Embracing the MILF Within

"I can see you're surprised," she said, shaking her head. "Am I not allowed to have feelings of that sort?"

"Of course, you are," I replied. "It's just new to me."

"Jeremy, I've done my job," Mom said, confidently. "When your father was alive, I stood by him, when most women wouldn't have. I was faithful, and didn't stray, even when he wasn't. He wouldn't let me have a job, despite being qualified. He didn't let me wear high heels, because it made him feel short. He forbade me to dress in a sexy or feminine way, because he said it was unseemly for a wife and mother to flaunt her body. Yet I stayed, and did my job as a wife. I raised you. You're a grown man. While I'll always be your Mother, you don't need mothering, anymore. I've done my job as your parent. I don't see myself ever being married again, and I'm certainly not having any more children. I'm fifty-one years old, and it's time I lived for me. You're not a child. I'm sure you can understand that."

I didn't immediately respond. It wasn't because I didn't understand. I just wanted to find the right words.

"Mom, you were the best parent I could have ever hoped for," I said softly. "Dad was very lucky to have you, and you're right... it is your turn. You don't owe anyone, including me, an explanation. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you did."

"Thank you, darling," she said, her eyes moist.

"So... what made you decide on cosmetic surgery?" I asked, now genuinely curious.

"Well, that's a story of its own," she smiled, wiping her eyes. "I wanted to rid myself of those last few inches, so I was seriously considering liposuction. Losing weight had left me with some loose skin on my tummy, too, so that's a tuck."

"And, um, the other part?" I asked. "Your breasts?"

"Yes. My breasts," she giggled. "Another casualty of losing weight. You don't remember this, of course, but when I was nursing you, I was quite a bit, um... shall we say larger... than I had been up top. I liked it. So did your father. I'm not sure who drank more of my milk; my beloved son, or my aroused husband. He turned out to be a major boob fancier. Unfortunately, he didn't always fancy mine."

"I didn't know that," I shook my head.

"Anyway, at my age, I didn't want to go through all the pain of surgery more than once," she continued. "So, I had the whole package done at once; suck, tuck, and boob job. At the last appointment before the surgery, I decided to go a bit bigger. What do you think of them?"

She may as well have given me express permission to stare at her chest. We knew the maître de liked them, and the waiter, too. Apparently, my opinion mattered to her. She correctly read my reluctance.

"Oh, come on..." she cajoled. "Pretend I'm not your mother. Do you like my breasts, or not?"

"Alright, I'll tell you," I relented, and let it out. "I think you look fantastic. If you weren't my mother, I'd be all over those like a fat kid on a smartie. Do you think your appearance has had an effect on your success at work?"

"You'd be all over them, huh?" she giggled. "Yes, I'm pretty sure my boobs are helping me sell. I'm not dressing as a nun. They're a part of my tools. I can sell ice to Eskimos."

"Well, male Eskimos, anyway," I laughed.

"A few women, too," she winked.

"Oh, Mom," I smiled. "You're a bad girl, aren't you?"

"Not always, but when I'm bad, I'm better," she added, paraphrasing the infamous Mae West.

***

For the first week of my visit, I mostly just relaxed, making occasional trips in Mom's Buick to visit some of my old haunts. I was alone through most of the day, as Mom was out at work.

I found myself trying to picture her, dropping in to talk to some local business owner about their advertising plan, and how they might want to add other media to that plan. I could see her, so professionally dressed, in all aspects but one. Did she start out, as she did when she met me at the airport? Was she fully buttoned up, letting only the size of her breasts entice the client? I imagined her, meeting resistance, and very covertly dispatching first one button, then another, giving the business owner something they would have difficulty saying 'no' to.

I did wonder just how far she'd go to make a sale. Hanging her tits out to get better service in a restaurant was one thing, but putting a crowbar in someone's wallet was a whole other animal. Getting used to the thought of her as a sexy, buxom older woman was difficult enough. Adding 'slut' to that designation was going to take some effort.

At home, during the day, I'm ashamed to say I succumbed to curiosity. I lasted a few days before it became unbearable, but eventually I knew I would have to do it.

I'd have to snoop in Mom's bedroom.

