My Dad was a copper. The best damn copper in Atlanta. He'd always treated me as an equal, telling me, every time he left for work, that I was the man of the house while he was gone, and that I should keep my little brothers in line for Mom. I usually followed his instructions scrupulously. He and I had a few talks when he felt that I'd abused the authority he'd conferred on me and I did my best to do better for him.

When I was eight, he made a routine traffic stop that went bad. The teenage drug dealer shot him twice. The first round hit his protective vest and knocked him off his feet. The round that killed him, hit below the vest as he lay on his back, ripping through his unprotected groin and lower belly. It hit just below the bottom front of his vest and turned his insides into jell-o. The good thing was that he bled out and passed out, dying very quickly. The bad thing was that he was gone.

His police insurance helped out, but it was only fifty-thousand, hardly enough to support us - Crissy, my mother, me and my three brothers - for very long. Consequently, after a brief period of mourning, Mom went to work. The police association helped. That Dad had died in the line of duty automatically kicked in his retirement pay, but eight-hundred a month added to the SSI checks each of us boys got, doesn't go far with five mouths to feed. So to help out, I took a paper route and quickly found that I hated it. Not the paper delivery, that was easy enough, it was the collecting that I didn't care for. It was time-consuming and mostly a waste of time. Many people, in spite of the envelope I left them to put the money in, usually didn't have my money ready. They'd claim that their Social Security wasn't in yet or I'd just missed their payday or any number of excuses - and I heard them all - add to that the nasty ones who refused to pay. Delivery boys paid for their papers and collected, supposedly, a profit from their customers and my profit margin was slim at best. Calculated out, I ended up working for anywhere from fifteen cents to sixty cents an hour - way below minimum wage. However, I learned a few tricks from other delivery boys and finally managed to coerce most of my recalcitrant customers into mailing their payments directly to me or to my account at the newspaper office. This gave me the freedom to expand my delivery route and I took on another fifty customers. By the end of the year, I was delivering almost three hundred newspapers and making more like five dollars an hour. Still not a great, big profit for working seven days a week, but I was making money.

Mom, however, was adamant about school and made me stick to the books, helping me with my homework when she could. She got a part-time job as a bookkeeper and managed to keep the house and my brothers well in line. After Dad died, my brothers tended to act out a lot. I guess they're pain and feelings of loss were as unbearable to them as to me. I, however, had taken the responsibility of managing them so, I guess, that distracted my pain. It took all of Mom and my efforts to keep them out of trouble. As "man of the house," I asserted as much authority as they'd let me muster. It was an uphill battle all the way. Still, I felt it my responsibility to try to keep them in line as well as to bring in as much money as I could. To that end, I delivered newspapers in the morning, went to school and picked up a part-time afternoon job. Within the year I was bringing in a good 40 to 50 dollars a week which, in 1965, was a decent pay considering that the average salary back then was around 35 to 40 a week. It eased some of the pressure on Mom and she took more time with my younger brothers. Still, ten years later, my middle brother, Sam, was in jail for drug peddling - he'd become a drug user and dealer - burglary, breaking and entering, attempted murder, and various and sundry other charges. He's still there, not due to come out until 2021, if he survives that long.

My grades suffered while I worked, but I did manage to keep a decent average and kept getting promoted up the grades right along. By the time I began Middle School, I'd farmed out my route and had gotten into the routine of work and school. Mom took to calling me her "little man" and "the young Master of the House." I kind of enjoyed that because she treated me as if it actually was my house and I actually was the master of it. It was okay with me. However, in middle school, a lot of my repressed desires came out and I began taking closer looks at girls. I wasn't that big a boy, but the bullies usually didn't bother me much. It must have been my lack of fear and confident attitude. I rarely paid much attention to their ravings.

On one particular Friday night in the middle of summer in 1968 - I was twelve or just turning twelve - and a couple of my friends and I had been leafing through the soft-core, girlie magazines on the way home. My pecker was standing straight out when we left the convenience store, just itching to get at my cock as soon as I got home. Walking in the back door, the kitchen door, I saw Mom bending to the storage drawer under the stove. She had a habit of bending straight-legged and the back of her dress would draw up. As I saw her slightly heavy thighs and disappearing up under her dress, the world came down on my head. Then she bent over a little deeper, reaching behind the drawer for a pot-lid that had fallen to the back and I saw the crotch of her panties. They were a pastel blue and I saw the outline of her pussy lips clearly. The crotch of her panties was damp and the sides curled up a little. It didn't strike me as odd at the time since I had no experience with women at the time. As I stared at her from behind, it suddenly hit me that Mom was a woman! The pictures in the girlie magazines flashed through my mind, pictures of half-naked women I suddenly realized looked a lot like . . . like Mom! I guess that's when it all started getting heavy. See, there were times when I'd accidentally seen Mom partly clothed and sometimes almost completely naked, but that Friday night was the turning point.

I'd gone to bed early, I had a newspaper route to take care of and three delivery boys to check on and I awakened with a bad need to piss, so I got up and headed for the bathroom. I only wore shorts to bed and that was what I had on when I ran in. We only had the one bathroom in the old apartment we lived in and Mom had just taken a shower and was drying off quietly in the bathroom when I pushed the door open. I did it quietly so it wouldn't slam open and awaken anybody. Mom stood in the middle of the floor, facing the door with a towel around her head as she dried her hair, partly shielding her eyes and stood spread-legged, her head thrown back as she wrapped her long, brown hair in the towel. The view was breath-taking. She looked even better than any of the women in the girlie magazines my buddies and would leaf through.

