ONE WONDERFUL SUNDAY IN SUBURBIA
A mother’s intrusion on her son’s privacy happens once too often

By Oediplex 8==3~

{Adult literature. The author neither advocates nor encourages any illegal or harmful activities which may damage oneself or another; either physically or emotionally or in any other way. If you find sexual fantasies offensive, you are free not to continue reading this story. This story is based on real people, real situations and real desires.}

[I have always found the scene in “American Taboo”, where the son fucks the mother in the bathroom, to be hot; though perhaps not as well shot as it might have been. I liked the impromptu position however and that has inspired this story. I imagine it in the home we lived in when I was going to college. I always returned for the summer and mom was in her prime during in those days.]

It took me three times to catch on. The first time mom came into bathroom to use the toilet, she said she didn’t realize I was still in the shower. Now the shower stall in the master-bath off the master-bedroom was one of those glass deals where you can’t see anything but a blurry outline. But it was more convenient than the tub with a curtain in the other john. I didn’t think much of the incident at the time.

I always cut the lawn after Sunday dinner. Dinner was a big meal / important deal for the whole family, attendance mostly mandatory, unless you have a very good excuse. We always had Sunday dinner after getting back from church. That ritual too was an expected thing of our family routine, a “sacred cow” if you will. One of my chores was to mow the lawn, a job I really hated with all my heart. But Sunday was better than Saturday, when I hung out with my friends. I always took a shower after a hot summer day’s of cutting the grass, which took over an hour to finish our acre, even on the rider.

This entire suburban regimen was almost traditional. Including the fact that I would be ready for a nice jack-off session under the refreshing spray. It was my habit to enjoy a leisurely wash in my folks’ quarters, as they were usually elsewhere those hours. Mom reading or sewing, Dad in his den/office or workshop. So, I had the place to myself. My younger sister, by just under two years, would be in the rec room or her bedroom. The summer after my sophomore year at the university followed this pattern like a sitcom’s script.

I had no reason to assign ulterior motives to my mom’s intrusion the first time. I took her excuse at face value. I couldn’t see anything except her sitting down on the toilet, next to the shower-stall as she pulled up her skirt. She was just a splotchy jumble of color. She didn’t stay long, the shower drowned most of her tinkling, a flash of movement as she wiped herself, the flush was still gurgling as she exited. No big deal. The fact that I was hard with a soapy fistful of cock must have never been known to her. So I figured. I forgot all about it.

However, the next week, in the midst of my self-gratification, I was once more interrupted by my mater materializing. This time she provided the story that she had been searching for something in her closet, when the urge had strongly come upon her without warning and not considering the possibility that I was inside, she had hurried to use the nearest facility. “Thank God! You didn’t lock the door, Freddy, or I might have had an accident!”

That was believable, mom had one of those ladies’ bladders that ‘when you have to go – you HAVE to GO!’ Now days they have pills for that, but not back then. Still while this occasion was not quite as brief as the last, nothing was much different. I did have to restart my engine and get up to speed before my recreation session came to its finish line. I came with quite a groan, then wondered if my mom was still out in her room, and if so, had she heard me? Well, it was not like I hadn’t heard my folks, since we moved to this new house a couple of years ago and my bedroom was now adjacent to theirs.

The third week in a row that she barged in on my shower hour, I began to wonder. She claimed that my sister was taking a bath in the other john and had the radio on so loud she didn’t hear mom knocking. That didn’t quite have the ring of truth. Even with the music blaring, the other was a small space and the doors were hollow, they carried sound easily. My mother took her sweet time too, I could see that her head was turned to stare at the glass panel. Was she trying to get a gander at my youthful physique? In those college years I was a bit athletic, intramural soccer during the fall and played shortstop on the Jr. varsity team in the Spring.

What was up? By this period I had a nice collection of dirty books stashed under the mattress. A few were incest, mother/son; had mom seen them? Read them? NO! It couldn’t be – my straight-laced, church-going, conservative Midwestern values mother? She would have thrown a fit if she found them. Yet, she did change my sheets still. Whoops! I hadn’t considered that she might find the evidence of my fetish for family fun. But if she had, and the shit had not hit the fan . . . what possibly might be going on? I’d ask my sister, ‘Miss Snoop’ knew everything going on in the house.

