22-11-2023, 01:20 PM
COMING HOME
Coming Home
Chapter 1
As I sit here looking out at a rainy day, I think back to all that has happened in the last few years, and in spite of the gloom I have to smile. I have been on a journey that most men never have the opportunity to take. It has been a relatively short but wonderful ride. There is nothing that I regret, not one single thing. Let me explain.
My name is Thomas Jason Cleaver and I am a 25 year old man, still living at home with my mother. I suppose today, kids living with their parents in order to make ends meet, is not a rare occurrence. My case, however, is quite a bit different in that I have an intimate relationship with my mother. We are in love and not the mother/son kind of love... we passed that vanilla form of relationship years ago. We are a couple, and to the outside world our relationship may represent a May/December romance. For the most part we don't really care what the world thinks of us. Still discretion is important, as normal society would never accept who we are. Let me to go back to when I was nineteen to explain how this all happened.
First let me say that my mother, Dawn, is a gorgeous lady, just turning 40, with a womanly maturity that rejects the effects of time. She stands about 5' 8" tall and has strawberry blond hair with crystal blue eyes and weighs about than 140 pounds. She has a perfectly sculptured body that even today, or maybe especially today, will causes men to stare. Her breasts are a bit larger than most women of her size, with a bit of a sexy droop but no sag. She has large nipples and areoles that seem to grow even larger when she is sexually excited. Her skin is creamy white and as smooth as silk.
As for me, I am about 6' tall and weigh in at 180 pounds. I have blond hair, and my mother's blue eyes. Most would say that I would be a catch for any young woman. Yet, when I was 18, no one would have said that about me. I was all of 150 pounds, which is skinny by anyone's standard. I was too skinny to play contact sports in high school, so I ran cross country and was on the track team. To say I was gangly would have been an understatement. I was also not very popular with girls in school, being self-conscious about my weight. To tell the truth I was not all that concerned with girls my age anyway because I had my mother. She was, and still is, the only one woman I was ever interested in.
My mother and I have always been close. She was very young when I was born and as a result was forced by her now deceased parents to marry the father. Her parents had ostracized their daughter after the birth and cut off all communication. My father, who Mom said I was named after, at his insistence, was a loser. He was older and took advantage of my mom. The marriage, which was doomed from the start, lasted but one year. He took off for parts unknown and has never been back, which is fine by me.
Still, it was difficult for Mom to raise me on her own, especially with her parents doing nothing to help. She worked hard and got a college degree at night and became a real estate agent... and a good one... working for a nationally known real estate firm. While not making us rich, the job provided us with most of the comforts of life.
Mom dated some over the years, but she never remarried. She always said I was the only man she wanted in her life. As a result we became very close. Early on, some of the kids teased that I was a "Mommy's boy." Truthfully, while at one point I questioned the label, I never resented it. Most of the time I was proud to be a "Momma's boy."
However, like most boys I did have my rebellious stage. After graduating high school, instead of going to college, I did much of nothing, working in fast food places, gas stations, and for a yard maintenance company. I earned little money and learned nothing of value. I was a bit past nineteen when I saw an ad for the military and stopped by the recruiting station. I told my mother that I was thinking about joining the military. While she was always supportive of me, she was not pleased with my revelation. She had accepted that I would go away to college one day, but never the long term separation that comes with military service. We didn't fight about it, but she let me know that she wasn't pleased.
Joining the military was not a decision I took lightly, and it was a very difficult one. However, in retrospect I think it was the best thing that could have happened to me. There were several reasons for me to consider the military in the first place. At the time the reasons seemed logical. First, in my rebellious stage I wanted to cast off the image that I could not make it on my own. I wanted to become my own man... to become a man. That was important to me, but yet deep inside there was another more important reason... I loved my mother, and not like a normal son loves his mother. I thought that getting away from her would help me separate myself from these feelings. I was, of course, wrong about that, realizing quickly that separation only makes the heart grow fonder.
I had always thought my mother was beautiful, but as I turned of age, I found that I was looking at my mother differently... not as a mother, but as a woman. I would see her around the house dressed in short summer dresses or shorts, or even her favorite fluffy bathrobe, with no makeup, and wonder what she looked like naked. Eventually, I have to admit that I took to spying on her.
You see, my mother had a thing about closed or locked doors, at least inside the house. She said it was a feeling that a closed door closed off communication. She would always leave every door opened just a crack, including the bedroom and bathrooms. I accepted it and would mostly comply with that rule myself unless I was doing something very personal... if you know what I mean. My mom must have known what I was doing as she would always leave me alone at those times.
