“You know what the advantage of diarrhea is, Mark? It really cleans you out.”

It was another one of those times where I wasn’t quite sure if I was hearing her right. My brain plays tricks on me. Women are never clear about anything, either, and that doesn’t help. Right then, it wasn’t obvious if her expression was silly and or coy. “It burns, yeah, but that’s just the cost of the purge. It’s like how your hangover is better if you puke the night before.” I was pretty sure she definitely said that line, but again, her expression was hard to interpret. Was this boomer-oversharing or the weirdest come-on ever?

“You need me to run out and buy Pepto-Bismol?” I asked, lamely.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, do you have some already?”

“We have some, yes. Do you need some?”

“No. What? I thought you needed some?”

“No, I’m fine. Why did you think that?”

Like I said, my mind plays tricks on me. For what it’s worth, we’d both just overeaten at an Italian restaurant and I think she’d just gone to the bathroom. We watched The Great Escape afterwards. I’m a sucker for classic World War II movies and Mom thinks Steve McQueen was a hunk. Nothing noteworthy happened. Just another boring night at home. Like any teenager, I was waiting for the social formalities of family life to wrap up so I could go spend time alone in my room.

By 9:30, I was messing around online, posting on 4Chan, checking Instagram, trolling on Twitter—the usual. Social media kills time like nothing else, and pretty soon, it was porn o’clock. After only a few false starts, I found something really worth digging into: a threesome with Angela White, Francesca Le, and Mark Wood. I started jerking off slowly, trying to savor it as much as possible. My pre-cum was just starting to dribble out when my Mom walked in. I didn’t even really react at first. Part of me thought it was one of my mind’s tricks and the rest of me wanted it to be one of my mind’s tricks. She stood there silently, staring me dead in the eyes. Then her glance drifted downwards to the issue at hand. “No need to apologize, sweetheart, it’s perfectly normal at your age,” she said, her eyes never leaving my cock. With that, she turned around and left. Except she didn’t. She stepped out of my room, sure. But outside is a hardwood floor, and I could hear that she hadn’t gone down it. The silence in lieu of steps made it pretty certain she was just standing right outside my door.

Still unsure about what was real and what wasn’t, I decided to test my suspicion. Since her room was on the other side of the house, she wouldn’t hear me if I asked her whereabouts in a normal tone of voice. “Mom, are you right behind my closed door?” I asked, feeling like a nutjob. “Um, yes, sweetie. I’m just waiting for you to finish. I didn’t want to walk all the way back to my room and then back here.” I sat there in my swivel chair, trashcan between my legs, with a computer playing hardcore gonzo still on my desk, wondering what the fuck to do. “But take your time, really, I don’t mind,” she offered. I closed my laptop, pulled up my sweatpants, and said, “Come in.” What the fuck else was I supposed to do?

Mom opened the door slowly and met my eyes again. Then her gaze wandered to my crotch. It felt like she was staring for hours before she said, “I don’t mean to pry, but from the state of your wastepaper basket, it looks like you didn’t wrap up. I’m sorry to have interrupted, really.” The trashcan was one of those wiry ones that’s essentially transparent. For the first time in years, it was empty, and that meant no tissues. My mom had caught me jerking off, and then caught me faking a finish…

At that point, I was frozen, totally still. There had never been a point in my life where I’d been less certain of what to do next. Then mom took her top off. Then her bra. Then her socks, slacks, and thong. She didn’t say anything and neither did I. She stood there, back straight, proud of herself. There was plenty to be proud of. Her generous tits had auburn nipples that matched her long hair, her waist was trim, her hips were wide, full thighs, and I could make out the outer curvature of her peach ass. She had the works. My mouth remained firmly closed, but my cock betrayed me, rising to the occasion—and my sweatpants couldn’t hide a thing.

Eyes on my crotch, she said, “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve sucked on them” and took just one step forward. My brain couldn’t be sure if she’d really said it, but my cock didn’t care. I got up and walked towards her, plunging my head into her bust. I suckled like I was a baby dying of malnutrition and Mom’s hands went all over me. First to my shoulders, like she was bracing herself. Then to the back of my head, running her fingers through my hair as she cooed. Then down to my equipment, first rubbing it all through my sweatpants and then reaching in to cup and massage my nuts.

