The plausibility of some of the events in this story are iffy, but before you crucify me, I want to say that I wrote it as pure fantasy. So saying that, please enjoy it for what it is. As always I look forward to your comments and feedback.

Working from home has its advantages. I don’t have to commute back and worth from the office, and can clock in when I felt like it. Sounds ideal doesn’t it? Well, without trying to sound like I’m gloating, it is.

My name is Tom Cooper, actually Tom Jr, since I was named after my father Tom senior. I work as a program specialist for a major computer firm, which means that I take new programs and try to find any flaws or weakness in them before they go to market. The firm had set me up with a state of the art computer, and as long as I logged in each day for eight hours I was golden. Of course I had to show results in a timely manner, but it wasn’t hard to meet their deadlines. Another plus about my job was the pay. It allowed me to afford the rent on the small two-bedroom bungalow one block from the beach I now lived in. For this twenty-two year old life was good.

It was just about 2pm when the ringing of the phone interrupted my daydreaming, something I seemed to do a lot of when trying to sort out a program glitch. Looking at the caller ID, I saw that it was my parent’s number.


“Hi, Tom.” It was my Dad. “Got a minute to talk?”

“Sure Dad, what’s up,” I inquired.

“We had a little wind storm a couple days ago that blew down the big oak alongside the house.”

“Oh crap. Are you and mom okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, but that damn tree took out part of our bedroom and kitchen. Its got your Mom all riled up though,” he answered.

“What can I do,” I asked.

“I was hoping, if it’s not too much trouble, if she could come and stay with you for a spell,” he hesitantly asked, before adding, “Shouldn’t take more than two weeks to repair.”

“Love to have her Dad, for as long as she wants to stay,” I told him.

We talked a few more minutes; my Dad isn’t much of a conversationalist. When I asked if he wanted to come too, he said he was going to oversee the repairs on the house, plus being harvest time there was no way he could get away. Before we hung up he let me know that Mom would drive over sometime tomorrow. I found myself looking forward to seeing her. Being only a three-hour drive from their walnut farm in California’s central valley, and knowing how early they got up in the mornings, I figured my mother, Doris, would get here around noon tomorrow.

My Mom is kind of a clean freak so I took the time to tidy up. The house has two bedrooms that are separated by the only bathroom, an airy kitchen-dining room combination and a cozy living room made up the rest of the place. I had converted one of the bedrooms into my office complete with a comfortable sofa and mini fridge. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping so I would come into the office and work late into the night. Instead of going to the master bedroom I often times just crashed on the sofa when I got tired enough. I made sure to put fresh linen on the big bed in the room she would be using and a pillow and blanket in the office.

Trying to get back to work proved difficult. My mind kept slipping back in time to fondly remember that big oak tree. In my early teens it had become an obsession with me to climb to the top of it. I had vowed to conquer it at any cost, and after many failed attempts I finally did. From that time on I spent countless hours up in that tree admiring the great view it gave of our place. On one occasion I got a view of something I have never forgotten.

It was right after supper that I went out and hauled myself up to my favorite perch. The sun was just going down as I stared out into space, until my attention was drawn to the light coming on in my parent’s bedroom. Carefully turning I could see directly into the room and I watched awestruck as my mother entered and began to undress.

My mother is a petite woman, standing about five-one and weighing no more than a hundred and ten pounds. She has flowing brown hair; the same color as mine, that reaches slightly below her shoulders, and still does. Silently I watched as she removed her thin cotton housedress and then shrugged out of the white slip underneath. There she stood in the middle of the room in all her glory, exposed to my bulging eyes. The image of her small upturned breasts with light-brown areolas, capped with long pinkish nipples and a full bush of brown pubic hair covering her mound, would be forever etched into my brain. I knew that it was wrong to be watching, but at that moment no power on earth could have made me turn away. To this day I’m not sure if she saw me there, but when she walked over and slowly lowered the blinds on the window there was an odd look on her face.

