So I settled myself in front of the computer.
What should I write; A romance, a historical novel, a detective story?
Two hours later I was still mulling this over, and then I decided I'd better start with something a bit easier; something erotic that hopefully would be popular. I would go for incest/taboo; that always goes down well with the public.
Inspiration at last My fingers were ready to fly over the keys.
"Tall handsome David gazed down at his mother's lovely naked body..."
Five hours later and all I'd got was, "Tall handsome David, gazed down at his mother's lovely naked body..."
3 a.m. eleven words and I'd already got writer's block. A great start for a writer of genius. Never mind; tomorrow would bring fresh inspiration. It was time to get to bed, especially as mother, on her way to the toilet, had just stuck her head round the door and said, "You still at it? Now turn that thing off and get to bed or I'll turn it off for you."
* * * * * * * *
The morning brought fresh inspiration indeed. At 11 a.m. I settled once more before the computer, fingers itching to type. It was a bit of a late start because I hadn't woken up until 10 a.m.
My digits flew across the keys and by 5 p.m. I had written, "Tall handsome David, gazed down at his mother's lovely naked body, his huge penis hardening."
Just as well I was using a computer because if I'd been using paper the floor would have been smothered with rejects.
It was all there, I knew it was; all lurking inside my head, but it just wouldn't come out. A break was called for. I was going out with Joe my best mate that evening so I had to call a halt anyway.
Joe is quite a character; like me he's an up and coming genius, although his intended forte was designing labels for sauce bottles.
Without going into details about the plot of my story I laid my problem before him.
"Aha, writers block," he said solemnly. "Now Paul my old buddy," he went on, slapping on the back, "let us consider the situation. As a first time writer you need to write out of your own experience. Now tell me, have you actually experienced what you're writing about?"
"Well...I...er..."
With his usual ebullience he didn't wait for me to finish.
"Now take me," he continued, "I have experienced my intended field of activity. I have studied sauce bottle labels in great depth; I have steamed them off and felt them; I have even chewed and swallowed them. In short, I have sacrificed my self to my genius. I know my subject. Experience my boy, experience, that's what's needed."
"You mean that whatever subject I choose to write about I've got to..."
"Exactly old boy," he interrupted again. "But I should add that if direct experience is out of the question, then research. Read up on the topic, find out what you can. Now I'm sorry to depart from you so early, but mum has just bought a new brand of sauce, and I really must go home and make a study of its label."
He turned to leave me and then turning back again he asked, "Do you happen to know if they have a degree course in sauce bottle labels at the university?"
"I shouldn't think so, not in Australian universities. One of those places they call "Colleges" in the USA might have a course. They study all sorts of weird things there."
He looked slightly offended that I'd suggested that his field of study might be weird, but he went off muttering, "I might try the technical institutes."
* * * * * * * *
Experience...research; he was quite right; but could I experience...no that was out of the question. Then I remembered that I'd actually done some research.
Now if I tell you it happened inadvertently I know you're going to sneer and say, "Oh yeah, and donkeys might take to submarining." Nevertheless, I swear it's the truth.
I once saw mother waxing herself to remove her pubic hair. I'd come home when she wasn't expecting me, and she was sitting in the kitchen humming to herself and waxing enthusiastically. I suppose it was for Stanley's benefit – he was her current lover. Come to think of it, he'd been current for a couple of years, but he hadn't come calling lately as far as I knew.
Mother was so engrossed in her task she didn't notice me arriving, and so I removed myself from the kitchen but stayed watching through a crack in the door that I hadn't quite closed; prurient no doubt, but fascinating.
I had a lovely view of her plump quim and I thought it looked good enough to eat. It actually got me horny. When she finished waxing she started to stroke herself, and then a couple of finger disappeared into her vagina, to reappear and then disappear at regular intervals.
She was still humming, but it took on another rhythm as she pleasured herself; a sort of "Mmmm....mmmm....ah...ah...mmmm...oh...mmmm...oh Jesus...eeeow..."
I suppose that might constitute research, but I wondered how I might incorporate it into the story.
* * * * * * * *
After Joe left me to carry out his research I made my way home thoughtfully. Perhaps dimensions were the thing to start with. Readers of erotica usually like to have some idea of the breast size and that sort of stuff, so I started there.
When I got home mother was sitting in the lounge watching television. I crept quietly into the laundry and started to search through the waiting soiled objects.
