I first met Janet when we were both in college. She's actually four years or so younger than me, but I took a couple years off after high school, to make some money, and then went to the junior college on the part-time plan, before heading off to the big university. So by the time we met, I was a senior, and she was a junior.

We met in a class we had together, and pretty quickly, we ended up studying together fairly regularly. Frankly, I had never met anyone like her — our personalities seemed to resonate in just about every way, from our offbeat senses of humor, to the books and music we liked, and on down the line. Before long, we were completing each other's sentences; we just 'got' each other on some really basic, fundamental levels.

I'd had other girlfriends, and Janet had had other boyfriends; neither of us was a virgin, but in meeting each other, we were encountering a level of 'psychic' intimacy that shocked both of us.

One Friday evening, my roommate was gone for the weekend. Janet was over at my apartment, and we were studying together for an exam we both had the following Monday. We ground our way through the concepts, and indulged in the uncanny way we had of 'melding' our minds. She had a unique ability to make difficult concepts transparently clear to me; it was like she instantly understood the things I was hung up on, and she could just make them instantly intelligible to me. And, often as not, I did the same for her. It was the darnedest thing, the way our minds just seemed to be on the same wavelength.

I don't know how many hours we were studying, but after a certain point, our brains were full, at least for the time being, and there was no more room left for any more new information, and we both kind of got 'punchy' at the same time. We were both sitting on the floor, on opposite sides of the coffee table where we had our books and notes spread out.

“That's it!” Janet said, slamming her book shut, and tossing it across the room. “No more studying! I'm done!”

“My brain hurts!” I agreed, and I collected my books and papers to store them back in their proper place on my desk. I sauntered back to where Janet was stretched out on the floor, and sat down beside her.

“What do you want to do?” I asked. “So long as it doesn't mean I have to think. I think I pulled something in my brain.”

“No k**ding,” she agreed. Propping herself up on one elbow, she looked at me mischievously. “I've got an idea,” she said, not-very-successfully stifling a giggle.

“Okay,” I said, “what's your idea?”

For several seconds, she said nothing, but continued to smirk at me puckishly. Suddenly, she sprang on top of me, her hands poking all over my ribs and neck and chest. “Tickle Fight!” she giggled, and she sought out all of my potentially most-ticklish spots — my armpits, my ribs, my neck.

At first, I responded defensively, blocking her probing attempts, and not returning her aggression in kind. I grabbed her wrists, to restrain her from further aggression. For a few seconds, we caught our breath, still stoked on adrenaline and blowing off steam, staring wildly at each other.

Virtually simultaneously, we both came to the awareness that, in the course of our playful wrestling, I was now lying on the floor, and she was straddling me. I had the beginnings of a really fine hard-on, and her crotch was nestled delightfully against it. Slowly, the puckish mischief in her face transformed into something more like lustful desire, as she felt the hard lump in my pants pressing against herself. Her eyes flashed with raw desire as she ground her hips one solitary stroke on my concealed erection, then groaned. Then a second stroke, and a third, elicited a breathy groan from my throat.

I reached up, sliding my hands under the edge of her shirt, savoring the softness of the skin of her torso, as she continued to dry-hump me. I pulled her down, so she was lying flat against my chest, while I fumbled under her shirt to find and unfasten her bra-clasp. When her bra was unfastened, she sat up. Raising her arms, she invited me to strip her shirt and bra off over her head, revealing her beautiful breasts to my gaze. And they were beautiful — full, firm, round C-cups, tipped with dark pink nipples that stood erect with excitement as I drank in their beauty.

“Your breasts are wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”

She leaned forward again, presenting her fleshy globes in front of my face, inviting me to taste and suckle them, which I was only too happy to do. I kissed her nipples, one and then the other, which caused her to shudder in response. I cupped my hands around her breasts, savoring their firm heft, while I covered her areolae with my mouth, licking and suckling her bounteous mammaries. Janet was purring happily now at the sensations my mouth and tongue were creating in her breasts, and she resumed grinding her crotch against mine.

She sat up, and unbuttoned my shirt, stripping it off me, then running her fingers through my chest hair. Leaning forward again, she sensuously rubbed her tits against my chest, running her taut nipples through my chest fur, trailing little jolts of electricity wherever they touched me. For a long time, we simply savored the sensations of each other's naked skin sliding against our own.

“I want you,” she said huskily, and immediately she slid off my groin, so as to get me out of my jeans. When she unbuttoned the waist and slid the zipper down, my pulsating erection sprang up, instantly raising a tent in my briefs. Janet pulled my jeans down, then turned her attention to my stiff, thick rod. A circle of pre-cum spread from the tip of my cock, across the fabric of my underwear. Peeling the elastic waistband out from my belly, Janet stripped my undershorts off me, leaving me completely naked before her gaze.

Tentatively, she reached out to grip my quivering manhood. “You have a wonderful cock,” she breathed. “Big and hard and thick. I can't wait to have it inside me.”

“And he can't wait to be inside you, either,” I grinned, although it came out sounding more desperate than I intended.

“Oh god, Kevin” Janet groaned, “I want you so bad.” Standing up, she stripped her own jeans and panties off herself, then she stood, presenting her naked body for my acceptance.

She was beautiful. Her full, round tits were in perfect balance with her delightful round hips. Her belly was flat and firm, and her legs were lithe and taut, bespeaking a comprehensive workout regimen. A thick bush of curly brown fur adorned her pussy-lips, which were engorged and puffy with her arousal.

