MOM AND I AGAINST THE WORLD

From a young age I'd been fascinated by women smoking. The ones that dominated my mind were the glamorous women dressed to the nines: stockings, heels, coiffed hair, deep red lipstick and pearls. White tendrils of smoke, wrapping around their moist tongues before they inhaled enchanted me, their sexuality inextricably entwined with the oral-centric habit.

I grew up in a different time, mind you. Cigarettes were not readily advertised as being unhealthy as they are now. I still remember a vague commercial or two about which brands doctors smoked. Every actress on television and in the movies smoked; it was a part of everyday life. So it is no wonder I became enamored of my mother, who also smoked.

I remember looking forward to watching her smoke her after-dinner cigarette. She'd come into the living room and sit down on the couch while I was sprawled on the floor watching the television, pull out her pack and light up while she set her ashtray on the coffee table. I don't remember what show came on during that hour, but I never watched a minute of it, my eyes were riveted to her as she pulled on that cigarette, the end burning brightly as she drew smoke into her mouth.

She'd exhale, that sweet sound of relaxation as her foot bounced lazily below her knee where her legs were crossed. From my vantage point on the floor I tried to look up her skirts, even at that young age, though I could never see anything of consequence. I'd seen a pinup or two, and even caught glimpse of an issue of Playboy once, so I had an idea what things might look like underneath, but I was hungry for first-hand knowledge.

Mom was a looker, a real head turner, if I do say so myself. Her shiny blond hair, waves of golden silk carefully prepared each day along with her meticulous makeup, made her seem as beautiful and glamorous as the women in the movies. She wore curve-hugging clothes, neatly tailored at home by the light of a bare bulb on an ancient sewing machine she worked at tirelessly to keep herself stylish. I can still remember the day I became aware of the flare of her hips and the mouth-watering shape of her derriere, I think it was the first time I popped an insta-boner. Not that I didn't notice her well-formed, pear shaped breasts, especially when she wore those soft, fuzzy sweaters. I swear I think I spent more time imagining the shape of her nipples, willing them to appear by staring holes into her tops, than looking at her face. Whenever I'd look up, caught ogling once again, she'd just smile, a wistful, almost pained look.

Finished with her smoke, she'd ruffle my hair and head off to whatever chore needed doing next. I'd watch her until she turned a corner, my adolescent heart pounding, counting silently the minutes until the next night when the routine would repeat itself.

It wasn't all hazy daydreams and unrequited longing. Mom ran a tight ship, and I, as the only crewman of that ship, had a lot of weight to pull. She worked long, hard hours at a real estate firm, working her way up from receptionist and finally to junior agent after studying for the exam at home. I remember the small celebration we had, a couple of cupcakes topped with candles to mark the occasion.

She made sure I was current on all my school work, drilling me with facts whenever a large test loomed, or I'd come home with a substandard grade. By the time high school came around Mom had me so accustomed to working hard I was acing all of my classes and amazing my teachers.

Mom was almost as fanatical about working out. She was ever conscious of her figure, knowing full well it was part of her success as a real estate agent, and she never let me slack in that area, as well. To this day I can't pass by a gym and see women working out in tights and not feel my heart tugged by memories of working out with mom. It was during these sessions I got to see more of her shapely body, though it was still within propriety, Mom was a stickler for that as well.

Despite the prime physical shape she whipped me into, I never excelled at sports. Mom blamed my lack of a father figure. The sperm donor, as she referred to my unknown father, had bolted at the news of her pregnancy, leaving behind yet another unwed, teenage mother to bring shame upon her family. She'd recount the events whenever I asked, a vague recollection of a handsome boy who appeared suddenly and left the same way. In the beginning I remember a misty sadness in her eyes, in time they dried completely, as if the pain had never existed. She always told me I was the only man she ever needed, and I guess I never questioned why she didn't date. Later, when I grew up and understood more, I guessed I was the reason why she didn't have many suitors. It was still an age where our situation brought down a certain amount of shame. Sure there were men who would have loved to take Mom to bed, but she kept them at arm's length, occasionally seeming to welcome their advances to further her career, but never letting them close the deal.

My smoking fascination was not limited to just watching others do it, I wanted to smoke as well. I played with Mom's cigarettes on occasion, holding them up to my mouth and pretending to suck in a lung full. She caught me once, when I was twelve, holding a lipstick stained butt from her ashtray up to my lips as my fingers tried to work the lighter.

"Danny! What are you doing?" she said in her motherly tone, though I wouldn't have called it yelling. She barely had to raise her voice and I was already sorry.

"I just wanted to try," I answered after whipping the cigarette out of my mouth and holding it behind my back. Her face softened and she held out her hands until I placed the pilfered items in her palms.

"You are still too young," she said softly. "Maybe when you are older you can try."

"When?" I asked quickly, my heart filling with hope.

"Sixteen," she said after a moment's thought, "but you have to promise me you won't ever sneak one until then." I readily agreed with her demand. Remember, this was back even before the Surgeon General issued any warnings about smoking, stores didn't even really question kids who bought cigarettes if their parents smoked. So her decision, while still a few years off, gave me something concrete to look forward to.

Between school, odd jobs to help make ends meet, and the hundred other things that mom found to keep me busy, I never found much time for girls. I knew they were out there, a vast other species full of wonder and mystery, and completely unapproachable. Perhaps if I'd had more of a male role model I would have learned to be a bit more self-assured and made more of an attempt to connect with the opposite sex. But as it was, I had Mom completely to myself, all of her affection, her soft words, all those curves and bumps to gaze upon without worry. I didn't have a father to compete with in any way and who could blame me if no girl my own age could tear my eyes away from her.

