Taking My Father’s Place

Taking My Father’s Place

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Chapter 1

The soft knock on my bedroom door woke me up and started my heart pounding. "Come in," I called. I sat up in my bed and turned, dropping my legs over the side, so I was facing the door.

The door opened and she walked into my room, looking incredibly nervous. She was wearing a long, worn bathrobe that, before hundreds of washings, was a pink plaid belted around her waist. Her fingers clutched the neck of the robe, holding that shut, as if she wanted to be sure nothing showed. Her straight light brown hair fell almost to her bottom. She wore no makeup and wasn't what some people would call beautiful, but she did have the kind of features that made her a woman you'd notice without being sure why. Her big brown eyes were open wide and darted around the room, showing her nervousness...or was it fear? She stood almost five feet ten inches tall in her slippers and was thirty-nine years old, although her unlined face and clear skin made her look much younger than that. Her name was Jonelle Wallace...she was my mother.

"Come over here, Mother," I said softly.

When I spoke, she made a tiny sound something like a cross between a gasp and a moan, then she walked slowly and stiff-legged to the bed I sat on and stood in front of me.

I looked up at her and she looked down at me with "scared deer" eyes. "Are you sure you want to be here?" I said softly. I wondered if she could hear my heart pounding.

She stared at me for quite a while, then slowly nodded her head.

"All right," I said. I reached out a hand that I could see was trembling and untied the belt around the waist of her robe. The robe relaxed when the belt was loosed, but since she was still clutching the neck, it remained closed.

"Let go," I said softly.

She took a deep breath and didn't move for what seemed like ages. Finally her fingers straightened slowly, releasing the neck of the bathrobe. After she'd released the robe her arms fell to her sides. The robe was still shut. I took a deep breath, reached out, parted it, and was gazing at my mother's naked body for the first time.

"Oh, God!" I exclaimed.

Mother quickly lifted her hands and tried to close the robe, but I put my hands on hers and stopped her.

"You...you think I...I'm ugly," she murmured. Her face was red and she was avoiding looking at me.

"No, Mother, it's just the opposite. I think you have an incredible body," I told her.

And she did. She probably weighed somewhere around one-forty and her body was a nearly perfect combination of curves and valleys. Her breasts were large, but not huge, and sagged a bit because she had nursed me when I was an infant. What caught my eye were her nipples. She had the largest nipples I'd ever seen. They were beginning to erect under my gaze and had to be at least three-quarters of an inch in diameter. They were beginning to emerge from the large pale pink circles that capped her breasts. Her body curved gracefully from strong shoulders down to a surprisingly small waist, then flared beautifully out into hips that were in exactly the right proportion with the rest of her body. Equally lovely curves led from there to long, strong, and very well formed legs.

"You...seeing you...looking...at...at me...like that...it...makes...it makes me...feel funny," Mother stammered. "We...we shouldn't be...doing...this..."

I reached out my hand and lightly trailed my fingers over her belly, which was softly rounded and still showed faint stretch marks. She shuddered and gasped. "Yes, Mother, we should be doing this," I told her. "We both want to." Much as I wanted to grab my mother's breasts and suck those huge nipples into my mouth, I didn't. I stood up and walked around behind her instead. Then I took hold of her bathrobe and pulled it back. Initially she stood there stiff, resisting me, but she finally relented and allowed me to take it off.

I tossed the robe onto a chair near my bed, then I let my eyes roam over the rear of my mother's lovely body. Much of her back was covered by her straight, shiny light brown hair. Her hair was her one vanity. She combed if faithfully, a hundred strokes, every night. When I was old enough, she taught me to cut it because it wasn't possible for her to go to a hairdresser.

Her bare bottom was every bit as wonderful to see as the rest of her had been. I know I probably sound like a broken record, but perfect is the only word I can find to describe it. Wide, but formed perfectly, I thought it was the epitome of womanhood. I stepped closer to her and began running my fingers through her hair. She moaned softly. She liked to have me play with her hair, and had since I was little. I knew it was the safest way to start a process that I believed would lead to so much more...for both of us.

"You like having me do this, don't you?" I murmured as my fingers stole through her silken tresses. I was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and my erection was already threatening to tear a hole in them.

"Yes! You know I do," Mother murmured in reply.

I played with her hair for a few more minutes, then I moved my caresses to her neck and shoulders. That brought a gasp from her and sent a shudder through her body. I'd dreamed of this night for so long and knew exactly what I needed to do. I kept my touch whisper-soft, barely letting my fingers touch her as they skimmed over her skin. She had known little gentleness in her life and I knew she'd respond powerfully to being treated gently.

"You do like this, Mother, don't you?" I murmured as my fingers continued to glide up and down her neck, out onto her shoulders, and down onto her upper back.

"You...you're makin' me...I feel...all...funny...inside," Mother whimpered.

"Funny good?" I asked.

