Date: Sun, 2 Jan 2005 13:18:48 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: He made me do it Part 4

The trouble with mothers is they always find you out sooner or later.
When she caught me masturbating (isn't it funny how, when you are young,
you do things for which you don't have a name?), I just wanted to die.
She had caught me doing something "dirty". And there was no way I could
hide it. I was on top of the bed, on my back, naked, beating away at my
stiffy, desperate to repeat that wonderful moment when my whole body has
caught fire. I even had my eyes closed, so I had no idea how long she had
been standing in the doorway watching me. Then, I heard her long loud
sigh.
"Oh, Michael, how COULD you?"
Every boy caught wanking (ah, another word I didn't know at that time,
but soon learned), every boy caught wanking by his mother remembers that
moment for the rest of his life. I was stunned. I wanted her to be angry.
To scream at me that I was "dirty", maybe even rush across and slap me
(something she had never done). Instead, she was sad. That was
unbearable. It was more cruel than any beatings or lashings with a cruel
tongue. I had made her sad. She was disappointed in me. I had let her
down. I felt dreadful.
The awful thing, though, was that my dick stayed hard. my stiffy sticking
up redly from my hairless crotch like a sentry on duty. The penis is a
wonderful organ, but it is also a perverse organ. When you want it hard,
it won't go up,. and then, at the most inconvenient of moments, it rises
up hard and powerful like Cleopatra's Needle, to embarrass you beyond
measure. I sat bolt upright in my bed and tried to cover my
embarrassment.
"I never thought that a boy of mine would........."
Mothers really know how to turn the knife in the wound.
"What were you thinking of, Michael?"
She shook her head.
"And where did you learn to do that dirty thing?"
She came over and sat on my bed. My dick was still hard. Damn. And still
tingling: I had been so close.
"Was it that man taught you, Michael. Tell me."
I couldn't meet her gaze. Eyes downcast, I nodded.
"Oh my god. My son corrupted by a pervert!"
I had no idea what those words meant, but it sounded the same as the
priest telling us we'd go to hell if we did bad things.
She pushed my hands gently to one side. And contemplated my stiffy, still
up and throbbing.
"I can't believe it. And you still only eleven. You boys....."
Her voice took on a dreamy quality. She seemed transfixed. And then she
reached out and held it between her thumb and forefinger.
"Still, I suppose it's just nature, dear. I suppose it feels..........."
- she squeezed it gently - ".........nice."
"Sorry, mamma," I managed to utter in the squeakiest of voices.
"No, dear, it's my fault. I didn't realise that my little boy was growing
up QUITE so quickly."
And she continued to hold my stiffy between her thumb and forefinger,
just behind the ridge where it's most sensitive to the touch, and gently
massaged my foreskin over the ridge. I felt faint.
"You boys!" she said again. I was mystified and not a little scared. Was
she going to punish me? What?
"Sorry, mamma," I repeated.
By this time, her thumb and forefinger were working my stiffy slowly but
firmly, causing me to twitch and tremble. It felt good. She squeezed too
hard and I uttered a little squeal, not so much of pain as of surprise.
"Oh dear! I didn't mean to hurt my little treasure. Sorry, darling. Let
mamma kiss it better."
As I write this thirty years on, I can affirm that the best cocksuckers
are men, women only have a very approximate idea of what to do. But that
first time, with my mother going down on me, was more magical than any
moment before or since. I could not believe how WET her mouth was, how
skilful her darting tongue, how she held my little stiffy at the base and
then brought her hand up to meet her lips as she took me into her mouth.
I fell back on my bed, closed my eyes, and let happen what happened. It
was an amazing experience for an eleven-year-old. It sent shivers through
me. It sent my cock into spasm. I couldn't keep myself still. I felt a
need to wriggle and to thrust. I bit my bottom lip to stop myself crying
out. It was wickedly beautiful.
And now for the shameful part: I wasn't thinking of my mother bent over
me sucking my dick, I was thinking of the man, of how his gorgeous hard
cock felt in my hands, how much I wanted to be with him again. And if he
wanted to touch me, that was fine by me. I came for the second time in my
life, dry humping the eager sucking mouth that had  brought me to orgasm.
The image of his cock flooded my mind. At that moment, I knew I was
"dirty". And I loved it.
My mother got up and left abruptly without a word. But it wasn't the last
I would hear of it.

[To be continued. Comments to pixajax@aol.com]