Motherly Love – Part One

I am in my mid forties now, but back when I was in the later half of my teen years, I lived with my (single) mother in Edinburgh. Even then I couldn’t remember all that clearly what my father looked like as he had walked out on us before my tenth birthday.

As a teenage male I was at the mercy of my raging hormones, not to mention my raging erections which seemed to manifest at the slightest provocation. Drying myself off after a shower – erection! Seeing an attractive woman on television – erection! Seeing my mother bending over while loading the washing machine, exposing a generous amount of her ass crack while doing so – erection! Wait! What?

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While there was nothing unusual about getting an erection while glimpsing a little bit of female ass (happened all the time when doing physical education at high school – girls with small shorts and big asses made for an intriguing combination) the arousal I felt at this glimpse of my mother’s ass caught me completely off guard.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my mother was actually reasonably attractive. Not, of course, that I’d ever thought of her in such terms, because…well…you just don’t. At least, not until I actually started to see her as a woman rather than just a mother.

I had my first wet dream featuring my mother not all that long after the washing machine ass cleavage incident. I recall that in the dream she was standing in front of the washing machine, slowly taking off the clothes she was wearing and putting them into it. I was watching from behind and she had got to the point of sliding down her panties, having reached about halfway down her thighs, when I was awakened to the sensation of lying face down in a puddle of sticky warmth.

After that, whenever I was having a wank (usually thinking about someone like Linda Lusardi), images of my mother would come into my head and I would almost certainly climax while picturing her. When she was out one day and I was alone in the flat, I stopped by a framed photograph of her that on the sideboard. I always thought she looked nice in the picture but now..well…ERECTION!

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I undid my jeans and dropped them and my boxer shorts around my ankles and stood there wanking while looking at her photo. It was a phenomenal wank and one that had me spurting with such force that a large glob of it even hit the glass on the front of the photo. I got some toilet roll to wipe up my mess but it took a lot of sheets of it to finally get all of it smeared over the glass. Some of it had oozed between the glass and the bottom of the frame, which I couldn’t get to, but I was hesitant to take the frame apart so I left it, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed (I, myself, noticed in the days after this had happened that there was a small, yellowed, patch on the lowest part of the photo which was clearly a result of my cum having seeped between the glass and the frame).

The next time I saw my mother come into the kitchen with the laundry basket, I was sitting on a bar stool eating cereal. I tried, so very, very hard…oops…bad choice of word…not to get an erection. I was just about succeeding by thinking about Margaret Thatcher (one only time I ever recall her being useful in any capacity) when I saw my mother fishing out a handful of her panties and tossing them into the washing machine. When she left to kitchen to get some of my washing from my room, I darted across to the still open washing machine and fished around inside until I claimed my desired prize – a pair of her used panties, which I shoved into one of the pockets of my jeans before dashing back to the stool where I was eating.

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Later that night, when I knew my mother had gone to bed and was surely asleep, I crept out of bed and picked up my jeans which sat on the back of a chair. I had wandered around the rest of that day with the pair of my mother’s panties secreted in the front pocket and I had felt enormously turned on in having done so. I fished them out and for the first time I examined them, taking in every detail. The colour (black), the style (tanga briefs) and even the stains on the inside of them. I bunched them in my fist, the inner parts exposed, pressing them against my nose and inhaling deeply. That scent! That amazing scent! No matter how faint it might have been, having sat in the laundry basket for a while, no doubt, it was evident it was the special scent of my mother, the kind of scent that a husband, rather than a son, was meant to be familiar with.

I drew in lungfuls of her scent while I gripped myself and wanked furiously. If I thought the level of arousal at my wet dream of her, or wanking off in to a photo of her had invoked, couldn’t be surpassed, I was so very, very wrong. I climaxed so hard I literally had to bite deep into my bottom lip not to roar out load as I emptied my balls.

Nothing could best this. Not now. However, I was oblivious to the Pandora’s Box that I had opened, one that which would lead to the most exquisite intimacies with my mother.

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Look out for Part Two of my recollections which I will post when I get the chance.

 

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