"Oh, yes! So good! Nobody but you can...can make me...feel...like this."

That was exactly what I'd hoped to hear. I had spent the last six months getting to the point where she was willing to come to me. I'd convinced her that I'd be gentle with her, would make her feel good, and got her to trust that I would never do anything to hurt her.

I expanded the scope of my caresses. My fingers went from her neck, to her shoulders, down her arms to her hands, teased her palms and between her fingers, then slid back up to her neck. After I'd done that a few times, I could hear the increase in her rate of breathing and could see her shoulders moving as her chest heaved. I knew her heart had to be pounding as hard as mine was and that I would feel it if I put my hand on her chest, but I wasn't ready to do that yet. I could see how nervous Mother was, so I forced myself to go slowly and deliberately, knowing that in the end, we'd reach the outcome I wanted and both of us needed.

I spent quite a while caressing my mother's neck, shoulders, arms, and hands, then I dropped to my knees and let my fingers trail down the outside of her shapely legs. As my fingers stole over the silky-smooth flesh, I saw goose bumps forming and could feel her trembling. "Ummmmmm!" I heard her moan. I caressed every inch of her legs and her bottom, to the accompaniment of a wonderful symphony of passionate sounds. "Unnnnnn!" meant I was caressing her bottom. "Ooooooooo!" said I'd moved onto the back of her thighs. "Uhhhhhhh!" accompanied my caressing her calves. "Ahhhhhhhh!" celebrated my fingers stealing up the outside of her legs, and "Ummmmmmm!" meant my fingers were sliding down the front of her thighs. Her rapid breathing kept time for the wonderful sounds coming from her. I hadn't anticipated any of this and was both surprised and delighted. It told me I was having the effect on her I wanted to have, maybe an even stronger one.

"J.J....oh, Lord, J.J.!" Mother groaned after I'd been playing with her legs and bottom for a while. "My legs're shakin' so...bad I...I'm afraid I'm...gonna fall."

"Lay down on the bed," I told her. "On your back."

She hesitated but briefly, then did as I'd said. I got to my feet and looked down at her. It was a sight I'd seen in my dreams many times, now I was seeing it for real. My mother lying in my bed, her nude body flushed, her hair spread out on the sheets. My erection, diamond-hard, lurched in my cutoffs. The front of the shorts was soaking wet because pre-cum was almost gushing from me. Mother didn't notice, she had her eyes pressed tightly closed. Her mouth sagged open slightly and she continued to gasp for breath. Her breasts had sagged back into themselves a little, but her nipples had grown even harder and looked even bigger. I'd guess they jutted out more than an inch from the pale pink flesh surrounding them.

I walked around to the other side of my king-sized bed, got on it, and crawled across so I was kneeling next to my mother. Her eyelids were still down, but she turned her head to the side of the bed I was on. I leaned over and pressed my lips against hers gently. Since her mouth was partly open, I caressed her lips with my tongue. That caused a soft moan and, very tentatively, her tongue touched mine. When that happened, it was almost as if her lips and mine softened and the kiss turned into one unlike any kiss I've experienced before or since. Waves of warmth and bliss spread through me and, for a second, I was afraid I'd come in my shorts. I felt Mother's hand come to rest gently on the back of my head and the kiss continued. At long last, it ended, and I think both of us were equally saddened when that happened.

"Oh, J.J.," mother murmured. "What are you doin' to me?"

"I'm showing you what it's like to be loved," I replied.

"Oh, J.J., darlin'," Mother replied. She closed her eyes and a blissful smile curved her lips. I'd never in my life seen a smile like that on my mother's face and felt a rush of pride at having put one there at long last.

I began kissing my way gently down over Mother's body, from her mouth to her neck, and then to her upper chest. At the same time, I trailed my fingers over the gentle swell of her abdomen. Once again I was treated to the sounds of her symphony of passion. Her body began twisting and turning gently, too, almost as if she was lying on a waterbed. It was as if she could no longer bear to lie still.

After kissing a considerable expanse of lovely, silky flesh, I was finally about to achieve my first objective of the day. My mother's huge, rigid nipple was so close I could reach out my tongue and touch it, which I did.

"Gnahhhhhhh!" Mother cried, her back arching. "Oh, J.J.! My Lord!"

I licked her nipple again and again she reacted violently. And she reacted exactly the same way when I did it a third time.

"My Lord, J.J., you're makin' me feel too good!" Mother cried. I don't think she was aware of it, but her hips had begun a rocking motion. I was toying with the verge of her pubic hair with my fingers, but didn't move them any lower. "That feels way too good. If you keep doin' that, I'm gonna go crazy!"

Despite her protests, I kept doing what I was doing. In fact, I did more. I slid my face over a little more, wrapped my lips around her right nipple, sucked it into my mouth, and began lashing it with my tongue.