Mom wasn't that old. She'd had me not long after she and Dad married. He'd been eighteen and she'd been sixteen. My two brothers had popped out almost as soon as she'd been able to get pregnant and have them. With her active lifestyle, she'd managed to get her youthful figure back and, although her breasts hung a little lower, they looked far better than any picture I'd seen. The fact that they were jiggling as she toweled off her hair made a huge difference. I stared for a few seconds completely entranced, then backed out, pulling the door to as softly as I'd pushed it open and quietly made my way back to my room. My head was spinning. Mom was an absolutely beautiful girl! With the lights out, I pulled my stiff pecker out and caressed it gently, which reminded me that I needed to piss. I pushed open the window and, since the landlord didn't believe in bug screens, leaned out to take care of business. I often pissed out the window, since my bedroom was at the back and we had a high fence around us, but Mom had caught me once and forbade me from doing it. I had to go, though, and I didn't want Mom to know I'd seen her naked - God, from her pussy all the way to her tits! And she was breathtakingly real!

"God, she's beautiful," I thought.

My piss grip turned into a caressing grip and, leaning against the windowsill, I began jacking off. Mind you, I was a short boy and still had a ways to grow, but parts of me, like all growing boys, were way ahead of other parts. My pleasure was that my prick was one of the parts that was ahead. I'd noticed when we showered after PE - which my PhysEd teacher called PT, being an Army veteran - that most of the other boys' cocks were pretty small and looked like my youngest brother, Lonnie's prick - tiny - and I was making sperm, by then. Anyway, before I came, I grabbed my handkerchief out of my jeans pocket and lay back in bed jacking off slowly to the image of Mom completely naked. The picture of her large, heavy breasts and her pouting pussy lips with that bunching of her inner labia - was it foreskin, too? - was burned in my mind. She didn't seem to have much hair down there, it was sparse, soft fuzz which hadn't hidden any of her pussy at all. God, she was beautiful, I thought again. I wanted to fuck her, but didn't dare form it into so many words in my mind, not yet, anyway.

Over the next week, I managed to put myself in positions to catch a lot of good looks of Mom half-naked or in somewhat compromising positions where I could look straight up her dress. Then, a few days later, she seemed to wear thin clothing, no under-slips, sheer panties and would often stand in front of any lights so I could see the outline her body under her clothes. At first I didn't question it, but I later wondered if I was just lucky or if it was something else. What I didn't realized was that she was doing it deliberately, tantalizing me with the goodies that were available and I made no pretense of looking away - and it was driving me nuts! I was wearing out my poor little prick with my rough hands. There were times when I was delivering newspapers in my brand-new used moped - since I wasn't old enough to get a driver's license - that I'd stop in some bushes, act as if I was pissing and jack off, leaving my cock stained with black, newspaper ink rubbing off the fresh newspapers and onto my hands. Then my fantasies began coming true.

It was a Sunday morning and I was flat worn out from the heavy Sunday papers. I'd hired some other kids just to help put the papers together as well as my three delivery boys, but it was still very wearing. My other part-time job was only Monday through Saturday, so I had the rest of the day off. It wasn't a collection day, so I didn't have to hit up the few asshole customers that refused to mail in their payments and I was looking forward to a nice relaxing jack off, a good nap, another jack off and get up and eat a late lunch - or early supper, whichever way you want to look at it. At the time, I was in the shower, almost finished except for jacking off, when I saw a shadow on the curtain. Before I could push it back to look, the back of it was pushed open and I turned to see Mom looking in, a washcloth in her hand. I was too surprised to cover up. Suddenly I realized - she was completely naked! I completely forgot my own nudity as I stared at Mom's luscious curves and beautifully pendulous breasts swinging and swaying in front of my face.

"I, um, I thought that, um, that maybe, you know, that maybe you'd like your back scrubbed?" she hesitantly whispered, "the, um, the boys're all still asleep, so, so we gotta be, um, you know, quiet, okay?"

I couldn't think of anything to say. My mind had gone and left a complete, blithering, stiff-dicked idiot behind. Like I said, my mind had deserted me, but my body responded on it's own. My prick, which had initially drooped in surprise, raised it's thick head again, standing up stiff and ready for anything. Once more I admired Mom's lusciously ripe, full body. She wasn't fat by any means, but she was a woman - full-grown and mature.

"You've grown a lot, Baby," she murmured softly.

Her eyes widened as she stared down at my stiffly erect cock. I didn't know whether she meant my prick or me personally and, at the time, it didn't strike me as anything but an innocent statement.

"Turn around," she directed softly, her eyes tearing away from my prick.

Like a zombie I turned, still tongue-tied and unable to say a thing - hell, I was still to shocked to have her in the shower with me to even be embarrassed. Mom came the rest of the way in, pulling the shower bench in with her. As she placed the bench down and sat on it, her soft hand gently gripped my shoulder, steadying herself and sending hot shivers of lusty delight through me. Her hand was so soft and gentle. As she settled back on the bench, she ran her hand down my arm then up my side and back a couple of times, sending shivering goose bumps chasing each other up and down my whole body. I wanted to argue with Mom that I was old enough to bathe myself, but the beautiful, naked woman behind me kept me enthralled with her soft touch and gentle caresses.

"Did you already wash the rest of you?" her voice was calm and loving, as if we bathed together every day.

"Uhm, y-yeah," I nodded.

"That's good, then I'll just do your back, okay?"

"Uhm . . ."

She giggled and scrubbed my back. It needed it. I'd never been able to scrub it very well and the odd bumps had cropped up, but I'd managed to pop some of the growing zits.

"Ooh, my, it really needs a good scrubbing," she murmured softly.

"I, uhm . . ."

"Yes, I know, baby. It's hard to scrub your own back. I need a good scrubbing, too, but we can do that another time, okay?"