Towards the bottom of the pile I found what I was looking for, and sure enough, there was the little label – not a sauce bottle label - attached to a pair of mum's bras. 36C it proclaimed, "Wash in lukewarm water only." That was a good start. There was also a pair of mother's panties, very skimpy and sexy – I suppose she'd bought those for Stanley's benefit as well."
Mother's voice behind me asked, "What are you looking for?"
"I...I...er...shirt...pocket, put a five dollar note in and..."
I was still holding the bras so I hastily dropped them back with the other items.
"You haven't put a shirt in the wash."
"Oh...yes...no...bedroom...must be in bedroom; idiot aren't I."
"So what's new?" mother said, as I removed myself hastily from the laundry and headed for the computer.
I'd got it; the whole story was now spread out before me. I hurled myself upon the keyboard and started to type.
Four hours later I sat back to survey my achievement; "Tall handsome David, gazed down at his mother's lovely naked body, his huge penis hardening as his dark brown eyes took in her 36C breasts..."
What the hell came next?
Joe's advice came to mind. "Research" he had said, so further research it had to be.
* * * * * * * *
Now until the occasion of mother's waxing I'd never really taken stock of her physical assets, and after all, that had only been a limited, although pleasant, view of her anatomy.
Like a lot of kids for me she had just been mother, the provider of food and money, the cleaner of the house and the washer of washing, etc. I would really have to take a more all-embracing look at her.
In general I supposed she must be okay, depending on your taste. Since dad got chucked out for screwing the woman next door there had been three lovers. I can't remember the name of the first one, but what I do remember was that he privately asked me to call him "Uncle." When I asked mum later if I should call him that she said firmly, "You call him that and there'll be no television for a fortnight."
After that he only lasted a couple more weeks. He was followed by Bernard. I liked Bernard; he always brought me chocolate and gave me ten dollars to go out and play. Yes, Bernard was very profitable. He lasted about four years.
Most recently there had been Stanley and by his time I'd grown up sufficiently to conjecture why these changes in sex partners. None of them actually ever lived with us, they just came calling and sometimes remained overnight, but that was all. I think the real trouble was, these men wanted to move in, and perhaps even marry mother.
Now I've learned recently that mother was too wary to take on another man since she'd been so hurt by dad's behaviour, and as she has told me, she didn't want me to have a stepfather; "Too many conflicts with that sort of thing," she said.
* * * * * * * *
Having decided in a general sort of way that mum must look okay I went on to closer research.
This involved looking at her in minute detail. That can be difficult if the subject for investigation often wears jeans and a shirt and never appears in a bikini or panties and bras like they do in a lot of erotic stories. I mean, clothes can cover many flaws that lie beneath them.
It can also be difficult in this situation if the subject under investigation catches you looking at them too intently. This happened several times when mother snapped, "What are you staring at?"
I'd noticed she'd got increasingly irritable since Stanley had dropped out of her life.
I had to make up something quickly to account for my staring; something like, "Oh, I was just fascinated by the intricate pattern of your shirt."
Invariably mother came back with, "It hasn't got an intricate pattern."
She was quite right of course, but I had to say something.
However, after several days of mother watching I concluded as follows: she is buxom but not flabby fat; has sturdy but well shaped legs with slender ankles; her face is not exactly pretty, but pleasantly round with rather nice lips, the bottom one protrudes very slightly and always looks slightly moist. Her hair is somewhere between red and gold and is shoulder length, and she obviously takes some pride in it because it always looks very shiny and neat.
I had already determined her breast size but of course, you can't be sure what the flesh and blood reality looks like. Observation of this proved to be tricky since I never actually saw them completely exposed.
I did however have the benefit of breakfast time. I suppose that doesn't make much sense to you so I'd better briefly explain. Mother had a habit of coming in for breakfast still wearing her nightdress. Her nightdresses tended to be of fragile construction and through the cobweb-like material I was able to see that her bosom was quite firm and shapely. I got to quite like seeing her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
I think this nightdress wearing at breakfast had to do with her lovers. I had only vague memories of breakfast time when father had been around, so I couldn't recall whether she wore such seductive nighties at that time, but I think not.
I imagine that the general idea was that when one of the lovers stayed overnight she was hoping that by appearing in her seductive nightdress he might find time to haul her back to bed and give a happy start to her day. That of course did not account for why she wore this flimsy garb when no lover was around; habit I supposed.
Joe had proved to be right, research was the thing. By the end of a month I'd advanced considerably with the story.
"Tall handsome David gazed down at his mother's lovely naked body, his huge penis hardening as his dark brown eyes took in her 36C breasts. He bent over her to kiss her warm moist lips, and her buxom but shapely body was quivering with anticipation as she parted her legs to receive him..."