Imagine my surprise, when I got the scoop from ‘The Snoop’! She told me that mom had been listening to me masturbate, every summer Sunday this year, possibly it started last year. One time the door to my parent’s room had been open, as my sibling passed by. Sis noticed that mom had her ear glued to the bathroom door. I must have been in there as the mower had been quiet for at least half an hour. As soon as mom saw that she had been observed she acted guilty and left to go downstairs. My distaff-counterpart had not put two and two together for a while, but eventually did.

She found it all highly amusing. And by the way, did I realize that the intercom base in the kitchen was even better for listening to our parents screw, than through the wall in my room? “Miss Snoop’ had been doing her own spying while I was away at school. By the way, she had borrowed some of my books, but could I get her some that were about girls hanging out with motorcycle gangs? She wasn’t into my fantasies, but since I knew where to get the porno . . . She would pay for the material of course. The little minx!

My former family rival, now turned ally, suggested that having discovered my stash of erotica, perhaps mom was trying, in her own shy way, to provide opportunities for me to make a move. It seems the home action had taken a definite down-turn in frequency the last six months. Mother had been getting zilch from dad, since the doctor had put him on the new blood pressure medicine. No Viagra back then either. So if mom had the gumption to once more venture into my private rubba-dub time, I might just get the chance to test the waters, if I had not already blown it, by being boneheaded. Three times in a row – duh!? Bro? . . . good luck, she concluded, handing me a $20 for her kind of books.

Well, if that was the case, perhaps I needed to insure that I got interrupted one more time, to see if my maternal lust interest would respond to less subtle things than a blurry body next to her pantyless potty person. But I was stumped for an excuse to draw mother into the situation again. My sister, had an idea how to help, when I delivered her paperbacks of porn. She would ask dad to drive to her friend’s house just as I finished mowing. That was a good hour’s round trip. He never refused his protestant princess her wishes when she used her winsome smile. Meanwhile, she’d ‘borrow’ the shampoo, and I would have to call for help, when I discovered none. Mom to the rescue, open the door and see your son rampant! My sister embodies the term, Machiavellian.

There was only one catch, mom brought the shampoo from the other bathroom alright, but then instead of opening the door and seeing my sudsy boner, she called, “Catch!” and tossed the plastic bottle over the top of the stall. The best laid plans of mice and men, I wasn’t getting laid though, with that tactic outwitting the bright idea of my sister. Then mom said, “Well, while I’m here . . .” and sat on the pot. Okay, change of game plan. Go for the bold move. I rinsed and place my erection right up against the glass pane. At eye level to my seated mother, she could not help but get the full measure of my member.

“Fredrick Harold Ferguson, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Okay, perhaps the bold move was out of line. But wait? Sis said she had been listening at the door – could I use that? No, not with out making mom defensive. She had to have seen my dirty books – same shaky ground. How about the ‘old stand by’? Maybe . . “Mom I was just going to ask you a question! Am I as big as dad?” Lame, but the best I could think of under pressure.

“Oh . . Uh . . Well, let me look again.” (Wipe motions through the blur.) I placed my hard-on smack dab on the glass once more. “That’s might not be the best way to tell. Here’s a towel . . .” She opens the stall door! And hands it to me. I see, that she is wearing her white silk robe, unusual for this time of day, but not unheard of on a Sunday afternoon. Still . . . I begin to dry myself. “Would you like me to do that? Give me the towel.” I step out dripping on the rug, This is more like it! She uses it on my head, but then steps back to survey my form. “Mmm . . you’ve lost a bit of stiffness, I’ll help buck it up.”

Mom uses the terrycloth to rub me on my genitals, but then simply drops the fabric and begins to fondle me. I am amazed at the turn around of her attitude and the turn of events, but know I am still tiptoeing on eggshells, as she is ‘choking my chicken’. “Why didn’t you ask your father what size his dick is?”

“Because I didn’t want to seem to be queer. You know how it is.”

“Well, I thought you asked me, because perhaps you wanted to have me see what you’ve got. Bragging rights and all that manly pride stuff. I haven’t seen you since you were ten. You have grown, of course, but now that I have got a ‘handle’” she smiled widely, “on the length of your ‘louie’” (mother always had an astonishing range of euphemisms) “I am pleased to report that you are . . exactly the same size as your old man.”

