The Apple Falls Near

Dear Lord, my family tree was a telephone pole compared to anyone else's weeping willow!

With a touch of guilt and confusion, I did what any teenage boy would do in that situation: I jacked off. It didn't take long and the output was epic in comparison to previous sessions. I cleaned myself up and, as you might expect, I soon drifted off to sleep. And dreamed of doing things with my mother that I could only infer from literature and film.

The next morning I woke to the smell of breakfast being cooked downstairs. Saturday morning breakfasts were a regular event in our home and I would often spend weeks looking forward to them. That morning, however, I was faced with a fine mix of anticipation and dread. I had no doubts that the food would taste delicious because it always did, but I knew that my mother would be down there, waiting for me. I wanted to see her and didn't want to at the same time. The problem was that, during all my years growing up, mother would dress rather scantily while she made breakfast. I'd never really noticed it before because, well, she was my mother and I hadn't thought to view her as a sexual being before. But now that the cards were on the table, as it were, every little thing was suddenly amplified. I would go downstairs and not see my mother, but a very fuckable woman in her mid-thirties wearing a thin chemise, no bra and lacy panties, all wrapped up in an apron. I'd have to decide if I was drooling over a plate of eggs, sausage, biscuits and bacon or if I was salivating over my mother's hot body.

My stomach helped me make my decision. I begrudgingly got out of bed, donned a pair of boxer shorts and trudged downstairs to what would most certainly be an awkward breakfast. I entered the kitchen and, as had been the case for every Saturday that I could remember, my mother was at the stove, her back to me, draining the grease off the bacon. Her apron was open in the back and I stopped cold in the doorway. As I stood there to either admire the view or work up the courage to announce my presence (I couldn't decide which), Mother moved to her right a bit, pushed herself up on the countertop and reached up to the cabinet above her. She was trying to pull down the grease jar that she kept there, but she was far too short. She attempted to get a little higher by swinging her right leg onto the counter, but she was still only able to swing the cabinet door open. She tried valiantly to touch the slick glass of the jar, which made her wobble with the strain. My eyes drifted upwards from her taut left calf and up until my gaze fell upon what may arguably be the most perfect pair of butt cheeks known to any man on the planet, spread slightly and barely revealing the mound of her womanhood from behind. The globes of my mother's ass were round and supple and firm, without a trace of age or scarring. A man could stare at that butt for days and simply admire it the way he would a Rembrandt, longing to hold it in his hands while-

When Mother started to move with a sudden jerk, I yanked myself out of La-La Land and focused on what was happening. The grease jar was tilted precariously on the edge, threatening to topple over, and Mother couldn't get a decent grip on it. She was just barely keeping it from falling, along with herself, but she wouldn't be able to hold that position for long. Without even thinking, I rushed up behind her and grabbed the jar. In doing so, I pressed my body right up against hers from behind, startling her for a fraction of a second before she realized that I had come to her rescue.

"Oh, thank God it's you, Conrad, I almost-" she breathed as she started to relax and let herself down from the counter. As she did so, however, we both felt something surprising: the panty-clad lips of her pussy mashed hard down on the shaft of my erection (which I wasn't even aware I had at the time and I certainly wasn't aware that it had become tumescent enough to poke through my boxers!). "Oh my!" she gasped.

We both looked down in shock. She was back on her own two feet, but protruding from her groin was about three inches of my swollen member, poking between the gap of her thighs as though she'd sprouted a short but very thick penis. Even as realization struck, I felt myself throb with longing as I also noted the sudden warmth that surrounded the top side of my shaft. With a start, still holding the grease jar in my hands, I all but jumped backwards and gave a yelp of embarrassment.

"I am SO sorry, Mom!" I squeaked out as I put the jar on the table behind me swiftly. As soon as I was relieved of the burden, I started to cover my groin with my hands.

Mother turned around to look at me and her eyes immediately went to where the movement was: my crotch. My hands were big, but hardly big enough to completely hide my throbbing member from her view. The top portion of it peeked out from between my wrists and she simply stared for a thoughtful second while I waited balefully for a response.

