Driving to College with Mom

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My mother was a wreck the morning I was leaving for college. She’d dreaded it all summer, talking about it almost every day, crying herself to sleep at night and talking herself into a near nervous breakdown.

She was prone to those, the wife of a man who took her for granted, traveled too much and hid too much of what he did on the road. There were times he would come home from a trip to God knows where, walking into the house drunk from one martini too many and going straight to their bedroom without acknowledging us, crashing onto the bed and sleeping for 18 hours.

She would wash his clothes, which smelled like alcohol and perfume, put his Viagra back into his nightstand, read his text messages and shrug. Sometimes, they went days without talking.

He was a bad guy. She endured it all for me, her only child.

So the summer after high school, I decided I would do her a favor and not go to college right away. Instead, I got a job and saved money. We spent our summer evenings and weekends together at the pool, just relaxing and letting the world slide by. Sometimes I would take her to a movie. Sometimes I would cook or clean or force Dad into conversations at the dinner table, basically trying to keep my mother happy and sane.

So somewhere along the way, she began to see me as my father’s substitute. Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with me.

I’m my father’s spitting image. Tall and tanned, an athletic swimmer’s body, dark features and the one thing my dad didn’t have. Now, all these years later, I now know what that feature was.

At the time, I thought it was my teeth. My mom would say it all the time. James, have your father’s eyes. Or James, you have your father’s laugh. One day, she started telling me that I had only one thing my father didn’t have.

Teeth.

Not that he had no teeth, He just didn’t take care of them. He started smoking when he was out of the house, cigars mostly. He drank coffee all day long and only went to the dentist when he had to,

On the other hand, my teeth have always been pearl white, strong, clean and the envy of the girls at my dentist’s office.

So my mom dropped little jokes, telling me all the time: “There’s only one thing you have that your father doesn’t.”

Then she would wink.

Now I know it was her secret, playful, wicked way of flirting with me. Now I know she was really talking about my cock.

But I digress.

My mother is pretty. She always had been. I loved looking at her albums, old photos of her and Dad smiling and having fun at the beach or the pool or in Dad’s old convertible.

She had long blonde hair when she was younger. Now it’s shorter, a little darker than in her younger days, but still sexy. She has blue-grey eyes and sexy, pouty lips that make her look sultry and younger than she really is.

She still has the body of the 25-year-old I saw in those photos. She still wears bikinis and loves when I tell her how beautiful she is. Dad stopped telling her years ago.

Her best feature has always been her long, athletic legs. She swam laps in our pool almost every day, killing time, losing herself in the cool water and letting her son watch her sexy body with no one else knowing anything about it.

I would get so hard watching my own mom swimming backstroke, her tits out of the water, a wry smile on her face getting glances of my bulging swim trunks, watching me fidget and adjust, oblivious to the fact that she saw everything.

And then days leading up to my last days of summer at home, everything changed. I heard her in her bedroom. At first I thought she was crying, the moans louder than normal. She sounded so sad I had to go be with her.

But she wasn’t crying at all. Her door was cracked slightly as she assumed I was still at work. I’d come home early, assuming she heard me come in. I bounded up the stairs to my room, shedding clothes as I collapsed onto my bed.

I lay there naked, thinking of college girls, thinking of leaving home and joining the outside world after my long delay. I didn’t think anything of the noise down the hall until it became louder. I thought I heard my name.

I stepped into the hallway, still naked, and crept toward my parents’ room. I noticed the door was slightly open as the moans became louder and clearer. I peered around the corner and saw her. Naked, her legs wide open, a long dildo slamming in and out of her soaking wet pussy, her hips grinding up and down as 1xbet yeni giri┼č she all but screamed.

“Fuck me harder,” she hissed. “Fuck your mother, James.”

I tiptoed back to my room in shock, closed the door silently and masturbated. I tried to get it out of my mind, but all these years later, it’s still the most exciting, wrong, sexy, taboo and most beautiful feeling I’ve ever had.

Well, maybe except for what I’m about to tell you.

—————————————————

The morning I finally left for college after the long delay was worse than I thought it would be. My mom and I had spent several days packing my dad’s truck. There wasn’t a moment she didn’t have tears in her eyes.

She would pick up something from my room, my CDs or my baseball glove or my old high school football jersey and she’d sob. Sometimes, she’d put her face against one of my shirts and inhale.

We had it all planned. Dad was getting off work and coming home to pick me up. Mom said she couldn’t bear to go, so it would be a long goodbye as we gathered up stuff and packed the pickup.

Once we finally finished, my mom seemed to collapse onto the bed, lying on her back exhausted, looking frail and limp.

“Mom,” I said, startling her as she sat bolt upright, wiping the tears from her eyes and forcing a smile.

“I’m sorry, James.”

“Mom,” I said again, stern and confident. “Let’s go downstairs. We need a drink.”

