Mom wants my cum, not my cock

I know how these stories start. I’m supposed to tell you that my mom is the hottest person I know. That all my friends come over whenever they get the chance just to ogle her. I should say that I get mad at them for thinking of my mom in that way, but really I’m just mad because I think of her that way but could never do anything about it.

Unfortunately that’s not how this story starts.

My mom is not a hot woman. She’s forty years old and has a face that only a son could love. She’s the kind of woman who didn’t so much get hit with the ugly stick as she did fall out of the ugly tree, hitting every branch on her way down. With her face. Her hair is a dull brown and hangs lankly from her head. Her eyes are too small and too close together. Her nose and teeth all manage to be crooked, but not in the same direction.

The rest of her? That’s where the cliché might be true. But that’s getting ahead of myself. When this story starts I was as clueless as anyone else as to the charms that lay below my mother’s neck. I had never seen her in a bikini. Nor a swimming costume. Not even a tight t-shirt. Hell, whatever the weather she only ever seemed to wear baggy jumpers and jeans that just didn’t fit. Her choice of clothes didn’t accentuate her curves, it hid them under folds of spare fabric.

From what I could tell, she’d always been this way. She hadn’t been ravaged by the years. If anything, she looked the same now as she had since she had turned eighteen. You’re probably thinking that she can’t be that ugly, she has a son after all! Yeah, well. My mom may be ugly, but at least she’s here. My father, on the other hand, has been conspicuous by his absence for my entire life. Part of me can’t really blame him. My mother isn’t unaware of how she looks and has become seriously introverted because of it. She’s not exactly a bundle of joy to be around unless you really get to know her. I couldn’t name a single friend of hers. She works from home, avoids family parties, and as far as I know has never dated anyone in her life. We’ve never discussed my father or my conception, thank God, but I assume it was a drunken one night stand, or a masquerade party where my mom’s mask never came off. At least, not until it was too late.

With all that, it’s fair to say that I’m about the only good thing in my mom’s life. I try to be a good son, and I think I succeed. For eighteen years I’ve been my mom’s constant companion, best friend, and the only person who’s really loved her.

All good things must come to an end, though. Soon I’d be leaving for college. I’d got a scholarship to the state University. It was about a four hour drive away so I’d promised my mom I’d drive back to visit her as often as possible, but she wasn’t convinced and she wasn’t happy. I’d foreseen that reaction. The reaction I hadn’t foreseen was her suddenly becoming broody.

“A baby?” I asked, certain I’d misheard my mother.

“That’s right,” she said. She was in the middle of washing up the dishes from breakfast. I was sat at the kitchen table behind her, orange juice in hand, and mouth agape.

“A baby,” I said again. Not really a question this time. Just an attempt to make my brain understand the words. It didn’t.

“Yes, Steven, a baby.” My mother sighed. “You know what a baby is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, mom,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s just… You want a baby? Now?”

“Well not right this minute, but yes. You’re leaving me, Steven. I don’t want you to feel guilty about it, you have your life to live, I know. But when you’re gone, what will I do?”

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