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As a thank you to user ‘bwmom’ for her feedback, and friendly, insightful banter throughout the making of my recent series ‘A Lifetime Kink’, I bashed out this piece over the space of a couple days with all that she shared with me in mind.
It’s been a while since I could produce such a volume of playful drama on a whim, and whereas I’ve definitely had the practice lately, I really do have you to thank for giving me the characters and some of the situations. They fermented nicely upstairs and this is the result.
Ready to get pent up again?
Sara’s sex life with her husband had been pretty good, for their age, but especially for his. At fifty, she was six years Jim’s junior. And despite his troubles beginning in his mid-thirties – they called it andropause, where male testosterone dips and levels off into maturity – Jim still managed to perform a couple times a week or more.
How could he not? It wasn’t just the sex with Sara that kept him satisfied and faithful, at least not until middle-age soured him almost without warning. He was going the way of his father. Most men did, no matter how hard they might try not to.
But Sara was the rarest of mothers, managing a full-time job, three kids, and coming with a good set of genes that kept her defiantly young at heart and pretty. Yes she’d had her angry moments, and she could put the fear of God up her eldest son and daughter, John and Sandra. Theirs was not a perfect family, but regardless she had held up more than her own end.
Otherwise Sara could have been described as a highly-sexed blonde Mary Poppins and with the patience of an eagle. John, Sandra, and Eric, all leaving the nest – and seemingly so soon – felt almost like early retirement.
Thinking about being able to get back to that sex life of theirs was just about the only thing that got her through. In the sack she could be an angel or a demon – though Jim’s choice really. That hadn’t changed. Sara would never change, no matter her age.
As far as she was concerned, the spunk in his balls was the fountain of youth everybody stupidly sought these days with nip/tucks, expensive creams, and ghastly beauty procedures such as acid peels.
But as Jim approached sixty and that fountain dried up ever more, they were hit with another bomb. The menopause!
Jim seemed a little too premature in rolling over to sleep when that bomb hit, and for years Sara sank despairingly into her fifties, not knowing how to live without her sex drive.
The urge would come back on occasion, but so infrequently that if Jim couldn’t or wouldn’t perform, that would be it until next try – a pat on the back, “never mind, there-there,” and off you pop.
When her sex drive did return, and with an unexpected vengeance three years later, he was all but completely useless!
Sunday noon, the roast lamb came steaming out of the oven to settle in its juices, smelling heavenly-delicious, and so it should have at £15 a leg!
In went the blanched potatoes to roast. John and Sandra were already talking dad’s ears off in the living room. Eric was yet to turn up and with only forty minutes to his advantage.
Royal wedding this, and royal wedding that – she couldn’t have cared less about the wedding or any other pretentious publicity stunt, for that matter.
Hanging up her oven gloves when the rest of the food was finally roasting away, not forgetting her inimitable Yorkshire puds, Sara left the kitchen where she spotted the distorted shadowy silhouette approaching the front door.
Unmistakeably, it was Eric. And when she glided past the half-closed living room door to let him in, her youngest – but tallest, strongest, most gentlemanly and handsome she believed – stooped into her open arms and picked her up with the same ease that he might pick up a bag of groceries.
‘Oooff, always such a strong lad,’ Sara marvelled, beaming up at him with the unconditional smile he always reserved for him.
Eric, six feet tall, fair-skinned – and sandy blonde like her – might have been the third wheel to his siblings and the fifth to his father, but he could never do wrong by her. He cared too much about her. Neither was he spoiled like the other two.
Eric kissed her smiling lips quietly, as if to keep this moment just between the two of them, and for a while they hugged, swaying slowly in the silence of the hallway.
‘Good timing,’ she said, ‘dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you go say hello to the family?!’
Of course even with two spare seats left, Eric would do his usual. He would stand in the doorway and nod, leave a smart comment, and then return to his mother’s side so that she wouldn’t be alone.
‘Son,’ Jim spoke from behind the hand perched at his chin, not even looking in his direction.
Sandra offered a smile that meant nothing in particular, while John nodded and asked what was new with Eric.
‘Nothing in particular,’ Eric replied, shaking the Levi jacket from his shoulders bagros porno to hang up back in the hallway’s coat rack. Eyeing the TV for a moment, he turned his nose up from the corner of his mouth.
‘Royal wedding?’ he asked.
‘Yup,’ his dad muttered.