It was a bittersweet moment, but she stopped crying and even smiled and laughed as the wine loosened her up a little. After the third glass however, she was a little tipsy. Neither of us thought a thing about it, but after about an hour it became apparent that Dad wasn’t going to be home when he said he was.

Mom texted him about 30 minutes after he said he’d be home, and got no immediate answer. She waited a few more minutes, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together, the alcohol, the anger, the sadness, everything boiling inside her.

She called him.

After seven or eight rings he picked up.

“Where in God’s name are you?”

I’d never hear that tone of voice from my mom. It would get worse.

“I don’t give a fuck about your so-called meeting!”

I couldn’t hear him on the other end, but I can imagine he was as shocked as I was to hear her like that.

“Your son is leaving for college today,” she said, her words delivered slowly and evenly. “It’s a four-hour drive, and you should’ve left an hour ago to miss traffic and get there before dark.”

More silence, more shaking her head, her fists clinched and finally…

“You know what you selfish son of a bitch, fuck you!”

She threw her cellphone onto the couch, picked up her purse, drained a glass of wine then winked at me.

“Sorry you had to hear that. You father is busy,” she said, sarcastically emphasizing ‘father’ and ‘busy.’

I looked at her in awe. Then I smiled.

“Let’s go, Mrs. Anthony,” said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s drive to Charlottesville.”

She smiled and kissed me on the forehead. We walked out the back door, leaving the empty wine bottle and glasses on the kitchen island, jumped into my dad’s loaded down pickup and backed out of the driveway.

Mom was chipper, to say the least. She was like a bird, chattering our way out of town, the effects of the wine and the adrenaline from finally telling my dad exactly how she felt about him gave her a newfound confidence. After dreading this day for months, she was facing it head-on.

I was driving to college myself with my sexy, drunk mother beside me, the windows down and country music blaring from the radio. I think it was the happiest moment of her life.

She was wearing a white sundress without a bra, and the wind was opening and closing the half-buttoned front, showing one of her breasts clear as day every time it flapped. She was barefoot.

Her shoes were back home. Her cellphone was on the couch. It would buzz all weekend.

—————————————————

From what I could glean from our scant conversations of her life with my father, they enjoyed an active, um, love life, as she put it. She also hinted of a time before dad when she apparently had a more, um, active love life.

“Oh, if he only knew,” she said one night while we were drinking wine and getting a little tipsy waiting for him to return from one of his infamous trips.

My imagination ran wild. 1xbet giri┼č I couldn’t see my mom as anything more than a 39-year-old MILF who all my friends indeed wanted to fuck. To me, she was just mom, a soccer mom, baseball mom, football mom, whatever activity her only child participated in, she was there in the stands and in the car after the game ready to take me and anybody else who needed a ride home.

The guys would push and shove to get the last of the musical chairs in mom’s BMW SUV, and more times than not, the backseat was crowded beyond legal limits.

Everyone agreed, she was the hottest mom of all the team moms. She dressed to impress, but it was unclear who she was impressing more. The other moms? The other dads? My coaches? My teammates? Me?

I fantasized it was all of the above, especially me. It made me feel tingly.

I was tingling as we drove out of town that summer afternoon, leaving Charlotte for Charlottesville and my boyhood home for the University of Virginia.

If she knew her tits were out, she didn’t seem to care. We’d stopped for gas at a little place out of Greensboro, where I filled up the tank and saw her coming out of the little store with a pair of flip flops in her hand, a pair of sunglasses on the top of her head and a twelve pack of Bud Light.

Everybody at the gas pumps stared as she floated across the lot, smiling at the men, nodding to the women and blowing me a kiss as she walked around to the back of the truck and pulled out a cooler.

Then she walked back to the store, filled the cooler with ice and repeated the show.

“My God,” I thought to myself. “She’s a completely different person from the woman who raised me.”

Then I remembered that afternoon, watching her masturbate on her bed and saying my name over and over. I sat down behind the wheel and leaned over to help her put the cans in the cooler. They all wouldn’t fit, so mom popped two of them open, handed me one and sat two more unopened cans in the seat.

She smiled at me, slid her sunglasses down and looked directly at the bulge I couldn’t hide in my basketball shorts.

“Road trip!” she said, sounding like a college girl.

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and lips, clumsy but sexual. Her hand was on my thigh, her fingers touching the side of my seven-inch cock. She didn’t move though. Her face was inches from mine, her smile wicked and wild. Her fingers slid up and down my shaft.

“The one thing your father doesn’t have,” she whispered.

When she finally pulled away, I could see one of the reasons everyone was staring. She had completely unbuttoned her sundress, which was hiked up to her waist. She smiled at me deliciously as she made a theatrical show of pulling her dress over her smooth, glistening pussy.

I have no idea what had happened to her panties. I had no idea who this woman was. But my hard-on was throbbing. My heart was pounding. I had never been more horny in my life.

She took a long swig of beer and smacked her lips.

“I needed this more than you know, James,” she said. “Drive slowly. I’m suddenly in no hurry.”