Shortly after my little spying incident I entered what I like to refer to as my perverted stage. Unable to shake the image of my mother’s nakedness from my mind I was determined to see more. I took every opportunity available to try and get a peek at her again. But unfortunately, whenever I climbed up the tree, her window blinds were always closed. So I developed a new strategy. I followed her around the place, always at a discreet distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything even remotely tantalizing. Mom always favored wearing light cotton housedresses while at home, even when cleaning. It was while she was cleaning one day that I discovered something else about my mother. Apparently Mom wasn’t a big fan of underwear.

I had just walked into the kitchen and she was squatting in front of the stove cleaning the knobs. She was dipping a sponge into a pail of soapy water on the floor between her wide spread knees, her dress hiked up on her thighs. From were I was standing I had a clear view of the insides of her creamy white thighs all the way up to her exposed hairy pussy. Needless to say from that time on I volunteered to help her around the house. It was also at that time that I discovered to joys of self-gratification.

I sat there at my work desk and let those faded memories flood my mind until they were as clear as they were back then. Without realizing I was doing it, my hand found its way into my sweatpants and began to absently stroke my inflating tool. With a mental picture of my nude mother in my head it wasn’t long before my cock reached its full seven inches. Deftly pulling it out of my pants, I increased the speed of my strokes until without warning jets of hot cum blasted out over the floor in front of me. I was unable to stop stroking until there was nothing left to come out. Disgusted with myself, I tucked my cock back in and got some paper towels to clean up the mess.

“What’s wrong with you,” I admonished myself out loud.

The rest of the day went smoothly. By the time I finished working I was way ahead of schedule, which meant that I could slack off some tomorrow. Friday being the next day was perfect, I could finish up this assignment and have a long weekend with Mom.

The next morning I got up, stumbled half asleep and turned the coffee maker on before heading to the bathroom and taking a long piss. After finishing I grabbed my bathrobe off the hook on the door and waited in the kitchen for the coffee to brew. Once I drank a few cups and was fully awake, I got dressed and started my day.

Barely two hours later I put the final touches to my assignment and logged off. Looking at the clock on my computer screen I saw that it was only ten-twenty, so I figured there was enough time to throw something together for breakfast. Just as I poured the scrambled egg mix into the skillet on the stove I heard a faint knocking on the front door. Forgetting about the eggs I rushed over and swung the door open. Standing on the stoop was the wisp of a woman I lovingly called Mom. Her wide smile and twinkling brown eyes lit up her face. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of her small nose made me think of the phrase, “cute as a button.”

At six foot one, I’m long and lanky like my dad, I had to chuckle when she threw her arms around my mid section and squeezed me tight. It was like hugging a child almost. Her head rested just under my chin and I could feel the softness of her tummy pushing against my crotch as she breathed.

“Hi baby,” she whispered against my chest.

Before I could say anything both of us smelled the eggs starting to burn on the stove.

“Oh crap, forgot about those,” I stated as we separated.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that. You can take my stuff to my room,” already heading to the kitchen as she spoke.

I was amused at how fast she had gotten into Mom mode as I lugged her large suitcase to the bedroom and placed it on the bed. Thinking there might be some things that needed to be hung up I opened the suitcase. My eyes were immediately attracted to a purple and clear colored object nestled between the articles of clothing. Reaching in and lifting it enough to see, I was shocked to discover that it was a power vibrator. It was one of those rabbit ones that had an extension designed to stimulate the clitoris, complete with little ears and a separate battery pack attached by a wire. Judging by the length of it I guessed the size to be around six or seven inches long.

“Whoa, that’s one powerful looking tool you got there Mom,” I silently thought to myself, before quickly replacing it and closing the lid on the suitcase.

The smell of frying bacon hit my nostrils as soon as I reached the kitchen, causing my stomach to rumble with anticipation. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.

Hearing my approach she glanced over her shoulder and said, “I couldn’t save the eggs, so I’m making you a proper breakfast. Sit down, it will be ready soon.”

I sat at the small dining table; hands propped under my chin, and silently watched her. She was wearing a sleeveless pink floral print dress that ended just above her knees, with a row of buttons running down the full length of the front. Even though the dress fit her frame loosely I could still make out the round globes of her ass when she moved. It was just like being back at the farm during my pervert stage; a stage I apparently haven’t fully outgrown.