You don't think that's much? Well it was fifty three words which was a considerable advance on the eleven I started with. But you're no doubt right; I was only making slow headway.
What to do? I didn't think it was any use resorting to Joe again, he'd only tell me what he'd said before. I did ask Annie my latest girl friend, but I suppose I chose an inopportune moment. I'd just come in her and she was climbing down from her orgasm when I asked, "What do you think it would be like for a guy to have sex with his mother?"
Her eyes widened, her post climax tremors came to a sudden halt, and she screamed, "You filthy beast," and pushing me off her and hastily pulling up her knickers, she fled. As far as she's concerned I've been persona non grata with her ever since.
* * * * * * * *
Let's face it, as a writer of erotic fiction I was a flop. I suspected I was destined to be a flop with any literature. It was very depressing.
Sometimes Fortuna, the goddess of luck, throws something your way. In the midst of my despair and sitting despondently in front of the computer one evening, I had just decided to give up my career as a writer when the goddess came across.
A voice behind me said, "You've been sitting in front of that computer all day, every day, for weeks, what the hell are you doing?"
Mother There was no time to turn off the screen which had my story – if such it could be called – on it.
Mother leaned across me to take a look, her breast brushing against my cheek. That felt very nice, and there was a tingling sensation in my groin.
It took her only a matter of seconds to read what I had written, and having done so she let out a groan of disgust and said, "Is that all you've written?"
"Yes...I..."
"All this time and you haven't even finished one paragraph, what's the matter with you?"
I'd expected her to castigate me for the subject I had chosen to write about, but instead she only seemed concerned about the amount I had written, or more accurately, what I hadn't written.
"I've done all the research I can," I protested weakly, "but I don't seem to be able to get it down."
"That, my dear Paul, is patently obvious...hey, where have you been doing your research?
She stood staring at me intently.
"Well...I...er...I've been..."
"Me You've been doing your research with me," she said a bit more enthusiastically than I'd have anticipated.
"Yes, I mean, you're the only mother I've got and you've seen the story so..."
"Yes, I've got the gist of it, what there is. So you've done your research, what's the hold up, illiteracy?"
"No," I replied somewhat offended at her suggestion that I was analphabetic, couldn't she remember that I'd got a pass in English as high school?"
"What then?" she asked, as if daring me to give the answer that she already knew I must give if I answered at all.
I ducked round her question and said, "I suppose I'd better give up on the story, I just don't have the experience to write something like that. Joe said that you need..."
"Joe, what does he know about it?"
"Well he is going to major in sauce bottle labels," I replied, "and he told me that I shouldn't write about things I've never experienced."
"Well for once he's right," mother said somewhat patronisingly. "You'd better give up that story; write about someone sitting in front of a computer all day for weeks who can't write a story, you've had plenty of experience of that."
With that she left me sitting in front of that infernal machine more despondent than ever.
Then in a sudden fit of pique I snarled at the computer, "I'll show you whose boss," and I selected the text and pressed the delate button.
"Are you sure you want to...."
"Yes, yes, yes, I bloody well am sure."
I went to the desk top and there it was, glowering at me malevolently from the recycle bin. Would I never be rid of this vile object of my shame?
Right click, empty, "are you..." Yes, I am." Click, gone; what a relief; it would no longer rise up to haunt my days and nights.
Not haunt me Flung into that great cyberspace rubbish tip it haunted me more than ever. My great potential opus gone for all eternity, and the great mass of readers to be forever denied my genius.
This was the Valley of the Shadow, the dark night of the soul. I wept, I wailed, I tried to get it back on the computer, but too late. The darkest of depressions descended upon me.
"What's the matter with you misery guts?" mother asked over breakfast. "You look as if you've lost a million dollars and found ten cents."
I glanced at her breasts as they trembled seductively beneath the gossamer thinness of her nightdress. In my despair not even that could arouse me.
"Nothing," I replied resentfully, as if it had been mother who'd put the kibosh on my creative art, which in a way she had.
"Can't stop to talk now," she said, "I've got to get to work. And by the way, weren't you supposed to be looking for a job to help out with the money?"
"I'll go down to the fast food outlet today," I said sullenly, "and see if they want any part time staff."
"Yes, you and ten thousand other students trying to make a dollar before they start university," she said.
