Mommy's Indiscretion

byMaryAnderson©

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

My son had asked if he could stay out late. His buddy Jim, a year older than he, was back in town and had invited the gang to his place. For reasons to be explained I wasn't enthralled by the prospect and called Jim's parents, looking for a reason Ronnie couldn't go. They told me they'd be out of town, but Jim had gotten permission and Audrey, his older sister, would be there to ensure all remained copasetic. I knew Audrey, a good responsible kid, and unable to manufacture a plausible reason to say no, said yes, but reminded Ronnie he had a swim meet in the morning and we were only seven weeks away from the state championships.

Intending to stay up late, make sure he got in okay, I fell asleep in bed with a book and the light on. Waking a little after two in the morning I went to check on him. His clothes were in a heap on the floor. I picked them up, pressed them to my nose. There was a slight, very slight, smell of beer. I leaned over, kissed him, checked his breath. No smell of beer, toothpaste, or anything else he might use to hide the scent. Instead there was bad breath; he should have brushed, his mouth was going to taste terrible in the morning. Dropping his clothes off in the laundry, I returned to bed.

The next morning, unusual for him, he was sullen and non-communicative. Hangover crossed my mind, but neither his breath last night nor his movements now showed the ill-effects of alcohol. My surmise was confirmed at the swim meet. Attacking the water with an intensity that bordered on the savage he not only won both his events, his times were personal bests.

I had a bad feeling about this, but decided to give him space. Still, after two days I asked. He said he didn't want to talk about it. There was real anger in his voice.

* * * * *

It had been just he and I since, four years ago, I'd divorced his stepfather. I had not married his father; I barely knew his father. He was a ridiculously handsome private just out of basic training in a scrumptious uniform who I met in a club I'd gotten into with one of those storefront fake id's.

So I was eighteen year old single mom, a child myself, and not a particularly responsible one. My son was usually with my parents while I, 5 feet 5 inches, 115 pounds, stylish short blond hair, blue eyes, more cute than beautiful, had a good time, a very good time. I loved flirting, loved to show skin, loved to fuck, loved it dangerous, loved to push the edge of the envelope. I'd do it outdoors, where I might get caught, where I did get caught. I did it in parking lots as people walked by. I tried girls, took on several guys at a time. I was naughty and I loved it

At least I learned one lesson: condoms were required. No exceptions. "Yeah buster, you're a hunk, that is a very impressive instrument, by reputation you know how to use it, and yes, my period was ten days ago, but NO EXCEPTIONS. NO EXCEPTIONS. GOT IT, NO FRICKING EXCEPTIONS." So happily I was disease free and Ronald an only child.

But my parents moved to Florida, it got harder to sneak one night stands past Ronald, and the scene grew tiresome. Eighteen year old party guys are cool; twenty-eight year old party guys have the definite smell of losers.

And then I met Eric. Going through a divorce he was, let's say plain but nice, well-paid, seemed stable, and under my guidance became a decent lover. He'd also never had a "hot" girlfriend before and loved showing me off, willing to play to the exhibitionist in me. He'd take me to a restaurant where I'd forget to wear panties, accidentally flash a breast, then fuck me in his car in the parking lot before dropping me at my place.

There was one problem. I'd never been in a traditional relationship. Without any idea how to handle the "I have a kid" thing I kept Eric and Ronald on parallel tracks while we dated. I know I sound like an idiot, but my soon-to-be husband and I never discussed what his role would be in Ronnie's life. After we married Eric assumed, as the man of the house, he could tell Ronnie what to do and when he did my son looked at him like who is this stranger giving me orders and I felt hopelessly caught in the middle. I didn't know how to handle it, but did know that Ronald was a good kid and Eric should treat him with love and respect and not as a rival for my affection. And there was something else, not as important, but important. Now that I was his wife there was no more showing me off, I was his and his alone: I was to dress conservatively and there'd be no more flashing, no more public sex. Six months in my marriage had already begun the death spiral that dragged out over the next three years and left us all miserable and damaged.

After the divorce, after a few desultory dates, I decided no men until Ronald left home.

In one way in was easy. I didn't miss the meeting of strangers, the uncomfortable conversation, the trying to discern how much bullshit I was being fed.

In another way it was hard. I think I've been clear. I'm a flirt with a high sex drive, a very high sex drive. I love to show skin, love the attention, love to fuck. So I wasn't perfect; there were indiscretions. A semi-regular thing with a married out-of-town businessman who called on our company, an old lover back in town for a couple of weeks, and the one I alluded to earlier and which I'll tell you more about shortly, but they were still too few and too far between.

* * * * *

After Eric left our home became the place where my son and his friends gathered. We had a pool and I liked having the kids over, liked cooking for them, and, perhaps in an attempt as recompense for Eric, was less restrictive than most parents. Nothing too crazy, but I let teen-aged boys be teen-aged boys. And yeah, I enjoyed being the hot mom, enjoyed showing some skin, enjoyed those young men's eyes on me. I'd been a good looking teenager, I'd been a good-looking twenty-something, now I was a good looking woman in her thirties. I stayed in shape, dressed and kept my hair and make-up stylish.

The other parents treated me like a saint, willing to entertain their children during long hot afternoons, but my inner thoughts were not always saintly, for sometimes, after feeling their eyes on me all afternoon I'd excuse myself, go to my bedroom on the second floor overlooking the pool, double-check the lock on my door, reach into my lingerie drawer, and look out my window at all those boys and their hard young bodies and think about the way they looked at me and press the vibrator to my clit and the orgasm would make my toes curl.

And that night, lights out, I'd open my lingerie drawer again, check the batteries, and replaying those boys' eyes in my mind, do it again, but this time nice and slow.

* * * * *

After seven days of monosyllabic responses, after a week of not seeing any of Ronald's ubiquitous friends, I steeled my courage with a second glass of wine and headed upstairs. Something was wrong and I was pretty darn sure I knew what it was.

I knocked on his door.

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

"I don't want to."

There was real anger there.

Unexpectedly, I started crying. I backed away, fled to my bedroom.

