Between a Mother and a Son

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John Donato got out of the cab and looked at the simple house that he had called home for all of his 18 years until going off to college last fall. The house looked smaller, in fact the whole neighborhood looked smaller than it had a few months ago.

That was a product of spending time in Denver and then coming home to little old Troy, New York, a old industrial town no match for a major city in any way except in his heart. John had gone to school out there, because of a scholarship he won, but he was home here.

In the house was Mom, the love of John’s life. Her husband, John’s father, had died too young, leaving Mary Donato all alone. John didn’t want to go to school so far away from his mother, but as she told him, the opportunity was too good to pass up.

So he left Mom behind, all alone in the house built for 3. Mary Donato worked at a dry cleaners nearby and then went home, ate, slept and went back to work. That’s the way working class people did things. She would be home now though, John knew, but she would be surprised to see him because he wasn’t expected until next week.

When he slipped in the house, Mom was at the stove making soup and humming some tune that John didn’t know, probably one by Jerry Vale or Mario Lanza or some other guy John wasn’t familiar with, and his heart skipped a beat when she saw her wearing one of her old house-dresses, one of the sleeveless ones that showcased her beautifully shaped arms, which were slightly plump but still nicely toned with the bronze tone of her skin reflecting her Italian heritage.

John coughed, making his mother jump, but when she saw him she screamed out and ran to him, crying and carrying on like she always did when she got excited. After about 5 minutes she finally calmed down enough to sit at the table a talk to her son, grilling him about school and college, and even though the talked every week on the phone, she needed to hear it all again.

As John looked as his mother carrying on, all he could think was how much he loved her. Loved her like a son loves his mother and also in another way. A way that, if she knew, would probably make her faint or worse.

What would she think if he knew that if her son had a choice to go to bed with any woman in the world, he would choose her? He had gone to bed with 3 girls in his life so far, and they were nice enough in their own ways but they all had the same flaw. They weren’t Mom.


“So Johnny,” my Mom said after giving me the third degree about school and making sure that I was indeed hitting the books as hard as I had promised. “You still have that girlfriend out there? The one you told me about?”

“Uh – no,” I said. “Didn’t work out.”

“You know that Teresa Benvenuti – she’s still around,” Mom said.

“Over and done,” I said about a past flame who had been my second lover. “Her father is still alive, isn’t he? He’s a widower. Why don’t you get together with him?”

“Ah, my time has come and gone,” Mom said. “I’m happy as I am.”

I doubted that, I thought as I looked over the table at my mother, who was pushing 50 but still looked nice to me. A little bit chubby, I supposed, but not certainly not fat, and a hell of a figure.

“I remember that dress,” I said, referring to the green and red striped house dress that I recalled her wearing several years ago but had disappeared. “I thought you must have thrown it out.”

“Probably should, but I didn’t think anybody would be seeing me here today,” Mom said. “Little snug. Maybe I’ll dump it after today.”

“No, don’t,” I said. “I love it. You look sexy in it.”

“Oh, you kidder,” Mom scoffed.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I always told you that you look nice in dresses without sleeves. You’ve got sexy arms and you used to wear things like that all the time, but then you stopped.”

“That’s when your father was still around,” Mom said. “I wore them for him. After he passed – eh – between that and your friends…”

“My friends? What about my friends?”

“Let’s not get into that,” Mom said. “When does soccer start?”

“Forget soccer. What were you talking about?”

“I know how they used to tease you about me,” Mom said, and when I started to protest she cut me off. “The names they used to call me, and then the one time I heard you got in a fight over it.”

“What – you mean?” I said, finally realizing what Mom was talking about. “Oh, that asshole?”

“Johnny! The mouth.”

“Sorry but he was,” I responded. “Gene Savoca was an idiot. Why would you care what somebody like that thought?”

“Him? No, I didn’t care about what some snot-nosed kid thought, but I didn’t want you to get harassed over it,” Mom said. “Besides, I did it for your father because he liked me that way.”

What Mom was talking about was was the fact that unlike most of the women in the neighborhood, my mother didn’t shave her armpits. Even though this was an Italian part of the city, most of the women had adopted the ways of this country by 1966, and one of the rituals involved women removing Casibom the hair from their legs and under their arms.