"J.J.! Oh, no! Oh, no! I'm gonna go crazy...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Uh...uh...uh...uh....uh... uh...uh....uh... uh...uh....uh... uh...uh....uh!" The sounds coming from Mother's mouth were passionate, as was the motion of her body. She grabbed hold of my head and didn't seem to be able to decide whether she wanted to push me away or pull me closer while what was probably the first orgasm she ever had in her life flooded her. In the middle of it, I moved my mouth from her right nipple to her left, and that seemed to cause her yet another powerful flare-up.

When, finally, her motions began calming and the volume of her passionate cries began to lower, I lifted my head from her breast and, kneeling next to her, pushed down my shorts, then kicked them across the room. I turned back to Mother and gently tugged her legs apart, then moved so I was kneeling between them. I shuffled forward until the head of my erection brushed the forest of light brown hair covering her middle.

Mother, who'd been lying there with her eyes closed, opened them and gazed up at me with almost the same wide-eyed look she had when she first walked into my bedroom. "J.J., you ain't gonna hurt me, are you?" she murmured.

I leaned forward, supporting my upper body on my outstretched arms, and lowered myself so I could kiss her. "There's no way I'd ever purposely do anything to hurt you, Mother," I said after the kiss ended. I pushed myself back up, grabbed my erection, and slid the tip down through her labia. She was, as I expected, sopping wet with the fluids of her excitement. "Did that hurt?" I asked.

"My Lord, no!" Mother replied.

I repeated my action and this time a soft groan came from mother. Then I placed the tip of my rock-hard shaft in her opening and pushed my hips forward a little, until the entire tip was inside her. I looked down at her face and saw an almost angelic look, so I slid myself into her a little further.

"J.J.! Oh, Lord! That feels so good!" Mother groaned.

I'm not sure if it was that I am that big - I have an average size penis, I think - or if it was because she was so tight. I do know that I'd never been in a woman who was as tight, or hot, as my Mother. I kept sliding myself farther and farther into her until, at last, I could go no deeper. I was so close to erupting I was afraid to move any more. I held myself there, over my mother's body, my arms stiff, fighting the urge to explode with every fiber of my being. "Feel...good?" I asked Mother as I looked down into her passion-filled face. I'd never seen her look more wonderful.

"Didn't...know...doin' sex...could...feel...like...this," Mother gasped. "Didn't never...know...I...could...feel...so...good."

"You're going to feel even better soon," I assured her. I pulled out until just the head of my erection was in her, then shoved it back in slowly.

"Oh...Lord!" Mother groaned. "J.J.! If you keep doin' that, you're gonna make me go nuts again!"

"That's the whole idea, Mother," I told her. Fighting the urge to come every second, I began moving my erection in and out of her with steady thrusts. Each one sent me up one notch higher on my own mountain of joy, and each notch took me a step closer to losing control. Then I had no more control. "Oh, God, Mother!" I groaned as my churning insides unleashed and a torrent of my hot fluids began gushing from me.

"My Lord! That's so hot! My Lord! My Lord! My Lord! Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Ummmmmmmmmmm! Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Mother cried. I felt her hands clawing at my back and her hips shoving up against mine as her second - or maybe third - orgasm rocked her.

When, at last, we had spent our lust, we lay in each other's arms, settling down. I looked at my mother and saw tears in her eyes. "What's the matter, Mother?" I asked. "Did I hurt you?"

Mother shook her head. "My Lord, no, you sure didn't hurt me," she said, sniffling a little. "You made me feel better than I ever knew a person could feel. I was just thinkin' how stupid I was not knowin' about this stuff."

"Mother, you aren't stupid," I said. "It's the life you've lived. You've been isolated all these years with no way of ever learning things other women know. I think it's what my father wanted."

"But what are we gonna do?" Mother asked. My mentioning my father - and her husband - seemed to frighten her. "He's gonna know, ain't he?"

"When was the last time he had sex with you?" I asked.

"I dunno," Mother replied. "Been a lotta years. You know how he is."

"I know exactly how he is," I told her. "You don't need to worry. He isn't going to know and from now on, your life is going to be better. I promise." I kissed her gently. "I love you."

Mother kissed me back. "I love you, too, J.J." she said. Then she snuggled into my arms and pressed her face against my chest.

Chapter 2

My name is J.J. Wallace - Jon Robert Wallace, Junior, actually. I was named for my father and I consider myself lucky to be called J.J. and not Jon Bob or Jonny Bob. I'm twenty-five years old and I live in West Virginia in coal mining country, in the same county where I was born and grew up. My father, John Robert Wallace, Sr., is a miner, as were his father and grandfather before him. He expected me to follow him into the mines, but I didn't. Instead I went into law enforcement, a profession that causes him more than a little discomfort. He doesn't like cops, which may be part of the reason why I became one.