‘That Meghan Markle is about as regal as the Sunday morning rejects of grab-a-granny night at the Rat & Parrot,’ he remarked before walking away tall and proud, and leaving his dad gobsmacked.
In the kitchen, having heard him, Sara’s shoulders shuddered with secret laughter. ‘You bring it on yourself, you know that?’ she observed in reference of why his own family barely ever registered him.
‘Just as well I’m only here for you,’ he teased, grabbing his mother by the hips and pulling her close.
Oh but Eric shouldn’t have done these things. She wondered if he still would, if only he knew of the things that filled her mind when she was left to take care of herself at night.
Dinner and pudding passed, and gradually so did the inevitable food comas induced by them every second Sunday. As usual little talking was done in Eric’s direction, and it wasn’t for sheer rudeness. What was ever different about Eric’s life?
Eric whose removal van job was nothing to talk about. Eric who couldn’t talk at the dinner table of the kind of women he got with. Eric who would not settle down at twenty six and get himself on the property ladder.
Eric had a smart answer for every shortcoming he felt he would be judged for, but when the questions came from his mother, who never judged him, he was nice as pie.
Back in front of the television again, Eric and his mother were forced to endure every last drop milked from that bloody royal wedding and it was unbearable. ‘Dad, change the channel,’ Eric piped up before he would be forced into a real coma.
‘Err, I pay this TV license,’ was the haughty response.
‘Well you’re being ripped off,’ Eric shot back. ‘There’s only one reason it’s on the telly to begin with. The taxpayer already paid for the wedding. Now you’re paying for two weeks’ worth of repeats?’
An awkward silence of about thirty minutes later and John and Sandra, joined at the hip as always, made their excuses to leave. Hugs and kisses for mum and dad, Eric was a ghost until they were presumed safely out of the room.
And then he bid them farewell with; ‘When are you two getting married?’
‘I’m going for a nap,’ his dad told Sara and then departed the moment John and Sandra were gone.
‘Mum, is something the matter with dad lately?’ Eric asked. Evening was approaching. They were drinking tea, the volume muted on the television. ‘He isn’t half getting grumpy.’
‘Don’t worry about that old sod,’ she dismissed, smiling thinly.
‘I’m not worried about him,’ Eric corrected. ‘I’m worried about you. How do you deal with it?’
A slightly exasperated breath escaped her mouth. Nobody had asked until now, and lo and behold, as always it was Eric who did notice these things. For a moment she found it hard to look at him.
‘I don’t know if you’d want to know…’
Eric shrugged, the contours of his strong shoulders suddenly emphasised through the cotton of his thin t-shirt. ‘When has anything bothered me?’
That was undeniably true. Sara therefore steeled herself and looked him directly in the eye. ‘We’re “past it”, love; that’s all…’
‘Shut up!’ Eric said rather abruptly, so his mother thought. She took a double-take. When she looked again, he was grinning sheepishly. ‘He might be past it, but there’s no way you are.’
Sara smiled, even blushed a little. As she thought earlier, if only he knew the things that went through her mind.
‘Well still, if only I was twenty years younger!’ And that did not sound the way she imagined it should.
‘You’re fine as you are, mum,’ Eric offered unashamedly. ‘You could still easily swipe someone twenty years younger, even if you aren’t,’ he then elaborated. And until he left they continued to chit-chat about work and life and girlfriends – the latter of which there were still sadly none.
That night Jim sat watching his soaps. Sara swore he should have been the woman in the relationship. After dusting off a pile of laundry she relaxed with a cup of tea, her nose in the lapton Eric had bought her for Christmas five years ago and even taught her to use.
Some people might have found it questionable as well, that Eric had shown her how to do things like private internet browsing, and deleting her history. It came in very useful, as she imagined it was for many other people looking at things that would have them publicly mobbed.
Sara had grown quite the appetite for online erotica. She even had herself a profile on one of the sites, where she advertised her sordid fantasies. And as those fantasies made her bolder and more willingly outrageous in her search for others like her, she even shared her thoughts with several writers – writers of mother-son erotica!
‘Might bangbus porno as well glue your nose to that screen,’ she heard Jim mumble as he waddled off to the kitchen to fill his face with cold lamb cuts. And then came the sound of rustling as he lethargically wrestled with the crisp bag in the snack cupboard.