We shuffled and tripped our way onto my bed and she pushed me away for a second. Bewildered, I wondered what was wrong, and asked if anything was. “No,” she said ponderously, “I just wanted to tell you that when you were a baby, I got aroused when I breastfed you. Sometimes I’d be seated, cradling you in one arm while the other reached between my legs. I’d cum like that, with you there the whole time, none the wiser.” I didn’t know what to say. There was something beautiful about her story, but I had no equivalent anecdote to share. She pulled my pants off and once more stared at cock.

I was still too scared to initiate anything, so we just laid there together, naked and looking at one another. “What kind of porn were you watching?” she suddenly asked me, a tinge of desperation in her voice. I couldn’t help but blush when I confessed that it had been anal. She giggled sweetly and said, “That’s fine. But I have a rule: you have to be willing to eat what you fuck. I don’t fuck guys who won’t eat me out, and I’d sure as hell never give a blowjob to someone who refused to kiss me. Same with ass.” She rolled over, arching her ass into the air with her face buried in the mattress. I stood up and grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. I worked my way to the hole slowly, kissing all over her cheeks and licking her pussy a bit before drifting up. I loved the smell of it. It was a feminine musk paired with an Almond Joy candy bar. My tongue ate it up, and in no time, Mom was gaping a little. She started playing with her clit as I slid in and out of her asshole, lingering inside it every fourth plunge to really relish it.

“Mom, I can’t stand it anymore, I have to fuck you.” I pulled back and she rolled back over to face me. She patted the spot next to her on the bed. I plopped down, cross-legged, with my cock pointing at the ceiling. “Kiss me, baby boy. Kiss me.” We made out with her giving my balls another massage. 20 minutes passed before she gripped by chin to push my head away. Squeezing my cheeks in that motherly way, she got ponderous again. “You know, for years, your digestive system seemed to have control over my life. Keeping diapers on hand, always. Changing you, cleaning you. Then potty-training you. Then keeping tabs on ‘accidents’ and wetting the bed. It was a constant struggle to keep up with. You’ll understand one day, when you’re a parent. Now we’re here, you’re rimming me and kissing me right after. Your cock will be in my ass in just a few minutes. I’ll be taking my son’s anal virginity. I used to wipe your ass every day. Now you’re going to fuck mine.” With that, she got on all fours.

My cock slipped in easier than I would’ve imagine. I went in slow, and once I had her at my hilt, I stopped. “Fuck mommy’s ass,” she said. “Don’t hold back.” I started pumping dutifully, worried I’d shoot my load way before I should. It was good. As tight as they say, and with the perk of having wet pussy be the cushion for your sack. I kept thrusting, hoping this could last forever, wondering how it was possible that this had happened, asking myself if I’d always wanted to fuck Mom, and doubting my sanity. Feeling like I was going to shoot, I stopped suddenly and asked for a breather. Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled. Teasingly, she asked, “Is Mommy’s ass going to make you cum?” I exhaled. “Yes, my incestuous anal tryst is about to end.” I wanted that to sound funny, but I’m not sure it worked. “Slide out of me; I’ve got an idea,” she said. I grabbed the base of my cock to ready myself, but it was really Mom who did the “sliding out.” And there we were again, on the bed, facing each other.

“I know what you want next,” she said.

“What?”

“You want that cock in my mouth. In your heart of hearts, you don’t think it’s enough to buttfuck your mother; you want to take her ass to mouth. You want the woman who potty-trained you to slurp her own shit off your dick. And that woman is your mother. You want your mother’s mouth to be as filthy as the baby wipes she used to use on her son, you.”

“Ass to mother.”

“Ass to mouther.”

I spread my legs, sitting flat on my ass, and Mom crawled towards me. She lowered her head onto my cock unhesitatingly. While bobbing, she took one of my hands and placed it on the back of her head. I got the message and grabbed her hair before pushing her up and down, faster and faster. It wasn’t long before I came. I absolutely gushed, shooting stream after stream, but Mom was a real champ and kept sucking it all down without once removing her lips from my shaft.

When I was finally empty, she came up for air and looked at me lovingly. The moment was tender, really, even after all the depravity. She started stroking one of my thighs and started teasing me some more, “Did Mommy satisfy you? Did Mommy drain your ballsack? Did you like fucking Mom up the ass? How was having your own mother suck her shit off your dick?” Stuff like that. Then she kissed me and said she had to go to bed. Watching her get up, pick her clothes off the ground, and saunter off was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. It just felt like reality had stopped and something else had begun. But I couldn’t even tell you what the new thing replacing reality was.

The next day, I went to her room. I’d just made some coffee and figured we’d need to talk about a lot of stuff. She was hanging in her walk-in closet.