Okay, where do we go from here? How do I take the next step in this floundering seduction? Wait! Her robe has parted some and I see nothing underneath – that is encouraging . . I think. “Mom, uh, when you change my bed-sheets . . do you ever . .”

“”Find your naughty literature?”

“Yeah . .”

“”Uh-huh. You have a dirty mind, when it comes to your mother.” She pulled me close to whisper in my ear. I could feel her breasts pushing against my bare chest, and damn! The nipples were hard! “Do you think about mommy, when you pull your pecker in the shower on Sundays?”

I put my arm around the small of her back and hug her, increasing our body contact. She was still holding my cock but she had begun to jack slightly, I was soo HARD! “Mom, I think about you, you and me, all the time.” The hormones raging through my system are making me think and say wild things. I speak, but have no idea where the words are originating from, not my frontal cortex, that’s for sure! “I can think of a way to see how I measure up to the family standard, by putting it up-”

Mom stops me with her hand on my mouth, the one not grasping the item of discussion. “That would be a very nasty thing to do to your mother. Maybe I won’t measure up to those college girls you bed. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Mom, I love you though!” I am speaking very softly, then kiss her on the lips. Her tongue meets mine, she is no novice. “You know what I need, I want to show you how much I love you.” (Good tactic, a voice in the back of my brain comments, limbic system? Who remembers now??) I reach down and untie the loose belt of her gown, it parts to reveal her naked curves beneath the silk. My mouth kisses its way down to her nipples. They are almost perfectly round brown circles with crinkled buds on the full milky pears of her mammeries. I suck on each as my hand slides down to her mons seeking the slit. She lets go of my dick and puts her arms around my shoulders.

“We shouldn’t. Oh! Freddie! (pause) What are we doing? OHH!” I have found her clit and use the lubrication from her center to allow me to rub it without friction. “What if your father comes back? (pause) I think we ought to stop. (pause) I’m not a bad girl. (pause) I get so horny. (pause) It’s not fair.” She is making protests but her legs are going wider and her hips are thrust forward. I am certain that I have control of what is going to happen. I take a moment to get the garment off her, it slides to the floor and I place my hands on her ass and lift her petite form on to the counter’s edge. I move forward between her thighs. “Baby, are you sure? I know you have wanted me for a long time. Me too. I want you too, it’s wrong, but I can’t help it! (pause) Please, put it in. (pause) Yes!”

This last as my raging rod of fire touches her labia, pushing in, seeking the hole I was born from. “OH! MOM!!” I have found it, by some miracle of fate, without having to bang against her in frustration. My prick is slipping into the warm wetness of her pussy like it was guided by the devil himself. I move to be all the way in her sweet depths, my chest expands to feel the cushions of her breasts, her legs wrap around my waist as our motion begins to find the rhythm that makes the fucking just right. I can’t last long, but I didn’t have an orgasm while I was under the spray, so the second effort of my youth will be available as well.

I hear her siren begin to climb, just as I have heard it through the walls, but now I am the instrument that brings on her wail of cumming. It rises in both pitch and volume, a continuous sound punctuated only by gasps for breath. And then the “Yes! YES! Ahh . . Ahh! YEESS!” Of her spasms signaling her peak. That triggers my own squirt inside my mother’s body, as I fulfill the fantasies that have made my cock cum a thousand times. But I know I can best my old man in seconds, if not in inches. I cautiously ease mom off the edge and on to the soft carpeted floor. (Thank God there is padding underneath!) I place my penis back into the precious vagina and make the missionaries blush for having invented this way of screwing.

I am plowing into mom like I might never get to fuck her again. (For all that I know – ) But I’m figuring to make it the best she has had in a long time, not just six months either, and if so, then there damn well ought to be more of the same, all summer long! This was going to be a Sunday regular event, if I had my way. Mother was simply hanging on and having multiple orgasms silently with an open mouth and wide eyes and the happiest grin on her face I had ever seen! Like she was on a roller-coaster ride that scared the hell out of her, at the same time delighting her beyond her capacity to absorb all the sensations. Then we were both blasting together our utter most profound physical contractions of paroxysms.

Every blade of grass I ever cut was worth it! I love my mom with all my heart, and all my hard-on now too!

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