Her policy of leaving doors open gave me ample opportunity, and maybe the incentive, to indulge in my spying activities. It gave me plenty of ammunition for my frequent masturbatory fantasies as well. I would watch her dressing, slipping on her bra and panties, or fresh out of the shower before she put on her robe. I learned much later that she knew that I was spying and was embarrassed that it had excited her.
My mother and I had always been affectionate and never parted without an innocent kiss on the lips. Sometimes, on special occasions, like her closing on a big home sale, or a birthday, there would be a hug and a kiss that lasted longer than a quick peck. At those times my mother would push me away as soon as she felt the almost inevitable hardening in my pants. Her face would flush but I saw her glance down on more than one occasion. My face would flush as well.
There were special evenings when we would sit on the sofa together watching TV, her wearing her favorite old shirt of mine, and me in my shorts and tee shirt. She seemed to be quite careless about letting the shirt fall open and I could see the creamy swells of her braless breasts. I would sometimes pull her over until she was sitting on my lap, which she strangely allowed. Inevitably I would get excited. Sometimes she would remain there even after I had become erect. She would nuzzle her face into my neck and after a while I would wonder if she had fallen asleep.
The feeling of her warm body pressed to me and the smell of her freshly washed hair would conspire to cause my cock to throb in my shorts. I wasn't sure if she realized that at those special times I would sometimes climax from no more than the feeling of her soft ass on my cock. What wonderful memories those times were for me, and as I learned later, for her as well.
It wasn't until I had enlisted in the military, and was due to leave the next day for boot camp, that I realized how my mother really felt. I was in bed with just my night table light on, lying naked under the sheets, indulging in my favorite activity when my mother, knocked on my closed door, and came into the room. I was embarrassed; as it was pretty obvious from the tent in the sheet that I had an erection as well as what I had been doing. Mom didn't seem to notice as she walked in wearing one of my long sleeve button down shirts and a pair of tiny panties. She sat on the side of the bed. Her eyes were red from crying but she smiled at me.
"I hope you don't mind that I took one of your shirts... it just makes me feel closer to you."
"Of course not," I replied as my face flushed.
"I'm going to miss you," she whispered as she leaned over and placed her cheek on my bare chest.
I could feel the wetness of her tears on my chest. Even that turned me on and made my still hard cock throb. I had tears in my eyes as well and couldn't answer her. In spite of my emotions my erection did not diminish, but in fact continued to throb under the sheet. I wondered if my mother could see it. A moment or two later I knew that she could.
The room grew very quiet and I swear I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. I felt her hand on my bare stomach and I suppressed a gasp. She gently circled her hand, her fingers playing idly in the hair that trailed under the sheet. I held my breath as her circling hand moved lower and lower until it had slipped under the sheet. I was frozen with excitement and, yes, fear. When he hand started to very slowly move, I wondered if it was just my imagination. I knew that she could see me my cock throbbing under the sheet now and there was a wet spot from my pre-cum.
My head was spinning with excitement and embarrassment as I felt her almost scorching had move another inch lower. At any moment she would be able to feel the wetness created by my dripping cock in my pubic hair. I gasped when she moved that inch and I felt her fingers playing in my pre-cum fluid. I let a little moan slip from my lips and I thought I heard her moan as well.
I lay frozen, wondering if I was asleep and it was a wonderful dream. Whether it was or not, I was afraid to move in fear that I would spoil the moment. I was terrified that she would touch me, but even more terrified that she would not. A second later I felt her hand wrap around my throbbing cock. I swear I almost climaxed.
I moaned loudly this time. It was the softest and most sensual touch I had ever felt. Her warm hand gently caressed my cock, slowly circling the head and allowing my dripping fluid to lubricate her palm. It felt as though the head of my cock was encased in a warm velvet glove. She turned her hand this way and that, gently and lightly stimulating the head. My heart was pounding in my chest and all my senses were heightened. I could feel the warmth of her breasts and the rapid beat of her heart though my shirt and hers.
When she began to gently stroke my cock I didn't think I could hold back. But I didn't want it to end either. I didn't want to shoot off like some inexperienced adolescent and ruin this moment. Yet I was inexperienced. Well except for a couple of amazing times that Becky Henderson had jerked me off while sitting on her parent's sofa watching TV. But I was no ladies' man in high school and therefore no real sexual experience. I was, in fact, a virgin.