Most boys my age had at least kissed a girl by their sophomore year in high school, with a lot of tall tales about what else they got up to. A couple of my friends had cars and I listened intently to their stories of what went on at the drive-in. I remember taking mental notes of their 'secret' moves, like the yawning to cover the arm being slipped around a gal's shoulder. Sure, TV and movies make big fun of this, but only because it was the kind of idiotic thing we actually did!

I remember the days leading up to my sixteenth birthday vividly. From about a week out I was hanging around at every moment Mom lit up. The image of her painted fingers pulling out the cigarette, the soft whisper of paper sliding against paper all indelibly etched in my mind. The way her moistened lips parted, the sound of the lighter-top being flipped open with a ringing echo that faded slowly into thin air, all part of a ritual I'd observed since I could remember, but suddenly becoming larger than life. I'd stare as she moved the tip of the cigarette to the flame, the crackling sound of the tobacco catching fire, the acrid smell of the smoke mixed with the scent of lighter-fluid, all of it was burned into my sense memory. To this day, when I hear or smell someone lighting up, I'm right back there again.

I watched with unexplained excitement as she held the smoke in her mouth, the puffy white cloud resting in the oval of her painted lips, before she'd suck in air and then exhale a steady stream, like a dragon breathing steam. Her long eyelashes would bat in seemingly slow motion, the beauty of her flawless skin once again making every other woman in the world pale in comparison. When it was the day before my birthday I remember she winked at me, giving me an urgent need to leave the room quickly before she caught sight of my obvious arousal.

On my birthday we celebrated quietly, as we did all occasions. Though Mom was doing well at work, we were still not well off. Our small apartment was neat, but tiny and we didn't have a lot of room for extras. After a scrumptious meal, Mom produced two slices of tiramisu, a coffee flavored cake I never had before. She carried them from our dining table to the living room where she set them upon the coffee table and pulled out her pack of cigarettes from her purse.

"Are you ready?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. If my excitement hadn't already told her the answer, the week of hanging on to every exhaled cloud of smoke surely had. "Take a bite of cake first."

I did as she asked and then accepted the cigarette she handed me. I remember it felt light in my fingers, fragile even. I had taken her condition of refraining from smoking so seriously I hadn't as much as touched one since that day. I turned it about in different directions, admiring the way it felt between my fingers, trying out the varying styles of holding one's smoke. Bringing it to my lips, holding it steady with my hand as Mom brought the lighter close, the flame wavering slightly from my heavy breathing.

Pulling on the cigarette, I was delighted by the bright redness at the tip, suddenly feeling myself to be much more mature instantly. I fancied myself James Dean, who my mother had seemed to be very fond of. Although I'd seen her smoke thousands of times, I couldn't get the hang of inhaling. I held the ephemeral ball of lightness in my mouth, could taste it on my tongue and teeth, but that was as far as I could get. I exhaled and noticed right away that my smoke looked much different than hers.

"It's okay baby," Mom said, noticing my concern. "It takes a little time to get it down. Here let me show you a trick." She took my cigarette from my hand, her soft fingers entwining with mine for a moment until she got a hold of it properly. The contact, while nothing unusual, sparked something in me that I had never felt quite as strongly.

"I want you to breathe in through your mouth," she said, laughing when I opened my mouth and sucked in a lungful of air right away. "Silly goose, let me finish," she laughed, which sounded different than any laugh I had ever heard her use. The soft lilting sound, almost a sigh, combined with the way she cocked her head, exposing her soft, supple neck all had me thinking the room was spinning.

"I'm going to inhale and then place my mouth close to yours, when I push the smoke out you take a breath in, okay?"

I nodded, though I was still confused as to what we were doing. She scooted closer to me, my eyes darting down to try and sneak a peek down her blouse that was suddenly almost directly beneath my nose. Mom took a drag off the cig, the sound of burning tobacco loud in my ears as the heat of the cherry warmed my cheek, and then she was sucking in air through pursed lips. I waited and then she opened her mouth and I quickly followed suit, leaning in close so that there was less than an inch between us. I felt the hot smoke on my lips as she exhaled, though I completely forgot to breathe in, I was so caught up in almost kissing her.

"Once more, mister. Remember to breathe in, okay?" she laughed again, that same sound that somehow sent signals all through my body.

Another pull on the cigarette, her mouth open as though she was ready to kiss her lover, the red painted lips looming large in my mind, every crease and crack suddenly delectable to me, and then I felt the warmth again. I surged forward and inhaled deeply. My lips were pressed lightly against hers, I could feel her lipstick coming off and coating mine and then there was the sweet burn I'll never forget. The smoke entered my throat, blunted from having been through my mother's lungs already, I can still recall the euphoric feeling washing over my mind.

She finished exhaling, though our lips were still touching and I knew I never wanted to move again. My heart was pounding so hard, I feared she could hear it, was afraid it might burst from my chest. I held still, exhaling the smoke back across her lips, my hot breath on her face. I didn't know it then, but something changed in Mom that night. She offered to do the whole thing again, pulling on the cigarette and then blowing the smoke into my mouth, our lips always on the verge of a kiss, but never quite enough pressure to make it so. A dozen or more times I stared into her clear blue eyes, peering into her soul as she filtered the smoke for me, breathing in and out for both of us.

"Are you ready to try one on your own?" she asked, but I declined. Somehow the thought of smoking the normal way was abhorrent to me, I only wanted to smoke the way she had taught me. She gave me a curious look, cocking her head once again. When did her neck begin to look so good? I wondered.

"Maybe tomorrow night," I croaked.