She undid her seat belt and pulled one of her legs up onto the long, wide truck seat, her dress exposing her to me before she slid a cold beer can directly onto her crotch and leaned back against the back of the seat.

A quiet moan came from somewhere deep inside her.

“No hurry at all,” she said, seductively, confidently, anything but motherly.

My mother was full-on seducing her only child, and an insane thought suddenly entered my mind as I slowly drove down the long exit ramp, a thought that warmed the soul of guys through the ages when they were with a horny girl sending clear signals.

“She’s going to let me do anything I want to her.”

___________________________

My mind wandered back to my senior year in high school and Denise Teeter, the head cheerleader, the prettiest girl at Myers Park and my girlfriend. She would break my heart, but before that, she let me do anything I wanted to her.

Growing up, we used to tease her. She was one of the neighborhood girls, so we saw each other all the time, at baseball games, football games, soccer games, basketball games.

Our lives intertwined, and when we both turned 18 that spring, we literally intertwined one night at her parents’ house.

They were always gone, and this particular weekend I’d told my parents I was staying with the guys all weekend. 1xbet g├╝venilirmi I think I remember my mom winking at me. Without remembering the details, I’m pretty sure what she said as I Ieft that evening.

“You be careful,” she said. “If you kiss a girl, you’re kissing every guy she’s ever kissed and if you, well…”

She said that a lot as I grew into a legal-aged boy. And she always smiled and winked.

“Oh, to be one of those girls again,” she would say wistfully, kissing me on the forehead knowing full well I was going to spend the weekend at Denise Teeter’s house, knowing full well that Dave and Marie Teeter were at the coast.

I smiled at the memory, lost in my thoughts as my mom drank and drank beside me, making me stop at every rest area so she could relieve herself, only to plop back into the front seat, her tits showing, her dressed hiked up as she got closer and closer to something.

Either she was going to pass out or she was going to come out of that sundress. And maybe both.

Denise Teeter gave herself to me that weekend, and while she lay naked underneath me in her parents’ bed, she hummed a little song that we both knew by heart.

It was the melody of “Nothing Could Be Finer.”

It was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard, this angel, this dreamboat fucking me and telling me she was a slut.

The words to the song were “Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the mor-or-orning. Nothing could be sweeter than my sweetie when I meet her in the mor-or-orning.”

The boys would tease Denise by changing the words to “Nothing could be sweeter than to fuck Denise Teeter in the mor-or-orning.”

She would turn red and run away, sometimes slapping one or more of us. But I noticed something the other guys missed. There was a gleam in her eye, a look of mischief. She was way ahead of us. And she would use me for everything she could drain from me before herself going to the coast the week after graduation and, to hear from the rest of the guys who were down there, fucking everybody in Myrtle Beach singing that fucking song.”

I laughed outloud, shaking my head from the memory and exhaling loudly.

“What?” my mom asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Tell me,” she whined, then pushing three or four empty beer cans into the floorboard and sliding against me.

I looked down to see her softly raking her perfectly manicured fingernails up my leg, sliding the hem of my shorts back an inch or so, humming whatever country song that was on the radio, then letting her head flop back then against my shoulder.

“Tell your drunk mom what’s so funny,” she said, slurring slightly. “Do you think we’re funny?”

“No, Mom,” I said, watching the road with one eye and her finger with the other as she slid my shorts a little higher.

“Do you think we’re being bad?” Her finger was an inch from my cock. I never wore anything under them around the house. She knew that. She’d seen my bulge before. And she let me know she’d seen it.

I was breathing heavily as she reached over and turned the radio off.

“Do you think you could slide those shorts off?”

“Mom!” I gasped as she rose quickly off my shoulder, taking her hand from my inner thigh and covering her mouth, playfully.

“What?” she said, giggling like a 20-year-old. It was a great act.

She immediately slouched back against my shoulder, slurring her words as her finger went back to work, tickling my inner thigh, grazing my balls as my shorts were pulled up higher.

“Let your mom see it,” she said, her voice sounding like a woman now, a slightly drunk woman, a horny woman who hadn’t seen a cock in some time, and probably never one as big as mine.

But who knows? She’d hinted of an active sex life before meeting my dad. Maybe, she was a…

I couldn’t finish the thought. Her hand was massaging my balls as she leaned in and whispered loudly in a beer-soaked command.

“Put this bad boy on auto-pilot,” she said, pulling my pedal leg away from the gas pedal, her hand completely on my balls as she slid it up the length of my blood-filled dick, fumbling with the elastic band of my shorts as I managed to get the truck in cruise control. It didn’t really have auto-pilot.

By the time I’d settled us in at 70 mph, my pants were off and my mother’s head was in my lap, my cock being prepared by a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. She was going to slide her pouty lips around my mushroom head and give her 20-year-old son a blow job in a moving pickup truck, on her knees, her sundress completely pulled over her ass as cars whizzed past and truckers blew their horns.

Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina.

(To be continued)

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