Another time! My prick got even tighter as I thought of her showering naked with me every day. I couldn't wait to get to bed and jack off, having no idea that I had zero days left on my single jacking off calendar. When she got to my lower back, she stopped, soaped up the washcloth again and continued on my butt. As she got to the underside of my butt, she reached around my hip with a soapy hand . . . and grabbed my prick! Oh, my God! Her hand felt so wonderful! It was warm and wonderfully soft as she stroked me back and forth. She did it so well, that I wondered if she'd been watching me. I didn't know then that everybody masturbates, but it still felt damn good.

"Is this the way you like it, honey?" she whispered, pressing the side of her face to my back as she stroked me gently.

I only gulped and nodded.

"It's so big!" she whispered huskily, "yes-s-s. You aren't my little boy anymore, you're my big man," I felt her kissing my back, "my big, big man."

I was what, about five inches long when soft, and maybe an inch and half thick? Not that big, but I was only twelve, so I had a few years more to grow.

"Oh-h-h-h, Mom!" I finally found my voice and gasped, "that is so-o-o good!"

"Uhm," Mom agreed softly, then I jerked in her hand and came, "oo-ooh-h-h! I want to drink it," she gasped, rubbing her soft breasts on my butt, "I haven't had a good taste of that in years."

A blow-job! She wanted to suck my cock! That kept me stiff. Mom turned me around and looked into my eyes. Sitting down she had to look up at me and I really liked that. Her hands slid down my chest, scooping water and rinsing off my stiff prick. When she pulled the foreskin back and wiped the bare head off, I almost came! Oh, God! It felt so good! Then I saw her head lean down as she pulled my hips toward her open mouth.

"Oh-h-h-h - fuck!" I gasped involuntarily.

"Uhm-m . . . hm-m-m," she smiled up at me as she sucked me in.

It turned out that when I'd watched her in her flimsies, she'd watched me in my shorts. Sometimes she'd come in while I was taking a bath and, although I was twelve, it hadn't seemed very unusual. At any rate, like I said, I was bigger down there for my age than most of my peers. I was big enough when stiff that when Mom wrapped her hand around it, the head poked out of her fist. When her warm breath washed over it, I almost fainted.

"F-f-f-fu-u-uck," I moaned again without thinking.

Her suckling lips and tongue digging into my cum-slit almost had me dancing in ecstasy.

"Don't cum, baby," she whispered urgently, "let's take it to bed, huh, baby? Let's go to bed, okay?"

"Um-m-m-ah-h-h," I groaned.

I was in a total fog - which, I found out later, was par for most men in my position. Mom reached behind me and turned the water off, then stood and stepped out. She helped me step out, although she was barely half a head taller than me and, without drying off, led me to her bedroom. She quickly pushed me through her door, closing it softly behind her as I stood and stared at her big bed. In the back of my mind, I thought of the many times Sam, Lonnie and I had bounced on it with her and Dad. The Sunday mornings or weekdays when he'd had the day off and, sometimes, just before we left for school. Mom walked by me and grabbed my hand, leading me to it, and I completely forgot all those childish memories - I'd begun making other, non-childish ones.

As she rolled into bed glistening wet, she smiled up at me. I eagerly climbed in after her, gazing at her face and hair. She'd pulled it up in a high pile, keeping it out of the way, but wet strands clung to the sides of her face and droplets of water ran down her chin and neck. My mind was running in circles, like a hamster on a treadmill and the only thing operating was my instinct. Without thinking I bent to her throat and sucked the water running off it, slurping and licking. Her skin was so soft, so silky, so smooth. Mom gasped with pleasure curving her neck for my laving tongue as she lay back with me on top, crooning softly. I brought my hands up, intent on embracing her neck, but I bumped them on her breasts and gripped them reflexively, kneading and massaging her soft, yielding flesh. I heard a boyish moan and, as it melded into Mom's crooning whimper, realized that it had come from me.

"Put it in me, Baby," she moaned softly.

She pulled my hips toward her and slid her hands up, gently massaging my waist, then slid them up to my face and pulled my lips to hers. As she spread her knees wide, I slipped between them, my stiff prick pressing into her lower belly, poking just above her mound of Venus.

"Oh, Momma!" I gasped into her mouth.

"Yes, baby," she whispered softly.

Mom's eyes glazed as she suckled on my lips, then her tongue reached into my mouth and found mine. At the same time, she pulled her knees up and rolled her hips. Her guiding hand, snuggling between my ass-cheeks, gave me a push and suddenly I was inside the hottest, silkiest, smoothest grip I'd ever felt as her pussy quivered around my stiff prick. She cried out in lust? delight? I don't know, she just babbled for a second, her heels kicking on my ass . . . hard. I didn't feel her kicks at the time and much later, I wondered how I'd gotten the blue bruises on them. At the time, I only knew that I had to push into her, bury myself deep in her fleshy, yielding cunt. I had to fuck . . . my mother!

Suddenly, she arched up, pressing her belly to mine and dug her fingers into my hips hard, gasping and shuddering as her thighs gripped me tight. Her pussy clutched me like a gripping hand in a velvety-slick glove, trembling as it gripped my stiff prick. I cried out and rammed into her instinctively, quickly finding that ages old rhythm of love and lust, fucking my throbbing prick deep into her clutching and grasping cunt, fucking my woman, fucking my .. . MOTHER!