Mom stared at me a long time, pulling out another cigarette, this time exhaling the smoke directly into my face as we sat close together on the couch eating bites of the cake. I closed my eyes with each breeze of cloudy sweetness, enjoying this new found intimacy with my mother. She would give me long looks between drags, appraising me carefully, her eyes scanning up and down my body when she thought my attention was turned. I had done so much surreptitious admiring of her over the years; her amateurish attempt was almost amusing. It suddenly made me feel very good though, in a way I'd never experienced.

The days between my sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays were filled with subtle changes. Nothing anyone would point to in the moment and say 'This is inappropriate' but looking back on the whole of the following two years, there was a definite shift that would make anyone ask some serious questions.

Mom's nightly after dinner smoke turned into 'smoke kisses', as I came to call it, where we would repeat our special method of smoking. The first night after my birthday she was hesitant to do it again, that pained, wistful look coming over her eyes. My gentle pleading won her over though and soon I was once again a hair's breadth from kissing her open mouthed. I took to wearing either very loose shorts, or conveniently piling a blanket over our laps to hide my growing arousal.

Our closeness was becoming comfortable, familiar, more so than ever before. It had always been us against the world, as Mom was fond of saying, but now it seemed we shared a secret that we kept hidden from that cold, cruel place outside our door. As much as I looked forward to our nightly ritual, cursing those rare occasions where we were prevented, I think Mom coveted those moments as much as I, if not more. Her hand would lie gently on my shoulder, holding me steady or keeping herself from leaning that last fraction of an inch, I'll never know, but I loved the feel of her touch on my body. I came to crave it as much as the smoke, my body burning up wherever she laid her fingers on me.

She was not alone in the furtive touching. My hands frequently held on to her slender waist, resting on the flare of her hip, sending the undeniable signals to my brain, triggering all of the expected responses from a horny teenaged boy in close contact with a woman who was less than his age when she bore him. Her sweet perfume filled my nostrils until the smoking started, and then it was all I could do not to kiss the exposed flesh of her neck. Still a neophyte in the ways of love and seduction, I did not understand the spell that had been woven around me, though I don't believe that it was intentional on my mother's part.

The changes were not confined to the living room. After our 'smoke kisses' Mom would retire and take a hot shower. She would emerge wrapped in a towel around her hair, another about her body, tucked snugly just under her arms. Her vibrant, steaming flesh, seemed to call out to me as she crossed my line of sight, grabbing some forgotten item from her purse in the kitchen. My eyes would follow her form, never varying as I studied the shapely form of her exposed legs and the roundness of her firm bosom beneath the terry cloth.

Other times she would paint her finger and toe nails, blobs of cotton tucked between them as she waited for them to dry. All the while I would be sneaking glances at her, as terribly un-sneaky as she was, I'm certain now, though back then I thought I had her fooled.

It was near Christmas when I was seventeen, when one of the most important moments occurred between us. She was in the bathroom, the mirror steamed over from her recent shower, the scent of her soap strong in the air as she used some dark pencil to apply a thin line under her eye.

"Danny!" she called to me, breaking me from the spell of my homework. "Come light me a smoke."

Mom was the last person to still call me Danny. From anyone else the childish name grated on my nerves, but I never tired of hearing it come from her lips. By this time I smoked normally, though I never turned down the opportunity for our 'smoke kisses'.

I happily complied, though I trudged along like it was torture. She shot me an annoyed look, knowing full well that my act was exactly that. I pulled the cigarette from her case, flicking the lighter and pulling hard on the filter. The cherry burned brightly, and still I continued to pull on it, the ash growing long in a few short seconds.

"You shit!" she cried, swatting my arm playfully. It was the first time I'd heard her curse and my eyes opened wide in amazement. She reached for the cigarette when I removed it from my lips, but I pulled it away from her, instead offering my mouth with tendrils of smoke drifting out lazily. Her face softened, that mischievous look I'd seen on occasion replacing her ire.

Mom came closer, her mouth opened as if she we were going in for a kiss, her eyes closed lightly and then I was feeding her the smoke the way she had done for me so many times before. I could hear her draw it in, the sucking of air through her lips so close to mine.

"Oh Robbie," she whispered at last and my eyes flew open. Mom was lost in some dreamland and somebody named Robbie was there with her. I pulled away, a pain in my chest I had never felt before and a sudden urge to run and hide.

I dropped the cigarette into the sink, the running water quickly putting it out in a hiss. Mom looked up, her spell broken as I was walking away.

"Danny? What's wrong? Where are you going?" she called after me, but I refused to answer. I shut myself in my room and, for the first time in years, I cried.

Mom pounded on my door, imploring me to let her in, but I just sobbed through her cries. Finally she let me be, realizing that I'd come out sooner or later, I guessed. A couple hours later I got up from my bed and went to open the door, Mom fell back, her head landing on my feet instead of the worn carpet.She looked up at me, embarrassed and annoyed at the same time. It took me a minute to realize that she'd set herself at my door so that she'd be right there waiting for me when I decided to come out. Helping her to her feet we sat down on my bed, the soft light of a single lamp casting our faces in long shadows.

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to upset you," she said, her hand cupping my face lovingly.

"Who is Robbie?" I asked sullenly.

Mom stared at me for a long moment, swallowing hard before she answered, "Your father."

In seventeen years he'd always been 'The Sperm Donor', he never had a name and not a single time had Mom ever said anything that was remotely close to missing him. I was still torn, unsure of how to interpret what had happened. I shouldn't have worried, Mom could see the torment in my face and she was determined to make it right.

