Taboo

If you’re a fairly good-looking guy with a pleasing personality, good at chatting up ladies and move around a lot, finding yourself in the right places at the right times you will have your instances of sex when least expected; that is expected. But when suddenly, out of the blue, without any indication, any buildup, any preparation on your part you have prime pussy served up to you, and that pussy happens to belong to your beautiful mother; then you are one lucky son of a bitch. I am one lucky son of a bitch!

A relative of my mom sent us an invitation to her wedding. It was expected that me, my mom and my dad would go to the wedding reception. The day before the wedding mom and dad had one of their usual verbal fights. The next evening, one hour before the time when we had agreed to leave for the wedding dad announced that he would not be going, walked out the door and drove off in his car. I had expected it because I knew that dad couldn’t stand mom’s family and they felt the same way about him. I had wanted to call it off because of the sudden tension, but my mom begged me to accompany her. Things were so bad between mom and dad that for years they hardly spoke to each other and hardly ever went any place together. They spoke only about necessary things like bills, and hardly a week passed without them having at least one unpleasant spat, over what to me were trivial matters over which either one could have relented and let the other have their way. But they were both stubborn and were equally guilty at times, of hurting the other. I have no clear idea of any underlying reasons for their inability to get along, except that they were both crotchety beings.

We went to the wedding in mom’s car; I didn’t have my own, but borrowed either of theirs when needed. Mom looked beautiful and sexy in a knee length, bright green and gold dress of some soft, thin material with an empire waist, plunging v neck and back. It hugged her ample butt and hips nicely before flaring out a bit. She wore bright red lipstick. Her shiny black hair fell in waves to her shoulder. I can’t remember her ever looking so lovely before. Mom is Indian, five foot eight with a small waist and heavy, round, wide butt unusual for her race. Dad is black. I couldn’t help noticing, with a bit of annoyance, the many admiring looks that mom got from the male guests. At forty her body had not yet started to lose its youthful firmness and glow, far from it. She was somewhere between thick and thin with ample firm breasts and nice rounded thighs.

The reception was held in a club rented for the night. Shortly after the speeches and cake cutting, the dancing started, at first with the bright lights, but half an hour later they were replaced by soft mostly red colored lights. For about an hour the music was varying genres of up tempo music geared mostly for the young. But then the dj announced that he would not be doing his duty if he didn’t slow things down a bit and provide a blast from the past so that more mature folks could participate. There followed a long session of soul and soft rock music from the seventies and eighties. A few men came over to our table to ask for a dance only to get smiling refusals from mom. After much teasing and urgings from a female cousin of mom who shared our table, mom, maybe a little bit light headed from a couple of glasses of wine, promised to get up at some time and have a dance or two with me. When the song ‘let me roll it’, which I knew was a favorite of hers started, I got up with outstretched hand which she quickly took and followed me to the small floor not far from our table.

From the moment I took my mother in my arms and she willingly drew close to me I experienced a sexual jolt that I couldn’t understand, and red flags sprung up in my mind. Danger was certainly here. The small stage was surprisingly packed with both the young and not so young and there was no space for fancy foot movements; closeness was the order of the moment. Mom’s big breasts were generously pressed into my chest. It probably was no big deal to her, but it was to me. That soft touch of female flesh against mine on a dance floor under dim lights and the surrounding sights of other couples grinding into each other was just too much stimulus for a hot blooded twenty year old. One minute into the song and I could feel the distinct stirring of an erection. Our bellies and thighs were just barely touching as we moved slowly to the song, and I could feel moms body softly glide over the hard bump every now and then. My body was telling me to get closer, but my mind wary of the fact that this soft, beautiful woman in my arms was actually my mother, made me resist the temptation.

Although my effort to will away the erection was futile I at least managed to not take advantage of the situation; I fought against the feeling of hot pleasure and pulled away every time I felt the unpreventable touch of my hardness against my mom’s mid-section. But fortune intervened and made things really uncomfortable for me. The young people dancing around us were far from good at the movements and coordination required for slow dancing on a small dance floor, and kept bumping into either mom or me, sending our bodies crashing into each other’s. They refused to heed the song’s advice and just ‘roll it’ instead they were rocking wildly trying to show skill where they had none. Mom laughed at their inexperience and commented playfully in my ears about us being sandwiched.

At the end of the first song I attempted to release mom, but she held me firm as ‘wildflower’ smoothly blended into the fading ’wings’ ballad, whispering into my ear that it took a lot of effort for her to be there on the dance floor and that she had no intention of going off after just one song, especially after not having danced for so long. She even said that she was enjoying it! The bumping continued and mom suggested we forget our little foot movements and just stand in one spot. So there we were mother and son pressed closely against each other, tighter than would have been the case had there been ample space around, just gently swaying to the music. My right thigh was between my mom’s soft fleshy pair; my hard cock stretched out across her groin area. Every now and then as a result of a hard bump from one of the other dancers our bodies would press together so hard that I would feel the hot pressure of her pussy mound. I was sure that she was trying just as hard as I was to deny the existence of my erection. She neither pulled away or pushed against the intrusion, just stood there letting things be what they were, which I think was the best course of action to soften our mutual embarrassment. My angry cock would every so often throb and lurch against the soft heat, no doubt getting a good whiff of the fine pussy pressed against it in waiting. My hand on mom’s bare back would occasionally forget the facts, and involuntarily give in to a quick soft rub. Mom displayed absolutely no awareness of anything unusual going on one way or the other.

Wildflower gave way to the long, flowing ‘for the love of you’ and mom upped the swaying, rolling tempo a notch, forcing me to follow. My hardon was only too pleased. She rested her soft cheeks against mine and her fingers sunk into my back and shoulder as we rolled our hips and swayed gently to the song. My erection by this time was beyond restraint and throbbed and lurched wildly. Quite a few times it led my body on a tentative exploration without my willing consent, taking quick little probes of my mom’s crotch; nothing forceful or very obvious, but intentional touching nevertheless. And on two or three occasions I felt as if the thrusts were returned, but couldn’t be sure. We danced for about half an hour, maybe seven or eight songs before mom suggested we go back to our table. I was grateful for the dim lights, the closeness of our table to the dance floor, and that all the other occupants of our table were missing, because I was sporting a mighty bulge in my trousers.

Back at the table mom immediately poured a glass of wine and downed it in two quick gulps seconds apart. Her face was flushed after the drink, and she smiled sweetly but with a guilty look when she saw me watching her. I was not a drinker, but to make her feel less guilty I immediately abandoned my malt and poured a glass of wine for myself which I downed quite as quickly as mom. We both laughed, and mom using her hands fanned her face, while remarking how hot it was, as if that was an excuse. We remained mostly silent, looking in the direction of other dancers, only now and then leaning in close to share a funny comment and a little giggle. A little while later we returned to the dance floor as the dj started a reggae lover’s rock session. There was no embracing or closeness now, but because of the packed floor and the up tempo prancing we couldn’t avoid bumping into each other sometimes. At one time when mom was doing a little spin I was bumped from behind and found myself, hard cock and all jammed against her soft butt. I apologized indicating that I was bumped, and we laughed it off. On other occasions her hip, thigh or flailing hand would unintentionally brush my permanently hard cock.