I'm not sure how long, but it wasn't long before I heard a knock. "May I come in?"

"In a second." I went to the bathroom, wiped away my tears and mascara, looked in the mirror, a little better, not much.

"Come in."

"Sorry Mom, I didn't mean to make you cry. Its just that..."

He stopped, unsure of what to say. I patted the bed and said, "Come sit with me son." He did, but he wouldn't make eye contact.

"What is it?"

He looked at me; there was hurt, some fear, some concern in his eyes. Still, he couldn't say it.

I took his hand in mine and said, "It is about me son?"

"Yeah."

"Then you better tell me."

"I don't know how to say it."

"I find that sometimes if you just start, it comes."

After a pause he said, "That night I went to Jim's, he'd gotten a left over keg from a friend at a local fraternity. Everybody but me was drinking, I had that swim meet. They were going at it real good, guys were falling down drunk, then Jim started talking."

I'd feared this moment. I'd decided if it came I'd be honest with my son.

"He said you and he, you, you..."

"Had sex?"

"Yes."

My mind on the blowback I'd get about screwing a teen-aged boy, even if he'd been eighteen, I said, "And now everyone knows?"

"No. The guys were drunk; no one was paying attention. Jim doesn't remember saying it; the guys don't remember hearing it. Only I was sober, only I remember."

Although unsure of to what end, I stalled for time. "Jim's parents told me Audrey was there, that she'd keep an eye on you guys."

Despite my earlier resolve to tell the truth, while he said, "She did, when she found out about the keg she called some friends who are Uber drivers, they got everyone home safe," I ran the options through my mind. I could lie, say it wasn't true, that it was the beer talking, but Ronald would only push harder, ask me questions or, even worse, probe Jim for details. Ronnie would learn the truth and once Jim knew the secret was out, everyone would know. He wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to brag.

On the other hand Jim had promised to keep it a secret and it appeared he'd done so until reaching a near fatal degree of intoxication. There was a chance he'd get that drunk again, brag about it again, but that would likely back at college, out of state, to his frat buddies. He'd just be another dude with a tale of how he nailed the MILF back home. Even if they believed him, no one would know who I was. The story would die there.

It was best to fess up. Telling the truth now, ending the inquiry now, was the safest way to go.

"It's true son, Jim and I, we uh, did it."

"How often."

"That one time."

"What happened, why?"

"It was one of the days when you and your friends were hanging by the pool. I made a tub of guacamole, you were all gorging yourselves and a bunch of you kept asking me to join you, so I put on a swimsuit and hung with you by the water."

Despite my resolve, that was not full disclosure. I'd put on my yellow bikini, one I look especially hot in, and loved the attention.

"Later on I jumped off the diving board, hit the water the wrong way, strained my neck."

I left out that the boys had been flirting with me, how so many of his friends were, like my son, fit, trim, and athletic, how I loved their eyes on me. I didn't say that they'd been daring me to jump so when I did I was the center of attention and what a charge that was. I didn't say any of that, but it was all true.

Ron said, "Yeah, I remember. We left you in the lurch, didn't help you clean up, most of the guys headed for a basketball game."

I said, "You offered to stay and help, but I told you to go, that I'd be okay. I was packing up the food when Jim came back looking for his wallet. We found it under a pile of towels. He noticed I was moving stiffly and offered to rub my neck. It was innocent, or started that way."

I didn't say I'd insisted the boys leave and was packing up only the necessities, getting the food in the frig, because after an afternoon of all those eyes on me my sex was on fire and I had a threesome planned with my dildo and vibrator.

And then I stopped. This story would make more sense with some background. He was eighteen, old enough to hear this, and yeah, I was looking for a little sympathy.

"Ronnie, after the divorce I decided to stop dating until you finished high school, focus on being a mom."

I stopped, unsure of how explicit I could be. My son let me know.

"So you've abstained?"

"A few indiscretions, but yes. I want you to know I happy with my decision. It's just that, well I have all the normal needs for attention and," I stopped a second, searching for the right word, added, "companionship."

There was a queer look on my son's face.

"What is it?"

"I'd hear you and Eric at night, it seemed like most every night. You seem to have a strong need for companionship."

I blushed.

"I'm sorry Mom, I've embarrassed you."

"A little, but yeah, I've always had more than my friends."

"Thanks Mom, thanks for giving that up for me. I've liked it since Eric left, it's been nice, just the two of us."

"Well, the two of us and your army of friends."

I could see his anger receding; honesty was the best policy. I snuggled up to him, he put his arm around me, and despite the fact that I should be used to it, it still took a second to process that this firm muscular man's body belonged to my boy.

"I know I should have told Jim, 'No,' but I felt lonely, my neck hurt, but it was more than that. After an afternoon of your friends paying attention to me, flirting with me, I was aroused, and the more Jim touched me, the more I liked it; we ended up getting carried away. It was nice, but it was a mistake. He promised to keep it to himself."

My son's strong hand now massaging my neck he said, "Mom, I know Jim, he can keep a secret and except for this one time I haven't heard if from anyone, would have if it was a rumor. Now he's back in school, halfway across the country. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Did he approach you about it again?"

It took me a second to answer, for my mind had returned to that afternoon. It may have been wrong, but Jim had fucked me with a young man's enthusiasm and vigor. I'd loved every second.

"He came by a few days later, when you weren't here. I told him no; he accepted that, never brought it up again. Don't be angry with him, it was my fault."

"I'm not angry Mom. I guess I understand. After all, you're a total fox. I don't think many of my friends would say no to you. In fact, I'm a bit guilty myself. I know my friends check you out when there here. I like showing off my good-looking Mom."

* * * * *

That night, replaying my romp with Jim in my mind, I loaded fresh batteries in my vibrator and although I preferred the lights on, I like watching my toy glide on my skin, I like watching myself in the mirror, I turned them off. I wouldn't want Ronnie thinking the light shining under my door was an invitation to visit. Just in case, I put on loose fitting pyjamas, easy to peel away, and back on.