My mother seemed to sense my excitement and slowed her movement until it was but a gentle squeezing. When the crisis had passed she began again. Her fist came back to the head to coat her palm with my now copious fluids. She twisted her hand around the head until it felt like it would explode. Then she moved back to the shaft again. I am not sure how long this lasted but to my foggy mind it seemed like an eternity of sensual torture. I never wanted it to end, but I was also desperate to climax. I tried desperately to keep my hips from moving, afraid that the added friction would cause me to climax too soon.
Still my mother somehow knew when I could take no more and she would back off. Time and again she did this until I thought I would go mad with desire. Finally, mercifully, she began to stroke me. I could not see her hand on my cock as my view was blocked by her head. I could, however, hear the sound her hand made moving on my now slick cock. She moved faster and faster until it was a sticky and sloppy slapping sound, which I had heard many times when I had done it on my own.
"Oh God," I groaned as my balls pulled tight. I lifted my hips upward as I felt the throbs of orgasm begin. "Ahhhhhheeee," I screamed as my cock pulsed and began to blast my cum up the shaft and then splat on my belly. I did it again and again. She continued to stroke me as my cock spit blast after blast of sperm from my swollen balls. To this day I don't think any climax I had ever experienced had lasted so long or felt so sweet.
My mother continued to stroke me, timing her squeezes with the throbs of my cock, until I was drained. Now I lay exhausted, trying to catch my breath. I was almost afraid to open my eyes, fearing that it might have actually been a wet dream. It was impossible to imagine that my mother had actually jerked me off... had made me climax. I was still in denial when I felt her move away from me. Then she stood and hurried out of my room without a word.
The room was spinning. Had my mother really jerked me off? It had to be a dream I thought. I lifted the sheet to my cum splattered all over my lower stomach and pubic hair. There was even some hanging from the sheet. I fell back on the bed still wondering if it had really happened.
After a few long minutes I slipped out of bed. When I entered the hallway I saw that my mother's door was closed. It might have been the only time in my life that I had seen her door closed. I quietly tiptoed down the hall and pressed my ear to the door. I thought I could hear whimpers coming from inside. I didn't know if she was crying or playing with herself. I wanted desperately to open the door... to run to my mother and hold her in my arms... to thank her for the most amazing thing I had ever felt. Yet I couldn't do it. I couldn't invade her privacy. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass her or worse, make her angry.
Instead I went to the bathroom, masturbated again, and then changed my sheets before going back to bed.
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
As I sit here looking out at a rainy day, I think back to all that has happened in the last few years, and in spite of the gloom I have to smile. I have been on a journey that most men never have the opportunity to take. It has been a relatively short but wonderful ride. There is nothing that I regret, not one single thing. Let me explain.
My name is Thomas Jason Cleaver and I am a 25 year old man, still living at home with my mother. I suppose today, kids living with their parents in order to make ends meet, is not a rare occurrence. My case, however, is quite a bit different in that I have an intimate relationship with my mother. We are in love and not the mother/son kind of love... we passed that vanilla form of relationship years ago. We are a couple, and to the outside world our relationship may represent a May/December romance. For the most part we don't really care what the world thinks of us. Still discretion is important, as normal society would never accept who we are. Let me to go back to when I was nineteen to explain how this all happened.
First let me say that my mother, Dawn, is a gorgeous lady, just turning 40, with a womanly maturity that rejects the effects of time. She stands about 5' 8" tall and has strawberry blond hair with crystal blue eyes and weighs about than 140 pounds. She has a perfectly sculptured body that even today, or maybe especially today, will causes men to stare. Her breasts are a bit larger than most women of her size, with a bit of a sexy droop but no sag. She has large nipples and areoles that seem to grow even larger when she is sexually excited. Her skin is creamy white and as smooth as silk.
As for me, I am about 6' tall and weigh in at 180 pounds. I have blond hair, and my mother's blue eyes. Most would say that I would be a catch for any young woman. Yet, when I was 18, no one would have said that about me. I was all of 150 pounds, which is skinny by anyone's standard. I was too skinny to play contact sports in high school, so I ran cross country and was on the track team. To say I was gangly would have been an understatement. I was also not very popular with girls in school, being self-conscious about my weight. To tell the truth I was not all that concerned with girls my age anyway because I had my mother. She was, and still is, the only one woman I was ever interested in.
My mother and I have always been close. She was very young when I was born and as a result was forced by her now deceased parents to marry the father. Her parents had ostracized their daughter after the birth and cut off all communication. My father, who Mom said I was named after, at his insistence, was a loser. He was older and took advantage of my mom. The marriage, which was doomed from the start, lasted but one year. He took off for parts unknown and has never been back, which is fine by me.