Standing in the doorway, I realized I'd been here before. Many years ago, an equally curious young me had taken advantage of solitude to get a first look at women's undergarments. Bras and panties were new to me, and other than the pictures in catalogues, I'd never seen either, let alone touched them. In Mom's drawers, I got my first exposure to them. Mostly utilitarian, and far from sexy, I still found them rather exciting. Holding a bra in my hands for the first time, I rubbed it against my face, and read the tag. 36C. Whatever that meant.

Now, I noticed how much the room had changed. This was truly my Mother's room, no longer that of both my parents. New carpet, new paint, new furniture, and most notably, a new bed that was decidedly not meant for only one. The huge king-sized mattress dominated the room.

Still, habits are hard to break. I had a feeling her lingerie would be in the same drawer, even if the whole dresser was new. I opened the appropriate one, and was greeted by a flash of rainbow colours. My hand extracted a lacey, burgundy bra, and rolled it over. The tag. I needed to know how big she was now.

Oh my god. 34G. My dick twitched.

The drawer next to her bras held panties to match. These were not the plain, white, granny-panties she used to wear. Various styles, cuts and fabrics, there were several thongs among them. My dick twitched again, and a small part of my subconscious tried to remind me the woman I was having mildly sexual thoughts about was my mother.

I sat on the bed, and opened the bedside drawer. A book, and various sundry items. Closing the top one, I opened the lower drawer. My cock woke up fully, beginning to swell.

"Fuck," I whispered, reaching in to pull out some of the contents; Condoms of various brands, lubricants, and several sex toys, including a dildo nearly the size of my forearm.

Mother or not, I was having a hard time controlling the images that had begun racing through my mind. I could see her, dressed in sexy lingerie, with those big tits barely covered by the cups of her bra, and her ass nearly bare in a thong. She was backing away, beckoning me toward her, onto the bed, where she spread her legs. The tiny thong was tugged aside, and she began to feed the monstrous dildo into her pussy while she moaned in pleasure.

"I'd rather have a real cock," she pouted, "like yours. I haven't seen you naked since you were a child. How big is your penis now, anyway?"

I shook my head. The room was empty, but my imagination was not, and I started to regret this little investigation of her room. Things were awkward enough before I found out the details of her body and sexual proclivities. Now I knew, and I couldn't un-see it. My cock was almost painfully hard at the pictures in my imagination.

I had no choice but to deal with it. I guessed correctly that Mom's computer might have a few MILF videos saved on it, given that she had admitted to finding them so exciting. They weren't terribly difficult to find, as she had no reason to hide them. My cock was in my hand, and I was getting close to cumming when I found the video that must have been her favourite, based on the play count.

I could understand why she liked it, as it featured a redhead... a MILF named Janet Mason, who was about her age, if somewhat more ripped and less busty. Not that she had small tits, mind you. Watching her enhanced DDs bounce and jiggle as she fucked her young stud on camera was more than enough for me to substitute my mother in her place, leading to a very enjoyable release of sexual tension. The streak of cum ran fully three feet across the kitchen countertop, but was easily cleaned before Mom came home. By the time she arrived, I was relaxing in the backyard, in her hot tub.

"There you are!" she smiled, walking out of the house. Even fully dressed, her high-heeled gait caused a jiggle impossible to ignore. "You know, I haven't used this thing in a while. It looks like a great idea. I'll be right back."

Oh god, please don't tell me she's coming back naked, I thought. Seeing her in a bathing suit would be bad enough. I tried not to imagine what might be her idea of a bathing suit, given her new body. I'm sure it wasn't anything like the conservative ones my father had required.

The answer didn't take long to become clear. With minutes, Mom was back, toting a tray with two frosty drinks on it. As for her attire, the suit she wore was a navy-blue one-piece that fit her body like a second skin. It was cut high on the hips, but not too low in front, so that only a few inches of cleavage were visible. It looked great on her, and she looked great in it.

"Here you go, honey," she said happily, leaning over to offer me my drink, and a better view of her tits. I took both the glass and the peek, then watched her slip into the water across from me. "Mmmmmm, that does feel good. It was a long day."

"A successful one?" I asked, sipping my drink.

"I think so, but I'm not quite sure," she said softly, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "I actually have to get dressed again, and go back out in an hour or so. I have to take this client to dinner. He's being cagey. He'll only sign if I agreed to go out with him."

"Really?" I asked, watching the bubbling water fountain up around her breasts. It made them quiver. "You're okay with that?"

