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For Mom, The Son Also Rises

Brad had experienced numerous affairs and had a number of steady girl friends, as all young men in their twenties do. But it wasn't until Brad was twenty-five years old that a whole new and mysterious world had opened up to him. It was in his twenty-fifth year that Brad made love not to another feckless young girl in her twenties, but with a mature, vibrant, and sensual woman in her early forties. It was Brad's Mother who initiated him to the power Eros, as only a real woman can.

Nothing in their past seemed to lead to this special initiation of young man to Eros by the woman who gave him life twenty-five years before. True, ever since he was a child, Brad had cared very deeply about his mother in an especially intense way. Both shared a love of the written word, the lyrical melody, and the out-of-time and in-mind sensibilities they found in the arts and in the city in which they lived. But Brad's father, Jim, never really did. His was a world of taking money, insulating commerce, and insinuating "friends."

Brad's mother, Karin, had wanted at least a brother or sister for her son, perhaps in the hopes of providing Brad the love and sense of family his father couldn't—or wouldn't provide him. It was not to be. Instead, of family, love, or even the comfort of passion, Jim "moved his family" up, in his words, which really meant wrenching his too young wife and their sensitive son from the nurturing city to a barren suburb of relentless privilege and paltry pleasures.

Thus exiled, Karin and Brad would come to develop an even closer, deeper, more intimate bond to keep a family starved of any nurture alive and to keep love in the cold climate of the ready-made upper classes warm and vibrant. But this close relationship was utterly platonic, an exemplar of the bonds between parent and child.

It is true, however, that after Brad's eighteenth birthday in the summer after he graduated high school and was preparing to attend college, he did begin to notice and think of his mother. He began to see his mother as he never previously had, but perhaps as all young men of eighteen or nineteen have, do, and always at some point will.

Brad's father, Jim, had married Karin as his trophy wife when she was but in her early twenties. Lithe, tall, long-legged, and perhaps a bit sinewy in her youth, Karin aged gracefully into a strikingly beautiful young woman by the time Brad had become a teen. Her hips filled out, rounded but firm. Her legs were still taut and long. Her dark complexion complemented her large breasts. Still very firm but now with just the tiniest hint of a sag, Karin's breasts completed the body of a real woman, young and beautiful enough to keep the company of her younger rivals, but savvy and sensual enough to slay the competition.

It was in that summer after his eighteenth birthday that Brad caught a glimpse of his mother in her brassiere. As in all families, the son had glimpsed his mother this way before in the normal course of the morning or evening hustle and bustle of preparing for work or bed. And of course, Brad never thought anything of it.

But now as a college-bound, adult and young man, something changed. This time, the image stayed with him, insinuating, whispering, haunting, and heating dormant desires. He sought and found release over page and video from his father's Playboy collection. Spent over the image of his favourite Playmate, Brad would no longer have to think about how she looked not unlike his very own mother, or so he thought.

But whenever such a connection, such an inclination, or inkling would seem a distant, foreign disturbance or brooding storm passed, light coincidences would conspire to trigger his darker contemplations. A few weeks after seeing his mother in a brassiere, Brad saw her in a skimpy black bra and matching panties as she was preparing for bed. She was tall and firm, but just a hint of handles on her tummy. Her legs were smooth , shiny, and impossibly long. Her tits were fleshy but firm, strained to escape the tight black bra, as did her round, big and firm ass her panties. There was no doubt about it. Mom's tan and tall body stood out in all the more contrast to her tiny black panties and bra.

That night, pages of his favourite Playmate were made sticky upon the shudders of Brad's naked body.

On another night, he was suddenly was aware that he was on top of a long, tall, and dark woman. His cock disappeared into a hot buttery tunnel that pulsed and massaged the length of his manhood as it engulfed it in sweltering sweetness. His face was between two fleshy, pillowy mounds that tasted of cream and almonds; his mouth suckling on a long, rose coloured candy of a nub that arose from the heaving tit. His ass was pumping up and down, and the succulent tunnel into which his dick slid in and out rose up to engulf his masculinity.

It felt hotter and tighter with every thrust. He felt a buzzing, boiling commotion in his balls. That turned into a fiery thick magma that moved thickly into his cock and burned its way up in searing sweet rise. Everything was in a soft blur.

But not the rush of liquid fire up his cock. It became unbearable and blissful. And then his cock was twitching hard, shooting a lava of creamy white goo deep into the sweltering pussy in which his spurting penis was buried. Oh, it felt so incredible. He opened his eyes and struggled to see the face of this amazing woman between the two fleshy tits upon which his chin rested. He heard a woman's cry: "OH, BRAD, YES!!" Just then, the face came into view. It was his mother.

