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Dad – Chapter 3 – Matthew 13.8 – Iss 1x

a) Nightmare

Mum smelt Rose on me as soon as I got close to her.

She looked a little sadder, but said that Rose wasn’t a bad person, and could even improve my life.

I couldn’t say anything to that, but I felt like I had betrayed Mum – in some way. But I still looked forward to Rose being actually able to improving my life.

*

The scream woke me, my heart thumping, and confused about where I was. The ‘where’ was my bedroom. As for ‘Who’ – I thought it had to have been Mum. I left my bed; and stood outside Mum’s bedroom.

Funny – that – really! Even before Dad… left us … to me it was always ‘Mum’s room’. Even though Dad always slept there. Apart from family holidays – ALWAYS.

I could hear Mum… calling for Dad, and her voice was panicky and breathless. I opened the door, and hesitantly peered in. I could just about see her, illuminated weakly through the curtain by the street light outside.

She was in constant motion, which had caused the top sheet and bedding to be ‘kicked’ off her onto the floor. Her head was continually moving around, as if looking for something, and her arms were alternately waving slowly around in the air; or gripping the under-sheet.

She continued to call for Dad, and would sob when he didn’t reply, prompting her to choke, and plead for him to answer her.

“Mum!”

I crept closer to the bed.

“Mum!”

I wanted to wake her. To break the cycle of dream (she already lived the nightmare, when awake, in real-life!)

I reached the bed. “Mum! Wake up! You’re dreaming!”

“Teddy?”

“No Mum! It’s Andy?”

“Andrew? Where’s your father? I can’t find him. And I’ve called and called, and he won’t answer me. He was supposed to be back from that hospital hours ago!”

Dad had lasted barely six weeks from the cancer diagnosis, and for nearly a third of that he had been in a coma. That hospital thing seemed to have been built into her dream.

“Where are you?”

“I’m here Mum!”

“Oh Teddy! Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for days! Where have you been?”

“No, it’s OK now. Wake up.”

“Oh Teddy! I’ve missed you so much.”

And while still in the clutch of the dream/reality blend, she reached for my hand, and pulled me to her.

I sat on the side of the bed, turned slightly to my right, as she gripped my right hand.

“Mum! Wake up. You are dreaming.”

She giggled. “Don’t be silly Teddy! Why have you started calling me ‘Mum’? If you think that I’m going to start calling you ‘Dad’, the way your mother calls your father ‘Dad’ – you’ve got another think coming!”

“Oh Mum!”

“Shush Teddy! Stop this nonsense now; and get into bed. We’ve both got a busy day tomorrow with Andrew’s birthday party.”

I was lost. She was lost – in her memories, fears, and fantasies.

She kept tugging the hand that she was holding, pulling me onto the bed. As I moved with her, she started rolling away from me, onto her left side, and I continued until I was, basically, spooned in behind her, with my arm over her.

“What did you do with the bed-clothes Teddy? I’m cold. Put them back on the bed!”

“Mum!”

“I told you to stop that! Just put the bedding back over us, so we can sleep.”

I gave up – and joined her dream. It wasn’t ideal, by any means, but if it allowed her to sleep, or at least to rest, then I expected that to be to her advantage.

“OK, give me a moment.”

She just “Hmphed”

I got off the bed, sort of toss-flapped the sheet out so that the ‘far edge’ flipped out over the bed, then settled gently. Then I just spread the duvet across the bed; and slid under them both.

“Thank you, Teddy.”

And she kissed me on the lips, took hold of my right wrist as she snuggled in, pulling me in behind her; shuffled her shoulders, sighed me a ‘Good-night’, and pulled my right hand up under her pyjama top, and squeezed it round her left breast, before rubbing her nipple with it, ‘Mmm’d’; shuffled her shoulders again, sighed in contentment; squeezed her breast with my hand again, and started to snore.

And she went so deep, in only a few seconds, that my erection, as it poked against the cheeks of her bum, didn’t disturb her.

Mind you, it disturbed the hell out of me!

As carefully as I could, I backed my hips away from her, then I tried to slide my hand out. But all that did was to stimulate her nipple, which, even in her sleep, caused her to grip my hand harder, and push it harder against her breast.

I kept trying to remove my hand. The thought of the emotional pain it would cause her if she awoke to find her son in bed with her; and, it could seem, feeling-her-up while she was asleep, was enough to give me nightmares.