Mom shivered, loosening her grip on my hips, her feet dropping between my legs as we began a slow, rhythmic hip rolling, squeezing my buttocks and slowing my eagerly pounding prick, making it infinitely more pleasurable. With a loud cry, she stiffened and I realized that my mother was cumming on my prick! On my prick! I had given my mother an honest to God orgasm. Fuck me, did that ever make my chest swell and my heart pound. It drove me completely past the point of no return and with an almost painful gasp, I blasted what felt like all of my insides into her. I plunged into her recklessly once more, completely ignoring her butt-squeezing hands as she tried to slow me down, feeling as if my balls had also sunk deep into her. I pulled her tightly to me, cumming and cumming. Her hands slid up my back as she hugged me tight, whimpering, her pussy gripping me tight once again as she arched up, pulling my head to her throat, crying heavenward in orgasmic delight. As my cock jerked and spewed into her, I pulled back and jammed into her again and again and again. Mom cried out again and moaned, rocking up into me, rolling her hips into mine over and over, fucking herself on my plunging prick. She shuddered once more, still rocking with me, then eased back, holding me loosely. As she caressed my back gently, she smiled up at me, her eyes bright, glistening with unshed tears as I shivered and squirted. I had a lot of cum in my balls and it took a while to drain them, but I finally lay on her, my head nestled between her beautiful, softly yielding breasts.

"I love you, baby," she whispered in a high, soft voice, rocking her hips gently into mine, "and . . . I, uhm, I hope you're not . . . not mad with me about this."

I felt her quivering, sobbing even as her hips rocked with me. I didn't care. It wasn't that I didn't care for her, I just didn't care that she was my mother. I felt differently about her. I'd heard words like "mother-fucker" before, and I knew exactly what they meant. Still, at the time, I wasn't feeling as if I was a mother-fucker and, no, I wasn't mad at her for loving me, for taking me to her bed and making love with her. I was just mad about her. Completely and totally head over heels mad about her. However, at the time, I was too young to be able to express it in words. Lying on top of her, the last of my cum oozing into her milking cunt, I raised my head and looked into her eyes and I was startled to see that she was crying, her lips and chin quivering.

"Oh, Momma . . . Momma . . . I love you," I whispered, "I love you so much. That was the most wonderful thing we've ever done and, uhm, and I, uh, I wanna do it with you again and again."

I wrapped my arms around her, like I said, she wasn't that big a woman and did have her slender figure back - all except for the Mommy's belly she'd never quite managed to tighten up. Still, she was my mother, she was beautiful and she loved me. As she wept in regret - the last time she ever wept about having sex with me - I tightened my arms around her, holding her tight. It was a bit uncomfortable, so I pulled her arm from around me and, slipping to the side, slid up and snuggled her to me. What I felt, at the time, I couldn't even begin to describe. It was love, it was lust, it was a little sadness that Mom felt so bad, but overall, it was joy. I was happy. She hugged my arm to her breasts and wept softly into my throat.

"I love you, too, baby, and I'm so, so sorry, but, but . . . I needed you so bad. I needed you so bad. I wanted you, wanted to make love with you. With all my heart I needed . . . need you, so very, very much."

"It was wonderful, Mom," I whispered, "I love you, too . . . very much."

My chest hurt. I loved her so much that my heart pounded as if it had suddenly, like the Grinch, grown two full sizes. I rocked her as if I was comforting a little girl - my little girl. I reached down and tilted her face to mine, smiling into her eyes. Suddenly, I was the tall one, I was in charge . . . I was the man. She smiled hesitantly up at me and I bent, planting a soft, very adult, kiss on her forehead. My girl, my baby . . . my mother. I rolled onto my side and she kissed me softly, hesitantly, then turned her back to me, snuggling her soft butt into my hips. We were both still pretty damp from the shower, but it didn't matter any more. Within a few minutes, I was dead to the world. The long, early morning hours and the intensity of our love-making took their toll. The sex-adrenalin that had kept me going had washed through me, leaving me relaxed and completely happy.

I slept til around two that afternoon, but it was the best sleep I'd had in a very long time. When I awakened, I couldn't understand why I felt so good. The bed felt different, too, and as my eyes popped open, I realized that I was in Mom's bed and everything we'd done that morning came flooding back. At first, I felt confused, unsure what I should feel, but as I thought of my mother's soft lips pressed to mine, I again felt the remnants of the ache I'd felt in my chest that morning. It wasn't a pain, it was a desire. In the bright light of day, I examined my earlier feelings and found that they were even stronger than I'd earlier thought. I got up and went into her bathroom - the master bathroom. I looked around as I pissed and grabbed a towel off the back of the door, I needed something to cover me while I went to my room for some clothes. I grabbed a couple of sheets of toilet paper and shook off my prick, pulling the foreskin back and carefully drying it off. I hated to have it all wet and drippy. As I rinsed my hands off at the sink, I glanced in the mirror. I no longer felt like a little boy, in fact, the face looking back at me looked a lot like my father's - only younger. People had always commented on how much like my father I looked and acted. I guessed they were more right than they knew.

Walking out of the bathroom, I wrapped the towel around me and stepped to the bedroom door. Opening it, I peeked out and heard my two brothers arguing over a TV program in the game room. Our Sundays were always lazy and relaxed. I stepped out and walked to my room. Being the oldest and the only other income producer had one advantage, I had my own room. As I started to close the door, I heard footsteps behind me. I kept going, but left the door open, turning when I was inside. Mom stood in the doorway, looking somewhat embarrassed or maybe ashamed, I couldn't tell which, however, she looked better, more familiar.

"Morning, Mom," I smiled dropping my towel, "how ya doing?" God, I sounded just like Dad, I realized, wondering if maybe that's what had made Mom come to me.

Her gaze dropped to my crotch. I hadn't yet grown the full bush, but I had started sprouting a few-odd, curly, stray hairs.

"I, uhm, I'm . . ." she had to clear her throat, "I'm doing good, honey," her face melted into a shy smile as she wiped her hands nervously on her apron.

I don't know why, but I took charge of the situation and smiled at her, reaching out to caress her face gently, running my fingers along her chin.

