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[If you liked my Y2K MOM this will be an even bigger treat!]

A mother discovers her sonís stash of pot and secret passion. The story progresses from the several items in the hidden collection; From the marijuana seed to the pipe, from the poem to the magazine, from the computer diskette to the couch, from the rabbit fur glove to her sonís seed. This is a story in three parts and includes three stories within the frame work of the main story. Much like my ďMotherís Day Is Cumming!Ē there is interesting prologue before real action. The styles differ for the Ďinnerí items to distinguish the writings of the character Ďauthorsí though itís all original the good, the bad and the funny.

{ Adult fantasy literature. The author neither advocates nor encourages any illegal or harmful activities which may damage oneself or another; either physically or emotionally or in any other way. If you find sexual situations or drug use offensive you are free to not continue reading this story. This story is based on real people, real situations and real desires. The characters and plot are fictional, but not far from the truth. }

* * * * *


I didnít usually go into my sonís room. But, that June day I was dying for a smoke and thought I might get a pack from Brianís carton of cigarettes. Now that he was 18 and had graduated from High School a week ago, he smoked openly in front of his dad and I. I knew that he sneaked smoking, like I did, so as not to make my husband angry. In some ways Brian Sr. was an old fuddy-duddy.

My spouse was a good man but not one I would have married if I hadnít got knocked up, at the end of college. I was stoned at a frat party and thought that a roll in the hay with the BMOC (big man on campus) would be hot. Well, he wasnít that big and he wasnít that fun, but he did get me with child.

My parent pressured me to marry to avoid scandal. He was a good catch in some ways. His family had tons of money. He was handsome, polite, sweet, athletic, funny, smart, considerate, loving; and completely unimaginative in bed. Not bad, even if not so big, but I had to be the aggressor, the innovator, the seducer. God! I had no idea what the women whom he had affairs with saw in him.

Sure, I knew. I could tell, or someone told me eventually. I didnít care too much after the first two. As long as he did out of town. As long as he didnít talk about them. As long as he kept paying the bills. As long as there was some cock left over for me when he came home from his Ďbusiness tripsí. As long as I didnít care, what the hell? As long as I had batteries for my vibrator. As long as I could have affairs too.

But I didnít. Not that I wasnít tempted - or even flirted on the sly and tried to. But unfortunately, for little old horny me, nothing had ever jelled into a full flung fling. At least not until . . .

The carton of cigs was on Brií Jr. desk beside the ashtray. I took out a pack, pealed the plastic and popped the flip-top. I used the matchbook next to the beer can. Well, the kid was eighteen, whatís the problem with a beer at home once in a while? I was sure that Jr. didnít drink much, never saw any sign of it; not on his breathe, not when he came home late but sober, never any of our alcohol missing from the liquor cabinet.

I sat down on the chair and took a long puff. There was one butt in the ashtray but an awful lot of ashes. More than from one cigarette, thatís odd I thought to myself. I always loved mysteries. I was a regular lady Sherlock Holmes. My favorite books as a child had been that girl detective series, you know whatís her face . . .

My thoughts were interrupted with another discovery, another clue, another piece of evidence. A seed. A marijuana seed. I had smoke enough weed in college to know what it was. It was black and round and in the middle of some ashes. Not cylindrical ash, but conical with a length of paper with the remains that the incriminating particle rested amidst. A seed of weed, a telltale sign of sin, a giveaway of grass; the smoking gun of the son of a gun pothead.

So thatís why he didnít drink! He had another kind of buzz on. Shit! Now I wanted to smoke a joint, not a butt. Damn! How long had it been? Five years since that Christmas party at my brotherís house. At least he had a liberal wife, who let him do a doobie once in awhile. Where was Brianís stash I wondered. I had to find it. I was not going to settle for booze when I could catch a buzz.

I started with all the obvious places, then went to the less evident ones. Nothing, not even under the bottom draw of the clothes chest where I used to hide stuff from my folks. I had told that one to BJ as we called our son sometimes. But, I hadnít told him about the other I had had, because I still used it to hid things from Ďold BSí as I sometimes thought of my louse of a spouse, though I suppose I shouldnít grouse, we did live in a nice house. Jeez! Now Iím rhyming. Well, no luck I might as well strip the pothead bed, another rhyme . . . I could a been a poet.

