Baby Boom




Normally I feel sympathy for people confronting government enforcement, which is sometimes arbitrary and capricious. But, in the event, this was only fair, and the guilty party had only himself to blame. What made it difficult for me was that the guilty party was my own father.

Our little family of three had moved into this ’55 and over’ adult community. Mal, my dad had just turned 55, while his wife (my mother Sue) was only 42. Whereas he looked like he belonged there, with bald, grey head, jowls, a bit of a paunch, and a bad posture bringing his 5 foot 10 frame more like 5 foot 7, my mom didn’t.

My mother, unlike her ‘old man’, seemed to be reaching her peak. He had made us all so nervous that mom couldn’t eat. As a result, her figure had gone from matronly to Hollywood, her 36D bust no longer saddled with 36-31-39 dimensions; instead, she was an incredible 36-24-35. Her face had no lines, either. She was a big believer in makeup and her lavish mascara and eyelashes created a sexy movie screen siren look. Her bottle dyed blonde hair, the makeup, and her deceptively sexy dresses were a paean to Pamela Anderson. No, she wasn’t as ‘big’ as Pam, but she was as hot. I never noticed any of this, though, being a ‘good little boy’.

I for my part had just finished a brief, if illustrious, career as middle linebacker for my high school team. At the state championship game, I made an important interception, sealing the victory. Unfortunately, a rolling tackle at the 12 yard line took out my knee. I could walk, but I could never play football again (medial collateral ligament). As a result of this, like a prisoner, I amused myself by hanging out in the basement, playing video games and lifting weights. After six months of this, I looked like an all-pro NFL linebacker with a killer physique and bulging biceps, but it was deceptive, as I could barely run at all. Through this rough period, mom was quite a comfort. Father of course wasn’t. He was always busy with something…some scheme to make money. He had never really found a profession, so he was a hustler. Now that takes us to the problem.

As part of the Stimulus Bill, our homeowner’s association, now run by, yes, my father, had accepted $200,000 to create a nursery for the children of the development. Of course, that posed a small problem; senior citizen neighborhoods seldom have toddlers and new borne babes in great numbers. When the Stimulus Audit occurred a year later, the government demanded that the nursery start accepting bona fide children of the residents listed on the date of the nursery fund award within 12 months OR the HOA would have to cough up $200,000. Not just that, but the person who filed this, possibly fraudulent, request would be attending Federal prison.

Well, my dad looked at the roster of residents, all of whom (besides us) were 67 or above. None was likely to be engaged in procreation any time soon. In the whole development, my gorgeous mother was the only woman even remotely fertile. As it turned out, she was very fertile. The fact that she had not taken the pill or used anything, yet had not had a second child was more an indictment of Mal’s impotence than Sue’s fertility.

It was ironic, the impotence that is. Years back, I had my pride and joy, a Raleigh imported bike, with the first handlebars dropped racing style, and 10 speed derailleur. It bothered him for some ungodly reason that I had something that made me happy. He asked to borrow my bike.

I told him to borrow mom’s bike.

He said that men don’t use bikes without the upper support strut. He roughly grabbed my bike and took it out. When I tried to stop him, warning about the balky shifter, he derisively waved me away. I hate to say it, but it was fitting then that the first small curb obstacle made him fall forward, hitting the central support strut very hard, and permanently removing any worries of needing to use birth control.

I lived in a small bedroom attached to the garage. One day I overheard mom and him arguing about his ‘problem’. Mom asked why she should consider him the ‘man of the house’ any more, given he had become a physical wreck, now unable to even get hard. Overhearing this, I am very ashamed to say, my cock got erect for the first time in my memory. My God, was I feeling my oats because he just confessed that he wasn’t much of a man anymore? Feeling unashamed, I looked in the full length mirror of the closet door, flexing my massive muscles, wondering if I was now worthy enough to be the ‘man of the house’.

Fast forward to today. He was faced with some serious jail time and a $200,000 penalty from the authorities unless that nursery starting filling up within 12 months with the offspring of this neighborhood. Pushed into a corner, he had only one choice…just one!

He summoned mom into the görükle escort living room and called my cell phone from the kitchen wall phone. I came in. Mom’s ‘old man’ began by bringing us up to speed on his legal woes.