Then she shrugged. "No harm done. Thank you for catching that jar."

Frozen where I was, I just looked at her in shock. "No, I mean, I'm sorry about-"

"I know what you were referring to, son, but you hardly need to apologize. From what I briefly saw, you should be proud. I knew you'd be big like our father, but I didn't expect it to be THAT big. Incidentally, what were you doing with an erection, anyway? You've never come in here with one before." Now she leaned back against the counter just the tiniest bit, a position which had the unfortunate effect of thrusting out her ample bosom. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure she did that on purpose.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'll... I'll go take care of it."

Mother cocked a delicate eyebrow at me. "You sure you don't want me to do that for you?"

I let loose with another squeak and bolted back up to my room. As I fled, I heard her shout after me that breakfast would be ready in five minutes. I'd "taken care of" my erection in less than three.

I came back down, wearing jeans and a t-shirt this time, with a hang-dog expression on my face. I said nothing as I sat at the table and Mother began to fill my plate with food. It smelled delicious and I wanted to say as much, but I was afraid that my voice would crack or that I would say something inappropriate instead.

Mother smiled sweetly at me, fixed her own plate and we began to eat in silence. About halfway through our meals, however, Mother finally piped up. "It's not that big a deal, son," she said casually. "I mean, it's big, but... it's okay. Dad used to wake up with what he called 'morning wood' all the time. It's perfectly natural for a boy, a MAN your age."

I looked up at her and was momentarily speechless. I swallowed nervously and nodded. "I... I'll try not to let it happen again."

Mother waved it off. "Think nothing of it. If it happens again, then it happens. Like I said: it's perfectly natural." She went back to her food, took a few more bites and then put her fork back down. "But I must know. Was that because of me?"

The teenager in me burst through and I rolled my eyes. "You're the only woman here, Mom. Yes, it was because of you. And because of the conversation we had last night. And because I'm sitting on a launch pad of hormones! But, mostly, yeah, it was because of you." I put down my fork in exasperation. "Would you like me to be totally honest, Mother?"

"Always," she replied blankly. I've come to learn over the years that the "blank" expression on her face indicates that she's giving her full and undivided attention to whoever is talking.

"Fine," I said. "The truth is, I came in here totally soft, expecting breakfast. But when I saw you reaching for the jar, I found myself admiring you from behind. I'd never done that before, just stopped to admire you. You looked incredibly sexy at that moment and that's where the erection came from. I couldn't control it and I wasn't even aware of it until you-"

"Almost took it inside of me," she helpfully supplied.

"Thank God you were wearing underwear!"

Mother picked her fork back up, picked at her eggs and muttered, "YOU thank God if you want, I'm gonna have a few words with Him when I die."

I just stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, my meal forgotten. "...what?"

She dropped her fork again and looked me square in the eye. "Look, son, accident or not, that was the closest thing to sex I've had in almost a decade and a half. You want to be thankful that it didn't slip inside me? Go ahead. And, yes, part of me is thankful, too. But a much bigger part of me feels really damn cheated right about now!"

I blanched at that. "I... I'm sorry," I said ashamedly.

Mother took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out with a sigh. "I know you are, Conrad. And I know it wasn't something you could control. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. It just... happened. And I don't mean to take out my frustrations on you. Honestly, I don't. It's just that... well, if we're being honest here... last night's conversation had an effect on me, too. Maybe I said some things that I shouldn't have. Or maybe I didn't say enough. I don't know. But I DO know that you shouldn't feel ashamed or pressured about anything, period. But it's difficult for me, too. I look at you and I see a man. But I think of you and I know that you're my son and that you're still maturing. Sometimes I forget that. And this was... this was one of those times. My body didn't really know the difference between you as a man and you as my son. All it knew was that there was a hard piece of familiar-feeling flesh nearby and in that brief bit of contact, well... the pump was primed, as they say." She sighed again. "Conrad, this is not your problem; it's mine."

"Then why do I feel so..." I stopped as I groped for the proper word. Finally it popped out. "Shitty?" We didn't cuss in the house. The worst it ever got was the occasional "damn" or "hell," but beyond that I had been raised to be very guarded with my speech. And I'm sure that it wasn't because my mother was a prude, either. She just taught me "cussing is the first resort of a simple mind." I kind of took that one to heart.