Even though I'm named for him, I don't like my father. I don't hate him, either. He isn't very likeable. He was a good provider, but not of any sort of love or affection. We've had several major battles over the years. The first came when I decided I wanted to finish high school. Nobody in our family ever got a high school diploma and my father didn't see the need to change that tradition. I didn't need one to work in the mines, he said. When I got a job as a counselor in a youth program run by the local sheriff's department, he became even more upset. He told me it shamed him to have his son doing "sissy social work" stuff.

Our second and even fiercer battle came when I told him I wanted to go to college. "No fucking way am I paying for fucking college," he told me. "You already got way fucking more fucking education that you need." He didn't pay for my education; I did, with student loans, scholarships, and hard work at many part-time jobs.

I especially didn't like the way he treated my mother. He married her when she was fourteen and she had me the same year. Her family lived in South Carolina, in an area even more rural and impoverished than where we lived, and she was one of seventeen kids. Dad somehow knew about the family, went down, and negotiated with her parents to be allowed to marry her. He gave Mother's family a two-year old pickup truck to seal the bargain. It was something he'd occasionally throw up in her face. I can't tell you how many times I've heard him say, "I wish I still had that goddamn truck I gave your folks, it worked a helluva lot better than you do." Every time he says it, I want to deck him.

He brought Mother back to the little house he'd built way back in the hills, and although he never beat her, he pretty much treated her like a servant. She was expected to wash his clothes, cook his meals, and bear his children. Unfortunately, something happened when she had me that kept her from having any more children. That was something else he threw up in her face quite a bit. I later learned that Mother's not being able to have children did have one benefit. After a few years without any more kids, my father stopped trying to have any more.

Other than to go to the doctor a few times during her pregnancy with me, Mother never left our home once my father got her there. She didn't know how to drive and he never wanted her to know how. I think he also preferred that she not have any close friends. As I said, once he knew she'd bear him no more children, he kept her because she was a hard worker and kept a good house. She washed, cooked, and split and stacked wood against the winter. My father didn't feel obligated to help because, he said, "I work and pay the goddamn bills." He did do the grocery shopping, mainly to keep Mother isolated, I think. He expected mother to make most of her clothes, and what store-bought clothing she got came from mail order catalogs.

As soon as I was old enough, I was expected to help my mother around the house, and did so gladly. I enjoyed being with her. She loved me without question and her love more than made up for the love I didn't get from my father. Although my father didn't have a lot of regard for Mother's intelligence, I learned when I was very young that she was a lot brighter than my father thought she was.

Mother was forced to quit school in the sixth grade and conditions around our house weren't exactly intellectually stimulating. Mother did try to help me with my schoolwork, though. In a sense, we wound up going to school together and learning from each other and together. In fact, she did the same homework I did. I actually had my high school English teacher review a few of the papers Mother wrote and was told they were quite good. Mother loved hearing that.

Since my father didn't agree with my finishing high school, he didn't come to my graduation, which meant my mother wasn't able to be there, either. I could tell that the day I left to go to college was one of the worst days of my mother's life. It didn't help that, since I had to earn my way through school, I was only able to get home a few times during the four years I was in school. Mother and I did write, but I was never sure how many of my letters my father allowed to get through. It bugged him that mother had learned to read and write, something he never learned to do. And because of my father, my mother didn't get to attend my college graduation, either. I did have friends take lots of pictures, which I shared with Mother when I returned to my home.

During my high school years I developed a close friendship with the local sheriff, Lincoln Ames. He helped me get the job with his department's youth program-the one that bugged my father so much. I also spent a lot of time hanging out with him and his deputies and that prompted me to major in law enforcement in college. Sheriff Ames told me I could have a job with his department when I finished college and I took him up on the offer. I'd seen far more of the world than most of the kids I grew up with, and part of me didn't want to go back to my home county, but Mother was there and I didn't want to abandon her. At that point in time, my reasons for going home weren't in the least sexual. Well, not that I was aware of, anyhow.

"You think I want some fucking cop living here?" was what my father said when I told him I had a job with the sheriff's department and wanted to live at home.

"I thought maybe you could use a couple hundred dollars a month rent," I told him. Dad wasn't much for liking people, but he did like money. His face changed immediately. It was the look of greed I'd come to know only too well over the years.

"Gonna have to feed you, too," he grumbled. "Make it three hundred a month and I'll feed you breakfast and dinner. You can get your own damn lunch." I loved his comment. "I'll feed you..." Yeah, sure. He'd starve to death if he had to cook.

"OK," I said. I didn't mind. Even in our economically depressed part of the state, it would have cost me a lot more to live somewhere else.

I was renting my old room. I redecorated it, put in a king-sized bed, and had a separate phone line put in. I bought a computer and set up Internet access with a satellite dish hookup, along with a satellite dish set up for two televisions. The second TV was in the living room, and that made my father very happy.

On the other hand, my father thought the computer was totally stupid. "What the hell do you want to waste your money on one 'a them things for?" he grumbled when he saw me setting the machine up.