I desperately wanted to eat her pussy, but we were both far too horny for any more foreplay at the moment. Instead, Janet knelt down, straddling my hips again. Raising herself up, she gripped my cock and positioned it against her cunt-lips in a sensual genital 'kiss'. We locked eyes with each other as she slowly lowered herself onto my thick pole. She was incredibly wet, and I could feel the heat from her pussy enveloping me as she took an inch of my length into herself, and then two.

“God!” she exclaimed. “You feel so GOOD inside me! You're filling me up with your big, hard cock! Oh, yessss!”

When I was all the way inside her, and I could feel her bottomed-out on my pubic bone, Janet slowly ground her hips in little circles, savoring the sensations of my cock inside herself. I could feel the tip of my cock stirring the deepest corners of her vagina.

For a long time, we didn't thrust at all — we just held ourselves together, pressing for the deepest, firmest, most intimate contact that we could create between our bodies, grinding side-to-side, and in little circles. I gripped Janet's ass with the palms of my hands, and pulled her even more tightly onto myself, if such were even possible. I wanted badly to come, and send my semen surging into Janet's depths, but I wanted to savor the deep connection between our bodies, and to prolong the sensations, even more. I took deep, relaxing breaths, to back down just a bit from the brink of orgasm, but I stayed hard inside her, churning and grinding my thick prong into her depths.

I don't know how long we mated like that, but finally, Janet began groaning more insistently, and ground herself on my erection at an ever-increasing tempo. I matched her rhythm as best I could, and thrust my hips up off the floor, driving urgently into the sensual depths of her vagina.

“Oh god, Kevin,” she cried out. “Oh god, I'm coming! I'm cooo-“

Before she could finish the last word, her body began to twitch violently, squirming and writhing as her orgasm overtook her. Her pussy clenched tightly around my shaft, and soon I was flying on the wings of my own climax. I was shouting and grunting, and Janet was moaning and wailing, and huge surges of my cum were gushing out the end of my cock, into Janet's womb, as we rolled and writhed in ecstasy together.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, once I'd begun to catch my breath. “I've never come like that! You, my love, are the best, most exciting lover I've ever had!”

“Ditto!” she agreed, still gasping for breath.

In her post-orgasmic bliss, Janet fell on top of me, and for a long time afterward, we simply lay together, purring and stroking each other. Even as it softened, my cock stayed inside her, and Janet sensually clenched her cunt-muscles on it from time to time. I slowly ground my hips in little circles, still savoring our intimate genital contact.

After a while, I could feel myself starting to get hard again, inside Janet. I felt her pussy-walls giving way as my organ thickened and lengthened again, without ever having left her inner chamber.

Janet gave a start as she felt my rampant manhood growing inside herself again. “You're getting hard again? Right inside me?”

“Evidently,” I grinned. My mind reeled at the wondrous sensations inside Janet's cunt — my cock was throbbing with a delightful, happy buzz from being snugly nestled inside her warm, moist cavity. I could feel the cum I'd previously deposited inside her, oozing out along my shaft, and onto my balls, as I continued to expand into her. Instinctively, at a level below conscious thought, I began to grind my hips up into Janet.

She groaned at the sensations, and quickly matched my rhythm, grinding herself back and forth, up and down, in and out on my stiff, assertive cock. “Oh god,” she moaned, “you're fucking me twice. My god, I'm gonna come again!”

I'd just shot into her a short while earlier, so I could just keep happily fucking away, without an orgasm clamoring for immediate attention. Soon Janet rolled her head back; her jaw went slack, and her hips were a blur as she approached her second climax with a high-pitched gasping wail. “Oh shit!” she cried. “Oh god, yes! Ohgodohgodohgod. . .”

My cock happily absorbed all the good vibrations that Janet was giving it, yet without coming. When Janet had recovered from her orgasm, she felt me still hard inside her. I thrust up into her again, signaling my intention to keep fucking her until she'd had enough.

On and on we fucked like that, my cock staying hard inside her, buzzing happily from the wet friction of her cunt-walls along its length, while she went up and down to one orgasmic peak after another. Finally, she was near exhaustion, rolling her head from side to side as she crested one more climactic wave. “Come with me,” she gasped. “Give me your cum.”

By that point, I was starting to get tired myself, so I mustered up the last of my endurance, and drove myself up into Janet's core, straining to touch her deepest center with my cockhead, and in short order, I was coming into her again. Great spasms wracked my body, and my thick, hot cum spurted out of me, into Janet, in time with the orgasmic tremors of my body.

“OOOOoooohhhh,” Janet moaned. “OOOooohhh, you're coming inside me. . . I can feel your warm, sweet cum flowing into me. OOOooohhh, yesssss. . .”

Once again, she fell onto my chest, and this time, there was no 'penile revival'. We lay together, stroking and nuzzling and kissing each other, until we finally re-entered the earth's atmosphere.

“No one,” stated Janet, “has ever made me come like that. You, sir, are a fabulous lover.

“Well, I've never done anything like this before, either. I think YOU'RE the fabulous lover, for pulling something like that out of the likes of me.”

“Well, whoever is to blame,” she laughed, “that was the most incredible sex I've ever had.”

“I think we agree on that.”


Janet spent that entire weekend with me at my apartment, and we made love as often as we could, saving aside enough time to study while we waited for my next erection to arrive. Even sexually, it seemed, she and I just had this amazing, uncanny 'resonance' with each other.