I turned it to the low setting and, sitting up in bed, ran the vibrator down my body, massaged my muscles with it, dragged it on my breasts, playing with different pressures and speeds, touched my feet and hands, my arms and legs, my belly, my shoulders and neck, my scalp, let the vibrations flow through me. This was one way vibrators outperform men, they don't get tired or impatient, they're happy to explore every inch of your body, find the sexual pleasure inherent in your entire physique.

Laying it on my thigh I moved it towards my sex, holding it feather light to my skin; it flowed through me like the seismic waves of an earthquake.

I laid it on my belly, the vibrations centered on my clitoris and vagina. I moved a finger down - my clit, rigid and hot, had shed its hood, stood tall, proud, and throbbing - caressed it.

"Uuunnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh."

I rolled a nipple between two fingers, pushed a finger inside my sex, no lubricant was necessary.

"Uuuunnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh."

I touched my toy to my clit.

"Uuuuunnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

I'd picked this particular vibrator - smooth, no rough edges, impermeable to bodily fluids - for a reason. I moved its tip down by labia, over, around, and on my pussy lips, pushed it inside, and holding it in place rotated my hips, pressing the walls of my sex to it, exploring angles and pressures.

It was time for what I liked best.

Taking hold of the vibrator with both hands, I angled my hips forward and pressed it to the roof of my sex. While reverberating through my entire body, the focus was on the nerve endings of my g-spot and cervix, which fired madly insanely psychotically.

My son said I was a hot mom and that his friends noticed. I thought about the pool, filled with those young men, sweet boys with bodies hard and firm and wonderful teenaged sex drives to match.

"Unh unh ung unh."

I thought about those young men staring at me when they thought I wouldn't notice, in bed at night jerking on their hard young cocks with pictures of me in their head.

"Unnhh unnhhh unnggggg uuunnnhh."

And Ronnie knew, he liked showing off his mother.

"Unnhnh unnhhh unnggggg uuunnnhhhh."

I needed a young hard body driving a cock into me.

"Unh unh ung unh unh unh unh ung unh unh unh."

Someone with a crazy-ass sex drive, willing to try anything, experiment, be naughty, but someone I could rely on, someone I could trust.

"Unh unh ung unh unh unh ung unh unh unh unh ung unh unh ."

Someone I could fuck, someone I could talk to, someone who'd listen to me, who cared about me, who'd fuck me.

"Unh unh ung unh unh unh ung unh unh unh ung unh unh unh unh unh unh."

With a big cock, thick and hard and long, filling me, stretching me, threatening to tear me in two.

"Unh unh ung unh unh unh ung unh unh unh ung unh unh unh unh unh unh unh unh."

It started at the bottom of my feet, hot and tingly, crept up my legs, burned, swelled, exploded. My body consumed by fire and heat and need, I was coming, I was yelling.

Exhausted, soaked with sweat, I turned the vibrator off, took the batteries out, and pushed them under a pillow. I heard my son flush a toilet and head back to his room. He used to listen to Eric and I, he mus have heard me now. I fell into a deep contented slumber.

* * * * *

The next morning, drifting in and out of sleep, enjoying some rich sexual fantasies, I heard a knock on my door.

"Ronnie, is that you?"

"Yeah, I made some coffee, thought I'd bring you some."

Glancing at the clock - I'd slept in - and smelling the coffee, I said, "Thanks sweetie, come on in."

Dressed in his swim trunks and tee-shirt, freshly showered, he smelled nice and fresh, a nifty contrast with the coffee's rich aroma and, I noted, the lingering scent of last night's masturbation.

"Hey Mom."

Moving over to make room on the edge of the bed I said, "Thank you sweetie, what's the occasion?"

He said, "I guess I just wanted to...," then stopped as his eyes fixed on the bed beside me.

I turned and saw my vibrator.

"Okay, I'm embarrassed."

Regaining his composure he sat next to me and said, "Don't be Mom. I feel bad enough that you've given up sex, I don't want to add to that you're embarrassed about masturbating. And if you're embarrassed, I'm a teenaged male, think about how often I do it. And I've seen them before, I had a girlfriend who love it when we played with her toys."

I should have said something, that even if they both know it's true there are things mothers and sons don't discuss, but in light of recent events I didn't want to push him away, so all I said was, "I'm not sure if your mother needs that much detail, and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't display my toys to you."

I probably should have left that "s" off toy.

But not seeming to notice he said, "Mom, I haven't appreciated all you've done for me. You gave up sex for me and then it happens once and I act like a complete butt-head. I want you to know I'm sorry. If it's okay I'd like to invite the guys over this weekend. They've been lobbying; they miss the pool, miss seeing my good-looking Mom, and I miss showing her off."

* * * * *

They came over but I, still skittish, wore shorts and a blue tee-shirt and spent more time inside than usual. I also kept an eye on my son, despite his assurance that all was fine I was looking for, but not finding, anger or concern. In fact the opposite seemed true, he encouraged the boys to interact with me. So they'd come inside, hang, flirt, ask me to join them in the pool. Later, when he asked if everyone could come back the next day, I said yes.

Ronnie's helped me clean up and when we were done I thanked him, said I was going to take a shower where, drilling a dildo into my sex, thinking of those boy's eyes on me, imagining their eyes on me tomorrow, knowing they wanted to fuck me, I came. I was loud, but WTF. Ronnie had heard me last night, he'd seen the vibrator. He knew exactly what I was doing up here.

* * * * *

Back from the store Ronnie carried the hot dogs and hamburgers inside and dumped the drinks in the cooler while I retreated to my bedroom and put on tee-shirt and shorts.

When I came down Ronnie said, "It's the perfect day for a tan Mom."

Back upstairs I put on a one piece swim suit, came back down.

"I don't know Mom, I was thinking the purple bikini."

"Are you trying to show off your mother?"

"Absolutely."

I put it on, looked in my bedroom mirror. It was skimpy but not my skimpiest, and covered all strategic areas. Back downstairs Ronnie said, "Perfect, let's get some lotion on you."

