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The start of the end of a myth.
She put her head against my chest, was listening to my heartbeat. My heartbeat was going like a mad thing, it was going at a rate I'd normally associate with violent action, or a trip to the Quacks. Because this was not my idea of a swell good time, this was possible catastrophe, looming up on the horizon in the person of my Mother, with lechery in mind.
Presently she lifted her head and looked me full in the face, then got up and went back into the rear of the house, to bed, without a word. Her look said as plain as could be, 'This one ain't ripe yet' If I pluck it it may fall. Summat like that. And it was true. I felt on the verge of a my-old-cardigan-infraction to say the least. Right at deaths door. And vastly relieved when she took herself off. If I'd had any money on me at all I'd've been out the door in an instant, and stayed away as long as I were able. And it is not like I was a virgin or something. I'd been masturbating since the age of 11 and having actual sex, though not as often as I'd like, since the age of 17 but this was far and away above the call of duty, and, definitely, One Step Beyond!
A week went by and on another night I was sitting in the frontroom trying to read. No money in my pocket, Dad drunk and passed out in the back room with the TV on, a howling blizzard outside and minus 8 or 10 below depending on whether it was centigrade or fahrenheit, and my brothers elsewhere...
And here comes mother again, and this time I noticed what she wore. She had her hair down, long brown hair past her shoulders in the fashion of the times, no makeup to speak of but lipstick, and she was wearing a black nylon empire waisted negligee with ribbon straps. It was just this side of see-through. And her manner was exactly as before. She sat down beside me on the couch and made some small talk, looking closely into my eyes, put her hand on my knee and leaned real close. Well, thinks I, I am damned if I do and (I'll be mortally fucked if found with her in this circumstance anyway!) damned if I don't so I may as well enjoy the ride. Her tits were sticking out like no tomorrow, nipples plainly visible under the black nylon so I took one between my thumb and forefinger and rubbed it up, and she moaned a little, turned her head up, leaned closer into my face, stuck her tongue halfway down my throat and we were off!
And to me this was not making love. To me this was earning my keep in an entirely new and novel way. Because there was no doubt in my mind that I only had two choices; cooperate to the best of my ability or flub it, and life would not be happy after. Mother was not a kind and cheery person, Mother was an extremely active vindictive bitch if you got on her bad side. If I could not come up to scratch I had no doubt I'd soon be out on my ear in bumsville looking for a grated steam vent to spend the rest of the winter squatting over. It was a thing Dad often promised me (and delivered on eventually, too) that I'd have a hard time making a living whilst living in a doorway.
I pushed a strap down and fumbled out a tit, it was lovely, warm and smooth and with a nipple like the tip of my finger. I fondled the other with my other hand. Her hand flew to my belt and started undoing my pants. Soon my cock was out and she was running her hand up and down it. For my part I'd pulled her skirts up past her knees and plunged a finger into her cunt. She was totally juicy. I leaned over and sucked a nipple into my mouth, tweaked it gently between tongue and teeth. She tugged and gestured at me, Get Up! I stood up and she pushed my pants down my legs and off, leaned over and turned out the light.
We were in darkness and grappling about on the floor, rolling around having demented monkey sex.