"I love you, Mom," I stared into her eyes seriously, a small smile crossing my face, "I love you very, very much."

"Oh, baby," she moaned slipping into my arms.

I tilted my head up slightly as she stooped a little. Our lips met gently, but our teeth clacked loudly as, in my eagerness, I pulled her to me too hard. She giggled and felt her teeth as I pulled back, letting her go, and grinning with embarrassment.

"Sorry about that, Mom."

"No, that's okay, baby, we just . . ." she stopped, staring into my eyes, "want to come eat in the kitchen or do you want me to bring you something here?"

"I, uhm . . ." I dropped onto my unused bed and pulled on a pair of shorts.

When I dropped to the floor and dug under it for my flip-flops, she took my spot. When I stood up, she took the flip-flops from my hands, dropped to her knees and sat me down, lifting each foot and putting them on my feet. Setting my feet back down, she ran her soft fingers up my calves and bent, planting a small kiss on each of my knees and pulled them together. My thighs squeezed my balls - not unpleasantly - as she rested her chin on my knees and looked up at me, an adoring smile on her sweet face.

"Uhm . . . I'll, I'll go to the, uh, to the kitchen, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, making my knees wiggle, but making no move to get up, "I love you, too, baby," she finally spoke, "lots and lots."

I smiled, cupped her face in my hands and bent to her forehead to kiss it. Instead, she tipped her head back and met my lips with hers. I grinned as I gazed into her eyes.

"I'm starving, Mom," I chuckled, "can we go eat?"

"Oh! Oh, yes, baby," she quickly got to her feet and waited for me at the door.

I took her hand as I passed through, pulling her gently behind me. She brought her other hand up and clasped mine in both of hers, practically dancing beside and slightly behind me. She seemed very happy and I smiled to see her like that. She'd been so depressed and lonely since Dad had died, that it had hurt me.

"The boys went to church, this morning, can you believe that?" she chattered happily, "I suggested it without prodding them at all and they got dressed without fighting and when they got back, said that they'd enjoyed it! Imagine, Lonnie and Sam going to church," she laughed, covering her mouth with one hand like a schoolgirl as I smiled up at her.

"Hey, guys," I grinned at them as we walked through to the kitchen - I suddenly realized that it was Dad's tone of voice all over again.

"Hey, Artie," Lonnie grinned back while Sam ignored me, focusing on the TV.

"I hear y'all went to church today," the words sounded odd, as if spoken by somebody else.

Sam caught that feeling and suddenly turned to me, staring at me as if staring deep into my soul. I suddenly felt as if he knew exactly what Mom and I had done this morning before they'd left for church. Maybe that was why they hadn't argued about going.

"Yep," again it was Lonnie that answered, "we had fun, too," he scrambled to his feet and ran up to me as I settled into Dad's over-stuffed chair, "they took us to a play room and we watched some movies about the Bible and a boy with a hand-made coat called, um, um, a, um, a, uh . . ."

"A coat of many colors," Sam interjected, still staring at me, his eyes inscrutable.

"Yeah! A coat of many colors, b-but I didn't get that part, Artie. What's a coat of many colors?"

Lonnie was ten at the time, but sometimes acted as if he was only six or seven. At times he seemed retarded - mentally challenged they call it these days.

"Well, it's a coat made of either rags or, I guess back then, put together from various colors of wool. None of the rags or wool were the same so I guess they were like the NBC Peacock, all kinds of colors," I shrugged, tousling his hair - there was Dad again. Over the next few months I'd end up comparing a lot of the things I did to how Dad had done them.

"Oh," Lonnie nodded, "it makes sense now."

"Good," I smiled tousling his hair again.

Lonnie grinned up at me and rejoined Sam, leaning back on his hands as Sam suddenly burst out in laughter at Popeye's predicament. As I started to push up from the chair, Mom came back with a lap-tray loaded with food.

"Just sit back, hon. It's Sunday, no need to be too formal."

I smiled gratefully up at her and settled back as she rested the tray on the chair's arms. Standing aside, she bent and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Sam turned and eyed me oddly once more, scrutinizing Mom's actions closely. As I dug into the food - I was starving - he turned back to the TV, staring silently as Lonnie laughed at the action and tried to get Sam to laugh with him.

"Ready for dessert?" Mom hovered over me.

"What'cha got?" I smiled up at her.

"Well, let's see," she smiled, picking up the tray and sliding onto the arm of the chair beside me, the tray on her lap, "we got pie a la mode - strawberry cream pie with butter pecan or vanilla ice cream - or Mississippi mud pie with cherry topping, how's that sound?"

"Durn, Mom, you give a guy some hard choices," I laughed, "how 'bout Mississ - no, make that the strawberry pie with butter pecan, hm?"

"Your wish is my command, oh master," she chuckled, patting my arm.

Sam had turned to watch us once again, but he turned back to the TV with a shrug of his shoulders. Seeming to say that it was none of his business.

Mom sent the boys off to bed around eight-thirty that evening. Around nine o'clock I decided that I'd better get to bed myself. Two o'clock came awful early and I had to pick up the papers and meet my delivery boys by three-thirty. I was dead asleep within a few minutes of climbing in bed. It must have been about an hour later when the sagging of the bedsprings pulled me awake. I raised my head and looked around as Mom gently molded herself to my back.

"Go back to sleep, baby," she sighed in my ear, "that big bed was just too lonely. I need you to keep me warm, okay, baby?"

"Um, hm," I snuggled back into her, pulling her arm snugly around me.