She let it go, however, and didn't reprimand me for using the cuss word. I guess, in light of the discussion, it fit into the proper context. She just smiled wanly at me and shook her head. "I honestly don't know, son. I can tell what you're feeling, but I can't tell you why. I have some ideas, though."

"Well, I'm all ears, because it's beyond me," I replied. "You say that I have nothing to feel bad about, but every fiber of my being feels exactly that. So what do YOU think it is? Because I don't like feeling this way when you say I shouldn't."

"Guilt?" she offered. When she saw my perplexed expression, she explained. "I think I've made it very clear that I'm lonely and missing the feel of a man, our father in general and you in particular. So when our... when our genitals came into contact, however brief, I think your mind registered it and you reacted with fright. But, in doing so, you realized that you were depriving me of something you knew I wanted. I know you love me and you don't want to be responsible for leaving me wanting for anything if you can help it. Hence: guilt."

I blinked at her a couple of times in stupefaction. That was a possibility I hadn't considered. And, in a strange way, it made sense. I just hadn't expected it. So I nodded. "Maybe you're right, Mom. But if you are, this isn't just something you alone have to work through. I've got to work through it, too. Because... because I don't like feeling guilty about you feeling lonely."

"Well, like you said, Conrad. I'm all ears. Because I don't know an easy way around the issue."

I took a deep, pensive breath. "There is one easy way around it." She raised a curious eyebrow expectantly. "We could, I mean, we might make... we could have sex."

"Get it out of our systems?"

"See what it feels like, yeah."

"And what if we like it?"

I gulped down my heart, which felt like it was beating a thousand times a second. I couldn't believe that I had just suggested to my mother that we have sex and she didn't slap me!

"If we like it?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes," my mother answered calmly. "What if we find that having sex feels so good that we don't want to stop?"

"Th-then, I, uh, I guess..." our eyes were locked on each other's at that point and a hundred horses doing the Foxtrot couldn't have diverted our attention. "I guess we, uh, keep doing it?"

"You don't sound certain of that, son. Are you sure it's something you want to try? In order to get this... distraction out of our systems, that is. I mean, one or both of us could be VERY distracted. It might take having sex together an awful lot before we're over it."

My right knee started shaking uncontrollably. Part of me wanted to jump up and run to the bedroom with my mother in tow while another part of me was in absolute disbelief that we were even discussing this. "An awful lot?" I squeaked.

Mother smiled wolfishly, which was an altogether new look on her. It was hungry and seductive and made my temperature rise a few points. "We might never tire of it, actually," she said with a hint of huskiness in her voice. "And there's another thing to consider."

"W-what's what?"

"I could get pregnant."

My voice cracked again at that thought. "You could?"

Mother nodded. "Absolutely. I haven't taken any birth control since Dad died. Haven't needed to. And I know you don't keep any condoms in your room. Last time I checked, my cycle started two weeks ago, which puts me right in the window for ovulation. If we have sex, son, there's a very, very good chance that you could make me pregnant."

"S-s-so I'll pull out," I suggested lamely.

Mother shook her head. "Your first time? I wouldn't hear of it. And, since we are being so honest and open here, the feeling of a man cumming inside of me sends me to the moon. So whenever we had sex, Dad would cum inside of me. Every time. Frankly, I've come to expect it, that feeling deep inside of me. It's as much a part of sex to me as everything else. Really, it's a miracle that you were the only child we had together. You wouldn't want to feel guilty about denying me that feeling, would you? Because then we'd have to do it over and over again until we purge that awful guilt."

"Over and over again?" I said dumbly.

"As many times as it takes until you're free of guilt... or until you get me pregnant. And maybe a few times after."

"Would... would you want that? F-for me to get you pregnant?"

Mother closed her eyes dreamily and said, "Oh, yes. Absolutely, yes." When she reopened her eyes and fixed them on me, the look of hunger in them was even bolder. "The very thought of it is so very exciting, isn't it? The son I made with my father, having sex with me and making another child within me. Oh, that's very, very much in keeping with the family traditions, isn't it?"