What if Brií Jr. thought of the second secret place too? The bed, not under the mattress, under the springs! I went to get my hand mirror from the bathroom. When I bent down on the side my son slept on and used the mirror, it was there! Tucked up under the springs with a short flat board for support was the old cigar box he had gotten several years ago from his uncle. I bet my brother never thought it would become my kidís stash-box! Would he get a laugh!

I reached under and wiggled the box out. I placed it on the desk and sat down again. BJ was out somewhere, and BS was at work, and I was in for some playtime! I opened the wooden box and saw a large plastic bag with an assortment of items. Brian Jr. had inherited all of his dadís good qualities, including smart. The big plastic bag was to prevent any stink of illicit activity from giving the game away. I dumped out the contents on to the desktop. I took inventory.

metal pipe with cap
folded paper
computer floppy disk
candy tube
dirty magazine
a funny looking balloon thing


Hell, no grass? Whereís the dope? Was he out? Was he out scoring a lid right now? I picked up the pipe and unscrewed the cap which had a hole in the top. Eureka! A bit left in the bowl! I rescrewed the cap back on. I picked up the lighter and sucked the flame down the hole. The draw was good, and I had a huge toke in my lungs all at once. I choked to hold the smoke in and put a finger on the cap to put out the fire.

It felt like the smoke was going to blow out of my ears, like some silly cartoon. Great hit, but I hated to lose all that potent smoke. I donít know where the idea came from, it just seemed to make sense. The funny balloon; a balloon with a short plastic straw taped to itís mouth. A toke saver! Quickly, as I was starting to do the heevy-jeevies from holding a toke too long, I pluck up that odd item and blew into the tube. It expanded as expected, and I plugged the exposed straw end with my finger even as I gasped for breathe.

After several wheezings of air, I was winded but game and I put the plastic straw to my mouth and sucked. Bad move. I got some smoke into my lungs, but way more into my tummy. I coughed then belched out the acrid smoke. My eyes burned, my throat burned, my chest burned, my . . .

My head got dizzy, too little oxygen, it began to settle and then something else was making my head feel funny. PREMO! One hit inhaled and I was getting fucked up already! I took another hit from the pipe, but it was only a small one as there was just a tiny toke left. I blew into the balloon again and when I regained my wind I carefully sucked the toke-saver empty. Just a smidgen of smoke in the stomach this time.

OKAY! a little buzz, but I wanted bigger. I also detected the first inklings of the munchies. I picked up the candy tube and opened the top. just a few candy bits came out when I poured. But then something else slid out too. A glass test-tube, with what might have passed for oregano, but was certainly an herb of a different sort. Brian John Jackman Jr., you sly and slippery so and so, you do have more Maryjane for momma!

I reloaded the pipe and took a measured hit, one I could handle. When it came time to re-ingest from the smoke saver I did like a Vicks inhaler, held one nostril and snorted with the other. That worked just fine, no smoke in the belly. I was high and happy by the time I reached for the folded paper to see what that was about. It was a poem. It was an original poem written by Brian Jr., I recognized his handwriting. It was a poem that would have upset me if I wasnít semi-wasted. But I was with a buzz, and stoned alone at home, I read the poem.



Her son said:
O mother dear, would you please share my bed?
Snuggle with the baby you once breast fed.
O come to bed my mother dear,
O mom please lie down, and lay with me here.

Murmured his mother:
To hug and to hold you next to my breast,
Sweet as that Ďtwould be, Ďtwould be not best;
Youíre a big boy now, and Ďtwould not be right,
To climb into your bed and spend the night.

Her offspring offered:
Your loving son, does want you near,
And when you come, wear something sheer?
Or come without a stitch, and slip undercover,
As if you were going to meet your lover?

His mother replied:
O no, neither in a naughty nightie,
Nor as naked as blushing Aphrodite!
Have you become an impish peeping-tom,
The female charms to spy of your old mom?

Tell me true, do you mean to really rest?
Or does your insistence mean youíre obsessed;
What is the real reason for your request,
Desire for some naughty Oedipal incest?

Her son rejoined:
Would it be so very sinful to have some fun.
By dallying so with your sexy son?
Mother, please answer now with the truth,
Are you not a bit attracted by my youth?