We got married just after I graduated, and I went to grad school, picking up my Master's degree in the time it took Janet to finish her Bachelor's. A couple months before graduation, Janet became pregnant with our first c***d, a little sooner than we'd planned, but we were ecstatic that our love (and, let's be candid, lots and LOTS of sex) had taken the concrete form of a c***d, made from the living substance of the two of us.

When our son Jack was born the following winter, I was endlessly fascinated to look at him, and note that little things, like the shape of his nose, or a peculiar swirl in his hair, were just like similar features that I had. And he had other features that were just as obviously inherited from Janet.

Three years later, we had a daughter, Sarah, and again, it was simply fascinating to see the traits that she had obviously gotten from Janet, and the ones she'd obviously gotten from me.

The births of my c***dren were even more awe-inspiring for me, on a deeper, personal level. You see, I was adopted as a newborn infant. So I'd spent my whole life without any conscious awareness of my genetic endowment. My three-year-old son, and his newborn s****r, were the first people I'd ever known in my life who were genetically related to me.

One day, I was rocking Sarah to sl**p, and contemplating the miracle of this baby girl, made from her mother and me, when suddenly, a thought struck me. If my k**s have gotten various physical and mental traits from Janet, or me. . . then, how had those traits come to me? Obviously, we knew Janet's parents, and it was clear how much she looked like her mom, or had her dad's athletic ability. For me, though, those questions referenced a blank page. I dearly loved my adoptive parents, the Schmidts, and was utterly grateful for the way they'd raised me. But they simply didn't have any genetic information to give me.

I mulled it over in my mind, over a period of a few weeks, then talked it over with Janet, and then I went to my parents, to think through the idea of searching for my birth-mother. I wasn't sure what my parents would think, but they were actually quite agreeable. “Just don't change the name I gave you,” my dad admonished, in his gruff way. I assured him I wouldn't.

I won't bore you with all the details of the search, but suffice it to say that I was surprised by how quickly I was able to find her, starting from the adoption order my parents had filed away, and the name of the agency that had handled the adoption. Within just a few months, I knew who my birth-mother was, and where she lived. Her name was Andrea Mills, and she lived in Oregon, far away from Wisconsin, where I'd been born and raised. Evidently, she'd wanted to 'get out of dodge' after I was born. She'd been 19 when I was born, so me being in my late 20s, she was still only in her 40s. She'd never married, or borne any other c***dren.


I picked up the phone and dialed the number I had for her.

“Hello?” a woman's voice answered.

“Is this Andrea Mills?”

“Yes, this is Andrea.”

It was her. After nearly three decades, I was hearing her voice! I introduced myself, citing the date of my birth, which, of course, was seared into her brain.

Sniffles, and sounds of weeping, came from the other end of the line. “I always hoped this day would come,” she sobbed. “And now it has. I have missed you so much. Thank you for finding me.”

She continued. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you? What on earth for?”

“For giving you away.”

“Giving me away? You gave me a life and a f****y! Even my adoptive parents told me that you gave me to them because it was the best thing you could have done! Heavens, I've always known that you — whoever you were — gave me for adoption, because it was best for me.”

“That's very gracious,” she replied, through sniffles, “and your parents are very wise.”

We spoke on the phone for over two hours. It was like we couldn't get enough of each other — just let me hear your voice a few minutes more. By the time we finally hung up, I was already making plans to fly out west to visit her.

The weeks between that first phone call and my flight were a whirlwind. Almost daily phone calls, and packets of mail, mostly containing photos, flew back and forth between us. Looking back, I'm grateful to Janet, because my birth-mother obsession was leaving more than a fair share of the daily f****y responsibilities with her. She sensed, though, and quite correctly, that this was pretty much of an earthquake in my life, and virtually instinctively, she was happy to pick up my slack. I married a great woman.

On the day I flew out, I kissed Janet and the k**s good-bye at the airport, promising to return in five days. Andrea and I had agreed that this first visit should be between the two of us; she would meet Janet and the k**s after that. . .


The plane landed, and I found my way through the airport to pick up my luggage. While I was idly waiting for my bags to arrive, I spotted a striking strawberry-blond, forty-ish woman who looked like the face I'd seen in the photos Andrea had sent me. She recognized me about the same time, and came running across the floor to me, practically jumping onto me and squeezing me in a tight neck-lock, not letting go for what became quite a long time.

“My god, Kevin,” she gushed, wiping a tear from her eye, “it's so good to finally see you. And touch you. We are never going to lose each other, ever again.”

“Right,” I said, softly. “I am so happy to finally meet you in person.”

We loaded my bags into her car, and she took me to her home, nearly an hour's drive from the airport. The whole way there, I was intently scoping out her face for the features we had in common, that were her genetic endowment to me. It was really true, I thought to myself — I came from this woman. I lived in her womb (and, as it turned out, I was the only one who ever had), and her DNA marked every cell in my body. So many of those things that so fascinated me about my own c***dren, I now saw in her. I hadn't fallen out of the sky — I'd been born like anyone else, and this was my mother. My head spun with the realization.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at her house, and she poured me a glass of wine while she prepared dinner. I felt almost like a k**, watching his mother cooking dinner, just hanging with her, and talking about my life, where I'd been and what I'd done.

Dinner was amazing — “I'm a pretty good cook,” she said, proudly, and I could only agree. Afterward, she poured us both glasses of wine, and we sat in her living room. There was a large picture window with an awesome view of the mountains.