* * * * *

While the grill heated up I lay in the sun with a book. Not that I read it, boys were constantly chatting me up, making time with the hot mom.

Initially I'd check my son, concerned about how he'd react, but he was encouraging the attention and I relaxed, enjoying the eyes on me, imagining their dirty thoughts. I even tolerated an occasional, if wee-bit inappropriate, hand on me.

As the afternoon rolled on the boys got more rambunctious, tossing each other around, shoving each other into the pool. Ronnie must have seen it on my face, because just as I was about to tell them to calm down he said, "Okay everybody, if we're going to be wild let's get organized. Chicken fight, I get Mom."

I could have said no, but swept along by the boy's acclamation I was soon perched on my son's shoulders. We breezed to the finals. My son the swimmer, comfortable in the water, was a strong powerful base and not only was I in shape, the boys and girls were holding back, afraid to get too rough with Ronnie's mother, although a few exploited the opportunity to run their hands on my body.

The finals, however, were competitive. The girl I was facing was stronger than me, bigger than me (especially in the chest), and determined to win. My son was faster than the other base and holding me tight, bounced from spot to spot, keeping me free of the women's grasp.

We were also the center of the attention, eyes fixed on us, and my sex, already wet, was grinding on my son's muscular shoulder and neck. When he bounced, when he held me tight, he increased the pressure. It felt good, real good.

Finally the girl and I got grips on each other, one of us was going down, and she was winning, but Ronnie moved suddenly to the left, I shifted my weight, and she lost her balance. Tumbling into the water she pulled me in after her and when I popped back up everyone's eyes were on me. No, they were on my chest. My bikini top had been ripped off. My nipples instantly hardened.

"Don't worry Mom, I got it."

Ronnie moved behind me, his hands brushing my breasts, and tied it on. Years in the gym meant my "B" breasts remained firm and round and I saw admiration and desire in our guests' eyes. I could feel it in my sex.

When done my son leaned into me, kissed the side of my head, said to me, "Better champ," then said to his friends, "Can we agree nobody saw that?"

* * * * *

As everyone left Ronnie said, "I'll clean up Mom, why don't you go ahead and take a shower."

The water cascading over my body I leaned on the shower wall, dug my fingers into my sex, thumbed my clit. How many of those boys would jerk off tonight thinking about my tits?

I thought about the old days, about exposing my body to strangers, fucking men where I might be seen.

I slid to the floor. Ronnie knew what was going on, he was fine with it. There were limits: I couldn't flash his friends, I couldn't fuck his friends, but the next time they came over I'd wear something skimpier. Could I accidentally lose my top again? I did love those eyes on my tits.

The orgasm bulldozing through me I screamed, "OOOHHHHHHH FUUUCCKKKK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS,"

There was no question my son heard.

And although I didn't know it, I'd begun losing control of my life.

* * * * *

That night, Ronnie and I sat on the couch, television on. I was leaning into his body, like the old days, before he found out about Jim.

He said, "Everybody had a good time today, hanging by the pool, seeing my hot mom."

It wasn't something he'd have said to me a few weeks before, but still concerned with my tryst with Jim I let it pass and said, "You sure it doesn't bother you?"

"I'm sure. Mom, I really do appreciate what you've given up for me. If you dig the attention I understand, it's fine with me."

"You don't think I'm a pervert?"

"No mom. If there was a pool full of hot young women checking me out, do you think I'd object?"

"No, but I'm a mother, I'm supposed to know better."

He draped his arm over my shoulder, pulled me to him - he was erect, he must be thinking about that pool full of women - and said, "You're also a woman, I think I'm old enough to understand that."

* * * * *

At first it was taciturn, unspoken. I'd suggest a swim suit, Ronnie would suggest another, smaller, tighter, or more translucent, but that was never the reason. The reason was it went well with my eyes, or I hadn't worn it in awhile, or he liked it. When I wasn't cooking or serving drinks I'd sit on a recliner, a bit removed from the group, sunglasses on, book on my lap. It was a spot Ronnie had chosen, a place where everyone could see me. I was an object on display, but wearing my sunglasses I was an object who could survey the eyes on her.

I'm not pretending I didn't know it was wrong. A couple of times, steeling my resolve, I sat with Ronnie, told him we had to stop, no more skimpy suits, no more showing me off in front of his friends, and his hand working the muscles of my neck he said he'd respect my decision, but he didn't see the harm, his friends enjoyed it, and if I liked eyes on me what was wrong with that? And the next time they came over, or maybe the time after that, my resolve would dissolve and Ronnie would say whatever I wanted was fine and we'd do it again and I'd feel safe because Ronnie was there to keep order, to keep me safe, just in case it went too far.

And when everyone left Ronald would say he'd clean up and I go to my bedroom and masturbate and come and no longer care if he heard my howl.

* * * * *

Soon it was more than the pool. When we went out, to eat, shop, to a school event, a swim meet, he'd suggest something tight and revealing, and when we were there he'd describe the eyes on me, let me know a guy was checking me out, growing ever more graphic, telling me who was staring at my ass, or my tits, or my legs. When he wasn't with me I started flashing again - not like the old days, no public sex - but I'd accidentally leave a button or two on my shirt undone so when I stood a certain way that kid at the cash register got a glimpse of the MILF's side-boob. Then I took another step and when Ronnie was with me I'd go braless in an outfit that provided men standing in the right place a peek.

* * * * *

The high school state swimming championships were held in Syracuse. Ronnie finished first and second in his individual events; the team took third place.

I sat on the front row. The swimmers were delicious, fit, trim, and muscular. Ronnie would bring them over to meet me, show off his hot mom.

On the way home we stayed overnight in Binghamton, where we met with the admissions department and toured the campus, perky sweet pretty Stacy our guide, my son asking the usual questions until one stood out.

"What bars do the frats favor?"

She mentioned several places, Mulligan's was the most rowdy.

Ronald might drink, but he'd never done so in front of me, and had never expressed an interest in joining a fraternity.

* * * * *

Later, at dinner Ronald said, "Let's go to Mulligan's."