8

I awakened around one-thirty the next morning. I'd rolled in my sleep and Mom's legs were tangled in mine, her head resting on my chest. I had hard-on to beat all my other hard-ons and it wasn't a piss-hard. These days, I usually jacked off before getting up to go to work, but I hadn't had Mom so easily available. The slip she'd slept in had rucked up around her hips and, as I rubbed my thigh against her crotch, I realized that she wasn't wearing panties. Imagine that. My cock twitched at the thought and, as I reached down to her bare, lightly-haired pussy and, when she raised her uppermost thigh for me, I realized that she was awake.

"Woke up with a hard-on, baby?" she chuckled, "I've dearly missed the early morning quickies."

She was still chuckling as she rolled and shifted onto her back - my small twin bed didn't give us much room. I pushed my sleeping shorts off and rolled on top of her, my stiff prick seemed to zero in on her pussy and I slipped into her. Mom gave a little gasping whimper deep in her throat, her pussy clutching my plunging prick tight. God, she was so damn good! I didn't know enough back then, to wonder how, after three kids, her pussy could grip so tight. At the time, all I felt was wonder at how delicious it felt when she squeezed me with her wonderful pussy. She whimpered and held me to her, caressing my back with her soft fingers, her thighs caressing my hips as her calves slid over mine rocking her hips and gasping with pleasure. I felt her shiver with pleasure a few times, but she only smiled softly up at me, watching my face until I came, grunting noisily as my hot cum splashed into her. I hadn't been thinking of her, only of my own gratification.

"Oh-h-h-h, yeah!" I sighed into her throat.

"That's my baby," she crooned softly, "was I good for you? You were real good for me," she kissed the side of my forehead, rocking me gently in her arms.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered softly.

"Yes, I know, baby," she whispered, hugging me to her breast, "you showed me that just now," she kissed me again.

I smiled and tipped my head up as she smiled back and brought her lips down on mine. This was so much better than a lonely jack-off in the morning. Suddenly, my alarm went off. I jerked in surprise, then sighed and rolled up to sit on the edge of the bed and cut the clock off. Still smiling at Mom, I got up and headed for the bathroom.

"Want me to fix you a lunch, honey?"

"No, thanks," I glanced back and saw her sitting up, throwing her long, slender legs over the side of the bed, "I'll just eat breakfast with Lonnie and Sam later."

"Okay, baby," she nodded acquiescently.

I went on into the bathroom and did my business, cleaned up and came back out. I quickly got dressed and Mom walked me to the kitchen door.

"I could go with you and drive you around," she picked at my shirt as we stood by my moped, "it would probably help a lot."

I smiled as I hugged her waist. I'd learned quite a bit by earning money and using it, especially that it went out faster than it came in. So I shook my head ruefully as I caressed her tight, trim buttocks.

"No, not with the price of gas, these days, Mom. I'd rather spend the money on something else. With the moped, if I run out of gas, I can still pedal home."

"Okay, hon," she nodded, "you're my man . . . my boss."

"See you later, honey," I murmured.

I was surprised at myself as I heard the endearment slip out so quickly and easily. She grinned and I reached out and slipped my hand behind her neck, pulling her unresisting face to mine and kissed her. I liked kissing her. Her lips were so soft and invitingly warm - so yielding.

Things went pretty well that way for about a week. Then, teasingly complaining that my twin bed was kind of small, Mom suggested that we move my things to her bedroom. I quickly got comfortable with that arrangement, then, because of Lonnie and Sam's constant bickering which culminated in a fist fight, I split them up and had Lonnie move into my old room. Both boys were a little surprised when I moved my things into Mom's bedroom, but I never said anything about my reasons for doing it and they didn't ask. Things rapidly settled down and became routine. After a month or so, Mom and I sharing the bedroom was no big deal and neither boy ever brought the subject up. Mom and I were happy with each other. I kept growing and we kept making love, finding our own happy medium in life.

Not too long after I turned thirteen, we got hit with a triple whammy. They say misery comes in threes? Well, it does. But maybe one of the three miseries wasn't so bad. That year, twelve year old Sam was picked up along with several other young boys and a number of young men in a drug bust. The coppers had been working on a drug ring and Sam had been one of the runners. The second misery was that my contract to deliver the newspapers came up for renewal and I was told that it had been awarded to a city-wide contractor. I would no longer be delivering newspapers - unless I hired on with Jim Blake to do it. I really thought about it and even called Jim Blake about it, but the pay he offered wasn't much. It would barely cover my gas even for the moped. However, it had been a good job for the three years I'd worked it in spite of the early morning hours. I still had all my customer lists, but when I'd called Jim Blake, he'd made some nasty cracks about "little boys" begging for jobs so I hung up without offering them to him. Let him find them himself. I had a few nasty customers who always demanded their papers by a certain time in the morning and they would certainly add to his "fun" when they called the newspaper office demanding their papers.

The third misery, if you want to call it a misery, was that Mom got pregnant. I'd like to say that I don't know how she got pregnant, but then, I'd also like to say that I'm a sweet innocent kid - I'm not and the baby was mine. The consequences of having sex with Mom had never occurred to me. It did to her, but she'd never taken any birth control pills nor tried to keep from getting pregnant. Still, I was so thrilled that Mom was pregnant with my baby, that I strutted around school like a peacock. The good thing about it was that because she didn't want to abort it, our caseworker got her set up with prenatal care and she finally had the medical care she should have had but we couldn't afford. As for getting pregnant, she told the case worker, a black woman, some made up story about being so lonely that when she'd finally gotten a date, she'd more or less thrown herself at the man. They'd had sex three or four times before he dumped her for another woman and she'd gotten pregnant and been by herself ever since.