Ha, ha, I foiled her cynicism. I got a job in a back street xxx that should have been called, "TFC," "Terrible Fried Chicken." It wasn't called that; it was "CFC," "xxx Fried Chicken," and that about all it was. The local populace came crowding in, not caring that round the corner was the place that advertised secret spices and herbs.
I had little doubt that the local GPs did a roaring trade in curing digestive problems.
* * * * * * * *
I'd been staggering home each night, my wrists aching from taking the dyspeptic customers money. It was the fifth night after I'd started this job when I reeled in set on having a shower to try and relieve the strain of so much financial dealing.
I finished the shower and dried myself, and was making my way to the blessed haven of my bedroom, when I was summoned.
I was passing mother's bedroom and the door was partially open.
"Paul," she called out imperiously, "come in here."
"What now," I thought, "what new shortcoming was she about to level at me?"
I entered the sanctum in which so many nights of groans and screams had taken place.
Wearing her nightdress mother was seated on one of those upholstered stools in front of the xxx table brushing her hair. It was one of those long two-seater stools and she patted the space beside her and said, "Come and sit down, I want to talk to you."
I sat, and as she continued brushing her hair she said, "That story of yours."
"I've deleted it."
"That's a pity."
"It was hopeless."
"No," she said reflectively, "it wasn't too bad as far as it went, but you started in the wrong place."
"Wrong place?"
"Yes, there was no lead up."
"Lead up?"
"Paul do stop repeating my words."
"Sorry, but what lead up?"
"Well, how did he come to be looking down at her naked body, and why was she laying there naked? There has to be a reason; things had to happen before you get to that bit. Why would a mother be lying there naked in front of her son?"
"I suppose...I don't know. Why would she?"
"There might be a number of reasons."
"Like what?"
"Oh, she might be trying to protect him."
"Protect him I don't understand."
Mother sighed and said, "She might think it would be better for him to have sex with her instead of other women in case he slipped up and found himself having to marry a girl because he'd made her pregnant, or having to pay a paternity allowance."
I remembered the jolt Hilda had given me when she told me she was pregnant. Fortunately it had proved to be a false alarm.
"Or she might be thinking of all the nasty diseases her son might pick up with those girls," mother continued. "Then again she might just want to keep her son happy and contented; young men often get irascible if they're sexual frustrated, so she'd be making him easier to live with."
She paused for a moment deep in thought, and the went on, "Of course she might not have a man in her life and she's sexually frustrated herself, and all the time she's got her son living with her, a potent young man."
"Then there's the special bond between mother and son, and she might think it would be good to make it physical to show him how much she loved him."
"But what's in it for the son?" I asked.
She looked at me as if I was moronic and said as if she was talking to a three year old, "Paul, that's pretty obvious isn't it? He's got a woman readily available; she's experienced in sexual matters; he doesn't have to go out hunting for girls; he gets all the sex he wants with minimal responsibility."
"That's if he fancies his mother," I commented.
"Yes of course, but lots of sons have sexual feelings about their mothers, it just never comes to anything."
"Yes," I said, "but how would it come to something; I mean, how would they get started in the first place? Would one of them say, 'I fancy you, come to bed with me'?"
"I don't think it would be as blatant as that Paul. It would be a bit more subtle."
"How?"
"Well, I suppose there might be a long lead up to it. Hugs getting a bit closer, kisses lingering longer. They would be feeling each other out...er...metaphorically speaking. She'd be trying to find out if he was getting an erection when they were close, and she might call him to come into her bedroom when she was wearing a sexy nightdress; things like that."
"Ah, yes, so...so...so what happens then?"
"I suppose they might kiss goodnight, the kiss becomes passionate and he reaches for her breasts..."
"And she reaches for his penis and starts to stroke it and the next thing they're in bed and..."
"Yes, something like that. Now you've got a bit more information you might be able to write the story. We'd better say goodnight."
She placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me on the lips. She drew back looking at me questioningly, and apparently seeing the answer in my face she kissed me again. The kiss went on for a long time and she gradually opened her mouth. Experimentally I pushed my tongue into her mouth, just to see what response I got, and it was positive since the next moment her tongue was exploring my mouth.
Going a step farther I cupped one of her breasts with my hand and she leaned in close to me. When we broke from the kiss she gasped, "If you're going to write that story you really do need experience."
"Yes," I choked – it felt as if I had a lump in my throat – "but where do I get it?"
Her hand reached down and pulling aside my bathrobe she took hold of my penis and began to stroke it.
"We could start here," she said.
"Why would you want to? You gave a lot of reasons why a mother would..."
"All of them...all of them for God's sake...stop quibbling."