"Your father was only a few years older than me," she began. "He was a bad boy, as my mother would say, and he smoked. When I was thirteen there was nothing cooler than smoking, and your father was hotter than hot with a cigarette in his mouth. He would hang around the shop where my dad worked, always trying to find some way to make extra money to buy a pack of smokes. Daddy tried to keep him away from me, but he couldn't keep me away from him.

"One day after Robbie bought a new pack of smokes I snuck out into the alley where he would light up and I asked him to teach me to smoke. He just laughed, calling me a little girl and that I wasn't woman enough to handle smoking. Well that only made me more determined, and so I told him I was too 'woman' enough and I could prove it. He asked me how I was going to do that, but I couldn't answer him.

"After chuckling at my predicament he finally came up with an answer. He said a real woman knew how to kiss, if I showed him I knew how to do that he'd teach me how to smoke. Well, I'd kissed a few boys so I figured this was no big deal. I walked right up to him, my hands clasped behind my back and I leaned up towards his mouth, presented my puckered lips and waited.

"After what seemed like forever, I opened my eyes and Robbie was just standing there, staring at me. He blew a cloud of smoke into my face and I was so angry I called him all kinds of awful things. He just laughed at my childish name calling, saying I wasn't even woman enough to curse properly. I started to pound on his chest with my fists until he double over laughing at me.

"I was never so angry in my entire life. I stormed off and I didn't come back to the shop for a long time. When I returned, Robbie was still there, this time he was a bit nicer to me. He was working in the shop now on a regular basis and I guess he figured he'd better play nice with me. Daddy would give us stern looks anytime we talked too long and I was always being shooed out of the shop.

"One day when Daddy was gone on a trip, I went to the shop to see Robbie. There wasn't much going on, he was just waiting for someone to show up needing a tire repaired, or anything really. I asked him to teach me to smoke again, and he laughed softly, asking if I'd learned to kiss yet. I hung my head and said no, but he didn't laugh this time.

"I'll teach you to do both', he offered and we went into one of the back offices, a room with no windows and boxes piled high. He lit a match and then touched it to his cigarette, the burning tip the only source of light in the dark room. He showed me the trick of opening your mouth and letting someone blow in smoke while you inhale. And then he kissed me. His mouth covered mine and his tongue was everywhere at once. I'd never felt something so incredible in all my life, Danny. I was in love with him in a heartbeat."

Mom paused, her tale having taken its toll on her as tears streamed down her face.

"Daddy threw him out, threatened to turn him into the police after I turned up pregnant," she sobbed. "I chased after him, tried to run away with him, but he didn't want me, us." There was another long pause as she was wracked by tears again and I held her close to protect her.

"You look so much like him, so handsome, but you are so sweet, kind and loving. Everything I ever wanted."

"You've got me mom; it's you and me, against the world," I whispered.

Mom was distant for a while after that, our evening ritual of 'smoke kisses' came to an abrupt halt and I didn't press the issue. I think it was a month, maybe more, before we really opened up to each other as we had before, but I could still feel a tension between us. I didn't understand then, but it was Mom holding back. Something cracked on that night of my sixteenth birthday and that night in the bathroom had put another large split in the dam. She was keeping in check powerful emotions that I was only beginning to guess at that were stirring wildly in me.

My eighteenth birthday came upon us in the spring, graduation looming not far behind. College applications had been sent off and a few responses had come back, though many of them were for far-away places. I couldn't understand why she insisted that I apply to schools so far away, but the further they were the more she liked them. She positively squealed when I'd been accepted to Arizona State University. The scholarships were too good to turn down, so I signed the commitment letter and I'd be off across the country almost as soon as school was out.

I wasn't so excited, the prospect of leaving my mother was not one that filled me with any kind of happiness. I'd suffered from teasing at school, many of the other kids calling me names such as 'Momma's Boy' and 'panty-waist' on numerous occasions because of my devotion to Mom. My lack of dates, though I had been asked out by a couple of girls, only seemed to reinforce my social awkwardness. So it was with dread I watched the calendar count down the days to the end of school.

The last week of high school is pretty much a formality. All the tests have been taken, all that is left is for us to walk across the stage, the school's only real task was to keep us out of trouble. There were parties of all sorts and though I attended a couple, my heart really wasn't in it. Mom noticed, and though she gave me smiles and a far-away look, she wasn't much help. It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life and here I was spiraling down into a depressive pit.

The night of graduation was bitter sweet, I was happy to be done with high school, but it was marking the end of everything else that I held dear, especially my time at home. I spent my time in the bleachers staring at my mother sitting in the crowd, my heart aching as I could only think of leaving her.

My feelings for her had grown beyond anything a son should feel for his mother, I knew that. Her insistence that I leave home seemed to indicate to me that she felt it too, and felt the need to separate us before her unspoken fears came to pass. I knew exactly what she was afraid of, we'd both felt the incredible tension that had built up between us, we were either going to explode or I was going to do something that would make her hate me forever.

Graduation was over and we left the ceremony, shaking hands with a few close friends and teachers who had meant a lot to me, with my arm around my mother, my eyes unwavering from her pretty face, we walked to our car and drove home. It was quiet as we entered the apartment, loosening my tie as I stepped into my bedroom, most of my belongings packed up in suitcases by the bed. With a heavy sigh I returned to the living room and slumped onto the couch, rubbing my eyes to keep from crying.

"Care for a smoke?" Mom asked as she pulled two cigarettes from her pack. She popped one into her mouth, it hung from her lip delicately as she offered me the other. I accepted it, though I just stared at the white cylinder in my hand. The sound of the lighter was loud in my ears, the scrape of flint against steel and the quiet rush of compressed gas being released. I closed my eyes and I was sixteen again.

"Light?" she asked, holding up her pink lighter questioningly. I shook my head and pulled her to sit next to me.