My Mom didn’t, even though she was born in this country, arriving when she was 3, but I didn’t know that my father was the reason. That might account for the fact that it turned me on as well. Used to, and still did. I wasn’t the only one because my friend Tony Lanni admitted to me once that he thought Gene Savoca was an idiot and besides, he used to masturbate thinking about my Mom and her armpits. Join the club, I could have told him.

Anyway, this moron Gene Savoca, who didn’t like me any more than I liked him, used to bug me about Mom’s armpit hair. A couple other guys made cracks once or twice but then let it go. Not Gene. He kept going, calling her Hairy Mary and telling me that my mother looked like she had Cassius Clay in a headlock, so one day I popped him one in the mouth even though he was bigger than me.

I didn’t know Mom had heard about that, but at least after that he shut up about my mother. That was one thing we all usually kept away from was mother bashing, and besides even though she was my Mom she was the best looking mother in the neighborhood.

“Now that your friends don’t come around I suppose I don’t have to hide myself any more,” she said with a laugh, and that pissed me off to think that Mom stopped wearing those dresses because of that.

“You never had to hide,” I said. “You’re gorgeous just as you are.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I had a raging hard-on ever since I got home, and I admit that a good part of that came from me truly loving her, in addition to the fact that she had a beautiful complexion with full red lips, and that she had an incredible pair of breasts that seemed as large and full as Sophia Loren’s.

Much of my arousal came from seeing that she hadn’t followed the herd though, and the few glimpses I got when she raised her arms revealed that those round hollows were still untouched by a razor and were every bit as hairy as I remembered them being.

As I was thinking those thoughts, as if on cue Mom chose that moment to scratch the back of her head, affording me a couple seconds of heaven as I got to stare at the wild jet black jungle of hair under her arm.

Mom caught me staring at her armpit, but unlike times in the past when she would lower her arm right away if she caught be leering, this time she didn’t, and if I didn’t know better I would have sworn she did that to tease me.

Mom went back to her soup when she realized the had forgotten about it, and as the scent of Minestrone filled my nostrils I looked at my Mom from the rear. What a body she had, and while she would never wear a bikini even if she could swim, she could probably get away with it.

As I stared at her legs, which were very curvy and only a little plump, I wished she wasn’t wearing those little white socks like she always did. I remembered that the times I had seen her legs bare I recalled that she had a little hair growing on the insides of her calves. Not very much, certainly nothing like her underarms, which were profusely hairy by any standard, so that made me wonder whether she had a lot of hair between her legs.

In my mind I pictured her with a really large and thick bush, which was alright by me because although none of the three girls I had seen in person turned out to be as furry as I had hoped, the really hairy ones that I had seen pictures off turned me on, and that reminded me that I still had a magazine in my dresser that had inspired me many times, and I suspected I would be using it later tonight, if I lasted that long that is.

44-28-46. That was my mental appraisal of my Mom as I undressed her while she stirred soup. The hips and waist were only guesses, but I knew the top measurement was accurate from many years of looking at her bras, and the cup size was D, which gave you an idea of what a sick pup I was to know this stuff.

“Gonna put my stuff away,” I announced while Mom still had her back to me, and that made it easier to slither out of the room without her seeing the bulge in my pants.


After dinner I helped Mom clean up the kitchen before announcing I was tired and retreating to my bedroom. After locking the door behind me I dug out my old favorite magazine and climbed onto my bed to acquaint myself with some of my old fantasy girlfriends.

As I looked through the dog eared magazine it struck me about what Mom had said about my late father. This was his magazine that I had grabbed when we went through the attic after he passed away, keeping it for my own enjoyment.

It was titled European Delights, and while it might have been considered pornographic by the standards of 1966, it was relatively tame. All of the women were fully naked, but there was no sex of any kind. No men at all, just women. Naked women and most posing very innocently.

Most of them hand their arms raised, either straight up or with their hands behind the neck, and the majority of Casibom Giriş the women were unshaven. No wonder Dad had this magazine, and to think that he wanted Mom to look natural like these women was erotic to me.