We sipped our wine silently for a couple minutes before Andrea spoke.

“I suppose I should tell you about how you were conceived,” she finally sighed.

“I think I'm familiar with the general concepts,” I said.

“Well,” she replied, “You were conceived at the same time I lost my virginity. But,” she continued, “I want you to know that you weren't the product of a momentary lust. I loved your birth-father — Tom — and I think he loved me, too.”

“Okay,” I said, “I'm listening.”

“It was a Fourth-of-July weekend,” she began, “and a group of us went to the beach on Lake Michigan. Tom and I had been seeing each other for a few months; we'd even met each other's parents. It was a wonderful, hot sunny day, and we spent a lot of time in the water just to try and stay cool. Of course, there was a lot of playful teasing going on, and Tom kept trying to feel my breasts under the water, but I mostly managed to keep him away. All in good fun.”

“Andrea,” I interrupted, “you don't have to. . .”

“Hush,” she said. “I want you to know.”

“Okay.” I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to know, but she was intent on telling me, so I let her go on.

She resumed her story. “After a while, we went back to one of the little changing huts and locked ourselves in for a bit of making out. We were sitting on the bench kissing each other passionately, with tongues and everything. Then Tom put his hand on my breast, and this time, I didn't stop him. Even when he slipped his hand under my bra, I let him; I'd never done anything like that before, but his hand just felt so good, gently caressing my bare breast. And when he untied the string and took my top off me completely, it gave me a wild feeling to have my breasts completely exposed to him like that.”

“Are you sure you want to be telling me this?” I asked.

She just nodded, and held up her hand, insisting that I let her talk.

“We were kissing deeply, and he was feeling my breasts. His shoulders were so strong. . . so masculine. I ran my hands over his back and chest. I could feel myself getting wet 'down there'. But when Tom tried to feel my crotch, I wouldn't let him. I was too nervous, too shy. I wiggled and squirmed, trying to keep him away from my 'private parts'. I mean, my boobs were one thing, but no male had ever seen or touched me there since the last time my dad changed my diaper.”

She took a deep breath. Inwardly, I was reeling, just a bit. It was clear that she was going to tell me the full detailed account of the sex that resulted in my coming-to-be. But she'd also made it clear that I was not to interrupt, so I let her continue.

“I suppose Tom was probably getting frustrated, but he didn't show it. He just whispered to me, 'It's OK; we'll take it easy.' I was scared. What if he didn't like the way I looked naked? What if it hurt? But I loved him, and I trusted him to take care of me. 'Come on,' he said, with a laugh, 'you show me yours, and I'll show you mine.'

“I laughed, and it made me less apprehensive. 'Okay,' I said. 'Let's both take our suits off together.'” So I pulled my bottom off, and he pulled his suit down at the same time. At first, all we did was just look at each other's 'private parts'. I had never seen an erect penis before then. It was amazing — big and hard, and red and throbbing — and I was both fascinated and fearful. I thought to myself, how could that big thing ever possibly fit inside me?

“Tom slid down off the bench onto the carpeted floor, and pulled me down next to him. He looked at me. 'Do you want to do this?' I wasn't sure; I didn't want to be a Bad Girl, and already, I was doing what only Bad Girls would do. But right there, at that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted to give myself to him completely, to receive him and be joined to him. I nodded. I had no idea what it would feel like, but now was the time.” She looked at me. “Are you OK?”

I nodded, still in a mild state of shock that she felt so compelled to tell me the story on this level of detail.

“Tom had me roll onto my back, and he got on top of me. I'm sure he'd done it before, but he was fumbling around, trying to find my opening with his erection. I finally felt the head of his penis start poking into me, and it just took my breath away! As he slowly pushed further into me, I was wriggling my hips, trying to get more of him inside me. Nothing had ever felt that good in my whole life — he was filling me up with his thick, wonderful pole, and I wanted all of it.

“For just an instant, I felt his hardness pushing against my hymen, but then it gave way; it was a quick, sharp pain, but then he was all the way inside me, and I forgot all about it. My god, I just felt so full, like his penis was filling up my whole body. When he started to thrust in and out of me, my instincts took over, and I started to thrust back against him. Oh, god — that rhythmic fucking felt so good! Sensations were radiating out from my vagina through my whole body.”

I smiled when she said, 'fucking'; it was the first 'nasty' word I'd heard from her mouth.

“Tom was grunting with every thrust, and then he pushed into me hard, one last time, and held it there, in the deepest part of me. I felt a bubble of wet warmth burst inside me, and begin to flow all through my womb. It was so incredible; he was leaving his own — what should I call it, his bodily essence? — inside me, and I treasured it, to have my beloved Tom's bodily fluid held within myself. Even after he got soft and slipped out of me, I was smiling to myself that I still had Tom inside me. And,” she said, looking straight into my eyes, “that bit of Tom inside me brought you into being.

“We made love again later that night, and again the next day. All told, we didn't have sex that many times — ten or twelve, at the most, over the next month or so. When I missed my period, I got scared. My mom finally got suspicious and took me to the doctor, who confirmed that I was pregnant. After that, life got difficult in a hurry.”

She exhaled heavily before continuing. “My dad was pissed. At me, at Tom, at the world. We were supposed to be a Good f****y, but back in those days, girls from Good Families didn't get pregnant out-of-wedlock. So he was pissed about that, too. Eventually, he sent me to a Home for Unwed Mothers in another town, where our friends didn't have to see me in my shameful condition.