Sue, my beautiful mother, said, “Well, why did you drag US in here? Is it just to hear your problems?”

He said, “No, of course not. Don’t you see, there is only one solution to this problem, and it won’t cost us more than $1,000 in insurance coverage deductibles? Sue, since you are the only woman that is still fertile, you will have to give birth. (Mom sat bolt upright, shocked she was being ‘drafted’ into being a breed mare) As to the male component, we all know I am out of the race. There MIGHT be some older gentleman who may or may not ‘still have it’. But that would be humiliating to me and Sue having to ‘offer herself’ publicly like that. The obvious solution, then, is for Sue and her handsome son Jim to create that child! (Now I sat bolt upright; I couldn’t fake any anger, though, as my cock liked the idea and pumped itself into its full 11 inch glory.) He said, “We don’t have time to consider feelings, taboos, or gossip. I need the two of you, stripped for action, and in our king-sized bed, now! While you two ‘get acquainted’, I will see my friend the internist. I am sure he’s good for a prescription for fertility pills for mom, Viagra for Jim.”

I stood up, flexing my guns and pointing to my huge erection, appealing for NO Viagra. He ignored that; again, he was stacking the deck and taking no chances.

Mom interrupted. She said, “Let me get this straight Mal. To get you out of your usual mess, now you want my handsome son and I to have, what, ‘relations’, sex, intercourse? Am I to believe that it is your hope, your intention, YOUR DEMAND, that Jim and I fuck, and make a baby? You want my belly to swell with the love child of me, your legally wed wife and her only son? That you want to see my breasts engorge with warm, sweet, mother’s milk for that baby, and perhaps its father, Jim? You’re willing to risk losing me to my hunk of a son, his giant beautiful cock and those bulging muscles of his? You don’t worry that he is ‘more man’ than you are or that I might not want to come back to you after experiencing his virility making love? You will take these risks just to save your greasy hide?”

He looked away, cleared his throat, and couldn’t answer mom. Then, what transpired was the weirdest chain of events that ever occurred in our home, maybe anyone’s home. He laid down the law:

1.During mom’s fertile time, we had to stay at home 24/7.

2.During that same period, we could not wear any clothes.

3.If upon seeing mom, or for any other reason, I got a complete hard-on, I was to seek out mom somewhere in the house and with no discussion– copulate with her.

4.If for any reason whatever my erection or ‘recovery time’ was holding things up, I was to use Viagra, the large pill, no excuses accepted.

5.Under no circumstances was I to masturbate, have foreplay or anything else that might drain even a few precious spermatozoa. Every single one of my sperm had to be earmarked for mom’s fertile vagina. They had to be relocated from my heavy swollen scrotum the length of my huge 11 inch rod and into mom’s receptive, waiting womb with no delays whatever.

With his behind on the line, father was gung ho on this affair. He demanded that we pledge an oath. He pointed to me:

I said, “OK, I swear to you, I will not rest until I have made Sue, your wife and my mom, pregnant with my baby. I pledge I will forego contact with anyone else, any other activities, save the act of procreation. I WILL get mom pregnant!”

Now, he pointed to my supersexy mom to pledge:

Mom said, “Oh, God, Mal, I can’t believe you’ve gotten all of us in trouble: again! But, well, OK: I swear to you that I will happily accept every drop of my handsome son’s potent seed, his manly sperm, his babymaking sperm. I won’t rest either until I am heavy with child. I cannot wait to bear Jim’s strong, healthy, baby. I look forward to Jim becoming the ‘man of the house’, moving permanently into my bed, loving me, and fucking his potent sperm into me with his beautiful huge penis. I freely acknowledge my son is bigger where it counts, and just all around ‘more man’ than his limp-dicked father!”

“Wow,” I thought! She took his script and sure embellished it. But, since he was absolutely screwed and desperately needed us, and only us, to procreate, he was stuck. We probably could do anything and he’d have to take it.”

The first night, he was all over us. He wore plastic gloves and constantly interfered. When I finally was going to bed my mom and do a serious number in her cunt, he just had to interject himself. He grabbed my erect telephone pole and used it to tingle the slavering wet lips at the entrance to mom’s fertile depths.