Some of these women were probably as pretty as Mom, but very few of them had as much armpit hair as Mom. Even I didn’t, I mused, remembering how Mom had accidentally posed for me earlier, giving me a memory that I would never forget, and wished that somehow I could have let my fingers stroke those thick dense bushes to see if the hair was as soft as it appeared to be.

I went to my favorite picture, one where the woman had similar features as my mother, with large breasts that were about the same size as I pictured my Mom to have, although this lady had only little sprays of hair under her arms. It was inevitable what was to happen next.

Digging a sock out of the loose mismatched collection in the back of the drawer, I dropped my pajamas and slid the sock over my cock before getting back onto the bed. I didn’t invent this, but after my friend Tony explained it to me, it made sense. No mess to clean up after you came, and then you sneak them in the wash with the rest of the clothes.

As I slowly humped the mattress, pretending that it was me on top of Mom while I ground myself into the bedding, I wondered whether I was like Dad in another way. I know Mom always said I looked a lot like him when he was my age, but I wonder whether I had inherited some of his other features.

Thinking about my Dad’s cock was creepy in a way, but I was thinking more about those nights long ago when I would hear noises in the bedroom. Was he built like me? If so, I was grateful because I guess I have a big one.

I don’t think I ever saw a guy with a hard-on besides myself, so I didn’t know, but the girls that had seen it seemed impressed, and in glancing around the locker rooms I did seem to be a little bigger than most of the other guys soft.

I’m about 8″ erect, and that wasn’t me measuring it but my old girl Teresa, who was curious enough to fetch a ruler one time. She said that I was the biggest one she ever had, and apparently she had seen a few of them, so thanks Dad was all I could think.

I was about to cum, but as I did my eyes closed, blocking the vision of the lady in the magazine so I could concentrate on the vision of Mom – innocent Mom in the kitchen showing me her natural beauty, and while I didn’t fill the sock after I stopped cumming, it sure felt like it.


After I pulled off the sock I went to bed but sleep wouldn’t come. After laying there a while I decided to go take a leak and maybe get a drink of water. As I went down the hall I noticed that the kitchen was dark, as was the rest of the house, but the light was on in my Mom’s room.

I went down the hall, stopping just short of the doorway, and when I peeked in Mom was sitting at her little table with the makeup mirror on it. Mom was humming a song while brushing her hair, and I remembered her saying that she brushed her air 100 times or something, and when I saw her I prayed she had just started.

Mom was wearing a old white nightgown, and while it wasn’t anything stylish or sexy by itself, what it revealed was amazing. I didn’t dare breathe but just stood there and watched the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

The nightie was sleeveless, and the armholes were large and hung down, which exposed a whole lot of the side of Mom’s left breast. Without a bra Mom’s breasts looked like torpedoes, and I could make out the darkness of her nipples through the fabric.

Mom switched hands with the brush then, to her left hand, and now with her arm raised high as she ran the brush through her wavy black hair, my cock forgot that it just had cum not long ago and turned to blue steel in my pajamas.

What I would give for a camera, I though as a marveled at this intimate view of Mom. With the armhole of the nightie so low, I could see the entire thicket that sprouted from under her arm after she raised it, the bottom past of which at been shielded by the dress earlier.

“Oh Johnny!” Mom said as she became aware of my presence, grabbing a bathrobe she was sitting on and wrapping it over her chest. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Sorry,” I said as I leaned back in hopes that Mom hadn’t seen the bulge in my pajamas. “I heard you singing.”

“Hard to remember that I’m not alone now,” Mom said. “Lucky I wasn’t sitting her naked like I do sometimes.”

Bad luck, I thought, because seeing my Mom naked would have probably made my cock tear through the fabric of my pajama bottoms.

“I’ll try to keep my singing down,” Mom said.

“No, don’t,” I said. “It makes me feel like I’m home again. You sing pretty.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mom said, and after she made sure the robe was covering her side and her chest she went back to brushing.

“You still brush 100 times?” I asked.

“Oh, you remember that?” Mom said and then laughed. “Lost count, now I have to start Casibom Yeni Giriş again.”

I was in heaven, and it was like Mom was flaunting her armpits at me, as crazy as it seemed, and so I stayed there staring.