She was now masturbating me vigorously and I was trying to get my hand inside her nightdress so that I could feel the flesh of her breasts.
"Mum...mum...you're making me come," I groaned.
"No you don't," she said, "You've got to have the proper experience."
She stood up and said, "Take off my nightdress."
I stood and started to tug off her nightie, but she said, "Slowly, don't rush it, give your self time to see what's revealed."
I slowed down and my God, what was revealed I've said that clothes often conceal flaws, but I saw none as I stripped her. Her breasts were as ripe as a young girl's; she still had no pubic hair – she must have been waxing it again – and her firm body looked as if it was made for loving. I wondered why my father had needed to look elsewhere.
Mother was peeling off my bathrobe and when she had me naked she stood back and looked at me. Touching my penis again she murmured, "Yes, I knew you'd be just what I've wanted. I think you should have the full experience, so you'd better come to bed with me."
She lay on the bed and I stood looking down at her lovely naked body – that's strange, I thought, I've seen or heard those words somewhere before.
"Come and lay beside me," mother said, extending her arms to me.
I lay beside her, our bodies pressed close together. We kissed and I explored her vagina with my fingers, feeling its hot wetness.
"Suck my nipples," mother whispered.
Those ripe pink nipples tasted delicious, the best tasting nipples I had ever experienced. The trouble was I was so close to coming I didn't think I could hold back much longer. I called out, "I'm going to come, mother."
"No...no..." she whimpered, "in me...I must have it in me..."
She came over me and lowered her furrow until I felt my penis sink into her vagina; past her pubic bone and into the soft, hot paradise beyond.
She gave a few sharp jerks and that was sufficient, I took hold of her hips and dragged her down on to me as I shot the first eruption of sperm into her. She continued her rhythmic short sharp jerks as I emptied myself into her.
* * * * * * * *
When I'd finished she looked down at me smiling.
"And has mother made her son feel good?"
"Yes...yes..." I gasped as I started to recover from my orgasm.
She was moving over my penis with a slow rocking motion, dragging my poor wilting phallus hard against her pubic bone.
"And do you think you've had enough experience to write the story now?"
I almost said yes, but got the distinct impression that mother's teasing movements were having a stimulating effect on me – another experience I'd not had before because usually once I'd come that was it for at least a couple of hours.
Mother was now moving so that my penis almost exited her vagina, and then plunging down again. She was making soft mewling sounds that gradually rose in volume; "Coming...coming...don't want to...don't make me...agony... no...no...noaaaheow... yes...yes... give-it-to-me... give... aaaah..."
She was beating up and down on me frantically and much to my amazement I had no trouble coming into her again.
The heat, the burning heat of her vagina and its wetness combining with the sperm I'd already pumped into her, the sucking noises and...Oh my God why hadn't I had this experience before? This was sex as I'd always dreamed it should be, but had never found it to before.
Mother was sobbing and screaming, and when she had passed over the peak of her climax she kept sobbing, "I love you...I love you..."
When she had quieted she leaned over me, her breasts brushing against my chest and planting moist kisses over my face and stroking my hair.
I took her breasts in my hands and gently caressed them, feeling their warm firmness.
Mother sighed, "Well, have you had enough experience?"
"Couldn't we have some reinforced learning?" I asked.
She chuckled weakly and said, "Not until after we've cleaned up from the experience we've just had."
She removed herself from me and got off the bed. She staggered and said, "My goodness, it's left me feeling fragile."
I rose and together we made our way to the shower. She wouldn't let me shower with her, claiming I might want to take her again, and that she had other plans for me. She was probably right. I don't know what had happened to me, but I was horny again already. There was great temptation to masturbate while I was showering, but I did not yield.
Back in the bedroom mother was lying on the bed. She had her legs parted and I was able to get a good view of that plump sex organ I'd seen when she'd been waxing. It looked as delectable as ever.
Following my gaze mother said, "Yes, that's the next experience, come and lay down so I can rub myself all over you."
That certainly would be a new experience.
I lay down and mother sat astride me. For a while she slid her groove along my penis – very provocative - and I wondered why I hadn't experienced it before.
She started to squirm her way up my body leaving a trail of her love juice as she went, and saying, "I'm going to wet you all over."
She didn't exactly wet me all over, just my stomach and chest, but the intention was there so I thought she might complete the operation later.
Reaching my face she poised that luscious plump vulva over my mouth. She reached down with her hands and with her fingers opened those ripe female gates to heaven and I could see the pink inner gates that seemed to flicker over the entrance to the Promised Land.