He handed that pole back to me. I remember him encouraging me eskort bayan to plunge deep inside. He ended up watching us fuck until the climax. Then to ‘help out’ he pressed my hips down, almost crushing my beautiful, but delicate, mother. Fortunately, it was so totally pleasurable that we only kissed passionately at the end. He blew up at this,” I don’t remember making you pledge your ‘undying love’ as you just whispered. I only want you two to fuck and make babies, like two lowly farm animals. I need you to do that to get me out of this fix. After it’s all over, I expect you, Sue, to return to being my obedient and submissive wife. Your worthless musclebound son there can return to be that bum with the bad knee.”

We were furious at the words’ coming from this lunatic who was technically still my mother’s husband. He had gotten himself into a fix; now he needed me, my mother’s son, to put a baby inside my beautiful mother. Then he had the temerity to criticize us for basically doing what he commanded. He objected, of course, to seeing mom and I perform acts of love, as opposed to a barnyard insemination.

Mom was still irate. She motioned for me to get up from the bed. With both of us sitting on our heels, mom grabbed me passionately and kissed me. We loved, kissed, caressed, and felt each other up, right in front of him. It was a defiant demonstration of sensuality, love, and passion, but without the mechanical procreation part that was the only one he sanctioned. At the end of our ‘make-out’ session, mom looked at him sarcastically, looked back at me, and mussed my hair. She said, “Sweetheart, after we finish this and create that baby, I want to keep what we created between us also. I never want to return to the barren, empty life I had before our coupling. I love you and want to love you forever. Do you think that we can, well, have another baby after this one?”

My powerful cock, which had taken a few moments to rest, now regained its power and slapped hard against my chest. I almost shouted, “Mom, there’s nothing I want more than to be with you forever. And there’s nothing that would please me more than to have the chance to get you pregnant today, tomorrow, and forever. If you will have me, I want to make as many babies as you want, as many babies as you can physically bear.”

Mal, the cause of all of this, was about to interject himself between us. But, he was so desirous of us to have continual sex until mom was confirmed pregnant that he didn’t dare. Even now, as we expressed our love and devotion to each other, he noticed that our words of devotion had also gotten me hard, made her nipples throb like thumbs, and made us both teary with passion. He stood back and sure enough, we collided with kisses, caresses, and then a horny mother being pushed onto her back.

Love and devotion was fine, but the three of us knew there was a job to do, and I was lucky enough to have the role as the man. Getting between mom’s shapely tanned legs, I raised them above me onto my shoulders. There was a demure, smooth foot at either side, the right slender ankle sporting a sexy ankle bracelet. Our words of sincere devotion and planning our marital life after this forced coupling had already gotten me hard. I gently but firmly slid that 11 inch babymaker into mom’s tight, fertile, welcoming vagina. My only task now, and for the rest of the week, was to fill up that wonderful womb with my potent young seed. The fat, uncut, head of my cock scraped the tender, sensitive vaginal walls of my loving mother. Her head recoiled slightly as the excitement was a bit overwhelming. When my huge love log bottomed out at her backwalls, engulfing her womb and being in proximity to her cervix and uterus, she felt completely full, completely secure, completely satisfied. I was actually a bit too big for my petite, delicate mother; I had to back out a couple of inches. Then, and only then, did I look into her eyes. I said, “I love you mom. Will you agree one day, one day soon, to escape the emptiness of your present situation, be with me, and if at all possible, become MY WIFE?”

With tears in her eyes, mom rose up and kissed my lips. With a fervent gesture, she nodded, “Yes, yes, YES! Oh, God, Jimmy, save me from this cold, passionless, impotent fool. Promise to love me, to cherish me, and I will be yours.” I kissed her, she smiled. She stared into my eyes and I could feel her tremble. Her eyes closed, and she moaned in orgasm. I was waiting for just that moment. I lowered down, affixing my lips to hers. I finally let loose a torrential flood of my manly virile seed, deep inside her fertile vagina. Like a spring Mississippi River flood, my semen laden with babymaking sperm, was everywhere. Every pubic inch of mom’s oh so fertile womb dripped my manly seed. It was only a matter of time before some of those vibrant young swimmers found that precious, wondrous ovum, alighted on it, and awaited its fixture on the wall, bringing the gift altıparmak escort of life.