Still, it was difficult for Mom to raise me on her own, especially with her parents doing nothing to help. She worked hard and got a college degree at night and became a real estate agent... and a good one... working for a nationally known real estate firm. While not making us rich, the job provided us with most of the comforts of life.
Mom dated some over the years, but she never remarried. She always said I was the only man she wanted in her life. As a result we became very close. Early on, some of the kids teased that I was a "Mommy's boy." Truthfully, while at one point I questioned the label, I never resented it. Most of the time I was proud to be a "Momma's boy."
However, like most boys I did have my rebellious stage. After graduating high school, instead of going to college, I did much of nothing, working in fast food places, gas stations, and for a yard maintenance company. I earned little money and learned nothing of value. I was a bit past nineteen when I saw an ad for the military and stopped by the recruiting station. I told my mother that I was thinking about joining the military. While she was always supportive of me, she was not pleased with my revelation. She had accepted that I would go away to college one day, but never the long term separation that comes with military service. We didn't fight about it, but she let me know that she wasn't pleased.
Joining the military was not a decision I took lightly, and it was a very difficult one. However, in retrospect I think it was the best thing that could have happened to me. There were several reasons for me to consider the military in the first place. At the time the reasons seemed logical. First, in my rebellious stage I wanted to cast off the image that I could not make it on my own. I wanted to become my own man... to become a man. That was important to me, but yet deep inside there was another more important reason... I loved my mother, and not like a normal son loves his mother. I thought that getting away from her would help me separate myself from these feelings. I was, of course, wrong about that, realizing quickly that separation only makes the heart grow fonder.
I had always thought my mother was beautiful, but as I turned of age, I found that I was looking at my mother differently... not as a mother, but as a woman. I would see her around the house dressed in short summer dresses or shorts, or even her favorite fluffy bathrobe, with no makeup, and wonder what she looked like naked. Eventually, I have to admit that I took to spying on her.
You see, my mother had a thing about closed or locked doors, at least inside the house. She said it was a feeling that a closed door closed off communication. She would always leave every door opened just a crack, including the bedroom and bathrooms. I accepted it and would mostly comply with that rule myself unless I was doing something very personal... if you know what I mean. My mom must have known what I was doing as she would always leave me alone at those times.
Her policy of leaving doors open gave me ample opportunity, and maybe the incentive, to indulge in my spying activities. It gave me plenty of ammunition for my frequent masturbatory fantasies as well. I would watch her dressing, slipping on her bra and panties, or fresh out of the shower before she put on her robe. I learned much later that she knew that I was spying and was embarrassed that it had excited her.
My mother and I had always been affectionate and never parted without an innocent kiss on the lips. Sometimes, on special occasions, like her closing on a big home sale, or a birthday, there would be a hug and a kiss that lasted longer than a quick peck. At those times my mother would push me away as soon as she felt the almost inevitable hardening in my pants. Her face would flush but I saw her glance down on more than one occasion. My face would flush as well.
There were special evenings when we would sit on the sofa together watching TV, her wearing her favorite old shirt of mine, and me in my shorts and tee shirt. She seemed to be quite careless about letting the shirt fall open and I could see the creamy swells of her braless breasts. I would sometimes pull her over until she was sitting on my lap, which she strangely allowed. Inevitably I would get excited. Sometimes she would remain there even after I had become erect. She would nuzzle her face into my neck and after a while I would wonder if she had fallen asleep.
The feeling of her warm body pressed to me and the smell of her freshly washed hair would conspire to cause my cock to throb in my shorts. I wasn't sure if she realized that at those special times I would sometimes climax from no more than the feeling of her soft ass on my cock. What wonderful memories those times were for me, and as I learned later, for her as well.
It wasn't until I had enlisted in the military, and was due to leave the next day for boot camp, that I realized how my mother really felt. I was in bed with just my night table light on, lying naked under the sheets, indulging in my favorite activity when my mother, knocked on my closed door, and came into the room. I was embarrassed; as it was pretty obvious from the tent in the sheet that I had an erection as well as what I had been doing. Mom didn't seem to notice as she walked in wearing one of my long sleeve button down shirts and a pair of tiny panties. She sat on the side of the bed. Her eyes were red from crying but she smiled at me.
"I hope you don't mind that I took one of your shirts... it just makes me feel closer to you."
"Of course not," I replied as my face flushed.
"I'm going to miss you," she whispered as she leaned over and placed her cheek on my bare chest.
I could feel the wetness of her tears on my chest. Even that turned me on and made my still hard cock throb. I had tears in my eyes as well and couldn't answer her. In spite of my emotions my erection did not diminish, but in fact continued to throb under the sheet. I wondered if my mother could see it. A moment or two later I knew that she could.