I nodded, swallowed and said, "Pictures don't lie. That's what the family album shows."

Mother pushed her plate to the side and leaned partly across the table, her ample cleavage on blatant display in my peripheral vision. I glanced down at her bosoms and could see that they were just as flushed with desire as the ruddy cheeks on her beautiful face. When I looked back up at her, I saw that she was still smiling. "So... the only question is..." She licked her lips like she was about to devour a meal a hundred times more satisfying than the breakfast she'd just cooked. "...when and where do we start?"

"Whenever and wherever you wish, Mother," I said with a hoarse rasp. I felt faint but ready to take on a hundred thousand warriors all at the same time. I'd never experienced arousal like this. Girls had flirted with me, sure, but what my mother was throwing at me was a whole other level of advanced that girls my age couldn't fathom. I was helpless in her gaze and ready to spit ten-penny nails if she'd asked me to.

Mother cocked a playful eyebrow at me. "Here? Now?" Her voice was hopeful.

"S-s-sure," I answered with a confidence that I didn't exactly feel.

My mother reached up to toy with one of the straps on her chemise. It gently slipped off her shoulder and with a quick glance downward, I could see that more of her cleavage was on display, the very top of her right areola clearly visible. The hard nub of flesh just beneath it, her nipple, was protruding against the fabric and its size and shape was unmistakable. My mouth involuntarily watered at the tantalizing sight.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do it in a more normal place your first time?" she asked. "Like a bed? Mine is plenty big enough. And I happen to know for a fact that it's very good for making babies in. After all, YOU were made in that bed."

My brain was in a fog. I couldn't concentrate on anything to save my life. If someone had asked me to put two-and-two together, my answer would've been "banana" or something equally unrelated. The ONLY thing that was coming through my mental haze at that moment, however, was a single word: NOW! That came through like an insistent cannon shot.

I shook my head slowly at her and forced my eyes upwards against to meet hers. "Here and now is fine," I said, my pulse quickening as though I was in a marathon. "I-I don't think I'll last long enough to make it upstairs."

Mother affected a look of sympathy. "Aw. Is my young man already so close?" She loosened the strap on her other shoulder so that now both areolas were visible. "Will I even have enough time to get naked for you?"

I took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "Mother, if we wait much longer, the point might be moot. I can barely think straight right now. Either we're going to have sex right here and right now, or I'm going to have a mess to clean up in about thirty seconds if you keep talking like that. It's taking every bit of self control to not just-"

"Maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Lose control."

So I did.

As I stood up, pushing my seat away from me suddenly, the sound of it scraping across the linoleum floor, I reached for the hem of my shirt and yanked it over my head. As I started to unbutton my jeans, Mother rose out of her chair as well and reached under the hem of her chemise. "How do you want me?" she asked as she pushed her panties down to her ankles and kicked them away from the table.

I looked down at her mound, the place from whence I came into the world. The hem of her chemise danced just above it, but revealed everything to me. She was clean shaven, which didn't surprise me for some reason, and her lips looked very swollen with desire. I don't know where it came from, but a certain sort of bearing came over me and I suddenly felt completely in control. "Exactly how I found you," I told her confidently as I pushed down my jeans and underwear simultaneously in one, swift motion. "Bent over with one leg raised." When I stood up straight my mother was staring at my groin now, her eyes wide.

"Dear God," she breathed, "it's bigger than I imagined!"

I gripped it as I started to move around the table to her side. "I wasn't kidding, Mother," I said with a growl in my throat. "I'm not going to last long!"

She immediately complied and leaned over the table with one leg resting on the edge of it. As I got behind her, I could see that she was more than ready for me. I'd seen a few adult magazines and I knew exactly what to do. I grabbed my shaft, almost squeezing it painfully, and aimed it at the hole I'd come out of 18 years before. "Be gentle at first, son," she gasped when she felt the crown of my swollen member barely touch her outer folds. She looked back at me, her right cheek pressed against the wooden table top and her eyes wild with lust. "It's been a long time for me."