“Tom just freaked out. 'I can't marry you!' he said. 'I've got to finish college!' And that was just the final insult.”

Andrea was weeping softly now, as she spoke. “When you were born, I knew it was going to be OK,” she said, “but I couldn't see how. They wouldn't even let me hold you; I had to sneak down to the nursery just to get a look at you through the glass. I wanted so bad just to hold you, to count your fingers and toes, to satisfy myself that you were going to OK, but looking through the glass was all I got.

“I was sure I had enough love to raise you,” she said, “but I had nothing else. My parents didn't want a new baby in the house, and I understood that — my b*****r, your uncle, was a teenager, and they were looking forward to their empty nest in a few years, not raising another baby. It was the hardest thing I ever did, giving you up for adoption, but I was sure that it was the right thing, and the best thing for you. Can you understand that?”

“Of course I can,” I replied, softly. “You gave me a f****y, and a home, that you couldn't come close to providing yourself. And even more than that, you gave me life in the first place. I have never had anything but gratitude for what you've done for me, and I will always be grateful to you. Does that make sense?”

She nodded, then continued. “After you were born, it took me a long time to get my life back together. I went back to school, but I had wanted to be a teacher, and I just couldn't bear the thought of standing in front of a classroom full of k**s someday, wondering if one of them was you.”

“You never married?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I never did. I'm not sure why. Maybe I was just too scared to trust a guy again. Maybe the idea of having another c***d was too painful. I don't know. I've had some friends-with-benefits over the years, and one or two of them might have liked to marry me, but I could never bring myself to ever let things get that far.”

She came and sat next to me on the couch, wrapping me in a tight, warm hug. “Anyway, here we are. Thank you for finding me,” she said. “And thank you for understanding.” She smiled. “I've only ever seen you in person for a few hours, but already, you're a son I can be proud of.”


I spent four full days at Andrea's house, while she showed me around the sights of Oregon. The area where she lived was rich in natural beauty, and I was drinking it all in, as Andrea and I just talked as we went from one stunning vista to the next, letting each other in on our lives, and jump-starting our relationship, to make up for the decades together that we'd missed. She took to holding hands with me as we walked, which at first seemed a little weird, but at the same time, very natural and comfortable.

I began to notice that Andrea and I had a similar kind of 'resonance' with each other, to what Janet and I had, that had helped bond us to each other back when we'd first met. Andrea just seemed to 'get' me, on some basic, intrinsic level. It was uncanny, and really cool.

By the last evening, we were both in a melancholy mood, knowing that I was returning home the next day, even though I was certainly looking forward to seeing Janet and the k**s again. We sat in the living room again, sipping glasses of wine. For a long time, we didn't talk, watching the shadows on the mountains as the sun set behind us.

Finally, Andrea spoke. “Kevin?”

“Yes, Andrea.”

“Could you. . . I wonder if. . . shit, this is just too weird. . .”

“What is it, Andrea?”

“Well. . . if I'm crazy enough to ask you this, will you just tell me yes or no, without thinking I'm some kind of pervert?”

I leaned back, looking askance at her. Then I smiled. “Andrea, in these last few days, I've come to love you, besides getting to know you; ask me whatever you want.”

“I. . . back when you were born, I never got to hold you. Could I hold you now?”

“You can certainly hold me. . . Mother.”

She gasped at the acceptance implied in my response, which I had said with all deliberate intention.

“M. . . Mother? You called me 'mother'. . .”

“Well. . . you are, aren't you?”

“I don't know. . . I gave birth to you, but I didn't raise you. . .”

“In my book, that counts.”

We turned to each other, and held each other tightly for a long time. “I don't ever want to lose you again,” she sobbed.

“I promise, you won't.”

After a long period, Andrea whispered in my ear. “I didn't finish my question before.”

“Okay, what's the rest of it?”

“I. . .” she exhaled heavily; “I always wished that I could have taken inventory of your body — count your fingers and toes, check out the shape of your body. . . Would it be totally weird and perverted if I wanted to see you naked? Even though you're 29, and not a little baby?”

I smiled. It was an odd request, for sure. But there was a definite part of me that wanted to open myself to Andrea like that. In fact. . .

“Well, Andrea,” I began, “is it totally weird and perverted if I say that I'd like to see you naked, too? I look at my k**s, and I'm just fascinated to see what traits they've gotten from me; and I've always wondered where those traits came from — how they got to me, so to speak.”

Andrea laughed. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours?”

I laughed, a full hearty laugh. “Well, I didn't exactly mean it like that. But. . . yeah, okay, if you want to put it that way.”

Without another word, both Andrea and I slowly and deliberately stripped our clothes off. When we were both naked, we stood facing each other. For a woman in her late 40s, I had to admit, Andrea had a really hot body. Her breasts were still firm and full, sagging only slightly. Her belly was flat, and her legs were taut and shapely. She turned slowly around, and I saw the smooth, round cheeks of her butt. When she faced me again, I noticed the thick bush of curly, strawberry-blond pubic hair adorning her pussy, and I was momentarily fixated on it.

“You like my pussy?” she asked, in a tone that sounded almost surprised.

“Sorry,” I chuckled. “I was just thinking that that's where I came into the world.”

She laughed loudly. “Yes, indeed! Although I never thought of it that way. You want a closer look?”

“Mmmmmm. . . not just yet; maybe later. . . Now, what would you like to see of me?”