Down it came to engulf my mouth. I started to lick; she was very wet and soon the lower part of my face was covered with her juice. She tasted of grapefruit slightly sugared and her smell was that of gum trees on a hot day.
Soon she started to move with short sharp jerks, moving my stimulation between her vagina and her clitoris; then began the outcry that was to become so familiar.
"No...no...I don't want to...don't make me...it's agony...I don't want it...please...don't make me..."
Despite her protestations she continued her flicking movements and was even holding my head to her. The movements started to become frenetic, and her cries changed; "Yes...oh...yes...I'm coming...oh...ooah...oooh...don't stop...oh my God...mmmaaa..."
Her cry for me not to stop was superfluous since all I could do was lay there and lick, but I did reach up to her breasts and fondled them as she screamed and sobbed her way through her orgasm.
It seemed a long time before she finally relaxed and dropped down beside me. She was breathing heavily and I wondered if that was the end of the experience, but no; as she slowly recovered she worked her way down my body, kissing me this time, until she reached my penis.
She took hold of it and seemed to contemplate it for a while, and then licked off the sticky pre-cum that was oozing out of my urethra.
"Let it all go when you're ready," she said, and took the head of my penis into her mouth. I felt her soft tongue working its way along my length as she sucked. I then there was the first warning prickling of my orgasm. Taking her at her word I put my hands behind her head and in her words, "Let it all go."
Through the haze of my ecstasy I could feel her sucking avidly, and when I'd finished my sperm, despite her attempts to swallow it, was seeping out from the corners of her mouth that was still wrapped round my penis.
She moved away from me and my sperm hung from her chin in glutinous strands. She laughed somewhat thickly and said, "Is that enough experience for you?"
I returned her laugh and replied, "For the time being, but I've got a terrible memory so I'll need constant reminders."
She slapped me playfully on the cheek and said, "Go to sleep; I'm going to get rid of that young sperm of yours."
She left the room and soon after her return I was asleep.
* * * * * * * *
Morning, and what a morning
I was inspired; the words would flow; I was about to write the greatest piece of erotic fiction ever.
Mother had already left the bed, so I rose and showered, removing the smell of our couplings.
I found mother in the kitchen eating cornflake. As I entered she rose and almost hurled herself upon me. Spraying cornflakes she said frantically, "I like it in the morning...I need it in the morning, do it to me like this."
She was as usual wearing her nightdress. She sat on the table, pulled up the hem of her nightie, and raised and parted her legs. Staring at me was her juicy quim. I'd never had sex early in the morning, but I realised that I too might prove to be a morning lover.
My penis was erect and throbbing alarmingly. I stood in front of her and thrust my length into her. I wondered if she'd done this with her other lovers, but probably not because they wouldn't have wanted to do it in front of me.
Mother was speaking in a crooning manner; "I love it...I love it...do it hard...I love it...hard...hard...make me have it..."
Her tune changed, "Beast...beast...you're making me...oha...come...aah...stop...don't make...ohwow...naa...oh...aha...yeees...oh my God..."
There now began the familiar screaming and sobbing while I pumped my seed into her. Another experience of paradise and I thought I could die happily doing it with her.
She took me by surprise when her aftershocks came to a sudden and abrupt end and she became very business like.
"Got to shower and get to work. I expect to see a good part of your story written when I get home."
With that she hurried from the room, leaving me somewhat bewildered.
"Ah well," I thought, "breakfast and then the computer."
My fingers didn't exactly fly over the keys. I'd had the experience but even so getting it down on paper wasn't easy. By the time mother got home I was on the third page.
She read what I'd written and said, "Not bad, not bad at all, but there are a few bits that need revising. I think you need more experience so we'd better make an early night of it and we can go over things slowly.
* * * * * * * *
We did some excellent revision work that night and on the following nights and I eventually got the story finished. I only have to do a bit of polishing up and it'll be ready for posting on Literotica.
I've been a bit sidetracked though.
One night after mother had been giving me further experience she said, "Have you ever thought of writing a story about a boy who made his mother pregnant?"
I laughed a said, "Of course not, I've ever had that experience."
She kissed me softly on the lips and said, "You soon will."
I lay back ready to go to sleep, when it suddenly hit me what she'd said. I sat bolt upright and yelled, "Do you mean you're...?"
"Well what did you expect? Stanley had a vasectomy and I made the other two wear condoms, we haven't used anything."
"But you must have known you might get..."
"Of course I knew; you need the experience and you're getting it, so be grateful."
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