"It's getting easier," she replied. "Don't worry. I'm not about to let him do anything I don't want him to, and if I get a commission out of it, that's great."

"Uh huh," I nodded. "So, just what is it you want him to do?"

"Well, he's cute, and handsome, and single," she smiled, still with eyes closed. "I can think of plenty of things that might be fun." She opened her eyes, and looked down at the stream of bubbles spitting out the top of her suit. "Hee hee! That tickles! The bubbles are coming up between my boobs!"

I can think of something I'd like to put between those boobs, I thought, refraining from comment.

***

Laying in my bed... Well, in the bed that was in my former room, which was now the guest room, so had a much larger bed than that of my youth... I stared at the ceiling. My mother was out on what could only be seen as a date, despite her insistence that it was business. Dates, in my experience as a man, were undertaken with one goal in mind.

Her comments in the tub had done nothing to ease my mind. Nor had her choice of dress for the evening; a slinky, tight, little black number that hugged her curves and made her look like sex on a stick. High heels to match, she was clearly dressing to attract attention from her client, who actually came to pick her up.

He wasn't much older than me. Driving a BMW. Successful looking.

Did I mention he wasn't much older than me? He wasn't.

I had finally fallen asleep before she got home, but sounds from the hallway woke me.

First it was just a thump, an indication someone was there, and since I had no reason to fear a burglar, I figured it was her. I was almost ready to get out of bed to see how her 'meeting' went, when I heard her voice.

"Follow me, stud, if you want to play with these," she said quietly, but not quietly enough. There was a pause, then an enthusiastic reply.

"Whoa! You're damned right I want to play with those!" the aforementioned Mr. Stud exclaimed. "Jesus, Olivia! They're even bigger than I thought!"

"Well, get in here, and show me what you've got for me," Mom implored. There was a click, as a door closed... her bedroom door... and I thanked god I hadn't walked out into the middle of that. My imagination was bad enough; there's no way I wanted to actually see my mother and another man preparing to do the nasty.

Or, maybe I did, because my ears were straining to pick up the sounds of sex wafting through the silent house. I heard clearly feminine moans, and obviously masculine groans, before I picked up something that was totally unambiguous.

"Yeah, suck my cock, baby," the male voice grunted. "Damn! You're so fucking hot!"

Well, thank you so much for putting that image in my head, I thought, pulling my hard dick out of my underwear. For the second time today, I was jerking off to images of my naked mother, but this time, I had the benefit of an additional audio track. I listened to them complimenting each other in the next room, and stroked myself slowly, extrapolating the activities with a combination of MILF videos from memory, those from Mom's computer, and the sounds I could decipher.

"Oh god, yes! Fuck me! Gimme that big cock!" Mom growled. My hand sped up for a short time, then slowed to a maintenance pace.

"Oh, shit! I'm cumming!" she gasped, a few minutes later. The declaration was accompanied by a gutteral moan of pleasure, and a few squeals of urgency.

The one that set me off was a couple of minutes later, when I heard her direct her lover again.

"Yeah. Come on, baby. Let me wrap my big tits around your cock, so you can fuck them. I know you want to. Do it. Fuck my tits, and cum all over them."

"Oh, fuck!" I grunted through clenched teeth, as my dick erupted, shooting cum all over myself. Yeah. I liked that idea. I liked it a lot.

I mopped up the mess, tossing the tissues in the toilet of the en-suite bathroom, and laid down again. I relaxed, taking deep breaths and feeling the post-orgasmic warmth wash over me. The darkness enveloped my mind, and I fell asleep, even as my mother urged her lover to fuck her harder and faster.

***

The morning sunlight and incessant chirping of birds chiseled their way into my slumbering brain. As my eyes opened and I saw the unfamiliar ceiling... different from mine on the west coast, anyway... I realized where I was, and remembered the events of last night.

I had been spared listening to the extended details of Mom's business dealings by fatigue, but now my curiosity returned full force. Was he still here?

Well, at least that answer was easily obtained. I opened my door silently, and peeked out. Mom's door was closed, so I stepped out into the hall, and took a few steps toward the rest of the house, when I stepped on something.

