Motherfucker by rat_race

* * * * * Motherfucker

by rat_race

* * * * *

I didn’t mean for something like this to ever happen. And I certainly didn’t mean for it to keep taking place over and over again. But that didn’t stop it from happening. It only made me feel guilty and ashamed about what I was doing.

But those feelings of guilt and shame still didn’t stop me, a 35-year-old man, from fucking my own 57-year-old mother on a regular basis–and looking forward to each time that we had sex.

Let me back up a little bit, and tell you my story. And maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you won’t. But I don’t really care at this point in my life. I know that what my mother and I have together is a very special, loving relationship. And it has been that way, long before we ever began having sex together.

My father, Sam, suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack five years ago, leaving my mother, Janie, who was 52 at the time of his death, to live all by herself in our three-bedroom, ranch-style family home in Beaumont, Texas.

My dad worked in the oil fields outside Beaumont, and was a very physical kind of guy. And as far as I could tell, he absolutely loved two things: his booze (BTW, he was not an alcoholic, thank God) and his sex, which Mother was always more than happy to provide him on demand.

I know. Because when I was growing up, I could hear Mom and Dad going at it in their bedroom through the non-insulated interior walls of our old house. The fact that Mom was a real screamer during her orgasms, and that my bedroom just happened to share the same interior wall with their master bedroom, coupled with the fact that my parents’ bed and my bed were pushed up against that same wall (on either side of it, of course), only served to make me totally aware of each and every time that they were having sex during the nighttime hours.

When I was a young boy, I assumed that Dad was somehow hurting Mom during the night. But I knew that it wasn’t really any of my business.

And besides, I never heard Mom complain about anything that my dad did the night before, whenever she was up early the next morning, making breakfast for the family, and doing so in a very loving cheerful manner, I might add. Mom would always give Dad a big kiss when he would finally walk into the kitchen to sit down to have his breakfast before he headed off to work.

Not only that, but the next morning, I never saw any obvious bruises anywhere on Mom’s body–at least on the parts that I could actually see when she had clothing on, that is.

And so I was happy to go on about the business of being a young boy, and let Mom and Dad deal with their own late-night screaming stuff.

One time, I almost asked my mom about all the screaming and moaning coming from her bedroom the night before. But then I decided that it was in my best interest not to mention anything, since she didn’t feel that it was worth mentioning to me herself.

After I had reached puberty and learned more about “the birds and the bees,” I quickly realized that Dad wasn’t hurting Mom at all during the night. He was having sex with her.

And whatever he was doing was making Mom orgasm her ass off. And that explained all the moans and groans and loud screams that I heard coming through our shared bedroom wall during the night.

It also explained why Mom would always be grinning like a Cheshire Cat whenever she was fixing breakfast for the family the very next morning.

Speaking of my family, I was an only child until 12 years later, when my little sister, Lacey, was born. But I was still my parents’ only son, and so much older than my sister, that I barely related to her at all. I mean, how could I? She was still an infant by the time that I turned 13 and began masturbating in an adult fashion.

So for all intents and purposes I had the blessed life of an only-child. And of course, I took advantage of that the best I could, treating my sister as a kind of living doll, throughout the earlier part of her life.

By the time my little sister, Lacey, had finally reached puberty at around age 12 (according to Mom), I was already 24 years old, and away at college, working on my masters degree.

So my only sister and I usually never saw each other in person, much less kept in touch. I only saw Lacey at key family events, like Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or the occasional family reunion, or at some distant relative’s wedding, etc.

So now that you have some background information, it’s on with my story:

It was three days before Christmas, and Lacey and I had both traveled back home to spend Christmas with Mom in Beaumont; the only difference being that Lacey had arrived at Mom’s house the day before I did. My sister and I had both planned to return back to our respective homes and lives the day after Christmas.

By this point in Lacey’s life, she had dropped out of college, and she was now the trophy wife of a high-powered business man, named Tim, who didn’t have the time or the inclination to spend Christmas with Lacey at her mother’s house.