I do not know if there is a correlation between the devotion, love, and emotions that we expressed, and the chances for impregnation. However, after that wrenching and soul-searching experience, mom and I drifted blissfully to sleep together. He was stuttering that we should stay awake and try and do it one last time. We ignored him, and slept belly to belly, my still hard cock, still shooting lightly, connecting us. At 4:14am that night, something woke up both of us. Not seeing him or anyone, we stared briefly into each other’s eyes, kissed. I said, “I love you, mom.” We went back to sleep. Unknown to us, at 4:14am, mom had conceived.

Since none of us knew that mom was pregnant, nor could we know that for some time, the ‘show’ went on. To spice up our sex life, he made us act out scenarios which were cute, funny, or even bizarre. I mean, here was a husband encouraging his virile son and gorgeous wife to act as if they were Popeye and Olive Oyl, fucking after a muscular Popeye saved her. The only fun part of that was that he had to get involved as the villain, and I mistakenly (sic) hit him a bit too hard. When mom saw that I had actually knocked him out, she shrieked in orgasm and pulled me down for celebratory coitus. It was fantastic.

He came to, and was not amused. When I told him I was only following his instructions, he somehow bought that. Instead of giving up on play acting, he came up with another that was even sillier. Mom would be that sexy redheaded mom from that “Married with…..” show that ran for years, whereas I would play her horny son. For once, that was a pretty hot idea. I had seen that show for years, watching as the producers not so subtly had created that feeling. So, that scenario actually DID get me hot. When I got my hot trampy mom flat on her back (wearing a henna wig that cost $11), I did a thorough white washing of her (now fertilized) cunt. If she hadn’t already been pregnant, I would have gotten her so. I had to suppress my urge to call mom, Peg, thereafter.

This whole escapade only lasted for about one week, to coincide with mom’s three most fertile days, with two days before and after as safety buffers. A home pregnancy test later confirmed that we had done his bidding. He little noted or cared that mom and I were now permanently bonded, let no man render it asunder.

On the wonderful day of delivery, both he and I were in the OR for the occasion. I looked totally natural waiting there, my age appearing to be close to my amazingly youthful looking mother. Her ‘old man’, on the other hand, was completely out of place. He was stunned and mortified when mom asked an orderly to escort her ‘father’ (i.e. him) out, that she wanted this private moment to be alone with her ‘husband’ (i.e. me).

He might have been briefly mortified, even insulted. However, as the OB GYN on duty slapped that newborn, a boy, and it cried, he saw his deliverance. That baby would keep him out of jail, and save him that huge six figure penalty. We had one child to enter the nursery as the Feds had demanded.

What happened after this blessed event was unexpected, to say the least. Mal, my conniving father, sighed in relief when the government inspector gave his stamp of approval on the ‘nursery’ and officially got my father off the hook. Thinking he didn’t want to wait around for any more scrutiny in his homeowner’s association dealings (yes, there were a lot more instances of him ‘cutting corners’), he up and moved one night while mom and I were at a movie. He left a note that he had moved back to his home state, that mom should sell the home and follow.

Well, mom read me the note at home, while I was on top of her, my big cock bathed in her warm, comforting tight vaginal walls. She asked, “What should we do now, sweetheart?” To emphasize her hoped for response, her wonderful inner muscles tugged and squeezed my love log, making me wince in pleasure.

I rose up on my elbows, and then lowered my head. I gave her a gentle bus on her soft, warm nape of the neck. She sighed, loving the tender attention. Then I brushed her cherry red lips with mine, just touching her teeth with my tongue. We shared warm breath, our noses touching lightly.

It took a few moments, but I formulated an idea, “Mom, he’s gone, and he’s not coming back. I looked over some of those ledgers, and he can’t come back. This is a golden moment. You can file under this state’s abandonment clause as a cause of action in divorce. If we officially serve him at his last and best known place of residence and he does not respond, we get summary judgment.”

She didn’t follow all of the legal details (nor did I), but she liked the sound of that. So, the die was cast.

Everything worked out like clockwork. Our law firm’s courier found the weasel up in his old haunts. He was served, and best of all, he never showed up in court. He got to keep his personal effects, his car, and 25% of the community assets. The summary judgment gave us the house and 75% of all assets plus something intangible, but priceless. It gave my beautiful mother her maiden name and her freedom back. It was a ‘do over’, except that her virile only son was added to the mix.

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