Looking down, I saw her bra, tangled in my toes. It was a black one, and probably looked fantastic on her. I stepped around it, leaving it where she discarded it on their hurried path to the bedroom. Ahead was one of her shoes, and then the other. I could picture them arriving, and Mom tempting him in by unzipping her dress, and unhooking her bra, letting her breasts free as an invitation, just in case 'get in here, and show me what you've got for me' wasn't enough.

Pulling the curtains aside, I saw no BMW in the driveway, nor on the street, so I felt pretty certain he was gone. I headed to the kitchen, and started the coffee. I'd let Mom sleep for now.

I was on my second cup of coffee, and deep into a decision, when I heard her door open. It took a few seconds for her to traverse the house.

"Good morning, Jeremy," Mom said, walking past me on the way to the coffee pot. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she had her bra in her left hand, presumably having picked it up along the way, and tucked it into the pocket of her shimmery satin robe. From the jiggle under the silvery material, I would guess she wasn't wearing anything else. No panty lines marred the curves of her firm behind. Two bumps poked at the fabric over her breasts. I sat back, behind the table, fighting the urge to just walk over and grab her.

'Don't think of me as your mother', she had said, when she insisted I give my opinion of her new, buxom profile. Well, it was working, especially after what I heard last night, and who she was being so noisy with.

"What would you like for breakfast?" Mom asked, taking her seat across from me, coffee cup in hand. She sat very carefully, but her robe still slipped a little, showing me several inches of cleavage, until she adjusted it to cover up.

You. I want you for breakfast, I thought immediately. It surprised me, just how quickly I jumped over that line, blurry as the line was. Yet, she sat, smiling at me, sipping her coffee, while in my head I imagined her screaming with joy as she had last night.

I must have answered her, because she was suddenly up, and bustling around the kitchen, while I sat and watched. She had to re-tie her robe several times, because her ample curves were simply too much for the slippery fabric to contain. Before I knew it, there was a plate of food in front of me, and Mom was back in her place, with a plate of her own.

"I'm starving this morning," she smiled tucking into her serving of bacon and eggs. "I don't know why."

"Really?" I said quietly. "I have a pretty good idea why."

"I'm sorry... What was that?" she asked, pausing with her fork full.

"I just said I might know why you're hungry," I laughed. "I also heard the guy who you worked up your appetite with. You had fun, didn't you?"

"You heard us?" she giggled, poking the bacon on her plate. "I'm sorry about that. I think I had a bit too much to drink last night. I didn't mean to be so loud."

"Well, you weren't the only one being loud," I told her. "Apparently, your friend found your actions very agreeable."

"Oh, god!" she gasped, covering her face with her hands. "Really? You heard that?"

"Mmmmm hmmm," I nodded.

"Fuck!" she groaned.

"Yes, that too," I smiled, enjoying her discomfort a little. It was only fair that she feel what I had been feeling.

The room grew quiet, and we ate in silence for several minutes. I could see the wheels turning in her head, until she finished and picked up her plate, turning her back to me. She set about washing her dishes, and the cooking implements. I sat for a moment, then stood, taking a place behind her.

I put my plate on the counter beside the sink, and leaned close, brushing the hair away from the side of her neck. My right hand came to rest on the side of her hip, and as I caressed the outer edge of her hip and thigh, I kissed her neck.

"Ohhhh, Jeremy," she said softly, her hands bracing against the sink. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate way for a young man to touch his mother."

"Oh, no, I'm sure it's not," I agreed, kissing her neck once more. My left hand landed on her shoulder, and I could feel her shiver. "Definitely not appropriate for a son, but most understandable between a man and a beautiful woman. You asked me not to think of you as my mother. You said I don't need mothering anymore, and you're right. If you were any other woman, I'd be trying to get you into bed."

"But... I'm not any other woman," she breathed, leaning against me. I nuzzled her neck, and she moaned quietly. "It's wrong, Jeremy. It's so wrong. I'm your mother."

"You did your job. Now, you can just be Olivia, a very attractive woman, who has caught my eye," I replied, still pecking at her neck. My right hand slid aft, palming her firm behind, while my left went forward, wrapping my arm around her waist. "I love you, Mom. I always have, and I always will. I think we could be great together, but if you don't think we should go further, we won't. I'll let you go, and none of this ever happened. Is that what you want? If you want me to stop, I'll stop. It's up to you, Olivia. Am I stopping?"