The woman, who looked to be in her forties and always pinched Lonnie's butt when she came by the house, nodded and smiled saying that she understood perfectly and that it was alright and she'd see that Mom was taken care of. She liked to sit Lonnie in her lap and cuddle him, saying that he was so cute as she caressed his little body. It seemed innocent enough, but when Mom and I went into the kitchen to get some iced tea, we left them alone. Lonnie told me later that he liked her and that she'd played with his dick and kissed him while Mom and I were in the kitchen. He added that her mouth had tasted nice and that, because he liked what she'd done, he'd asked her to come back real soon. The lady did come back fairly often "looking after" Mom and, since Lonnie liked her, I tried to leave them alone as much as possible. I guess that's where Lonnie got his penchant for older, black women.

On this one night, Sam was in Juvenile Detention, Mom was pregnant, Lonnie was in bed and Mom and I lay in bed. She was happy - glowing, actually - and I was well into my second growth spurt. However, my voice was pretty much done cracking and changing and I'd grown a couple of inches and, of course, my cock was a little longer and a little thicker, although I couldn't tell it. Mom lay on her back, her legs slightly spread, not yet showing or, at least, not so I could tell. It was still early in the pregnancy, so what I did see must have only been my imagination. I caressed her soft tummy, thinking of the incipient life it harbored. Since I was no longer working with newspapers, I didn't have to get up the next morning and that felt nice.

As we lay together murmuring to each other about work and the day and just small love talk, my mind worked on getting another job and wondered what other job I could find that would leave me free to keep my part-time afternoon job. Dozing beside each other we talked desultorily about what we were going to do next. Mom's hands caressing my stiff prick felt nice and I wasn't in any rush to plunge it into her pussy or mouth. Her touch just felt . .. nice. I wondered if it was okay to fuck Mom since she was pregnant and, as if reading my mind, she answered.

"You know, we can still fuck," the word sounded silly coming from her lips, "all the way til when my belly gets in the way. When it does, I can turn on my side and we can still fuck from behind . . . unless . . ." she stopped, her mind seemed to be working.

"Unless what, honey," I loved the soft feel of her growing belly.

"Well . . . unless you'd like to, uhm, you know . . . fuck my ass?"

Surprised, I turned to look at her.

"Your ass?"

At thirteen, working on fourteen, I'd definitely heard a lot of sexy stories of fucking girls' asses and, boys being boys, teased each other about bending someone over and fucking his ass, but . . . I'd never thought of it as a real thing to do.

"Yes," she grinned looking at me and dropping her eyelids as bashfully as a little girl, "haven't you heard of that? I figured by now you'd have heard of it."

"Oh, yeah, I've, uh, I've heard of it, but, I, uhm . . ."

"Never done it, right?" she chuckled, "wanna go for some now?"

"What! Fuck your ass? Poke your A-hole? Cum in your brown-eye?" I chuckled, getting into the fun of talking about it.

"Yep," she grinned, wrinkling her nose at the disgusting names, "it doesn't hurt and it's a lot of fun for the guy. I like it because . . . well, because I, uhm, I . . . well, I just do," her face turned red.

I could tell she'd blushed because the light from the outside lamppost was just enough to see a difference. My boner twitched and she shook it.

"It does turn you on, doesn't it?" she chortled.

"Well, I . . ."

"Let me go to the bathroom first," she bounced on the bed, hopping out as it rebounded, "I gotta go potty and clean in there for you," she knelt by the bed, giggling before she gave me her patented sloppy-wet, tongue-kiss.

I chuckled and wiped my face on my arm and thought of baby names, boy names. Should we name him Michael? Or maybe, John? I was kind of partial to Jonathon, call him Jon for short. But then I thought, what if it's a girl. Fu-u-u-ck! I'd love a little girl. Andrea! Yes! Andrea was a beautiful name. Andie for short. Just then, Mom came back in and smiled down at me. She turned and bent slightly, wiggling her ass at me. Her pinkly furled asshole, ringed by a slightly maroon areola, winked at me and looked . . . beautiful. I quickly sat up and as she backed up, reached up and caressed her pale pink, beautifully yielding ass. It was no well-muscled, firm "buns of steel" and felt deliciously buttery and satiny smooth. I sighed and gripped it tightly, squeezing with all my strength.

"Ss-ss-ss, oo-ooh-h-h," Mom hissed, moaning, holding still and shivering in deep pleasure.

"Oh-h-h, Mo-o-o-m," I crooned softly.

I slid my feet off the edge of the bed and pulled her back slowly, still gripping her ass hard. She hissed again, allowing me to pull her back, straddling my legs as I brought her onto my aching prick. I slipped a hand around to her hip and took my stiff prick with the other, but she was still in an awkward position and all I could do was rub it against her pouting anus.

"Um-m-m, that feels good, baby, but let me get on the bed. It'll be easier, okay, lover? Hm?"

"Okay," I gasped, tearing my eyes of her puckered hole.

The one feel of my bare cock-head rubbing on her unburnished anus had felt wonderful and I reluctantly let go. Mom climbed into the middle of the bed, pulled a pillow under her head and knelt there, her beautifully rounded ass waving in the air. I was fascinated by the sight and stood there, staring at it's lusciously smooth curves.

"Now, baby," she broke my spell, "come up behind me. I've got enough Vaseline in me to make it easy for you."

So that's what had felt so slick. Still tongue-tied, I climbed up behind her. Like I said, Mom had long legs. Her body was a couple of inches longer than mine, but her legs . . . did I tell you she had long legs? Long, slender, coltish . . . beautiful. She also had a beautiful pair of feet. Not that I'm into feet, mind you, but they were beautiful. They went well with her beautiful body, beautiful arms and beautiful face. I love my Mom, very much. She squirmed and pushed a couple of pillows to me between her legs, spreading her knees wider, lowering herself for me.

"Stack them, baby," she murmured, "and kneel on them. It'll get you a little higher."