She approached me, taking hold of my hands. “One, two, three, four, five. . .” she counted the fingers on my right hand, then, “six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” on my left. “Yep, they're all here!” Then she counted my toes, pronouncing the set likewise complete.

Slowly, she walked around me, thoroughly, deliberately inspecting each feature of my body. “Nice, solid tight shoulders,” she said. “Broad back; that's good. Tight, firm ass,” she chuckled. “Is it too weird to have your mother talking about your ass?”

“A little,” I chuckled. “I just remind myself that we're getting to this 29 years too late.”

“I'm glad that you 'get' that.”

Once she'd completed her thorough walk-around inspection, she sat on the couch, near one end, indicating that I should take a place next to her. Pulling me by the neck, she brought me down so my head was nestled in her lap, while she stroked my hair. “I wish I could have done this when you were little,” she whispered. Leaning forward, she lifted my head to her breast, inviting me to suckle it.

I should probably have realized just how crazy and perverted this was all becoming, but somehow, it just wasn't. I mean, lots of guys have sucked their mother's tits; just not when they were 29. But somehow, Andrea and I were working our way through all of the 'developmental stages', at an accelerated rate. She wanted me to suck her tits, which I couldn't do when I was little. So I purred happily as I savored the taste of her skin, stretched across the surface of her abundant, fleshy globes. When she was satisfied with how I'd sucked one breast, she switched me to the other one.

But of course, I wasn't a little baby any more, and the effect wasn't quite the same. At least, not for long. I felt her nipple growing and stiffening in my mouth, and soon she was happily purring herself, at the sensations my mouth and tongue were producing in her. I began to notice the musky aroma of arousal emanating from her pussy, just inches from my head. And my penis was starting to stiffen.

Eventually, Andrea noticed my growing erection. She giggled as she reached out to take hold of it. At the sensation of her touch, I was instantly, throbbingly hard. “I guess you're not a baby any more, are you?”

“Evidently not.”

Andrea slid herself out from under me, and got up off the couch, maintaining her grip on my cock the whole time. She knelt on the floor in front of me, leaned forward, and took my pulsating erection into her mouth. My head spun as she licked and sucked my engorged manhood, her tongue swirling skillfully around my cockhead. I knew that she hadn't been celibate ever since my birth, but she had obviously developed some serious skill in the art of cock-sucking. It wasn't long before I could feel my balls beginning to swell, getting ready to explode.

“Andrea,” I groaned, “if you keep this up, I'm gonna come. . .”

She quickly pulled her mouth off my cock. “Not just yet, my son. First, let's give you a tour of your first room.”

She stood, lifting me off the couch in the process. My stiff cock stood straight out in front of me.

Andrea sat on the couch, her legs spread wide. Her labia were puffy and engorged. The pink petals of her inner cunt-lips were protruding, opening in a sultry 'welcome-home' gesture for the sole-ever occupant of her womb. I knelt between her legs, savoring the full, rich scent of her arousal. For a second, I smiled as I gazed in awe at the gateway to my mother's womb, realizing that I'd been here before, on my way out.

I leaned forward, dr****g Andrea's legs over my shoulders as I began slowly dragging my tongue along her slit, savoring the thick, aromatic nectar that oozed from within her. I licked along the length of her labia, then probed tentatively between her pussy-lips, into her sultry-hot opening, which drew a long, low groan from her. Soon, she was squirming and writhing at the sensations of my tongue plundering her depths. At last, I found her clit, and tenderly sucked on the soft flesh surrounding it, running my tongue gently across her hard little nubbin. When I began licking with broad, ice-cream strokes across her clit, she exploded spontaneously in orgasm.

“Oh god, Kevin!” she shrieked. “You're making me come. Oh, baby, I'm coming! Oh GGGOOOooooddddd!”

I suppose I might have left matters there, but Janet had trained me, years before, not to settle for eating her to a single orgasm, so I just kept on licking Andrea's pussy, and she kept on coming and coming, in a more-or-less continuous stream of orgasms, until finally she pushed me away.

“OK, baby!” she cried. “I want you back inside me! You started out inside me. Now just once, I want you back inside. . .”

At that instant, there was nothing I wanted more. There was no thought that I was fucking my mother, only that I was returning to where my life had begun.

Andrea raised and spread her legs, until her knees were virtually in her armpits. I hooked my elbows under her knees and positioned my flaring cockhead against her entrance. Then, with an insistent grunt, I penetrated her.

“Welcome home, My Son,” she groaned.

In a single thrust, I was in her balls-deep, up to the hilt. My cock throbbed inside her, reaching, probing for her deepest inner regions, straining for her core. I began to slowly move in and out of her, savoring every inch of the smooth, warm, lubricated friction as my rod slid sensually along her snug vaginal walls. Andrea groaned erotically as she clenched her cunt-muscles tightly on my shaft.

“Oh god, Kevin,” she moaned. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Make your mother come.”

Her words triggered some instinct at the base of my brain; I just wanted to please her, to make her happy. And so, I began to pound in and out of her, grunting with every hammer-stroke of my cock into her depths, and soon she was wailing and moaning wildly, her head rolling from side-to-side as one more intense orgasm tore through her.

“Oh god,” she cried. “I'm coming, baby. Come with me. Shoot me full of your cum. Oh, baby, I want you back inside me. Come for me, baby!”

How could I deny my own mother? I released myself to my orgasm, and sent rivers of my thick, warm cum surging into her. For several minutes, even after my balls were thoroughly empty, I continued thrusting in and out of her, just wanting to hang onto the sensations of being inside her, until at last my cock went limp and slipped out of her.