"It will help me keep in touch with what's going on in the world," I told him. "And I need it for work, too."

"Fucking computers," he grumbled as he stomped down the hall.

Mother tried hard not to show it when my father was around, but she was clearly thrilled to have me home. She was also fascinated by both the TV and the computer; especially the computer. I taught her how to use it and she did use it a little when my father wasn't home.

I chose working second shift so I'd have as little contact with my father as possible. He worked seven to three and I worked three to eleven. That meant I was gone from the house when he got home and he was asleep when I got home. It also meant I got to spend days with Mother. On good weeks, I never saw or heard my father. I did occasionally have to put up with him on the weekends when I wasn't working, but he was generally gone then, too. He claimed he was off hunting and fishing. Both mother and I knew that was a lie. West Virginia does have a hunting season and it isn't year-round.

After I went to work with the sheriff's department, I found out that my father's idea of "hunting and fishing" involved drinking a lot of booze and screwing as many whores as he could. I found his conduct and attitude interesting. In his mentality, Mother was the woman he'd selected - purchased, really - to bear his kids. Sex with her was strictly for purposes of having kids. When he accepted the fact Mother wasn't going to give him any more kids, he stopped having sex with her. He even bought them twin beds so he didn't have to sleep in the same bed she did. Whores, on the other hand, were to be used for pleasure and, from what older deputies on the department told me, my father was legendary among the scarlet women of our county. The deputies seemed surprised that his behavior didn't bother me more.

"Anything that keeps him busy and helps to keep him mellow is OK by me," I told them. It also kept him from bothering Mother.

I remember exactly when I first started seeing my mother as a sexual being. Truth be known, I'm pretty sure it was long before she began seeing herself that way. About six months before the night she came to my room, she and I talked about sex for the first time and after that, I never looked at her in quite the same way. The day it happened, she and I were working on the woodpile. I was splitting wood - manually, of course, my father wasn't about to waste money on a gas-powered wood splitter - and mother was stacking the wood. She was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and one of my old sweatshirts. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and, for the first time I looked at her and saw an attractive, intriguing woman, not just my mother.

After we'd worked for a couple of hours we took a break. "How come you have those sex places on your computer?" Mother asked, surprising me. And embarrassing me, too.

"Ah...you know...it's...um..." I stammered. "It's just something...I...um...like to...you know...read about...um...sometimes." It isn't easy talking to your mother about sex.

"I mean, what's the big deal about sex anyhow?" she went on.

Her comment stunned me. "What?" I asked.

"Well...I mean...I suppose there's gotta be somethin' about it," Mother went on, "...cause there's sure a lot of stuff about it on the computer and all...but I don't get it. I don't see what the big deal is."

How do you respond to a comment like that? If you have good sense, you probably don't. I did respond, which obviously means I don't have much in the way of good sense. "Sex can be an incredible experience," I said. "When two people care about each other..." I stopped and realized that Mother, who had only ever had sex with my father, probably had no concept of what I was trying to say. "Mother, this might sound like a dumb question," I said. "But what do you think sex is?"

She frowned, blushed, then replied, "What do you think? It's what your daddy done to make me pregnant with you."

"What was it like?" I asked. I had no illusion that she'd tell me my father was a competent lover, but I wondered just what her sexual experiences with him were like.

Mother shrugged again. "First time he done it to me, it hurt like hell and I bled a lot," she said. "I thought I was gonna die for a while. Scared the shit outta me."

Now I knew my mother was a virgin when she married my father. "What about after that?" I asked. I was surprised Mother didn't seem at all embarrassed to be talking about this. Of course there was nothing in her experience that would have taught her to be embarrassed to talk about it. "What about after that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Didn't hurt as much after the first time," she said. "Never bled when he done it to me after that. Mostly it was just kinda messy, I guess." She looked at me and smiled. "Best thing about lettin' him do it to me was that it got me you."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes at her comment. I walked over to her, put my arms around her, and hugged her. "It didn't ever feel good?" I asked.

Mother looked at me as if I were stupid and shook her head. "Nope. Like I said, after the first couple of times it didn't hurt all that much, but it sure as heck never felt good." She seemed to sense what I was thinking. "Why, is it supposed to feel good? Is there somethin' wrong with me 'cause it didn't?"

I pulled her into my arms and held her tightly against me. I kissed her cheek and said, "Don't worry, there's nothing wrong with you," I told her. "Nothing at all." My words apparently satisfied her because I felt her relax a little in my embrace.

She leaned back in my embrace and smiled at me. "Now havin' you hug me," she said, giggling softly, "that feels real good."

"It feels good to me, too, Mother," I told her. I leaned forward and pressed my lips lightly against hers, kissing her just as I had thousands of times before. Except that it wasn't at all like it had been thousands of times before. I'm not sure why, but that kiss, intended to be innocent, sent powerful feelings through me. I was surprised by it and didn't hold it very long and when I finally did lift my face from Mother's I saw a look in her eyes that told me the kiss was different for her, too.