He stepped up to her, and with both his arms,
Encircled her waist, but this sets off alarms;
She retreats a step, and then she looks down,
At first on her face surprise, then, a frown.

His mom scolds:
O brazen boy whatís that come between us?
Is that straight, stiff, staff I feel, your penis?
How rude of you to poke my precious bodí,
With such a long and strong, and stout a rod!

Long have I been living, without a spouse,
You wear only briefs around the house,
And parade your manhoodís erect pride,
In proud prow forward fashion, nothing hide!

Her child chided:
And am I not to notice what a hot
Enticing feminine figure, youíve got?
With semi-transparent nightgowns dreamy,
Or tanning in the sun in your tiny bikini?

Walking past, wrapped in a bath towel much too short;
Seeing you so, is what made me so sport
There, under my underwear, my erection;
ĎTwas your body inspired itís direction.

Her youngster entreated:
O please ma, donít make me have to wank it,
Come and letís play under my soft blanket,
And there will I, when weíre between the sheets,
Delightfully nibble on your sweet treats!

Going to make you cum, lickity-split,
By tonguing your slit, and suckling your clit!
I know Iím being rather crude and blunt,
But, O mom, how I want to fuck your cunt!

His mom did listen, and with her deep love
Heard his horny need and the truth there of;
She pulled him close, and gave into her lust,
Responding to him, her hips gave a thrust.

His mother confided:
Use your young tongue my son and make me slick,
When we make love, please use your every trick;
Make me multi-climax licking my clit,
Donít ever stop, Ďtil I beg you to quit.

Then take your thick dick, wriggle and wrestle,
That veined tool into Venusís Vessel.
Youíre taking a trip up Memory Lane,
Re-entering mommyís womb again.

O Baby, if thatís the way we cuddle,
Your bunkís gonna have a big wet puddle.
So give me your spunk and make me cream,
Plug up your ears, Ďcause when I cum, I scream.

Her lover laughed:
Then down with my skivvies, sexy mother,
And with smooches my plum you may smother.
Your kidís cock, is getting hard as a rock,
Just from watching you taking off your frock.

I want to study each and every curve,
Appreciation you so well deserve;
To run my hands over every square inch,
Give these tender nipples a gentle pinch.

So the son led his mother to his bed,
He went down on her and she gave him head,
He mounted her as she spread wide her legs,
And did his best to fertilize her eggs.
His mother promised:

From now on, every night, Iíll tuck you in.
Knowing you, as I do, weíll fuck again.
And thatís just fine with me, if we do screw,
Your lust to have me, Iíve had for you too!
I sat stunned. Well, itís not epic poetry, itís not even good poetry, but it certainly was . . . was . . .

I flipped over the dirty magazine, which had laid face down since being dumped out of the plastic bag. The phone sex ads didnít interest me and I had assumed it was just another girlie publication. I had been more eager to smoke pot. Now itís title starred me in the face, like looking at a woman that my husband had an affair with. Only it was like looking in a mirror at the same time. The title told me what I already knew it was all about, having read my sonís naughty poem. The banner read in big bold red letters across the top, ďSTORIES OF MOTHER LOVING SONSĒ.


I always get very horny when I get stoned. I had not had an opportunity to let my mind wander in the direction of masturbation, before I was so unexpectantly accosted by BJís awkward artistic endeavor. Itís not that I was flabbergasted by the notion of incest. I had taken a couple of psych courses in college. I even made out with my own brother one the summer before I met Brian Sr. We didnít go all the way though, he was too chicken!

I knew my son was handsome and had no trouble getting dates. I was unsure if he was sexually active, i.e. a virgin still. I was sure that it was only a matter of time, a short time at that, if he hadnít gotten laid yet. I never thought of having sex with him up until now. I had noticed, now that I thought of it, that he paid me compliments on my looks and physique much more lately.

And that must be the reason he seemed to barge in on me when I was only partly dressed. He even once caught a brief glimpse of me in the nude! I had thought it was just teenage fogheadedness of forgetting to knock and I never lock my door. I hadnít been embarrassed by the occasional instances, but now I see what the curious cat was up to! A peek at what Papa was puttiní it to. Well, what stories were in this mommy mag anyway. Did Brií have a favorite?