"Son, you're too young to drink and why that place, you heard Stacy, it's a little crazy."

"I'm not going to drink, I'm going to keep an eye on you, make sure you're safe. I want you to wear the beige shirt I asked you to pack, boots, jeans, hair in a pony tail."

"What's going on Ronald?"

"Trust me Mom."

Did I? Yeah, as of late too much, I'd allowed him liberties no mother should. Still, I didn't know anyone here and was curious. What did he have in mind?

* * * * *

I looked over my shoulder into the mirror. The boots had a heel, the jeans were tight, my ass looked great. The shirt was not particularly sexy, loose fitting, long sleeves, buttons down the front. Overall a nice look, but not over-the-top.

* * * * *

It was early, there were open tables. Returning from the bar I slid my son's coke across the table, took a sip of my beer. It was a local craft beer, it was good.

"Mom, don't look, but three guys at the end of the bar, one yellow, two red shirts, checked out your butt when you walked back to the table. You got a fan club."

"Son, why would a bunch of college guys look at old lady like me?"

Yeah, I was fishing for a compliment.

"The same reason my friends do, you're hot."

I tilted my head, pretended to clear something from the corner of my eye. Ronnie was right, they were checking me out, they could be more subtle. I felt a tingle between my legs.

We talked and drank, nibbled on the peanuts provided by the bar, and I'd occasionally glance in the direction of the fan club, enjoying their attention, until Ronnie, seeing my state of mind, said, "Mom, undo a couple of buttons of your shirt."

"Son, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You know why not, people could see down it."

"Oh c'mon Mom, you're wearing a bra, it's no more revealing than your bikinis, no one here knows you, and look at these college girls. Everyone of them is showing her stuff. You don't want to be the odd women out."

He had a point, these women were showing a lot of skin, and while his suggestion that I compete with them was transparent, it was also effective. Still I said, "No."

But he'd detected the uncertainty in my voice, and maybe I'd wanted him to. Taking charge he leaned across the table and said, "Then I'll do it."

Covering my chest with my hands I said, "Son, no. I'll do it, but if someone I know comes through the door I'm disowning you."

I leaned back, catching my fan club in my peripheral vision, and hands trembling - this was turning me on — undid two buttons then, looking at my son, deliberately folded my shirt back. With my breasts there was no cleavage, but the act was undeniably sexual, uncovering myself to what people must assume was my boyfriend. A quick sideways glance confirmed the fan club had noticed

Ron said, "Did the guys catch the show?"

"Yes."

"They're thinking I'm one lucky dude."

"What if they knew you were my son."

He reached across the table, slipped a hand into mine, the gesture of a lover, and said, "They don't, and it's best they don't. We wouldn't want them getting too aggressive."

He had a point, I squeezed his hand.

* * * * *

He finished his coke, I my beer. It was good stuff.

"Ready for another round son."

Looking around he said, "Sure, but I haven't seen the waitress in fifteen minutes and the crowds picked up. It's going to be hard getting to the bar, although I see a place you can squeeze in, right by the fan club."

"Do you think that's a good idea? It might send the wrong message, they might come on to me."

"Mom, they're your fan club, you don't want to disappoint. But you make a good point. Give me a kiss first, so they'll know you're with me."

Saying, "You're a bad influence," I stood, walked around the table, kissed his cheek. Affectionate, not sexual, but still a girlfriend's kiss. When I turned the fan club looked away, pretending they hadn't been watching.

* * * * *

"Hey guys, can a girl squeeze in here."

The fan club scrunched over, but not too hard. When I leaned forward, my forearms on the edge of the bar, their bodies were pressed to mine. They worked out, but were far from a match for Ronnie's trim swimmer's physique.

One of them said, "Haven't seen you in here before."

I turned towards him, my shirt hanging open, and as his two friends looked down my chest at my bra-covered breasts I nodded in Ronnie's direction and said, "I'm in town with my boyfriend, he's touring the school, thinking about coming here next year."

The bartender arrived. I ordered another beer, another coke.

One of the guys said, "Coke?"

I turned to him, giving the first guy the view I'd provided his buddies, and said, "Yes, he's eighteen, he knows the rules. There are certain things he can't do, and certain things he can. The things he can do he does real well."

The bartender arrived with the drinks, I gave him a nice tip, said, "See you later guys."

Feeling the fan club's eyes on me I put an extra wiggle in my walk as I headed back to the table. My sex was doing calisthenics.

* * * * *

I put down my empty glass. My son said, "One more round?"

I checked the fan club, they were pretty happy. It would be fun to tease them again. I looked to the bouncer. He was big; he had his eye on them. It would be safe.

"Yeah."

Ronnie said, "First, I need you to go to the bathroom, powder your nose, take off your bra."

"Son."

"Think of the fan club, those boys are going home alone tonight, at least give them a fond memory. And we both know you'll love it."

"Perhaps there are things you shouldn't know."

"Can't put the genie back in the bottle."

In my defense I'd had two beers and the thought of flashing those boys had ignited my already overheated sex. I could excuse it as a mere wardrobe malfunction, they shouldn't peek anyway, and considering what some of these college girls were wearing my mid-sized boobs were not exactly a big deal. In the bathroom as I reached under my shirt and unbuckled my bra a striking red-head came in and said, "You go girl." The camp fire in my sex was well on it's way to incinerating the forest.

* * * * *

"Hey guys, remember me, can you make a little room? My boyfriend wants another coke."

They tried, but they were not in the best of shape and I had to wedge my body through them to the bar. I immediately got the bartender's attention - he remembered the tip - and then a double and triple-take as he saw the outline of my nipples in my shirt and, as I leaned forward, my breasts.

I placed my order then swivelled towards the fan club. Several beers past any ability to be subtle their eyes fixed on my breasts, which flushed a deep red.

"So what do you guys think of the school? Should I recommend it to my boyfriend?"

Nothing.

"I'm sorry guys, are my tits distracting you? I guess you're wondering what happened to the bra. My boyfriend has it. Well, my drinks are here. See you fellows around."