Right as she was placing the food on two plates I told her that I thought about hanging her clothes up. Her hands stopped moving and I could see her tense up.

Without turning around she asked, “You didn’t open my suitcase did you?”

“No,” I lied. “I figured you would want to do that.”

“Yes. Besides, I can’t have my son looking at this old Mother’s delicates, now can I.”

“You’re only forty-six Mom, far from being old,” I complimented her.

Relaxed, she picked the plates up and carried them to the table. She had to lean over slightly to hand me mine, the loose neckline on her dress dipped down giving me a look at her freckle covered cleavage. It was just enough to tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. I wasn’t able to see her nipples but did find out she had on a white lace-topped slip under her dress. My cock began to tingle as we ate.

It was while we put the washed plates away in the cupboard that mom complained how high the shelves were. For me that was no problem, although I had to admit that the top ones were up there a ways. Going to a broom closet built into the wall I pulled out a three-step kitchen stool, opened it up and placed it directly in front of the counter by the cupboard.

“This was here when I moved in. I guess the owners knew my mother was a short shit,” I told her with a smug grin on my face.

She slapped me on the ass and told me I was rotten. After laughing hysterically I gave her the guided tour, making sure she knew the tub had a shower also. When I showed her the office she noticed the couch and said she would fit better on it, so I should take the bed. After repeatedly telling her it was fine she gave up. We got to her room and I watched as she took in the sparseness of it. There was a queen bed, small dresser, a nightstand with a lamp on it by the bed and a cluttered closet. I don’t think she was too impressed.

“What would you like to do today, Mom?”

“Oh honey, if it’s okay with you I would like to just stay in. Maybe watch the idiot box and relax. It’s been a hectic few days, I’m worn out,” she replied.

“Sounds good to me, just glad you’re here,” giving her a hug before leaving.

My living room furniture consisted of a large plush fabric couch, with a coffee table in front of it and a fifty-inch flat panel television. I’m a man with simple tastes. About twenty minutes went by before Mom came out and said she was going to take a hot bath. That was fine with me since it gave me time to get some comfortable clothes from my closet. I changed into an old t-shirt and baggy sweats then made myself comfortable on the couch.

Mom had never been shy about running around the house in just a slip while I was growing up, and when she came out of the bathroom I saw that she still wasn’t. Her wet hair was wrapped in a towel and she was wearing a black knee-length satin slip held up by two thin straps. The neckline was modest but did manage to show off a good portion of her upper chest with the sprinkling of freckles. I could see two small points pressing out through the smooth fabric as she walked toward me. There was a hairbrush in her hand and when she got close she held it out in front of me.

“Want to brush my hair like you use to,” she asked.

When I was younger I would often brush her hair for her. Now before you think I’m some kind of sissy, let me tell you that I had good reasons for performing this little chore for her. First off, it made her happy and secondly, it made me happy too. She would sit on the floor in front of me while I sat on the couch and brushed away, all the time trying to get a peek down her slip. Most times I was left wanting, but there were a few times my perverted self was rewarded with a quick view of a nipple. More self-gratification always followed once I had finished.

Taking the brush from her outstretched hand I sat on the edge of the couch and watched as she sank to the floor between my spread knees. Leaning back against the front of the couch, and my balls since I was so close to the edge, she tugged the towel off and sat it aside. After carefully getting the tangles out I began running the brush through her hair while peering over her shoulder. At first her arms were at her sides but must have been uncomfortable, because she placed both on top of my thighs and her hands on my knees. Unable to see anything I concentrated on her hair, getting it smooth then braiding it as an extra touch. When I finished she got up, turned around and bending over gave me a kiss on the forehead. The slip drooped in front and I had a clear shot down her cleavage. Both of her small tits hung down and jiggled slightly in front of my leering eyes, and it may only be my imagination, but her nipples appeared to be hard. The tingling in my cock returned when she bent down and picked the towel up, the slip molded to her small round ass.

We spent the rest of the day watching whatever we could find on cable. About six we had a pizza delivered and I broke out a bottle of wine I had squirreled away. A romance movie came on shortly after we ate and Mom scooted against me, held onto my bicep with one hand while sipping her wine with the other. As she watched the movie a dreamy look came over her face, all the while I could feel the soft warmth of her breast pressed into my arm.