I opened the dirty publication and flipped through it. Grease spots in the middle clued me in to the start of a story called ďTV With MomĒ. I began to read the story which had turned my son on. I wondered if it would turn me on too? I took another big toke, held it as long as I could, thought Ďto hell with the ballooní and blew out the puff . . .


by Trojan Snake

It started out late one night, innocently enough, between my mother and I. We were watching TV together down the family the room in the basement, the summer after my graduation. Dad had gone upstairs to go to sleep and wouldn't wake up until morning. He was always a heavy sleeper and his drinking was a part of that.

Mom and I were viewing a French romance movie about a love affair between a younger man and an older woman on the cable arts channel. The TV guide had said it was going to be a comedy, but that wasn't what was aired. We had been initially disappointed when we discovered that it wasn't what we had hoped to watch, but in a few minutes we began to be intrigued by the plot and characters, each for our own reasons as it turned out.

Mom was dressed in her terry cloth robe and a sheer nylon nightie; all I had on was a pair of boxer shorts. I sat on the end of the couch while she took the middle. I had always admired her beauty and was wondering how she was reacting to the film. I asked her a pointed question. "Mom, do you think an older woman might be interested in so young a man?"

She made a funny little smile and answered the query in both an amused and musing tone, "Perhaps a grown woman might find a youth attractive."

Sensing more to the subject than she had volunteered, I pursued the topic, as the couple on the TV clinched in their first kiss. "Have you ever found anyone, say, young enough to be your son, a guy you might want to make love to?"

"Well . . . can you keep a secret?" she replied. I nodded. "Once, that friend of yours, who moved away last year, Jimmy Boyle?Ē (Jim had been my best friend in my Junior and Senior years of high school.) ďHe came to the house one day looking for you, when you were out."

My mother was blushing. "He came upstairs to see if you were in your room. I had been in the shower and didn't hear him ring the door bell, but the house was opened. Thinking it was you, I called out, asking for a towel to dry myself off with. I had forgotten to get one from the linen closet."

"Well, he got one, but then instead of identifying himself and handing me the towel through the door, he brazenly walked into the bathroom. He held it so that I had to stretch and reach out and ask that he hand it to me so I could cover myself. I was naked and suddenly both frightened and stimulated at the same time.Ē

ďJust as I did grasp the towel from his grip, he took me in his arms and gave me the best French kiss Iíd had in ages. I could feel his hard on through his pants and I got very turned on, I admit. He is handsome, and has a cute set of buns, from what I've seen when he was over here swimming with you."

"But you didn't do it with him?" I pressed, fascinated by my mother's story revealing a whole new and sexy side of her I had only suspected.

"No. We didn't do anything. I broke contact, and just then the phone rang. I ran, still naked, into the bedroom to answer it. By the time I got off the phone and put on a robe he had cooled down and I think he had lost his nerve, because he stammered an apology and ran out of the house."

"Would you have done it?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. It was so erotic and unexpectantly romantic!"

"You would have cheated on dad?" I said frowning.

"Your father and I'd love each other very much, and nothing will ever change that. But, Honey, honestly . . . both he and I have on occasion given into temptation. And then we forgive each other, and try to do better next time we're tempted."

"Would you ever do it with a younger man?" I was rather blunt.

"Maybe, if he were very special, and the right guy."

"Mom you are something else!!" I said and scooted next to her and gave her a great big kiss right on the lips, with my arms around her. "Thanks for sharing that with me, I feel that it makes us closer. More like friends."

Just then the movie began the love scene between the teenager and his older paramour. I sat next to Mom with my arm around her, draped over her shoulder. It was lightly resting on the top of her chest. We watch the drama of passion unfold, being cable they were showing quiet a lot; buns, tits, even her dark triangle of pubic hair. In the dark, he mounted her. We both watch the screen in silence as the boy went down on her and then entered at her urging. They both were moaning loudly, as they came the bed shook.

After the scene dissolved to the next morning, my mother, not looking at me said, "Well I was just about convinced that they really did!"

"It sounded real!" I replied.

"How do you know what it should sound like, if you've never done it?" My mom asked. Looking at me with a twinkle in her eye.

Copyright © 2006 All rights reserved.

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