I sat down, but had no interest in my beer. The thing that needed my attention was between my legs. I leaned forward, not caring that Ronald could see my tits, and suggested we get out of there. At the hotel he told me he'd hang downstairs and call a friend. In the shower I thumbed my clit, shoved a finger into my asshole, and fricking came like I hadn't in years.

I crawled into bed, texted him, let him know I was done, then pretended I didn't hear him masturbate in the shower.

* * * * *

"Is the gang coming over Memorial Day?"

"Nah, a lot of the guys have family obligations. I have an alternative plan."

Trying to hide my disappointment, for I was looking forward to all those eyes on me, I said, "What is it?"

"A place near Kiln, an old-fashioned country swimming hole. All we need bring is food, sun block, and bathing suits."

Kiln was an hour away and one state over. We knew no one there. What did he have in mind?

* * * * *

It was beautiful day, a few clouds floating in a light blue sky. The countryside was rural, rolling hills covered with trees, occasionally interrupted by fields, the legacy of long abandoned farms. For several miles we'd seen not a building and only a few passing cars, then came over the crest of a hill to find several dozen cars and trucks, centered on a bridge, parked by the side of the road. Ronald glanced at the odometer, said, "This is it," and, after driving over the bridge - there was a stream underneath - parked. Wearing sandals, a tee-shirt, and a skimpy bikini we grabbed the cooler, filled with sausage and hamburger meat. I could hear a commotion; the party was downstream.

It was an informal and, we learned, weekly event, and while strangers we were treated like friends, invited to sit, share a beer, eat. There were grills going - several guys had driven them in on their pick-up trucks - and our contribution was quickly spread around. Someone set up a sound system on the back of a truck and people moved into a shallow part of the stream to dance.

As they danced several women shed their bikini tops.

I'd been chatting with a young man, not much older than my son. Clear blue eyes, strong chin, light brown hair cut short and neat; he asked me to dance.

I glanced at Ronnie, who was engrossed in conversation with a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She was attractive, mid-length brown hair, lacked my toned physique, a little plump, and had quite a pair. I felt something, I'm not sure what. At home Ronnie focused his attention on me. Now he was paying attention to Miss Big Tits.

I stood, took the young man's hand, his name was Jeremiah, and headed for the water. He, noting me glancing at my son, said, "That's Aunt Miriam, guys can't seem to get enough of those knockers."

By now most of the women were topless. I removed my bikini top. They may not be as big as Aunt Miriam's, but were a hell of a lot firmer.

We danced, switched partners for a couple of songs, danced together again. I was into it, enjoying the sexual energy coursing through me as I danced topless in front of strangers. When we headed back to our spot Ronnie and Auntie Big Tits were gone.

Jeremiah said, "They're probably at the clay cliff."

"What's that?"

"It's a bluff composed of natural clays. It's beautiful and because erosion drags the clay down, the base is a mix of all the colors."

On the way over I learned of his background. He'd joined the Army out of high school, been in for eighteen months. This was his final trip home before being stationed overseas. This was also his first visit to the party in the stream; it had grown spontaneously during the last year. He'd heard about it from family members and it turned out to be just the kind of blast he'd expected.

The cliff, set at the base of a large sand bar, was about forty feet tall and composed of strata of differently colored clays, magenta, purple, red, yellow. At the bottom of the bluff erosion had pooled these colors in patterns both beautiful and incomprehensible, blends no human would have imagined. And while fascinated by the palette laid out before me, I was not so fascinated that I hadn't noticed Ronnie and Auntie Big Tits weren't there. I said, "Where are your Aunt and my," what was the right word, "friend?"

Holding my hand Jeremiah said, "I suspect they're around," and led me along the sand bar until, behind a small dune, I saw my son laying in the warm sand and Ms. Big Tits effortlessly swallowing his cock. The woman gave serious head.

Part of me was, what? Pissed, jealous. Part of me was wildly aroused.

The second part won. I turned to Jeremiah and said, "Can we get our own dune."

Jeremiah had a nice cock.

* * * * *

On the way home Ronnie said, "It looked like you and Jeremiah were having fun."

I had Jeremiah's thick dick in my mouth when he said my friend and his Aunt were watching. The charge I'd gotten was fierce and, finger on my clit, I came just as Jeremiah exploded in my mouth. I swallowed his cum, then glanced to the side. My audience was gone.

"I did, how did you learn about this place."

"On-line. Mom, we're going to pass that trucker, why don't you flash him?"

And, to the happy toot of his horn, I did.

* * * * *

I'd lost control of my life; my libido was in charge. At a restaurant, eating with Ronnie, wearing a dress he'd selected, I'd lean forward and show the bus boy and waiter my boobs, or picnicking in the park I'd lay my head on Ronnie's thigh and bend my knee so the man over there who'd been checking me out could see my panties, although not so well he'd know they were wet. We'd be on the subway, I wearing a dress with a long slit, and I'd shift position so the dirty old man who'd been straining to see would hit the jackpot and later I'd be in my bedroom or shower ramming a dildo into my sex imagining the dirty old man jerking his dirty old man cock and spraying his dirty old man jizz.

Soon the men weren't looking at my panties, they were looking at my pussy, and I never worried. My son was always nearby.

* * * * *

"Hey Mom, we haven't been camping in years, how about the White Mountains next weekend. You could take a couple vacation days, make it a long weekend."

"Sounds like fun."

"We'll rent a convertible."

* * * * *

On the way up I flashed my breasts. Families, little old ladies, and people in fuddy-duddy cars were a no-no; most men, anyone in a sports car, and especially truckers were a yes.

The people waiting in line at the railroad crossing applauded.

The kid at the McDonald's drive-through gave a thumbs-up.

It was my idea to pull off the road and reduce our speed to a crawl as we drove by a line of people outside a movie theater. My reward? Their hoots at my jiggling chest.

It was Ronald's to detour though a mall's parking garage.