Suddenly, Brad was back in his bedroom, in the dark, and his eyes opened in shock. It had all been a dream, a strange, frightening dream. But something happened. He felt a wet, warm, sticky cream all over his tummy. He had cum in his sleep. The dream was frightening, but also all so real and yet otherworldly. Everything was engraved into his mind's eye, but for the face of the mystery woman into whom he had emptied his young man's lust. But somewhere Brad knew. The voice, her face: it was Mom. Wiping himself clean, he felt vaguely dirty. The woman's face and her voice. They, it couldn't be.

Disturbed, he pulled out the Playboy magazine from under his mattress. He reached for the one in which that Playmate was wearing but tiny black panties and bra, topped off with long black stockings. THat was the edition in which, as he turned th pages, that very same Playmate stripped off her bra, then the stockings. And then finally, that Playmate stripped off her panties. In no time he was spraying the image of that Playmate's pussy with his potent, youthful juices.

Now he could sleep. That's who the face was in his dream, he thought to himself; it was his favourite Playmate. As he drifted off to sleep, a last thought flashed before his eyes, to be forgotten in the morning: his favourite Playmate looked a lot like his mother, Karin.

In time, Brad moved back to the city to attend college, graduate, and make his way. The love that could not speak its name of "mother" seemed to recede, as it might for a select few young men. And so this might have remained so, had Brad's three-year relationship not broken up shortly before his twenty-fifth birthday. In the aftermath of the breakup, Brad seemed to withdraw from all socializing.

He seemed disconsolate and taciturn in telephone his conversations with his mother, so much so that Karin began to worry for her boy. She decided that the next social event her husband dragged her to, she would insist on bringing her son, not only for the welcome company but for his well being as well.

It wasn't much longer after Karin decided upon her strategy that one of Jim's clients had invited him and Karin to a soirée. Normally, Karin dreaded these events, as so many of the men would leer at her, and her husband would get offensively drunk to offend the other wives by leering at them. But with her son coming along, Karin would help him re-enter the social world and have some charming company as well. It was decided. Karin, her husband, and her son would attend.

Upon Karin's considerable prompting, Jim accompanied her to stop in on their son's apartment and convince him to go with them to the client's party. Karin seemed especially pleased to see her son, and complimented him on his brooding good looks and sensitive demeanor. Jim made snide remarks about Brad's increased drinking as of late, without offering any insight to or comfort for his son's grieving. But even the old man had to admit to himself that his son had cut a fairly fine figure.

The party annoyed Brad. But he tried his best to make great strides in small talk with his father and his cronies. Brad soon began pouring the drinks in the hopes of making the women look better to him, most of whom were his mother's age, but nowhere near as attractive. It didn't really matter tonight, though. Brad was feeling his buzz, feeling more than a little lonely, and a little like indulging his sudden fantasy of spiriting one of these women away from her drunk husband, taking her upstairs, and fucking her senseless.

As Brad hungrily scanned the room, he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a striking woman with very big, firm tits–––for this was the frame of mind Brad was in––-standing across the room from him. He continued to eye her tits. She was vaguely familiar. She crossed her long, black-stockinged legs, and he caught a glimpse of her tan and taut thigh. Brad's penis was suddenly erect and very hard. He shifted his position from where he sat in the wan hope of disguising his sudden hope. The striking woman turned to face Brad. Their eyes met. Brad was stung with a sudden sobriety. The woman for whom his penis was pulsing gave Brad anther jolt.

The mystery woman was his own mother.

Jim came into the room and went to Karin. Jim was starting up again, saying something dismissive and cruel, as was his wont to do when had a few to drink, or even none at all. Karin was having none of what he was dishing out tonight. But her words neither tempered nor admonished him; he seemed to become belligerent, and began a too-loud whisper, sneeringly telling Karin what she ought or could not do, in so many words.

As in so many instances before, Brad decided to intervene to deter his father from being any more abusive to Mom than he normally might be. The rest of the party guests were preoccupied with themselves, their drink, and their fatuous flatteries to do anything but provide background noise to an unpleasant scene escalating into a nasty one. Brad staggered over and good-naturedly asked to cut in, taking his Mom for a quick and casual dance and out of the line of fire. This time was different. Karin was angered and hurt, and she asked her son to take her home, and right away. Turning her back to her husband's muttered curses and loud "good riddance and good luck," Karin grabbed her coat and her son's hand and left.

Evidently, Jim was going to stay and have one too many more a drink and "chat" with his "friends," which really meant one of the wives with whom he was carrying on an affair.

When they got outside, the cool air was bracing enough, ...
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