Doing nothing at all, Jim was beginning to grate on her. Regardless she tried to piece her powers of concentration back together, and secretly indulged in her latest story.
The internet was a wonderful thing for many other reasons other than free stories to get Sara’s temperature up. As she lay soaking in the bath that night, preparing for a good deep sleep, she closed her eyes and tortured her tight pussy with her favourite dildo.
It was a thick seven inch “real-feel” pink jelly dong, just the shape and size she loved for how it stretched and filled her. Bucking her hips up out of the water, the sensations of her silken inner walls moulding around that cock – her labouring wrist plunging the toy halfway in and out – drove her quietly to such beautiful madness.
In the darkness behind her tightly-pinched eyelids, she saw only one man and it was not her husband. As the hot water swished about her, making her feel like she was levitating upward to meet the thrusts of her son Eric, Sara gasped quietly, driven closer to orgasm as the visions flashed before her eyes all the more vividly.
In her hand she gripped him and guided his thick cock deeper inside her, to the sounds of wet sucking and slurping – because she was so wet for him that she could barely grip him from within.
The orgasm that erupted as a result, and the one after that before she could go no more, were frankly seismic. And she wondered, as she came down gradually, sweating and breathing hard, if he had ever fantasised the same about her.
Surely he had. All boys did at some point!
Monday after work, Sara texted her son Eric to ask of his plans for the evening – whether he would be alone and appreciate some company. Upon his swift answer, she sped off to the local supermarket and returned with a frozen pizza for Jim.
He regarded the box almost in disgust, and then looked at her quite cluelessly. ‘What’s this?’
‘I’m popping over to see Eric for a little bit. You’ll be okay won’t you?’
‘What am I supposed to do with a frozen pizza?’ he almost cried. In all their decades together, Jim had forked out for microwaves and ovens and all sorts of kitchen gadgets. God forbid he ever took any interest in how they worked or what they did.
‘Two hundred degrees preheated and bake in the middle of the oven for approximately twenty minutes or until golden brown,’ Sara exclaimed on the assumption of a family kitchen veteran. ‘Don’t bother trying to put your head in if you want to do yourself in. It’s not a gas over!’
In another bag she picked up on the way out, there were two steaks, nicely cut and marbled. Fifteen minutes later, at Eric’s flat, they were sizzling away in the pan.
‘I just don’t know how to take him sometimes,’ she lamented as Eric stood beside her sautéing chestnut mushrooms. ‘It’s like now the sex has gone, all I see is the worst in him, and it’s coming out like water through the holes in a dam.’
‘I can understand that,’ Eric said thoughtfully, still surprised at how his mother spoke so openly all of a sudden of sex. Though she was far from frigid all their lives, she had confided only appropriately, managing her own problems alone when need be.
‘But even if the sex was good, the girls I’ve known were all distractingly thick as shit,’ he added, earning him a sharp elbow in the ribs. Beside him Sara, blushing red, grinned uncontrollably.
‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’ she scolded.
‘Well the truth shouldn’t be horrible, but when it is you know choices have to be made,’ Eric offered wisely.
Sara flipped the steaks one at a time, and once only as the experts argued made for the better outcome. ‘What do you think I should do then?’
‘I’m not going to tell you to go find someone else,’ her son exclaimed virtuously.
‘Shocking, mother,’ Eric scolded but without any real conviction. ‘You never taught me that in all my life!’
‘No,’ she agreed, ‘I didn’t. And I didn’t teach you to go through women like disposable napkins.’
At that Eric laughed, his cheeks burning. Though she looked at him, eyes humorously burning into him, he focused needlessly on flipping one sliced mushroom at a time with the fork in his free hand.
‘I meant to say that I’d tell you to find somebody better, not whoever will have you,’ she rectified, and then; ‘Why can’t you settle down?’
‘I’m twenty six and all the girls my age are as good as melted orange Barbie dolls with SIM chips jammed into their heads…’
Sara had not seen that coming. ‘And still you go there.’
Eric shrugged, looking suddenly unsure, maybe even hurt a little.
‘These beurette tour porno should be medium rare by now,’ Sara said, turning off the hob. ‘Pour us a wine and we’ll toast to your dad’s frozen pizza.’ That earned her a smile again, for which she was very grateful; almost relieved.
Two days later Jim opened the front door to see his youngest son once again. It was 8pm and raining, Eric’s hair was flattened, his clothes wet through, and all he had to say-
‘Hello sweetness,’ Eric replied sarcastically.