* * * * *

The campground was crowded, but we found a spot off to the side where I could play some. Early in the mornings I'd come out of our tent, my shirt open and breasts exposed, giving serious hikers, already unconventional in their views, a look.

And because you could hear families long before you saw them - the children couldn't stop talking - we knew when it was safe for me to hike shirt open, displaying myself to passing strangers.

I'd packed a vibrator and after repeated exposures I'd disappear behind a rock and, as Ronnie kept watch, bring myself off, the experience more intense when I'd hear him talking to someone on the other side. I got more daring, moaning though my orgasm, emerging from behind the rock half-dressed.

On Monday morning the crowds were down, the campground almost empty, and hiking Abbott Gorge we took our time, enjoyed the view, until Ronald stopped at a spot where several hundred feet of gently sloping rock separated the trail from the gorge's edge and said, "Perfect, let's go out there."

Looking at the sign indicating hikers should stay on the trail I said, "Is it safe?"

"Yeah, we won't get near the edge."

I agreed, for clearly he had something in mind, and we worked our way down, Ronnie glancing back at the trail until, a hundred feet out, he said, "This is the spot."

I spread a blanket, sat, said, "The view is magnificent."

"It is, and it's going to get better. Take off your clothes."

Wanting to, but also wanting him to push me, I said, "But they'll be able to see me from the trail."

"Yes, but the families are gone Mom, you'll only be seen by serious hikers."

It wasn't a great argument, but it didn't need to be. Hands shaking with desire I took off my shorts, panties, and shirt. I was on display. As hikers went by they'd shout their greetings and I'd turn and wave, give them a full view. My son, pushing the edge of the envelope, would invite promising candidates to join us for a drink of water.

Drifting in a haze of lust I'd lost track of time when someone shouted "Sir, Madam, excuse me, you're not allowed off the trail and there is no nudity in the park."

I turned, showing the goods to a park ranger, handsome, rugged, an authority figure, then, pushing the naughtiness index a notch higher, stood, letting him see all of me, yelled, "I'm sorry sir, my son and I didn't know," and pulled my clothes back on, stuffing my panties in the pocket of my shorts. Then, holding Ronnie's hand, I walked towards him, undressing him with my eyes, my hard nipples tenting my tee-shirt.

He pointed to the sign. Dropping my eyes I admired his hard dick, looked up, apologized, promised it wouldn't happen again, kissed his cheek, told him I hoped to see him again soon.

My cunt was on fucking fire.

Ronnie and I headed back to the campground. I wanted to duck behind a rock and bring myself off but my son, wisely, pointed out if we were caught breaking the rules again it might not end well.

* * * * *

By the time we arrived night was closing in and there was an inferno between my legs. Ronnie unpacked; I crawled into our tent, pulled off my shorts, unbuttoned my shirt, went to turn on my vibrator.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

"The batteries are dead."

"What size?"

"Triple A."

"I'll get some out of the radio."

Expecting him to reach in and hand them to me, I was — admittedly an odd reaction, I'd spent much of the day sitting naked next to him - a bit taken aback when he crawled into the tent, scooped up my vibrator, and holding it in the light coming through the flap of the tent, fumbled with the batteries.

"Son, I can do that."

"I can see better than you, it's dark in here. How does it work?"

"It has various speeds."

Flipping it on he said, "Let's test it out," and pressed it to my thigh.

My, "You shouldn't..." was interrupted by my, "Uuuunnnnhhhhhhhhh."

Running the vibrator up my leg he said, "Shouldn't? Afraid I'll be corrupted by this sexy body? You should have thought about before stripping today."

He grazed my nipple.

"Uuuuuunnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"But I fear I'm not being fair to you. I was already corrupted. I've enjoyed your body for years."

"Son you shouldn't..."

"I know I shouldn't. It's naughty, but like you I like being naughty."

He expertly worked the skin above and around my vagina and the vibrations generated by my toy flowed into my sex with the pin-point accuracy and explosive consequence of a cruise missile.

I should tell him to stop.

It felt so good, it had been so long, I missed a man's touch.

I told myself he was my son, but it didn't matter. With my connivance he'd already shattered that boundary. He knew my secret needs and desires, had burrowed into my sex life, had encouraged me as I broke rule after rule. Now he was doing so again and my rational mind was no match for the burning need in my sex or the pleasure of acquiescing to his will. He was offering me what I wanted, to be naughty, wicked. And yes, he was my son, but that only made it hotter.

I said, "My clit."

He moved it to my clit.

"Uuunnhhhhh."

Gentle persistent pressure.

"Uuuunnnhhhhhhh."

Watching my body language, he adjusted.

"Uuuuunnnnhhhhhhhhh."

Listening to the sounds I made, he adjusted.

"Uuuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh."

My son played me like a virtuoso and soon there was no time, no space, only mind, body, soul, and blissful clit. I wallowed in pleasure and joy until Ronnie, sensing I was ready turned the vibrator up a notch, pressed it to my sex..

"Uuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"I'm going to make you come."

"Uuuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"It will be the wickedest thing you've ever done."

"Uuuuuuunnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Imagine my friends' eyes on you, the hikers' eyes on you, the way the ranger looked at you. Imagine them staring at you right now, watching your son play with your naughty cunt."

"Uuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

He pushed a finger inside me, curled it, pressed it to my g-spot; toes curled, fists clenched, back arched, I let out a scream that could be heard two campgrounds over.

* * * * *

As my consciousness drifted back from nirvana I heard a buzzing, I knew that buzzing.

I opened my eyes. My son was kneeling between my legs, naked from the waist down, legs folded under him, running my vibrator up and down his hard dick.

I'd felt it on me, seen it in Auntie's Big Tit's mouth, but had never been this close. It was big and thick and hard, a deep red, stuffed with blood, bulging pulsating veins, radiating life energy vitality.

Had this been his game all along? Had he purposefully stripped me of my boundaries, my years of practiced respectability, returned me to the naughty girl of my youth so when presented with his cock I'd be unable to say no. Or had he stumbled onto the idea along the way, or was it an inspiration born seconds ago? But the question was academic; it didn't matter. I'd gone over the edge. I wasn't crawling back.