Instead, Tim took off to London to go close some kind of important business deal for one of the international companies that he owned.

For the last several years Lacey and her husband, Tim, had been trying to start a family, but “getting Lacey pregnant” seemed to be the one thing that Tim couldn’t do for her, no matter how much he tried (in between business trips, that is).

Of course, Lacey was only 23, and so she really wasn’t that worried about the “getting pregnant” stuff, since she still had several years left on her biological clock. And she suspected that Tim might have a low sperm count or something that was keeping him from being able to get her pregnant.

As for me, I was 35 and still a virgin, believe it or not. I mean, yes, I was an expert at jacking off–because that pretty much all I ever did sex-wise ever since I had reached puberty.

Sure, I had a couple of girlfriends in high school, and a few more in college. But none of my relationships ever got past the “making out in the back seat of a car” phase. And so the most I had ever managed to do with any of my ex-girlfriends on our dates was to make out with them, and then later, after dropping them off at their homes or apartments, I would go back home by myself feeling all horny with a bad case of “blue balls,” and I would jack off like crazy to try to release all that pent-up sexual tension in the only way I knew how.

Well, Lacey was staying in her old bedroom upstairs at our family home, just across the hall from my old bedroom, where I was staying. And of course, Mom still slept in the same master bedroom down at the end of the hallway that she and Dad had shared for so many years.

After dinner the first night that I was there at the house, Lacey went out clubbing with some of her old high school friends, leaving Mom and me alone in the house. And that’s when Mom hit me with that very first bombshell.

I was sitting across from her at the kitchen table, sipping some English Breakfast hot tea that she had just finished preparing for both of us, when Mom cleared her throat very loudly. And she said to me, “Have you ever wondered why your sister looks so different from you?”

“Yes, ma’am,’ I answered honestly.

And Mom replied, “That’s ‘cuz she’s really your half-sister. You and Lacey have different fathers.

“And even though I’m just now telling you about this, I told Lacey about it shortly after Sam died. But I intentionally didn’t go into the details with Lacey about how it all happened.

“Would you like to hear all those details? I mean, do you think you can handle the truth of it all?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m 35 now, Mom. You can treat me like an adult, believe it or not.”

“Good. Now, before I go on and tell you all about one of my deepest darkest secrets, you’ve got to promise me that you will give me a very special Christmas present, that only you can give me. And I’ll let you know what that special Christmas present is when the time is right. So do we have a deal?”

“Yes, ma’am. We sure do,” I said, figuring that finding a specially-requested Christmas present for my Mother wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Okay, good then,” Mom said, took a deep breath, and then started into her story about how she had gotten impregnated by a man who wasn’t my father.

“You know your father and I–God rest his soul–well, we were deeply in love.”

“Yeah, I know, Mom. I could hear you guys going at it through my bedroom wall.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you and Dad had a wonderful sex life together.”

“The truth is it wasn’t as wonderful as you might think. When we hit our mid-30’s, your father and I were pretty much on the rocks, sexually. We were getting bored with all the stuff that we had previously been doing to try to keep our sex life interesting and exciting.

“And so it eventually got to the point where I couldn’t get your father to have sex with me as much as I was wanting him to. So I asked him one day, point blank, what he thought that we could do to help spice up our sex life.

“And that’s when your father admitted to me that he had always fantasized about watching me have sex with another man.

“Mind you, your father wasn’t asking me to let another man join him and me in a threesome. I mean, Sam may have been a lot of things, but ‘bisexual’ wasn’t one of them.

“Instead, what your father was wanting was for me to cuckold him. Basically, he just wanted to sit in the room and jack himself off, while he watched another man have his way with me.”

“Wow! That’s pretty heavy,” I commented to Mom.

“Yeah, it sure was. And at first, I didn’t know what to think. But your father reassured me that he was still deeply in love with me, and that my having sex with another man in front of him would only serve to strengthen our marriage.