‘What do you want?’
Did Eric really have to ask? ‘Is mum home?’
‘Oh, it’s raining,’ Jim observed, narrowing his eyes to the darkening sky’s early twilight.
Eric simply nodded, his face flat and devoid of any expression. ‘Well spotted.’
Jim turned away from him then, shouting Sara’s name. ‘Who is it?’ she replied. When she heard Eric’s name mentioned, she called back incredulously; ‘Well for god’s sake let him in then!’
Eric let himself in, his dad now having returned to the living room. Climbing the stairs, he bee-lined for the bathroom in search of a warm dry towel.
‘Bloody hell, you’re soaked,’ Sara cried. She was in the bathroom, fresh from the shower, and sporting nothing but a full-length white cotton bath-towel. Her hair wet and stringy, Eric couldn’t help but take in an eyeful, spotting her two proud D-cup breasts bunging beneath her towel.
‘Get those clothes off. You have spares in your room still,’ Sara commanded, and before Eric could move a muscle, she was practically yanking the t-shirt up over his head.
Built almost like a wrestler, Eric sported the fine genes of a Dane, which he took from his mother’s side. And now in the complimentary warm lighting of the bathroom she stood face-level with his barrel chest, admiring his strong loins and abdominal muscles.
‘Mum, don’t worry, I can do this myself,’ he protested, laughing all the while. Kicking off his shoes, he was besieged however as Sara quickly unbuckled his belt and proceeded to yank down his jeans all the way to the ankles.
And then standing up too soon without realising her towel had come loose, it dropped to the floor and left her momentarily stark naked before her son.
A comical ‘whoops,’ escaped her mouth, as Eric whose ankles were trapped in his pants couldn’t or wouldn’t want to turn away. In fact her accidental nudity had quite the unexpected effect on him.
With only two hands spare, Sara stood trapped in the bathroom, juggling manically between covering both her breasts – still shapely and with a little gravitational compliment – her trimmed dark blonde pussy and one breast, and finally squatting down to retrieve her towel.
When she did, the semi-erect bulge, the very well endowed bulge, in his blue sports briefs was undeniable. Sara looked uncertainly up into Eric’s eyes. Yes he was looking at her, lips pursed awkwardly tight. And then she looked back down at his growing bulge.
An unexpected laugh exited her lips before she could cut it off. ‘Erm… you remember where your room is,’ she told him, covering herself up. Under the facade of her embarrassed blushing, she was actually thrilled to have such an effect on him.
A woman approaching her mid-fifties and she still had the power to attract a man such as Eric in his twenties. Goodness, was that quite the eye-opener?!
‘I only came for a towel,’ Eric half-lamented, blushing as he picked up his jeans and fastened them around his hips. Well, Sara thought, there’s no point in being a prude now…
Off came her towel again, exposing her bird-like body to him once again – and causing his eyes to nearly pop out of his head – and she threw it so that it landed on his head, draping down over his face.
‘Thanks for that,’ Eric quipped, and turned blindly to leave.
‘So what gives me the pleasure?’ Sara asked, pouring hot cocoa from the saucepan into their mugs.
Freshly dressed dry and warm, Eric shrugged and offered; ‘I just thought you appreciated the attention.’
Sara smiled warmly, scrunching her nose at him in her adoration. Dad was snoring in the living room now, the TV blaring out white noise in the key of the Mancunian accent. Before anything else was said, Sara impatiently went to close the living room door and returned happy that it was enough to kill the distraction.
‘I love your attention, son, and I love giving it to you,’ she adorned, sitting at the kitchen’s breakfast bar beside him to drink her cocoa. ‘I just hope I haven’t scarred you for life…’
Eric grinned, his eyes resting on her blushing and slightly weathered features a moment. He merely shook his head and concentrated a while longer on how the greys in her natural blonde locks seemed to compliment her.
At her prettiest and most youthful she was golden. Now she had gone platinum, but to him she would always be priceless.
‘You’re staring, love,’ she told him.
‘Is that a bad thing?’ he asked. She exclaimed softly in her flattered surprise, the smooth talker that he was.
‘My god, you saw everything,’ she cringed.
‘And you were beautiful, mum,’ Eric assured.
‘Drink your cocoa,’ she insisted, a sub-textual warning, but then shyly; ‘You really think so?’
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