, “Please, Johnny. If nothing else, consider it your dying mother’s last request.”

“That’s not fair,” I said as I looked back at her.

“You’re the only one I trust,” she said again.

I must have sat there for two solid minutes in silence, then I said, “Let me think about this, okay? It’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, take what time you need, but remember that my time is limited.”

Another jab. “Okay, Mom. Just … Give me a few days, is all.” With that, I left. I had a lot of thinking to do.

Most incest begins at an early age, yet here was my mother, who is seventy-four, asking her fifty-two-year-old son to engage in it with her. Had I ever entertained thoughts of it? In all honesty, yes, when we both were younger, but the last time I had a thought like that, Dad was still alive. Dad. Was he really such a slave to the Bible that he couldn’t enjoy anything other than missionary-style sex? If so, then poor Mom. No woman should be deprived of oral sex. No woman should be deprived of oral sex. Did I truly believe that? Of course, I did. I guess that I had found my answer, then. I decided to wait until tomorrow to call and tell her.

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I invited Mom out to eat. We went to Mama June’s Country-Style Buffet where she got fried chicken, green beans and red potatoes, and rice and gravy, and I got a sample of about fifteen different things. I allowed her to pray, then I announced, “Okay, I’ve decided to do it.”

A smile came upon her lips as she bit into a chicken thigh. She chewed, swallowed, then asked, “What made you decide to do it?”

“In all honesty, Mom, I feel sorry for you that you had such an uptight lover in Dad,” I answered, and that was nothing derogatory against him as I loved him very much. “You deserve to experience these things, and I suppose that if I’m the one you feel most comfortable with, then I should be willing to do this for you, if it truly is your dying wish of me.”

“Thank you,” Mom said as she reached out and placed a hand over one of mine. “Uh … I really am in the dark here. When should we do it, what should I expect, are there any special requests you have? See? I’m just so full of questions.”

“Okay, number one: Special requests. Please shave your pubic hair as I have an aversion to it.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” she responded immediately.

“Number two: Insofar as to what to expect, it won’t be rushed. We will take our time, and I won’t act until you are ready for me to.”

“Thank you.”

“Number three: When? When would you like?”

“Tomorrow night?” she asked. “You could stay the night, if you wish.”

“I’ll be by at eight tomorrow, then,” I agreed. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, but if something comes up I’ll let you know.”

We finished the meal in relative silence, just peppering it lightly with conversation about one unimportant thing or another. I drove Mom home and walked her to her door, and when she entered I hugged her, then, instead of kissing her on the cheek as I normally do, I kissed her on the mouth, lingering there for about ten seconds. I pulled back and immediately went to my car, not giving her time to act or comment upon it but giving her something to think about until we would next meet in twenty-four hours.

I packed an overnight bag, and I showered before going over. I arrived to find Mom in her pink robe. She ushered me in and we pretty much assumed the positions we had yesterday. Mom was nervous as hell. Admittedly, so was I. We talked a little about our respective days, and finally, at nine-thirty, she asked, “Are you ready?” I told her I was, and we made our way into her room. I undressed first so Mom wouldn’t feel so self-conscious about doing the same, and then lay on the bed (she had already pulled back the covers prior to my arrival). She slowly untied the loop of her belt, then turned away from me. She then let the robe fall to the floor and I was surprised to see she had a bit of a bump in her rump. She turned, giving me full view of her naked body, then said, “I know I must look horrible, all these wrinkles and sagging skin.”

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I held a hand out to her as I said, “I think you look beautiful, Mom.” She smiled, took my hand, and lay in bed beside me. Her hair had fallen across her face, so I gently swept it away. She smiled again. “May I kiss you?” I asked.

She shyly nodded her consent, so I did, much like I had the night before. As our lips separated, she said, “You really surprised me with that last night. In all honesty, it made me a little wet.” I smiled at that, then kissed her again, and soon we were gently making out, just kissing one another and nothing more. “Your father never would do this with me.”

“Dad’s not here anymore, Mom, but I am,” I reminded her, “and as long as you let me, I’ll treat you like the lady you are.” She said nothing, just smiled her graciousness for the comment, then we began kissing again, and I allowed a hand to move to her shoulder. I lightly rubbed it for a short while, then gently moved down her neck and to her breasts. Yes, they sagged, but the nipples were still very much alive, and at my touch they contracted, hardened, begging for my mouth, and I obliged them both.

First, to the left nipple, and Mom moaned loudly as I ran my tongue and lips across it. I sucked it into my mouth as I lightly began pinching her right one. “Unh!” Mom moaned, then cradled my head in her arms as I continued to softly suck. I eventually moved to her right nipple, giving it the same treatment as I had the left while allowing my hands to glide across her waist. I then moved my hand downward to her butt and began lightly squeezing it. “Oh, Johnny,” she whispered. “That feels so good.” I continued for about a minute more, then ran my hand down the outside of her leg before allowing it to slowly creep up her inner thigh. Another whispered moan as I allowed my fingers to lightly graze their way ever upward.

I moved my head up and began kissing her again. Mom wrapped her arms around my neck and held me as we kissed softly yet passionately. I dragged my fingers across her freshly-shorn labia

to her other thigh, then back to her soft pussy. I then barely inserted a finger and ran it up her slit to her clit, which wasn’t big in any kind of way, perhaps the size of a pinky toenail, but it was stiff, and she was extremely wet. She pulled me closer and kissed me more meaningfully as I slowly manipulated her clit with my forefinger, then she stopped and pulled back a little, enough for me to open my eyes as I readied to ask what was wrong, but that wasn’t the case at all. The twisted look on her face suggested that everything was right as Mom had her first orgasm of the night. She lightly spasmed as it coursed its way through her body.

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