"Like you taught me," I said. When she pulled on the cigarette I leaned in close, my mouth opened as I pressed my lips lightly against hers. Mom blew the smoke into my mouth and I inhaled deeply, that familiar rush and the euphoric feeling washing over my brain.

It all happened automatically, I didn't care anymore and suddenly I knew it. Pushing forward, my lips crushed against hers, my tongue swiping into my mother's open mouth. The sweetness, the absolute heaven of kissing my mother for the first time like a man, and not just her son, was better than a thousand first cigarettes. For the briefest second I feared I'd made a huge mistake, that this one kiss was going to cost me everything, but then she let out the softest moan.

Mom's hand rested on my shoulder, the cigarette burning steadily in her fingers, and then she slid it around and grabbed the back of my head, pulling me tighter against her. Our mouths opened and closed in increasing speed, our tongues battling over each other, tasting, licking, exploring the other in ways we had dreamed of for so long, but had held back with pain. I felt as if my heart was going to explode in happiness, and when we pulled back gasping for breath I wasn't surprised to see the tears streaming down Mom's face.

I cupped her face, kissing away the salty tears, my mouth drawn to hers again as I couldn't wait another moment to do it all again. I covered her lips with my mouth, sucking her in, drawing her into my body, my soul. Mom began to shiver, a quaking that was overtaking her body. It wasn't sexual, she was trembling like a leaf as I kissed her so fiercely, our bodies pressing as close as we could possibly get on that couch. I stopped, fearing that something serious was wrong, but she just looked up at me with such love filled eyes, the tears still coming unbidden and unstoppable.

"I love you," she said through whimpers, wiping at her eyes, embarrassed by her reaction.

"I can't leave you," I whispered pressing my nose against hers. The smell of her filled me with such an ache, the thought that we would be separated tearing at my heart. I clutched her tightly, my fingers digging into her flesh as I wrapped myself around her.

"I know, I know," she soothed, her breath soft on my ears as my face was buried in her bosom. She took a drag off her cigarette, pushing me away so she could find the ashtray and stub out the butt.

I leaned close to her, intoxicated by the way her eyes closed and her lips parted as she anticipated the kiss I was going to lay on her. It was as if the last two years had been prelude, the courtship to the relationship we were waking up to now, and still she was my mother, a fact I couldn't ignore for even the briefest moment.

Her hand found my thigh, the soft weight of her touch sending jolts through me as her fingers inched up towards my groin. She giggled through our kiss, a huff of air and her eyes widening as my body reacted to her unexpected, yet welcome exploration. My mouth grew dry, and I swallowed hard trying to contain myself, beads of sweat popping out on my forehead.

"I've never-" I started, my hand grabbing her wrist and holding it in place.

Mom just looked at me, her eyes sweet and understanding, "I know, baby. I know." She kissed me with a growl, her teeth biting at my lower lip gently.

"I've dreamed of this," I quaked, letting go of her hand, allowing her to continue the sweet torture of almost touching my straining manhood. She looked at me with wonder and suddenly I was afraid that I might have revealed too much, it isn't every boy who admits to his mother that he's had sexual dreams of her.

"You and me both, baby," Mom whispered, her silky tongue swiping at her painted lips as she pressed down fully on the ridge of flesh tenting my slacks. "Ooh," she cooed in apparent delight, using two hands to measure the size of my package, pressing down on the material around it to get a clearer impression of my equipment. "I want to do something special," she said quickly, scooting off the couch and setting on her knees before me.

She undid the clasp at the top of my fly and then lowered my zipper. The sound of metal against metal loud in my ears as I held my breath, mom's fingers brushing lightly over the underside of my cock, the tight briefs confining my fully extended flesh. I waited for more, my eyes closed as I breathed out, trying to relax as much as I could, but my stomach was doing flips while tied in knots.

Then I heard the familiar flick of the lighter and I looked to see that Mom had fired up another cigarette, her mouth filled with the smoke that I had grown up associating with sex. She exhaled, blowing the smoke across my opened trousers, the ephemeral cloud disappearing into my clothes and the cushion. She laughed that musical laugh again as my cock twitched, a dark spot appearing at the tip where I began to leak.

With care she peeled back the underwear, urging me to lift my butt so that she could pull my pants and briefs over my hips. My cock sprang free, bouncing to slap against my stomach once and then resting in a proud, upright position. I looked at my body and then up at Mom to see her reaction, the first and only woman to see my sex. Her look of delight filled me with confidence and I felt a surge that I could have sworn made it grow even further.

Mom glanced up at my face, a devious smile upon her lips. She took another hit on the cigarette, holding the smoke in her mouth without inhaling. I watched in fascination as she exhaled the opaque cloud over my cock, the feel of the warm air brushing my sensitive skin causing me to flex and shift in pleasure. The sight of my genitalia surrounded by the smoke that had been in her mouth was symbolic of the vicarious desire to be inside of her, to feel her lips wrapped around my aching flesh.

"Ahh, I knew you'd like that," she breathed. "You used to watch me smoke all the time; I knew what was going on in that little head of yours. Tell me baby, is it everything you thought it would be?"

I could only nod in short, jerky motions, biting my lip tightly as I tried to contain the impending explosion that threatened to release at any moment. Mom caught on to my dilemma, her eyes narrowing and lips pursing together tightly as her hand slid up my naked thigh towards my twitching cock. I let out a long gasp as her cool fingers curled around my shaft, her soft skin enveloping me in a sure grip and then she stroked me. Three long, sensuous strokes is all it took before cum shot out of my cock in a fury of pent up, never to be believed release.