The room grew very quiet and I swear I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. I felt her hand on my bare stomach and I suppressed a gasp. She gently circled her hand, her fingers playing idly in the hair that trailed under the sheet. I held my breath as her circling hand moved lower and lower until it had slipped under the sheet. I was frozen with excitement and, yes, fear. When he hand started to very slowly move, I wondered if it was just my imagination. I knew that she could see me my cock throbbing under the sheet now and there was a wet spot from my pre-cum.
My head was spinning with excitement and embarrassment as I felt her almost scorching had move another inch lower. At any moment she would be able to feel the wetness created by my dripping cock in my pubic hair. I gasped when she moved that inch and I felt her fingers playing in my pre-cum fluid. I let a little moan slip from my lips and I thought I heard her moan as well.
I lay frozen, wondering if I was asleep and it was a wonderful dream. Whether it was or not, I was afraid to move in fear that I would spoil the moment. I was terrified that she would touch me, but even more terrified that she would not. A second later I felt her hand wrap around my throbbing cock. I swear I almost climaxed.
I moaned loudly this time. It was the softest and most sensual touch I had ever felt. Her warm hand gently caressed my cock, slowly circling the head and allowing my dripping fluid to lubricate her palm. It felt as though the head of my cock was encased in a warm velvet glove. She turned her hand this way and that, gently and lightly stimulating the head. My heart was pounding in my chest and all my senses were heightened. I could feel the warmth of her breasts and the rapid beat of her heart though my shirt and hers.
When she began to gently stroke my cock I didn't think I could hold back. But I didn't want it to end either. I didn't want to shoot off like some inexperienced adolescent and ruin this moment. Yet I was inexperienced. Well except for a couple of amazing times that Becky Henderson had jerked me off while sitting on her parent's sofa watching TV. But I was no ladies' man in high school and therefore no real sexual experience. I was, in fact, a virgin.
My mother seemed to sense my excitement and slowed her movement until it was but a gentle squeezing. When the crisis had passed she began again. Her fist came back to the head to coat her palm with my now copious fluids. She twisted her hand around the head until it felt like it would explode. Then she moved back to the shaft again. I am not sure how long this lasted but to my foggy mind it seemed like an eternity of sensual torture. I never wanted it to end, but I was also desperate to climax. I tried desperately to keep my hips from moving, afraid that the added friction would cause me to climax too soon.
Still my mother somehow knew when I could take no more and she would back off. Time and again she did this until I thought I would go mad with desire. Finally, mercifully, she began to stroke me. I could not see her hand on my cock as my view was blocked by her head. I could, however, hear the sound her hand made moving on my now slick cock. She moved faster and faster until it was a sticky and sloppy slapping sound, which I had heard many times when I had done it on my own.
"Oh God," I groaned as my balls pulled tight. I lifted my hips upward as I felt the throbs of orgasm begin. "Ahhhhhheeee," I screamed as my cock pulsed and began to blast my cum up the shaft and then splat on my belly. I did it again and again. She continued to stroke me as my cock spit blast after blast of sperm from my swollen balls. To this day I don't think any climax I had ever experienced had lasted so long or felt so sweet.
My mother continued to stroke me, timing her squeezes with the throbs of my cock, until I was drained. Now I lay exhausted, trying to catch my breath. I was almost afraid to open my eyes, fearing that it might have actually been a wet dream. It was impossible to imagine that my mother had actually jerked me off... had made me climax. I was still in denial when I felt her move away from me. Then she stood and hurried out of my room without a word.
The room was spinning. Had my mother really jerked me off? It had to be a dream I thought. I lifted the sheet to my cum splattered all over my lower stomach and pubic hair. There was even some hanging from the sheet. I fell back on the bed still wondering if it had really happened.
After a few long minutes I slipped out of bed. When I entered the hallway I saw that my mother's door was closed. It might have been the only time in my life that I had seen her door closed. I quietly tiptoed down the hall and pressed my ear to the door. I thought I could hear whimpers coming from inside. I didn't know if she was crying or playing with herself. I wanted desperately to open the door... to run to my mother and hold her in my arms... to thank her for the most amazing thing I had ever felt. Yet I couldn't do it. I couldn't invade her privacy. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass her or worse, make her angry.
Instead I went to the bathroom, masturbated again, and then changed my sheets before going back to bed.
Chapter 2
जिंदगी की राहों में रंजो गम के मेले हैं.
भीड़ है क़यामत की फिर भी हम अकेले हैं.
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