I don’t know how long I tried to get away, but in the end, I sort of surrendered. I just decided that it would be best to play the waiting game, and not disturb her now. She was already emotionally bursa escort disturbed enough because of Dad’s death.

So, I just relaxed; well, most of me did. And, at some point, I drifted off to sleep.

*

I was nudged rudely awake, to feel that my cock was uncomfortable, and some female voice was moaning at me for something. Once again, it took me a few seconds to get my head together.

But when I did: –

“Come on Teddy! I know you’ve been with her again, I smelt her on you. And you know our agreement – I get two orgasms for every visit. And ‘Yes’, I do still believe that you love me, but an agreement is an agreement!”

And Mum was lying on her back, pulling my cock to her pussy. And I wasn’t obstructed – somehow, she had managed to shuck her pyjamas and my shorts as I slept, so we were totally nude. And I still had a hard-on.

Call me twisted, and later events proved that I am; that even with her in her hallucination… the feel of her hand on my cock, and the way her stiff right nipple was poking at my chest as I lay on my left side against her, and my right hand still holding her left breast, my hard-on became one to be proud of. In any other circumstances. And not with my mother. And not when she wasn’t …lucid[?]. Even though she sounded as if she was.

I grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her – hard.

“MUM!” I shouted at her. “Wake UP! You’re dreaming!”

And wake up she did.

She looked up at me full of confusion, as she whooped in a large lungful of air. And squealed it out again.

“Whatareyoudoinginmybed?”

“You were dreaming, Mum. You thought I was Dad, and you pulled me in with you!”

“Oh God!” and she sobbed.

Then: –

“Where’s my night clothes?” she squawked.

“You took them off while you were dreaming!”

She sobbed harder.

“Why are you laying on top of me?”

“You thought I was Dad!”

She started out-right crying.

“Why am I holding your willy?” she squeaked as she let it go.

“You thought I was Dad!”

In the midst of her heavy crying, “Oh, Andy, what must you think of me?”

Despite my discomfort with our contact situation, I hugged her to try to re-assure her.

“MUM! I think, that you are my wonderful Mother, and that you are grieving for Dad, who you Love … … Loved. And your mind is having problems fully accepting that he’s gone.”

She wailed and wrapped me in her arms and pulled me to her.

Two hard points against my chest! Soft, furred presence against my right thigh! Knowledge of smooth naked hip against my balls and erect cock!

Her body was wracked with sobs.

“Oh Andy! He’s gone! He’s gone! He’s gone. Oh Teddy!”

b) How to be a Wonderful Son

And, at last! She was giving vent to her grief. Just because she’d had six weeks to become accustomed to the inevitability, his actual loss could not be easily … countenanced[?], and certainly not absorbed and accepted readily.

She grieved at last. The ‘Ice Queen’ had thawed.

God! I don’t think that I can tell you how much of a relief it was! I had been sure that if she couldn’t give vent to it, in the near future, it would shatter her.

I clasped her to me, and rocked her gently; and whispered all the positive things I could think of to ease her way through this, but I still mixed in quiet urges to let go, and cry her fill. I had no way of knowing how much was actually getting through her crying. But I hugged her, naked as we were, and continued rocking her, trying to give her comfort.

I don’t know how long we lay like that, but gradually, and inevitably, her outpourings of grief eased off, leaving us just wrapped around each other. I knew she was an emotional wreck, as her whole body seemed to sag. Well – apart, for some reason, from those two diamond points. I remained very conscious of those.

“Oh Andy! I do miss him so. You’ve been so good to me, caring for me, and doing things for me. I really do appreciate it.”

And she pulled me down with a hand on the back of my head, and kissed me gently on the lips, then released me – slightly, sniffled, and looked up at me again, “Thank you!” she whispered; and pulled me down to her lips again.

This – was different! She pulled me; she moved her lips; she started breathing heavily; she used her tongue; she pushed her body against mine; she started to slowly pump her hips to rub … there … against my thigh, and – there – got damp.

My chest started getting scarred by her diamond points as they were moved around as she ground against me.

She sought, and found, my cock. And squeezed it. I groaned.

“Mum? What are you doing?”

“Oh Andrew! I so miss your father! I miss his presence. His … body … next to me.”

She had closed her eyes and was panting lightly. She continued in a whimper, whilst squeezing me.

“I miss his attention … his devotion … his love! I miss his weight on me! I miss him IN me! I miss him Loving me. I want him bursa escort bayan back, Andy!” and she sobbed anew; and kissed me ardently through the sobs.