"We...um...we gotta get this wood done," Mother said, looking away from me. Her face was bright red. "So I can get going on makin' dinner for your daddy."

"Ah...yeah...we...um...I guess so," I stammered in reply. I finished splitting the wood I'd cut into chunks and mother finished stacking the split wood. Then she went into the house and I used my father's chainsaw to cut more of the logs in the pile in the back yard into chunks that I would split the next day. I needed to keep on working. I hoped it would keep me from thinking about what had happened between my mother and me, but it didn't.

I finished cutting up the wood, cleaned, oiled, and fueled the chainsaw, and put it away in the shed where we kept it, then I walked into the house. It was late and I needed to get ready for work. Mother was standing at the kitchen range, stirring a pot, and when I saw her I knew that at least my life had changed forever. I was no longer looking at Mother, I was looking at a woman and it was a woman I found intriguing and alluring. For the first time, I wondered what the body hidden by mother's loose clothes looked like...and felt like.

Mother looked over at me and smiled. "This stew'll be done 'bout the time you're changed," she said. "Want me to put some out for you 'afore you head off to work?"

"Ah...sure...I...I'll...um..." I stammered.

As I stood in the shower, I found my thoughts again drifting to Mother, and what she might look like nude. The result of my lascivious, forbidden thoughts was an erection, which I took care of by masturbating while imaginary pictures of my mother's naked body flashed through my mind.

Dressed in my uniform and feeling more than a little ashamed of the thoughts I'd been having, I walked out into the kitchen. Mother had a steaming dish of stew waiting on the table for me. She smiled at me and said, "Eat up."

I tried not to act as if anything had changed, sat down, and began to eat. Mother was a great cook and the stew tasted wonderful. While I was eating, she came over and set a glass of milk on the table. "Here," she said. "You need somethin' to wash that down." Instead of walking away, she put her hand on the back of my neck and tickled it lightly. I don't remember her ever doing anything like that before, or if she did, I don't remember it feeling like that. It was as if there was a direct connection between the back of my neck and my penis, a connection that only carried wonderful feelings. A delightful current shot along that connection, causing my penis to stiffen slightly and surprisingly nice feelings to spread up through me. For a second, I had a problem breathing.

"Ah...thanks...Mother," I croaked. I kept eating, although I really couldn't taste the food any more. I finished my meal, stood up, took the dishes to the sink, and rinsed them. When I turned around, Mother was standing there, looking at me, smiling.

"You look real handsome in your uniform," she said. She grinned. "But don't tell your daddy I said that. You know how he feels about you workin' for Sheriff Ames." Then, before I could move, she walked over to me, hugged me, then she kissed me on the cheek. "Come home safe," she whispered in my ear before she let me go and backed up a step.

The reaction she'd begun by tickling my neck was intensified by her hug. She and I always hugged a lot when I was small - as long as my father wasn't around, of course - but the hugs had been few and far between since I'd come home as an adult. I walked out of the house, got in my cruiser, started it up, picked up the radio mike, and called dispatch. "4125 to dispatch," I said. Almost before the words were out of my mouth I realized I'd used my radio number from my campus security days.

"4125? Who's 4125?" the dispatcher responded. I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was laughing.

"This is County fifteen," I said, correcting my mistake. "Show me 10-41." That's the radio code for "on duty."

"10-4 County fifteen," the dispatcher said. "Or should I say 4125 - fifteen?" This time she didn't try to hide her laughter.

I can't remember having an odder shift than the one I worked that night. It wasn't that so much weird stuff happened, it was more that I was distracted most of the night. At least a half-dozen speeders got a break because I was sitting in my car lost in reveries about my mother's nude body and not paying attention to the readout on my cruiser's radar unit.

I was lucky it was early in the week, because my shift was relatively quiet. We had one fight at the local bar, but it only involved three patrons, not the dozen or so we can expect Friday and Saturday nights. Most of my time was spent on patrol, which gave me a lot of time to think. And the only thing I could think about was my mother. By the time I headed home at the end of my shift, I'd made up my mind that if I could, I was going to help my mother learn what it was like to be loved by someone who really cared about her. She'd spent far too much of her life deprived of that knowledge.

I knew teaching her about sexuality meant she would have to have sex with someone. I also knew that whoever she had sex with had to be a person she knew and trusted and who loved her. From the way I saw it, there was only one person who met those criteria. Me. I was going to seduce my mother and cuckold my father.

It was eleven fifteen when I turned off the highway onto the road our house was located on and picked up my radio mike. "County fifteen to dispatch," I said. "Show me 10-42." That meant I was going off-duty.

"10-4 County fifteen," the dispatcher, a different one than had been on when my shift started, said. "You're 10-42 at 2317. Good night, 4125." That last was followed by cackling laughter. I shook my head. It looked as if the mistake caused earlier by my state of mind was going to stay with me for a while.