Mom gasped her surprise, working my flesh steadily as she stroked me through five strong pulses and then slowly pumped out the last dribbles that washed over her hand, coating her fingers in my seed. I watched as she took another drag off her cigarette, inhaling deeply this time and then blowing across the tip of my cock, eliciting one last dollop of sticky cum to bubble forth. With a broad smile she leaned close and licked the head of my cock, leaving it clean when she withdrew her tongue.

I did not lose an inch of hardness, my desire still as strong as before as Mom proceeded to lick me clean, getting every drop of salty sweet cum into her mouth. By the time she was finished I was shaking, ready for more and becoming increasingly impatient. I clawed at her, trying to remove her jacket and blouse, her laughter taunting me as she backed out of reach.

Standing before me she motioned for me to stay reclined as she began to remove her clothing. First the jacket was tossed aside and then her high heeled shoes were kicked off carelessly. My eyes scanning up from her legs exposed beneath her skirt up to her face, lingering on the sweet breasts hidden by her silk blouse. She reached up under her skirt and worked her pantyhose off, the tan ball of nylon tossed over her shoulder as she began to unbutton her shirt.

Licking my lips, I waited breathlessly as she revealed the lacy bra that held her twin orbs of delight. I'd seen her lingerie in the laundry untold number of times, imagined how she looked in them, but my visions only paled in comparison to the beauty I beheld. Her breasts were high, tightly compact with thick round nipples, the dark circle of the areola larger than I'd seen in the magazines, but much more exciting to my taste. Mom stared down at me, her hip cocked to the side as she slid the silk off her shoulders, her creamy skin begging to be caressed and kissed.

I thought she'd undo the bra, but Mom had other ideas. Next came the skirt. A quick snap and the dragging of a zipper, once again seemingly loud in the otherwise quiet apartment, only our labored breathing a counterpoint to its dull declaration that she was revealing herself to the one person most forbidden. The soft grey material slid to the floor in a whisper, her toned body on full display for me to devour. Her pose was more erotic than any I'd seen in any magazine, her hand was on her hip, the elbow bent as she presented herself to me, confident and radiant all at once.

I stared in awe as Mom stood stock still, allowing me to drink in the sight of her, my cock wavering in anticipation as more blood pumped to it, responding to my desire to claim her. My eyes drifted over the soft curve of her hip, the high cut peach panties hugging her snugly before diving between her legs where her mound was covered in peek a boo lace that barely hid the well-trimmed hairs covering her sex. There was a small gap above where her thighs came together and I was mesmerized by the fit lines of her bare legs, the softness of them calling out for my touch.

It seemed an eternity she stood there before straddling my thighs as she moved to sit astride my body. She pressed my hardened flesh against the front panel of her underwear, the feel of the lace softly scraping against my hyper sensitive skin sending me into a fit of groans and grinding. My hands were drawn to her waist, sliding up along the hourglass curve of her figure, ending as my fingers covered her breasts. Moaning softly, Mom pressed my fingers into her flesh, encouraging my exploration as her nipples hardened rapidly, poking out from the cup like diamond tips.

"It's always been us," she whispered, her eyes misting once again as new tears threatened to spill. It was a strange dichotomy, the sight of her on the verge of crying and the feel of her steamy sex pressing down on the inner curves of my thighs. She took my left hand and brought it to where our bodies touched, the damp panties keeping us apart for the moment. Slipping my fingers between her skin and the satin material I pulled it to the side, the puffy lips of her sex coming into clear view, the fine blond hairs laying serenely against her skin. The fold of skin protruding from those tender mounds of flesh slick, evidence of her arousal confirming her desire for this union.

"Take me," she sighed and I needed no further encouragement. I pushed up with my hips, her body rising as she lifted herself up with her knees, my cock lining up with her opening while I held the panties aside, the feel of it scraping against my shaft as my girth forced her open as she brought her weight to bear. "Oh god," she shuddered, her eyes closing, but the lids fluttering wildly as she sank onto me.

"Holy christ, mother of god," I blasphemed. No delight on earth can compare to the feel of sinking your cock into your mother's sweet pussy. It was heaven and yet I knew I was committing my most grievous sin ever. It was heat incarnate, like the fires of hell licking at us while we profaned the sanctity of the home of Angels.

"Oh baby," Mom moaned, her body rising and falling, her stomach and hips undulating as she rocked her pelvis against me, my body one with hers as she had done with no man since she conceived me. She grabbed her breasts, squeezing them tightly as she continued our dance, her face contorted in delightful torture.

I slid my hands to cup her bottom, the cheeks of her tight ass, smooth and supple to rival that of any coed I could ever imagine, filled my palms. Kneading the pliant flesh, I licked my dry lips, trying to maintain control of my body as Mom rode me like her stallion.

"Oh shit," she cried, biting her lip sharply as she clenched her eyes shut, her fingers digging into my chest as her writhing ceased and she held on for dear life as an orgasm ripped through her. The flood of her tight channel soaked my cock in a liquid furnace, the grasping, clutching feel of her sex unlike any sensation a virgin could have imagined. I was no match for the power of her climax, my own drawn out of me, my body answering that primitive need to deposit seed in the welcoming flower.

"Oh Mom, Mom..." I called out, unable to hold back this second explosion, my hands grabbing her hips and pulling her down forcefully as I thrust into her as far as I could go. A gasp was ripped from my chest as I felt her body clench again, another flood of heat about my sex as she came once more, the unbelievable feel of her pussy milking me, causing me to wince in exquisite torture as her body tried to coax as much from me as it could.