“Oh, please lay on me Andy, I need to feel the comfort of your weight on me now! Please Andrew!”

“Oh Mum! I can’t! It wouldn’t be right!”

“Oh my son, my wonderful son! How could anything you do be ‘not right’. You’re such a good person.”

“I can’t at the moment Mum! I’m embarrassed.”

She released me, “Oh, Andy! What have you got to be embarrassed about?”

“I’m … … excited Mum. Excited!”

“Excited about what?”

“Oh Mum! I’m aroused! You know – aroused! I’ve got a stiffie!” I finished in a whisper.

” … … Because … of me?”

“Yes Mum!” and I hid my flaming face in the junction of her shoulder and neck.

Once again, she sought and found my cock – sort of gasped out a sigh of relief, and stroked it of all things!

“Oh, my love! I’m your mother! There’s no need to be embarrassed!”

I groaned – and whimpered.

“In fact – I think that I even feel quite flattered. You know? That my young man seems to have the ‘hots’ for his old Mum.”

She started to caress my helmet, gently with her finger tips.

“Oh, Mum, don’t! You are only making it worse!” I whined.

“Come, kiss me show me you’re my man!”

And she pulled me into another … full blown … Hot! … French-kiss!

And, while still squeezing my cock, she pulled me on top of her.

We were both breathing heavily.

I vaguely became aware that her knees were rising slowly each side of me, and she snuggled her arm around my neck. I gave in, and kissed back, as thoroughly as she was kissing me.

Then her hand moved my cock into position, her legs locked behind my hips – and she convulsed! There was no other word for her action – her legs pulled me down, and her hips thrust up. I went almost all the way into her pussy until our pubes met.

She groaned, with, I think, not a little pleasure, and kissed me hard.

I gasped and, despite the pleasure of the insertion, I tried to flinch back. But that only added downward thrust, and I bottomed out. I tried wriggling free. But that provided too much stimulation, and she started cumming. Hard.

“Oh SHIT! Andy I’m there!” And she whimpered – and squealed – and writhed – as she orgasmed.

And I writhed; and came with the unexpected and forbidden nature of our coupling. And, of course, because I had had a number of hard-ons over the last twelve hours, I was well primed. The fact that I loved the woman with whom I was coupled, should not be discounted.

“Oh Andy! My baby! My love! My man … my lover!”

We kissed hard again. I didn’t go soft. I wondered if there was something about me and incestuous sex that seemed to enable me to stay hard after the first ejaculation. In my old ‘normal’ sex life, I would have been fully soft by now.

“Oh, Andy! Please love me. Take me! You’re the man of the house now. You are my man! Love me. Oh shit, Andy! Just fuck me!”, and she started sobbing, “Fuck me Fuck me. Please make me stop thinking about your Dad. I just want my man to raise me up and shut me down!”

So, I – ‘Fucked’ – my mother. She groaned and whimpered through each thrust and retreat.

And I ‘Fucked’ her a couple more times during the remains of that night. I succeeded in giving her orgasm after orgasm, and each one raised her up, and then she shut down; at which time she coasted – numb, and without thought. This time, I was giving the gift of the ‘Little Death’ to my mother. Each time, I felt I was truly ‘making-love’ to my mother, but that love manifested itself in some truly hard sex, that as I look back, can only be described as ‘Fucking’ her!

*

We ‘coupled’ again later that day, but now it truly was an exploration, and demonstration of our love. She surprised me deeply with her wantonness. Her need for sex was such that almost immediately after my first orgasm, she rolled and turned and commenced a sixty-nine on me; me, still slick with both my own and her juices. She seemed to pay them no mind (while I had no option than to consume my own discharge as it was washed out of her by her own secretions), and she sucked me hard and deep, until I became rigid enough for penetration, and then she again swivelled around, rolled onto her back and dragged me on top of her, pleading, “Please my love – again, I need you to fuck me again. I need to cum again, please Andy, my love – love me hard.” And I did. But maybe not as ‘hard’ as I could have, or as ‘hard’ as she truly would have liked; but I just couldn’t be that rough and ‘hard’ with her. But it was ‘hard’ enough to bring her to a shattering climax.