As I adjusted the pillows, she spread her knees farther apart, getting her ass lower until I stopped her. She panted, waiting for me to fuck my cock into her throbbing asshole.

"Spread my hole, baby," she gasped, undulating her back in urgent anticipation, "spread it with your fingers, or thumbs, or, or . . . oh, baby! Fuck my asshole! Please, baby, hurry!" she crooned lustily.

I was just as eager and, gripping her soft, wonderfully rounded cheeks once more, I pulled on them, spreading them as if I was pulling apart a huge orange. Her anus gaped open, throbbing and squeezing, spitting a foamy mixture of soap and Vaseline. It looked like a tiny mouth blowing bubbles. Experimentally, I pressed my cock-head against her shuddering anus. Mom gasped as I pushed gently and, without any fuss, sank deep into her squirming colon. It was so hot, so slick and, as her sphincter clamped down on my sinking shaft, so damn tight. Out of reflex, I slammed hard into her. I must have cried out, her anal grip on my cock was so damn good.

"YES-BABY!!" Mom gasped hoarsely, "YES! YES! Uh-h-h-oo-oo-ah-h-h!! Bay-bee-ee!" she seemed to be as excited as I was.

"Oh, Mom . . ." I whispered softly, completely awed by the feel of her asshole gripping my cock and the soft, satiny cushions I banged my belly on.

"Ooh-h, yes, baby."

She suddenly tightened her asshole and kicked her feet alternately up and down, making her ass-cheeks rise and fall separately, wobbling my cock from side to side in her wonderfully squirming colon. I gasped again. That trick did it for me and I let go with a mind-bending flash of light behind my eyes, gurgling wordlessly as I sent squirt after squirt of my hot cum into her, giving her a spermy high-colonic ass-wash. She squealed and shivered, goose bumps crawling up the backs of her thighs, back and arms as I washed her bowels down.

"Ah, fuck, baby!" she gasped, "ah, fuck! Load my ass up, honey. Um! Um! Yes-s-s-s."

"Oh-h-h, Mo-o-o-m," I crooned softly, "fuck, Mom! Shit that's good."

I hung onto her luscious ass as I dribbled the last of my cum into her, her sphincter clenching tightly then easing as it milked my prick. I loved it. It was a wonderful difference from her pussy and her mouth. God it was good.

"Here, baby," she giggled, handing me the towel as he heard me gasping and panting, "press it to my asshole, just in case I leak. It kinda hangs open for a little bit afterward, you know?"

"Okay," I mumbled, still shivering as I pulled out.

I stared down at her gaping asshole as she slid her knees back, stretching her legs on either side of me and sighing pleasurably. It was an amazing view. Her butt-cheeks quivered, her hole pulsed, opening and closing like a lipless mouth panting. I sat back and watched it the whole time, wiping my cum off as she shit it out until her sphincter finally completely closed.

"Damn!" I whispered in awe, staring at it.

"Like the view, baby?" she giggled again.

"That was, like, totally awesome, Mom," I burst out laughing, "totally!"

Then, I don't know why, I bent and kissed her anus and, I swear, it kissed me back!

---

During the last three months of her pregnancy, Mom's tummy really ballooned out. First it was high up like, just under her ribs. Going into her eighth month, it seemed to drop, getting lower and lower with each passing day. I got a big thrill feeling the baby kick or punch or whatever the kid was doing in Mom. It was an even bigger kick knowing that it was my baby. It was totally amazing.

When JDS let Sam out a year later, Jonathon Michael was almost six months old. Sam had grown bitter and pissed off at life. Not good in a thirteen - almost fourteen - year old, and within a few weeks was back to his old habits. This time it was with boys he'd met in Juvie. There seemed to be nothing we could say or do to take him of his self-destructive course. He'd just look at me and Mom and sneer, then he'd ignore us and go his way.

As for Mom and me, she still wasn't on birth control, but I used rubbers for the next year or so, and we managed to stay safe. However, we began getting careless and I'd sometimes go bare. It just felt so much better and she wasn't missing her periods, so I began using them only when Mom figured she was going into or was in a fertile period. I guess we were just lucky that she didn't get pregnant then.

I was sixteen, Jon was three, Mom was almost thirty-four, Lonnie was fourteen and Sam was fifteen - not necessarily in that order - and we'd lost total control of Sam. About that time, he and several boys were picked up again. They'd been caught coming out of a house carrying the homeowner's computer, TV and a number of other valuables. Once again he was sent into Juvenile Detention. His lawyer tried to get him off with boot camp, but the judge noted that it was his second time up and that he'd refused boot camp the first time, so he sent him to re-education until his seventeenth birthday, the legal age of consent. He would then be released and his records sealed per state law. That seemed to be the trigger or magic word because Mom missed her next period.

Lonnie seemed okay with all of that Mom and I did. He treated me as boss or . . . truthfully, more like a surrogate parent. Come to that, he always had. To him I'd been the guy who knew everything, fix almost anything - like my Dad had been to me, our Dad. I guess in some things, Lonnie was more accepting or maybe a little slow, because he was no half-wit. He enjoyed playing with and babysitting his younger brother. I was again carrying two part-time jobs. In the afternoons, I worked at a grocery store as junior cashier - I couldn't check out alcoholic beverages because I was still under eighteen - and in the late evenings I was a stocker at a big-box store. I was also still in school, struggling with my grades because of work, but getting by well enough so that I was never held back.

Angel Skye was born during the summer between my sophomore and junior years. She was a beautiful baby girl. Named exactly right, as far as I was concerned. For the time being, Sam was behaving himself, finding the strict controls that he seemed to need. For the time being we were a happy, loving family. I got Lonnie on as an underage assistant stocker and he was proud to making his own spending money. There's more to our little story, but that's for another time.