Mom slumped on to me, our sweaty bodies pressed together in the quiet, our gasping breath filling the room, the scent of sex thick in the air. We lay together like that for some time. I was afraid to move, to break the spell that had come over us, that if I were to shift Mom might wake up and suddenly realize she'd made a horrible mistake. In the end it was she who pushed back so that she could look at me, a tender, loving smile upon her face. Whatever worries I might have had evaporated by the look in her eyes as she once again leaned close, her eyelids dropping and her mouth opening for yet another kiss.

"Forever?" I asked quietly.

"Forever," she answered.

I carried Mom to her bedroom, pushing open the door with my foot. I was surprised to see four large suitcases piled at the foot of the bed. A quick glance revealed a bare closet, only a single dress on a hanger, and a room devoid of all the trinkets she'd collected over the years. Our tiny apartment didn't have much, but I thought I might have noticed if she packed it up under my nose.

"When did you do this?" I asked, incredulous.

"Over the last week. What ever we leave behind we can buy new in Arizona."

I took a look at her bed, a single blanket covering the old mattress and decided that wasn't going to do. I turned around and headed to my room, the bed may have been unmade, but at least I still had sheets and pillows. With a whoop I dropped Mom on my bed, her naked body bouncing lightly, a sight that I never believed could happen.

She welcomed me into the mess of blankets and limbs with open arms, her legs spreading wide as I crawled between them. I kissed her forcefully as I lay atop her, our bodies joining together without a thought, my cock sliding into her hungry pussy with a noisy slurp. Our first coupling had been sweet and tender, almost hypnotic; this time we were animalistic in nature, the grunts, clawing and prodding as we came together with primal need, our lust not nearly sated. Before it was over Mom pushed me away, turning so that she was facing the foot of the bed, her delectable ass high up in the air, beckoning me to take her from behind.

"Oh that's it baby, fuck me. Fuck me. FUCK ME!" she screamed. I worried for a moment what the neighbors would think, but then it dawned on me, we were moving tomorrow, who gave a fuck what they thought?

"You like that Mom? You like it when your son fucks you? You like that I'm a mother fucker?" Her cursing had unleashed a demon in me, my mouth suddenly dying to say all those words I'd been slapped for growing up.

"Oh god yes," she huffed, her body being thrown backwards and forwards by my thrusting, her chest rubbing against the bedspread as I drove into her. "Fuck Momma baby, fuck Momma," she gasped as she came, her pussy clamping down on my cock hard as the orgasm roiled through her loins.

As it passed she seemed like a rag doll, tossed by the vigorous fucking I was giving her, and I slowed, worried that I might have hurt her. She looked back over her shoulder, a weak smile ensuring that she was okay, her eyes rolling back in her head as another small orgasm rippled through her body.

The sight of her before me, open and vulnerable- sexier than any woman I'd ever seen, my dream girl, made it impossible to hold back any longer. With a howl I drove into her as far as I could, holding her hips back tightly, her ass cheeks pressing up against my lower stomach as my cum tore through me. With a pained gasp I felt the scalding seed shoot into her, my eyes locked onto her blue ones, the knowledge that I was filling my mother with my sperm was the most triumphant feeling ever.

We lay for a long time, drifting off to sleep with a light sheet pulled over naked forms. Somewhere in the middle of the night I awoke to the sounds of suitcases being dragged into the living room. Getting up from the bed, pulling on a pair of shorts, I found Mom hauling our luggage to her beat up old car. I grabbed my stuff and put it in the backseat, along with hers and within minutes everything important to us was loaded up.

With one last look back, we left the only home I'd ever known.

Driving west out of Pennsylvania, the sun coming up behind our backs, the world was suddenly new and exciting. We didn't talk much, just enjoyed the next chapter of our lives, looking forward to all the new possibilities.

On our second day out I asked if we could stop in Las Vegas. Mom just stared at me for a moment, her lip suddenly beginning to twitch almost imperceptibly. With a quick nod she turned back to the road and nothing was said of why I wanted to make the detour.

That night we stopped at a hotel and as Mom was signing in I noticed she used Mr. and Mrs. Robertson. Our real last name is Morley. I smiled at her little joke and carried her over the threshold to our first hotel room together, shutting the door with a kick.

We made love twice that night, Mom holding on to me with an almost death grip as we slept. This was all still pretty new to her I guessed, and the last man she'd been intimate with had taken off in a big hurry. Who was I to complain? I woke her by lapping at the pink gash between her legs, my tongue exploring her folds and lips lovingly, luxuriating in the sheer pleasure of making her happy.

"You will have to stop calling me Mom," she said without preamble as we drove down the dusty highway, the motel disappearing behind us in the morning sun. I looked at her, the wind whipping strands of blond hair about her face, her small hands trying to catch them and push them behind her ears.

"Amanda?" I asked, the sound of her given name strange upon my lips. Mom smiled, that familiar, almost pained look upon her face. She nodded, biting back tears. "Amanda and Danny, together against the world," I declared loudly, bringing a wide smile to her face.

Pulling into Las Vegas I drove the car around until I found a pawn shop. We browsed through rack after rack of rings until we found a pair that we liked, and could afford. Mom pulled out an envelope full of cash and counted out the bills on the spot. The guy behind the counter kind of gave us a wary look, but he said nothing.

Wee Kirk o' the Heather was a house turned chapel, the front yard filled with large manicured bushes and a tall steeple. With tightly clasped hands we raced up the steps and through the door. The ceremony was quick and simple, though the lady who took down all of our information gave us some long looks. I worried they might catch on, but all we got was a half muttered, "Wouldn't be the first set of cousins we married."

