In the Name of Science

100% fiction!

I have always been one to push the envelope when it came to debating social issues, so it was no wonder that, when I entered college twenty-five years after graduating high school and "finding myself," I was writing papers in my English class such as "The Socioeconomic Ramifications of Paying Reparations to Descendants of Slaves" while my classmates were writing "My Baby's First Steps" or "The Day My Dog had Puppies." This point was driven further home the day my Psychology instructor asked for the class' topics. While some of my peers were choosing the "safe" subjects such as OCD and ADHD, I chose the topic "Sex After Sixty-five: Does Lust Ever Truly End?"

I knew this topic would test me, but that was what it was all about. I really did not know how to start this in terms of finding people to interview, so after much self-deliberation I turned to my mother and asked if she would ask her friends if they would be willing to participate; keep in mind I did not disclose the topic to my mother as she is a zealot and a prude; she simply would not understand. She did ask a few of her friends, and they consented. They were a bit shocked to say the least when they found out what this interview entailed, but they were willing to participate nonetheless.

I made them promise to not tell my mother the content of the interview, and all agreed. Around my fifth interview I spoke with a woman who became so enraged over my questions that she threw me out of her house, and wouldn't you know she immediately called my mother and told her everything. My mother called me and asked me to come by her house, which I did. She did inquire as to my project, but instead of raking me over the coals she asked why I did not interview her. I told her that I suspected she had not been with a man since my father had died some thirty years past, and she confirmed this. "But I still think about sex," she confessed. "Would you LIKE to do the interview," I asked, knowing I would gather no useful information (it was more to appease her bruised feelings), and to my surprise she stated she would.

"Okay, when is the last time you had sex?"
"A week before your father died."
"What kind of sex did you and Dad enjoy?"
"Just...Normal sex."
"You must recognize that what you might define as normal others might define as boring. Did you and he ever have oral sex?"
"No." She bowed her head before adding, "Never."
"Did you want to?"
"I would have liked to have known what it was like."

"So you never did him and he never did you?"
"Never."
"And you still think about it?"
"At least a few times a week, but not just oral...everything."
"So if you have these desires then why don't you just get with someone?"
"I think I'm too picky."
"Well, you're still attractive. Any man would be lucky to be with you."
"ANY man?"
"Sure."

She grew quiet, then said, "Well, if this interview is over, I was going to make pastrami sandwiches and potato soup tonight. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Sure," I answered.

She cooked, and I helped as best I could, which wasn't much. But we ate, talked a little more about my paper over half a bottle of Gallo Zinfadel, then she excused herself to get her shower. When she returned to the kitchen she reminded me that I had clothes in the guest bedroom, and I was welcome to get a shower and stay the night if I wanted, citing the alcohol as reason enough to make the twenty-mile drive to my apartment. I relented, got a shower, and when I returned we finished off the bottle of wine. Before going to bed she said, "Do you really think any man would consider himself lucky to be with me?"

"Why not?" I asked her. "I mean, look at you. You're sixty-seven years old but still a good looking woman." She smiled at that and left for bed. I looked at the clock, saw it was 11:30, and decided I should go to bed as well.
I think I was more aware of the noise than the sensation at first. It was a low, throaty, almost gutteral moaning that sent vibration after vibration through my erect cock. In my alcohol-induced sleepiness I made out the figure of my mother going down on me. "mom?" I almost shouted.

She looked up at me, and as the moonlight glistened off her tears she cried, "It's been so long. It's been so...God...DAMNED...LONG!" She then began sucking my cock again, and before I could say anything I was cumming in my mother's mouth. She greedily swallowed every drop the way a mewling kitten gains sustenance from its mother's teat, and she showed no signs of slowing down. She continued to service me even as I made my way to position myself to return this grand favor. She seemed to instinctively know what I desired, and she turned and rested her sweet, shaved pussy on my mouth. It was thick with her cum, and it tasted better than any pussy I had ever eaten in my life.

She came immediately, and it seemed at twenty-second intervals thereafter. We must have went at it for about fifteen minutes, then she turned and softly impaled herself on my cock. The pure joy I felt as I entered her was indescribable, but it was enough that I blew my second load, and my cock had no desire to leave the party early. We continued with her on top, making love until I came a third and final time. She collapsed on me, and stayed on me until we awoke later that morning. We made love one final time, and after we showered she made me promise that I would never take this away from her, that we would make love every chance made available to us.

I promised, of course, and so it has gone for the past two years. I love my mother, and I appreciate the fact that of all the men she could have chosen, she deemed me worthy to reawaken her sexuality.