I pulled my cruiser up to beside my pickup truck next to the barn, shut the engine off, then I got out, locked it up, went inside, and went to bed. I had to go by my parents' room to get to mine. I stopped in front of their closed door and closed my eyes. All I could think of was my mother, in one of the flannel nightgowns she always wore, lying in her bed, sound asleep, with her beautiful long hair fanned out around her face. That caused an immediate reaction. I could feel my penis stiffening. I took a deep breath and continued on down the hallway to my room, took off my clothes, and fell into bed. As I laid there in the darkness, I tried, but couldn't keep sensuous images of my mother from forming in my mind. I visualized her walking through my door, completely nude. Apparently I have a dramatic streak I wasn't aware of, because in my fantasy, Mother was backlit and, somehow, a gentle breeze was fanning her hair. I knew it wasn't real, but that didn't keep my body from reacting as if it was. I think I mentioned that I'm twenty-five years old, so you know masturbation isn't something new to me. Just the same, that night, while my mother's face filled my thoughts, I experienced the most intense orgasm I'd ever had by my own hand.

For the first time in a long time, the sound of my father leaving for work woke me the next morning. I tried to go back to sleep, but I realized quickly that wasn't going to happen, so I got up. I slipped on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, went to the bathroom, then headed for the kitchen. Mother was sitting at the table, holding a cup of coffee in both hands. She smiled at me. "You're up kinda early, you OK?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep," I said. I started for the stove to get myself a cup of coffee, but stopped, turned, and walked up behind the chair Mother was sitting in. "How did you sleep?" I asked her. I began combing my fingers through her hair. "You have the softest hair," I said softly. "It's like silk."

"That feels nice, darlin'," Mother said.

I pulled her hair back on one side, bent, and kissed her on the neck. Then I wrapped my arms around her, across her upper chest and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you, Mother," I said.

"I love you, too, darlin'," she replied. She put her hand on my arm. "What's this huggin' all about?"

"I think a pretty lady like you deserves to be hugged a lot," I told her. "And I figure I'm the guy to do it."

Mother squeezed my arm gently. "I ain't complainin'," she said softly. "I like when you hug me. I been missin' it since you went off to college and got all growed up and all. I thought, maybe, you didn't like doin' it no more."

I squeezed her even tighter and kissed her cheek again. "No way," I told her. "You better get used to being hugged, because you're going to get hugged a lot from now on."

"I ain't gonna complain 'bout that," Mother said, giggling softly. I nibbled on her ear a little bit before I let go of her and that made her giggle again. "You can keep doin' that, too," she chuckled.

"OK," I said. I finished my trip to the stove, poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot she kept warm there, then sat down at the table across from her. "What do we have to get done today?" I asked her after I took a sip of coffee.

Mother sipped some of her coffee. "I got to get some laundry done," she replied. "Don't know as there's anything you need to do."

"I can help you with the laundry," I said.

"Laundry's women's work," Mother replied quickly. "Nothing a man should be doin'."

"Who do you think did my laundry when I was in college?" I asked her. "I didn't have a woman to do it for me."

Mother put he cup down and gazed across the table at me with an interesting look. "You have a lotta girlfriends while you was in college?" she asked.

"I dated a few girls," I told her.

"You get serious about any of 'em?"

Mother's question surprised me. She'd never asked me about any of this before.

"Not really," I told her. I'd always wondered why I never really found a girl I "clicked" with. I thought I knew now why that was. The only "girl" I wanted was back here in the hills.

"You ever do sex with any of them?" Mother asked.

That was a question I hadn't expected. I nodded. "A few of them," I said. I was surprised by the look I saw in my mother's eyes. Unless I was totally misreading her, she was hurt and, maybe, a little jealous.

"It didn't mean anything," I added quickly. "It...well...it was just something...you know...to do."

Mother's look changed to one of puzzlement. "Why would you do that?" she asked. "You didn't want to get them pregnant, did you?"

"Heck no," I told her. "No way."

"Then how come you did sex with them?"

"Because it's fun," I said. "Because it feels really good."

"I don't get it," Mother said, shaking her head. "I don't see why anybody would do that for fun."

"Because it isn't the way you think it is, Mother," I said. "Believe me, sex is nothing like what my father did to you."

She studied my face for a while, as if she was trying to be sure I was telling the truth. "What is it like?" she asked.

"It can be the most wonderful experience a person can have," I replied. "Especially if you experience it with someone you really care for and who really cares for you."

"You ever have anything like that?" Mother asked.

I decided that honesty was the best policy. I wanted to pique Mother's interest. "Ah...I've had some good sexual experiences, maybe even a few great sexual experiences," I said. "But I'm not sure I ever had a really incredible sexual experience."

"How come?" Mother asked.