Our first kiss as man and wife was as magical as that first 'smoke kiss' on the sofa, but once it was done Mom insisted that we get out of town. She wasn't having anyone tracking us down and making us undo what we'd done. Racing for the Arizona border Mom's eyes were filled with an almost maniacal look that didn't recede until we were across the state line. As we passed the sign announcing our arrival she took hold of my face and kissed me hard on the lips.

"I love you, baby," she said and then gave out a happy holler that I can still recall to this day.

Our honeymoon night was spent in a tiny hotel room on the outskirts of Tempe, Arizona. In addition to the normal love making Mom gave me a special gift that she repeated for me many times over. She lit a cigarette and would show me the ball of smoke in her mouth, and then she'd take my cock between her lips, inhaling in the smoke as she sucked me. Over and over she would do this until the cigarette was gone. That first night I barely lasted more than a few puffs, but the sight of the smoke billowing out around my shaft was one of the most erotic sights I've ever enjoyed. Over the years I enjoyed Mom's 'smoky blowjobs' many times, it was one of our favorite bedroom antics.

We found a small house near the campus of ASU, not a rental, but one Mom could afford to buy. She'd been scrimping and saving for years, hoping that one day we'd leave for a place where we could be who we had hid for so long. That's why she was so excited we were moving so far away from home, no one would ever know us as mother and son, only as man and wife.

She found work as a real estate agent, the test to transfer her license pretty trivial for a smart woman like her. I went into school and buried myself in my studies, succeeding as Mom always knew I would. By the start of my second year of school Mom gave birth to Heather, our first child. Mom named her after the chapel we'd gotten married in.

After the birth of our girl it was the first time since we'd become intimate that I'd had to abstain from making love to her. Not that I minded the new joy of taking care of a baby, but by the time six or seven weeks passed I was definitely feeling pent up. After a particularly rough afternoon I was enjoying one of the left over cigars I'd passed out announcing the birth of our baby, my feet propped up as I reclined in a second hand leather lounger.

I looked up at the sound of Mom coughing and was amazed to see her standing in the doorway. Show wore a baby doll nightie, the filmy material only enhancing the sight of her heavy breasts held in place by a half cup bra, the lacy cups lifting them up to be suckled upon. The bottom of it barely covered her hips, leaving her pussy peeking out below. All of that was more than enough to get my motor revving, but it was what she did next that sent me into orbit.

Mom came towards me, her exaggerated walk swaying her hips in wide arcs as she played up to my rapt attention, blowing me small kisses as she tiptoed around me, avoiding my grasping fingers as she spun around my chair. When I finally caught hold of her hand I pulled her into my lap, she laughed that musical sound I so loved to hear and then she kissed me deeply as I leaned into her.

She took the cigar from my hand and put it to her mouth, sucking on the leaf wrapper until the end was glowing bright red and then letting the smoke laze out of her mouth as I had taught her. The sweet taste of the cigar was strong in her mouth when I kissed her again.

"Want a special treat?" she asked me, her eyes twinkling. I nodded quickly and then she got up, handing me back the cigar before she stepped over and opened my humidor. She pulled out a fat, thick cigar that I'd been given by a professor who shared the penchant for smoking.

I watched as Mom sat in the matching recliner across from me, pulling up her knees so that her sex was open and visible to me. She held the cigar lovingly in her hand, the dark brown color in stark contrast to her now tanned skin as she waved it under her nose, her tongue darting out to lick along the shaft suggestively. Groaning, my eyes opened wide in response to her teasing, my already aroused body not needing any further encouragement, but enjoying the sweet torment she was providing.

Across her chest she dragged the cigar, tapping it against her up thrust tits, the heavy orbs jiggling sexily. Lower still she moved her hand, lazily across her stomach and then down across her stomach to her fur lined gash. I watch in wide eyed amazement as she slowly worked the tip of the cigar into her pussy, the wrapper quickly coated in her leaking cream. My brow furrowed and I pursed my lips, imagining the feel of my cock in its place, suddenly wanting to lick her juices from it.

As if reading my mind, Mom took the cigar out of her cunt and lifted it to her open mouth, licking the wetness from the wrapper, tasting herself on it. Returning the tobacco filled cylinder to her sex, she worked it all the way into her body, just the cut end protruding out enough for her to hold on to. I watched as she worked it in and out of her body, could sense the shifts that heralded her impending orgasm. My cock was ready to burst as she bit back her cries, her face clenched tightly as she came on that cigar. When she finally pulled it out I chuckled because the once straight stogie was now bent considerably in one spot near the end.

I took the now prized cigar from her hand, testing its scent and intoxicated by her sex mixing with the sweet tobacco. Putting it back in my humidor, I vowed to never smoke it. Mom was more than ready for me when I turned around, she had snuck up behind and me and was on her knees before me, loosening my pants before I knew what was going on. She engulfed my cock in her mouth in one motion, taking me to the back of her throat easily and sucking on me like I was her prized blunt.

Mom was smart, I only lasted about a minute in her mouth before I flooded her with my pent up load. Looking down at her, my cock twitched with renewed vigor as my cum spilled out of the corners of her smile. That first shot out of the way, she lay me down on our large backless divan and then crawled on top of me, her slickened pussy drawing my cock deep into her with a single stroke.

I sniff Mom's special cigar every time I open my humidor, though I have a much larger one now than I did back then. She's repeated her performance many times over, the scent of her permeates every stogie in my box. Some nights she'll go through and 'mark' a dozen or more. Later, we'll sit and burn a couple, commenting on how we think her special preservative has made them more tasty.

It took me a long time to stop calling her Mom, especially around Heather. By the time Mark and Jenny were born she was Amanda to me. Our children never knew I was her first son.

Lately we've been enjoying our grand children.