“So, is my being here going to create problems with your love life,” she suddenly asked.

“No Mom,” I laughed. “My love life is far and few between at the moment.”

“I know what you mean,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean,” I asked, turning to look her in the face.

“Oh. I didn’t think you could hear me,” she answered.

“You and Dad doing okay,” I persisted.

“Yeah, we’re okay. It’s just…”

“Tell me Mom,” I implored her.

“Oh honey, I don’t feel right talking about this with my son.”

Turning enough to face her, I took her hand in mine and said, “Because I am your son, you can tell me anything.”

Her eyes started to mist a little and I could tell she was uncomfortable, but I could also tell she wanted to get it off her chest.

“You remember your Dad had that minor heart attack four years ago?”

Concern must have been evident in my eyes.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine,” she said, patting my hand.

“Then what Mom,” I asked.

“Well, since then he’s had a little trouble…performing,” she stammered.

“Performing what,” I said like an idiot.

“In the bedroom,” she blurted out.

“Oh. OOHHH,” I managed to say.

“Exactly,” she replied.

“Are you telling me that you and Dad haven’t,” I left it unfinished.

“The doctor says it has something to do with blood flow. Not enough getting where it needs to be, or something like that.”

“Four years? You haven’t had sex in four years?” I asked.

“Tommy Cooper! That is none of your business,” she replied sternly, but with a small smile on her lips.

“God, I’m sorry Mom. I don’t think I could go that long without,” I said.

“Yeah well, things happen,” she replied before snuggling back up to me.

We finished the current movie, the bottle of wine, and watched a couple sit-coms before mom said she was going to bed. I told her goodnight but stayed on the couch for a while longer before heading to the office to get some sleep. I lay there wondering why I was having sexual thoughts about my own mother. In the past I never really did, it had just been the thrill of seeing a woman’s parts that had got my motor running. It could have been any woman. But now I wasn’t so sure as I drifted off toward dreamland. Right before I fell asleep I thought I heard a humming noise.

Normally I sleep in the buff, but since Mom was here, I slept in my baggy sweats. Getting up I padded barefoot to the kitchen, letting my morning wood lead the way while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My dick felt harder than normal this morning, probably due to the extremely erotic dreams that plagued me most of the night. Looking down and still trying to get my eyes to focus, I was surprised when I almost ran into the stool I had placed in front of the counter. My surprise turned into shock when I saw Mom at the top of the stool. She had one bare foot on the stool, the other one on the counter and she appeared to be trying to clean the highest shelf in the cupboard. In one hand she had a sponge and was using it to wipe down the shelf. In the other hand she loosely held onto the handle of a plastic gallon jug of cooking oil.

Slowly my eyes traveled up the taut leg on the stool and came to rest at the hem of her black satin slip. Stretching to reach the shelf had caused the slip to ride way up on her thighs, and having the one foot on the counter made her legs part slightly. From where I stood I could see the bottom halves of her ass cheeks and the full bush of hair covering her sex. My cock grew harder as I stared at the barely visible pinkness of her slit peeking through the dense tangle of pubic hair. Unaware of my presence she moved both feet to the countertop so she could reach the back of the shelf.

“Mom!” I croaked, afraid she would fall.

What happened next only took a few seconds, but in my minds eye it seemed like it was all in slow motion.

Startled, Mom spun around, the gallon jug of cooking oil slipped from her fingers and landed on the edge of the counter. The plastic lid exploded off the jug from the force and hit me square in the chest, along with half the contents of the container. Oil quickly sloshed down and saturated my entire front as Mom lost her balance and fell directly at me. I heard the whoosh of air as her stomach crashed into my face. Her arms encircled my neck at the same time she planted the arches of her feet on both sides of my upper waist. She began to slide down my body as the oil coated her parted thighs, causing her to clamp her feet tighter on my waist. I placed my hands under the back of her thighs but had trouble getting a grip because of the oil on them. When her feet reached the waistband of my sweats I could feel them pushing the pants off my hips.

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