We held each other tightly for a long time afterward. A whole complex of emotions swirled inside me — of deep connection to this woman, of intense love for her. Somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I knew that a married man isn't supposed to be fucking his mother, and the oedipal component of it was impossible to miss. But somehow, this was different. This wasn't about fucking my mother, so much as it was about unfinished business, of re-establishing the deep bond and connection between us that had been lost when she surrendered me.

“That was wonderful,” Andrea said, as we finally parted. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“Thanks yourself. It was pretty wonderful from my end, too.”

“But you understand, right, that we can never do this again? It was what we needed, to re-establish our connection, or tend to our psychological 'loose ends', or whatever. But I'm your mother, and you're my son, and you're a married man. I won't come between you and your wife, or compete with her for your affections. Understood?”

“Understood, absolutely. And if it helps, I'm crazy about my wife.”

“As you should be.”


I flew home the next day, and Janet met me at the airport. By the time we got home, it was late at night. Janet took the babysitter home, and I was already in bed when she returned.
Did you have a good visit?” she asked me.

“It was really amazing,” I said. “We got reconnected on some really deep levels.”

“That's wonderful! So, how long until life gets back to normal?”

“I don't know. Probably not too long. She really wants to meet you and the k**s.”

“That would be nice. Especially if she wants to be in our life as 'Grandma', or something like that.”

“Uh-huh. That's what she wants.”

I rolled toward my wife and pulled her tight to myself. “I have missed you,” I said.

“That would be two of us,” Janet agreed.

Soon she was straddling my hips with my rigid cock buried inside herself, riding me happily. “Don't ever leave me for six days, again,” she groaned. “I need frequent seminal injections to help keep my sanity.”

“I know what you mean.”

Soon, Janet was squirming through her first orgasm in nearly a week, while I sent another load of my semen into her. When she was finally sated, she fell on top of me, and we lay together, holding each other, for a long time afterward.

“It's good to have you home,” Janet cooed.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I agreed. And we both fell into a happy, contented sl**p.

For the next few weeks, I was hornier than I'd been since just after we'd gotten married. At least once a day, and often twice, I was dragging Janet off to bed for another round of conjugal communion.

“Not that I'm complaining in the least,” she said, “but — what's gotten into you?”

“More like I've gotten into YOU,” I chuckled.

“You know what I mean,” she said, with a sly grin.

“I honestly don't know,” I said. “But somehow, this whole birth-mother thing is touching me at a very elemental level. Whether it's that I'm finally touching the beginnings of my life on this earth, or making contact with my genetic origins, I really don't know. Or, maybe, my world has been rocked, and I'm turning to you for some familiar, stable security. . .”

“Or (d) — all of the above?”

“Yeah. . .”

“Well, I'm here for you, babe. Like I said, I'm not complaining.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, with a sly wink.

In the fullness of time, all the sex that Janet and I were having, issued forth in its predictable natural result, and Janet became pregnant with our third c***d, a daughter who we named Andi, after her newfound grandmother. Which pleased Andrea to no end, when we told her.


That summer, Andrea flew out to spend a week with our f****y. We had a wonderful time showing her around the area where we live, but mostly, she just enjoyed meeting her grandc***dren. A look of wonder would cross her face when they would sit on her lap, or ask her to read to them, or whatever.

“I knew I had a son 'out there',” she said. “But it never occurred to me that I might have grandc***dren. I mean, I'm not even 50 yet. I'm not sure I'm ready to be somebody's grandma.”

“Get used to the idea,” I laughed. “Because they're not going anywhere.”

Andrea seemed to form a particularly tight bond with Janet, for a number of reasons. On one level, I think Andrea knew that, if she wanted to have a good relationship with me, she couldn't be the 'evil mother-in-law' to Janet. But, on a more basic level, the two of them just hit it off, and instantly liked each other, which worked to my great benefit.

One afternoon toward the end of the week, Andrea and Janet and I were sitting together over glasses of wine. Andrea turned to me.

“It's time I told you about your birth-father,” she said.

“OK,” I said. “I know his name was Tom, and that you loved him, but he freaked out when you got pregnant.”

“But you want to meet him, don't you?

“Sure, I suppose I do. But he didn't treat you very well.”

Andrea sighed. “We were both young. He wasn't wicked, just scared and stupid.”

“OK,” I allowed. “So, how do I meet this Tom?”

“Well,” she said, “his name is Tom Delaney. We met at UW; as far as I know, he stayed in school, and got his degree. I haven't heard a thing about him since I went to Oregon. I did see him once, after you were born, and I told him that you were a boy, and that I'd given you for adoption.”

“Wait a second,” Janet said. “Did you say his name was Tom Delaney?”

“Mm-hmm,” Andrea nodded.

“And he went to UW?”


“How old is he?” Janet pressed.

“He was two years older than me,” Andrea said, “so that would make him around 52 now.”

“Holy shit,” Janet hissed.

“What?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Don't you get it, Kevin?”

I shook my head. Then, slowly it dawned on me. “My god. . .”

Now Andrea was confused. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“My maiden name is Delaney,” Janet explained. “My father's name is Tom. He went to UW, and he's 52 years old. I suppose there could be more than one man named Tom Delaney who fits that profile, but if it's the same Tom Delaney. . .”

“Then Janet and I are half-b*****r-and-s****r,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Before we get too crazy,” I continued, “we should probably call your dad.