"Feel good son?'

"Yeah. You ever use your toys on a guy?'

Extending my hand I said, "Been awhile, but yes, let me show you."

He handed me the vibrator and setting it on high - when this aroused guys like a lot of friction - I ran it on his shaft, rolled it on the head and frenulum, gently at first, but with more and more force. His breathing deepened; his moans grew louder and louder.

I could explore - men invariably love it on their perineum and, after some coaxing, anus - but Ronnie was already close. Squeezing and coddling his balls I swirled the vibrator on the head of his penis and recalling his dirty talk said, "Are you going to come son, are you going to come for Mommy?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to spray your cum on Mommy."

"Oh yeah."

His balls were pulling back into his body.

"Promise? Mommy wants to see, please come for Mommy."

"I promise, unh, unh, unh, yes, promise, unh, unh, unh, Mom, I'm unnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

As I yanked the vibrator away cum lept from his dick, the first time in a graceful arc that reached my chin; the second spurt splattered my breasts, the third landed on my torso. I ran a finger across my breast, brought it to my mouth, licked it, licked my lips and chin, then flashed him Ronnie my most inviting smile and said, "Yum."

He cupped my sex.

Purring with undisguised desire I said, "Don't touch Mommy's cunt."

"Why?"

I said, "Because it's not right for a son to touch his mommy's hot juicy tight cunt, it's wicked, depraved, sick," then ran a finger down his erection and added, "This is wrong too y'know. A son's cock shouldn't get like this, hard and hot, when he thinks about his mommy's cunt."

Pointing his dick forward he dragged the head down my pussy slit, stopped at the entrance to my sex, and said, "I guess it's worse if he thinks about fucking his mommy."

My convulsing cunt dripped juice on him, coating him with my slick fuck cream, and I said, "That would be the wickedest thing of all."

It seemed like ages since I'd been trying to be a normal mother with normal urges, my bawdy past, my recent indiscretion, buried. But there were no secrets anymore. I'd allowed my son to sexualize me, welcomed the excuse to revisit, then surpass my naughty past. I was what I was once, what I'd always been, a dirty wicked girl with dirty wicked needs and now the dirtiest wickedest thing in the world - my son's cock - sat on my sex.

"Fuck me."

He pushed inside; the walls of my cunt spread, molded themselves to him. No dildo could substitute for this, a fat hard hot pulsating living cock, titanium wrapped in silk, moving inside me. I was being fucked my a big-dicked young man willing to break all the rules. Digging my fingers into his thighs, I thrust my hips into him, he drove his cock into me and moved my legs onto his shoulders. I rotated my hips and ass, the long unused skills of the naughty girl hadn't been forgotten.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

I twisted and pulled my nipples. He trapped my clit with his thumb, rolled it against my body.

"Fuck me son, fuck me."

His cock in my cunt, my fingers on my nipples, his thumb on my clit merged with the depravity of the last few days. He slammed his cock into me, I squeezed my cunt on him. My sex burned with the ferocity of a supernova. Torn apart by pressure and heat I lost control, light filled my mind, I was in free fall, my body weightless, and when I hit bottom and my free fall ended an orgasm crashed through me and I was shouting, "Ohmigod, ohmigod, I'm ... ohmigod, please, oh Ronniieeeeeee, fuck me son, fuck me, fuck me," and waves of perfect forbidden pleasure battered my body.

Ronnie growled, came, his cum sloshed through me.

Afterwards, as we held each other, too exhausted to crawl out of our tent to eat, I heard voices. Had we had an audience? Had they heard me beg my son to fuck me, did they wonder whether we were cougar and cub role-playing or mother and son fucking? I took my son's flaccid cock in my hand. Soon he was hard again and soon after that we were fucking and my orgasm was as vast and powerful as a hurricane.

* * * * *

I woke the next morning, smelled the camp fire. My son was talking to someone, no he was talking to two people. I put on my clothes, stuck my head out of the tent - saw that Ronnie had cleaned up the site - and walked around to see him sitting with an attractive red-head a few years older than me and an identically red-headed college-age young man.

Her shirt was open. Her heavy breasts featured large rose nipples and areolas.

I said, "Good morning."

Ronnie, gesturing to a near-by tent, said, "Good morning. This is my Mom. Mom this is Aimee O'Martin and her son Shamus. They got here last night, set up over there."

Aimee said, "Shamus and I like coming here in the middle of the week, when the crowds are down. It's a chance to get back to the natural."

I pulled my tee shirt over my head, exposing my breasts, and said, "My son and I are just discovering that pleasure, in fact we found a lovely spot in Abbott Gorge."

* * * * *

After Ronald pulled onto an abandoned dirt road we worked our way through the forest to the spot I'd seen. Up slope from the main road, at the base of a curve, it provided people driving by a long unobstructed view.

I heard a car coming, looked to my son. He nodded; I stepped out; I was naked. The car was driven by a man; did he see me? More cars appeared. I spread my legs, touched myself. A car blinked its headlights, another beeped its horn.

I leaned forward, my hands on a large rock. Ronnie pulled down his zipper, tested my pussy with a finger - it wasn't necessary, I'd been wet all morning - and slid into me with a single thrust, fucked me hard. Cars honked, people yelled encouragement from the highway. When I came my howl woke the wolves.

* * * * *

We were driving down the mountain. The scenery was spectacular; I saw none of it. My face was buried in my son's lap, his cock in my mouth, when he said, "Wooooooo."

I let him slide out, licked the head, pushed the hair from my eyes, and said, "What is it?"

"A policemen just flew by, heading up the mountain."

"Do you think he's going there to arrest those two nasty people balling on the side of the road?"

"Maybe, but his siren wasn't on. Maybe he wants to watch."

I said, "We'll have to try that, put on a little show for our men in blue," and took him back in my mouth.

* * * * *

Reaching down to pat the back of my son's head - who was on his knees eating his mother's cunt - me and my micro-bikini top leaned out the kitchen window to tell the kids the chili was almost ready.