As we lay there sated, side-by-side, wrapped in each other’s arms; sticky, and still naked after her third, and my second orgasm of the afternoon, I was gently stroking her bum, as she shuffled my balls in one hand, and idly kissed my chest. I was thinking how I must have been, unknowingly, escort bursa ruined by both Rose and my mother. My previous sex partners had been willing, and a couple had been quite skilled. But, in retrospect, those relationships each seemed rather passionless. I was now having sexual relations with two women that I loved, and the sex was deeply passionate – albeit with not fully identical feelings.

Within that current climate of sexual ease and activities, I mentioned that I was surprised by her willingness to perform oral sex on me. She went all coy; and tried hiding her face in my arm-pit.

“Mum? Really?” and I stroked her hair, behind her ear, “You are embarrassed about telling me that, after the other things we have been doing?”

c) Young Stuff

She started mumbling, but I couldn’t hear her, so I squirmed down so my ear was nearer her mouth, and asked her to repeat what she said; and, eventually she did: –

She and Dad used to do it. You know, have oral sex. And she quite enjoyed the giving, and really loved the receiving. Then she raised her voice to tell me this: – “Middle aged men are not the only ones who look at some young ‘thing’; or ‘stud’ – maybe – in the case of a woman. And wonder what it would be like – now – to have a tight, hard energetic body rubbing against them.”

She admitted that she had admired the way my body had developed as I ‘moved’ through my later teens.

And once she had brushed aside the incest taboo, and had experienced these incestuous couplings with me, she realised that she not only really appreciated ‘having sex with a young stud’, but that actually having sex with me, her son, made her feelings so much more intense, and hence wanted to experience it all again… and again… and … .

Then she got all coy and mumbly again as she admitted that once she had experienced my cock as I made love to her, she started to fantasize about how that beautiful young, smooth cock would look as she held it, and licked it, and how it would feel on her lips, and tongue, as they stroked, sucked, and caressed it; and, of course, how it would feel – as it pulsed, and throbbed – as it delivered up her reward.

*

I was struck mute with all that. It had never occurred to me that ‘mature’ women would rue the ageing of their partners, apart from getting just pissed-off at them for getting fat.

*

I later, very hesitantly, asked Mum why she had ‘allowed’ us to have sex.

She said that she had lived with the incestuous relationship between Dad and Rose; and that he had declared to Mum that if she wanted to be with him, she would have to live with it, as he honestly loved his little sister. He’d said that if Mum forced him to choose, because she wouldn’t permit him both, then he would choose Rose. And he was only contemplating marrying Mum because he was deeply in love with her, but not enough to forsake Rose. Thus, feeling the need for close contact, and a longing to return to a loving and active sexual relationship, actually having sex with me seemed, against our loving background, to be a light, inconsequential step against her deep, traumatic, loss of Dad.

I was nearly speechless. But then when I asked why she embarked on an incestuous relationship herself – didn’t she feel that Dad’s cancer was divine punishment for his sin?

Mum gave a wry smile; and gave my cock an affectionate squeeze.

“No. Of course not! How can I regard cancer as God’s punishment for sin, when young children die of it? What could they have done to deserve that punishment – from a God, who is touted as being a good God; a righteous God? And why punish small children for any sins that their parents, or even grandparents, committed? How is that an act of a righteous God, when He will allow the parents, or grandparents, that have supposedly committed those sins, to reach old age? Or if those children don’t die of the cancer, think of the traumas they must suffer during their treatments. How can they be the acts of a good God?

“And I’m not just talking about our ‘Christian’ God, or gods – considering how different Christian churches worship their ‘god’; but also Mohammed, or Vishnu, or any other Gods of the other faiths. They seem to have no more wish, or ability, to exorcise those diseases from their faithful than those that we term ‘pagan’ gods.

“C’mon, Andy; have you ever compared our relationship with ‘God’, and that with animals?

“Thought not. Well, if one of us neglected an animal in our care to disease and neglect, the way ‘God’ does with us, the RSPCA – or human variety – would have him, or her, in court in a blink of an eye. So consider that when you think of a benevolent, caring ‘God’.”

“No. It was the luck of the draw. The same blind luck that gave you the same negative Rhesus Factor as me, despite your Dad being a positive. You had a fifty-fifty chance of being a plus or a minus. You came up ‘minus’ and made your gestation easier.

“I’m still a ‘young’ woman – in these days. Your Dad and I loved each other. Sex, and an active sex life was part of that love. I have felt its loss. Your Dad had lost his sex-drive before he was diagnosed, really. That loss of libido was one of the reasons he went to the doctor.

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