Immediately, Janet picked up the phone and called her father. “Dad?” she began, “I've got kind of an odd question for you.”

“Okaaaayyyy,” her dad said, wondering what was up.

“Does the name Andrea Mills mean anything to you?”

Deafening silence emanated from the other end of the phone. “Why do you ask?” he finally responded.

“Well,” Janet said, “There's an Andrea Mills sitting here at our table. She's Kevin's birth-mother, and she just told us that his birth-father was named Tom Delaney.”

“Holy shit,” said my father-in-law. “That would mean. . .”

“Well, Dad, if you're that Tom Delaney. . . then I married my b*****r.”

“Holy shit. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Better bring Mom with you.”

“Good thought.”


From our house to Janet's parents' was about a two-hour drive. While we waited for them, Andrea and Janet and I started to work through the implications of the new information.

Suddenly, certain things were becoming clearer to me. For one thing, the uncanny 'resonance' that I had with both Janet and Andrea, now seemed to be a clear function of our respective genetic connections. No wonder Janet just 'got' me, on that deep, u*********s level.

Andrea raised a different, more troubling question. “Can you even be legally married to each other?” she asked.

Janet grimaced. “Oh shit. . .”

“It's a little late for that, isn't it?” I rejoined. “I mean, we got married legally and in all good faith. How were we supposed to know that we were long-lost half-siblings? How was anyone supposed to know? Now we've been married for six years, and we've got three k**s together. Breaking that up at this point would just seem cruel.”

“But. . . you could have c***dren with two heads! Or, you know, something weird like that.”

“Maybe I should get myself snipped. But the k**s we've got seem normal enough, and at any rate, we can't send 'em back, can we?”

Janet just gave a low whistle. “Man, this is so weird. You're my b*****r!”

“Half-b*****r,” I corrected her. “But yeah. And my father-in-law is also my father.”

Andrea turned to Janet. “Did you know about Kevin? Well, not Kevin personally, but did you know that Tom — your dad — had fathered another c***d?”

Janet laughed. “One time, when I was in my teens, Dad got d***k and rambled on, something about having a son before he and Mom had gotten married, but I never thought to take it seriously. And now — good grief! — I'm married to him!”


When my in-laws arrived, Tom — who I'd taken to calling 'Dad' just as an affectionate shorthand, since he was my father-in-law — walked through the door tentatively, almost cautiously. When he and Andrea saw each other, there was instant recognition.

“Hello, Tom,” Andrea said, with a calm smile. “It's good to see you again. Although, I have to admit,” she said with a chuckle, “I never imagined the circumstances.”

“No shit!” he responded. “Andrea, I am so sorry for how I treated you when you were pregnant. I have no excuse. Can you ever forgive me?”

Andrea smiled. “I've long since forgiven you,” she said. “We were young and stupid. And I haven't had a bad life, after all. By now, I even have mostly fond memories of you, and the time we were together. And you seem to have done all right, yourself. You and your wife have been married for a long time, and you've made a lovely daughter — and a lovely daughter-in-law for me. So, thank you for that.”

Tom and I turned to face each other. “I really don't know what to say,” he said. “I always knew that, somewhere out there, I had a son. And I always hoped that I'd meet him someday. But now. . . I've known you, and you've been a part of my f****y, for years, and I never knew it was you. . .”

“It's a little shocking,” Janet's mom chimed in. Then, turning to Janet with a pained look, she had one more revelation to add to the already-bizarre mix. “Janet,” she began, “you've probably figured this out by now, but I was pregnant when your father and I got married.”

Janet's eyes got wide. “I never even thought about that,” she said, as she counted the months from her parents' anniversary to her own birthday, finishing just short of six. “Mom!” she exclaimed, with a giggle and a wink.

Andrea looked at Tom. Her face was somewhere between shock and bemusement. “You mean, you did it again? Got another poor girl pregnant out-of-wedlock?”

Tom grimaced, and hung his head. “Well, at least I learned from my first mistake, and married Marie. . .”

Andrea laughed, and her mirth was contagious. “Well, aren't we just the oddest, most decadent group of people! Tom knocks up the two of us, and then his two k**s end up marrying each other! Perfectly perverse!”

“I'll drink to that!” Tom said, raising his glass.

In the midst of all the mirth, my mind took a serious turn as I contemplated the whole picture as it was all laid out before me. “Maybe it's best,” I mused, “if we all don't dwell too hard on Janet and me having the same birth-father. I'm still part of the Schmidt f****y that adopted me, and we got married on that premise. It's a really weird twist, and we don't need to pretend it doesn't exist, but it doesn't have to be central to our lives, either. Does it?”

“Well it certainly can't get much stranger,” Janet chimed in. “But. . . it is what it is. . .”

“For sure,” we all agreed. “It is what it is.”


Later that evening, after Janet's parents had gone back home, and Andrea had turned in for the night, Janet and I were sitting together on the couch, still dizzy from all the bizarre revelations of the day. But none more bizarre than that, out of the thousands of people I'd met in the course of my life, I had met my own half-s****r, not knowing who she was, fallen in love with her, and married her. It all made my head hurt.

I turned to Janet. “Well, s*s. . .” I chuckled, “What do you say we go to bed? I'm thinking we could use some really good stress relief.”

“That's just the best idea I've heard all day,” said my wife. Who, I was still stuggling to grasp, was also my half-s****r.

And the two of us stood up, walked down the hall, and went to bed. . .