“Getting a little gray,” Mom said.

“I didn’t notice.”

“If you look close you can see it,” Mom said. “Right at the top here at the part. Come see.”

I walked over at stood behind Mom, looking down at a few strands of grey that had appeared with the passing of time, but my eyes were focused elsewhere, at Mom’s big breasts jutting out against the nightie and at those incredible tufts of thick black hair that seemed to explode from her armpits as she raised her arms again, only this time she didn’t have the brush in her hands.

“I miss you so much Johnny,” Mom said, looking up at me as she put her hands on my hips, and now I knew she was posing for me. “I love the way you look at me now. Not like a boy looks at his mother but as a man looks at a woman. I miss that. Do you understand?”

All I understood was that I had trying to stay behind the back of the chair so Mom didn’t see my erection, but what she was saying – was she actually saying this?

I put my hands on her upraised elbows, looking at the make-up mirror in front of us, and now Mom was looking that way too. We were watching each other, and then Mom was nodding yes as my hands went down those smooth and shapely biceps.

Mom sighed as my fingernails went from the smoothness into the hair that started on the inside of her arm, and then they were raking through the lush forest that I longed to touch, and it was every bit as soft and luxurious as I had fantasized it would be.

“Just like your father,” Mom said, and she almost sang the words as my fingers reached the end of the hair, her body writhing as I brought my hands back through. “You feel just like he did.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” I gasped, kissing the top of Mom’s head.

“Yes I do,” Mom said. “Part of me kept saying don’t encourage him – it’s not right, but…”

I was already kneeling beside Mom as she spoke, and she stopped talking when I buried my face into Mom’s armpit jungle, licking, chewing while my hand grabbed her breasts through the nightie, and although I might have looked crazy, neither of us were laughing.

Mom’s nipple felt as big and as hard as a bullet through the nylon, and the aroma of Mom’s armpit was making my head spin. A faint trace of floral soap blended with the natural musk of a woman – no hint of deodorant for a reason I would find out later – was a most powerful aphrodisiac.

But now Mom was pulling my face out from under her arm and telling me to stand up, and when I did she clawed at my pajama bottoms, yanking them down and grabbing my cock which sprang up at her. When she saw my cock she started crying as she put her lips on the dripping tip before sliding her mouth down.

I was cumming before her mouth got halfway down, and she didn’t pull away when I cried out a warning. Instead, she drank it down while stroking the part of my cock her lips couldn’t reach with one hand while milking my balls with the other.

Mom was never more beautiful than that moment, tears rolling down those big brown eyes while she kept sucking on me even after I was limp and spent, and then she looked up at me with trickles of my cum oozing out of the corners of her mouth.

I reached down under Mom’s arms, not accidentally, and helped her to her feet, and mouth only reluctantly let go of my cock as I helped her rise.

“Was that good for you Johnny?” she asked, and after I told her they was the greatest few moments of my life, I asked her why she was crying.

“In part because I have sinned, but also because you remind me so much of your father,” Mom explained. “Does that bother you – if I say that?”

“The way you touched me,” Mom continued after I assured her I considered it a compliment. “It was just like he used to, and then when I saw your manhood – he was large just like you – and his curved a little to the right as well. Except for you being snipped – we were told that was what was done in this country – you’re just so much like him you could be his double.”

“I want you Mom,” I mumbled as I looked down at her, and although Mom averted her eyes she didn’t say no when I added, “I want you like Dad had you.”

Instead she nodded, and after sitting down and turning off the lights of the make-up mirror, simply raised her arms, affording me another unfettered look at her lush armpits, but it was a signal for me to lift her nightie up and over her head, like a child would, although there was nothing remotely child-like about her body.

As she rose, my cock was already starting to come back to life and I enjoyed my first look at Mom naked. While there may have been some little signs that this woman was nearing a half-century old, the fact was that no woman had a right to look so good at her age.

Her breasts were more like torpeodos, the huge tits showing little sag despite their immense size, and her auroelas were large, crimson and slightly oval in shape. Her nipples, thick fat pegs that I had suckled on as a babe, seemed to be twitching and begging for me to relive those days of nearly two decades ago.

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