I shrugged. "I guess it's because I've never made love with anyone I care deeply about and who cares deeply about me."

"You wrote there were a lot of girls at college who liked you," Mother said. "And there were a lot of really pretty girls in the pictures you brought home. How come you couldn't find one you could really care about?"

I took a deep breath, looked right at her, and said, "Maybe I wasn't looking in the right place."

Mother's face got bright red and she looked down at the cup she was holding in her hands. "Ah...I...I need a little more coffee, then I need to get my work done," she said.

I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the first step in the journey that led to my eventually getting to make love with my mother.

Chapter 3

I woke up early the day after Mother and I first made love and laid in my bed listening to the sound of my father getting ready for work, then I heard the door slam when he left the house. After that came the sound of his truck starting and heading down the road.

I waited in my bed, my heart pounding, hoping my mother would visit me again. The day before she laid in my arms for a while after we finished making love, then she got up, got dressed, and left the room. I have to admit, she seemed a little uptight and distracted the rest of the day, but we didn't have a lot of contact since I was outside working on the woodpile and she spent the day inside, doing laundry, dishes, and cleaning the house.

As I laid there, I could hear Mother moving around the house, doing things, and that told me she wasn't going to be coming for a visit, so I got out of bed and slipped on a T-shirt and sweat pants, then I went out to the kitchen. Mother was standing at the sink, washing the dishes she'd dirtied cooking my father's breakfast. She was wearing one of the many faded loose housedresses that made up the bulk of her wardrobe. This one was once brown and had faded to a dark tan hue.

"Good morning, Mother," I said when I walked into the kitchen.

"Mornin'," Mother replied without turning around.

I walked over to where Mother was, slipped my arms around her waist, bent, and kissed her on the cheek. I was surprised to feel her body stiffen. "What's the matter, Mother?" I asked.

Mother turned, then backed out my arms until she was standing about three feet away from me. Her face was flushed and I could see confusion and hurt in her eyes. "Why'd you do this to me?" she asked.

"Do what?" I asked.

"You know what I'm talkin' about...what we done yesterday...it's wrong," Mother said. "It's against God's law and man's law."

"Why don't we sit down and talk about this?" I said. I poured myself a cup of coffee - carefully because my hands were shaking - then I walked over to the table and sat down. Mother followed and sat down across the table from me.

I took a sip of my coffee. "Mother, why is it wrong for two people who love each other to show their love?" I asked.

"What we done is more than that," Mother replied quickly. "It ain't right for a mother and son to be doin' what we done. Why'd you do it?"

I sipped some more of my coffee, took a deep breath, and continued, "Because after you told me what my father did to you, I wanted to show you what making love is really like." My eyes were locked on hers. It was almost as if I could see into her mind. I knew she was confused.

"That...it don't matter...we...we shouldn't of..." she stammered.

"I couldn't think of any other way to do it," I continued. "What was I going to do, talk you into making love with somebody else? That wouldn't be right, either."

"If we didn't do nothing, then..." she said, and stopped.

"Are you sorry you've learned what you've learned?" I asked. "Are you sorry you felt the things you felt?"

Mother looked at me for a long time, then she sighed and shook her head. "No, I ain't sorry," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

"Would it have been better if it had been someone other than me who had taught you about making love?" I continued.

She looked down at her hands and shook her head again. "No...I...I'd 'a never done nothin' like that with nobody else." She shuddered visibly. "I couldn't 'a done it with nobody else."

"Do you want to stop?" I asked.

Her eyes came up, her face got redder, and she took a deep breath. Her head moved slowly from side to side and, speaking so softly I could barely hear her, she said, "No...God forgive me, no I...I don't want to stop. I...I never knew I could feel that good." Her eyes fell toward the table again. "I...I can't stop thinkin' about how good what we did felt." I could see a tremor run through her. "And I hate that because thinkin' about it makes me want to do it again." She looked at me again. "We shouldn't be doin' it. If your father ever finds out..."

"There is no way he'll ever find out," I told her. "I'm not about to tell him and I know you won't." Mother shook her head. I got up, walked around to the side of the table where my mother was sitting, and stood next to her. "Stand up, Mother," I said softly.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. The same look was in them that I saw when she came to my room the day before. Slowly, she rose from the chair and stood in front of me, gazing into my eyes. She was breathing a little harder than usual, her face remained flushed, and her mouth was slightly open.

I took both of her hands in mine and could feel her trembling. "Do you want to stop what we're doing?" I asked softly.

She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and her head moved slowly from side to side.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. Her mouth opened slightly and she pressed back against me. Kissing her was totally unlike any kissing I'd ever experienced in my life. Her lips were unbelievably soft and warm, and seemed to bond with mine - it's the only way I can describe it. When we kissed, it felt so wonderful I never wanted to stop. All of the softness and connection also served to have an incredibly erotic effect on me and, I'm pretty sure, on her, too.