Robert Lubrican - A Model Mother

And for the privilege of doing all this, I got paid $12.57 per hour.

That sounds pretty dismal, but there were some perks. For one, during my fifty-seven hours, all meals were on the house. They gave me all my uniforms and the benefits package was to die for. If there weren’t any emergencies, we could sleep when we needed to and get paid for it. Another plus was that anything over 40 hours was paid at time-and-a-half, unless it was a holiday, which was double-time. Not only that, there was a retirement plan. And I wouldn’t be stuck at twelve-fifty forever. They gave raises every year and I could be promoted into a higher paying position, if an opening happened. It was true I had to maintain an apartment, off post, but that wasn’t so bad. Leavenworth is far enough from Kansas City proper that the cost of living is quite a bit less, especially if your just looking for four walls and a roof, and don’t care if it’s in a run-down neighborhood.

Besides, it gave Mom a place to stay when she came to visit.

When she did that we rarely went out for the first day or two, staying in bed most of the time. But Kansas City offered a lot of entertainment options, so we went places together. We got a few stares, as we walked, hand in hand. But I had grown a beard, which made me look a little older, and she looked younger than she was, so most people took us at face value.

We were lying in bed one night, making out, after I had soaked her with my spend, when I thought of something.

"You can sell real estate anywhere, right?"

"If you’re licensed," she said.

"You could sell real estate here … right?" I said.

She stared at me.

"Bobby, Honey. We’ve been lucky so far. I love what we have. I wouldn’t change what happened for anything. But we can’t make this last forever. And I want grandchildren."

"I can’t help it," I said. "I love you."

"You can love another woman, too."

"I don’t want to love another woman."

"You need to love another woman," she sighed.

"So you don’t want to keep letting me love you," I said. I admit I was a little petulant about it.

"You know better," she said, poking me with a very sharp fingernail. "But we have to be realistic. We need to be practical."

I decided to kiss her some more, instead of continuing the conversation.

Like a lot of people, I tried to ignore a problem and just hoped it would go away. She was just as addicted to me as I was to her, so she kept coming to visit.

Then one night, while I had her pinned to the bed, she gasped, "You need to pull out tonight. This would be a bad time to get sperm in me."

"You’re fertile?" I panted.

"Very," she huffed.

I think it was then that I went a little crazy.

"Good," I said.

I kept going.

"Bobby!" she whined. She wasn’t stupid.

"I love you," I grunted.

"Then don’t get me pregnant," she groaned.

"But I want to get you pregnant," I growled.

"You can’t," she moaned.

"I’m not sorry," I huffed, speeding up. I could feel it coming and I wanted to get there fast.

"It’s not your body that will swell up and look like a beached whale," she barked.

A little sanity penetrated to my brain. I went in and stopped. The urge to cum slowly abated. I started rubbing. It’s possible I was trying to give her an orgasm as a way of apologizing for what I’d almost done.

"Sorry," I said, leaning down to kiss her. "I got carried away."

"I’m sorry, too," she sighed.

"It’s just that when I think about becoming a father, I can’t imagine it being with anybody other than you," I said.

"That is so wrong," she moaned.

"So, sue me," I said, still rubbing.

We kissed for a while.

Then I felt her internal muscles working on my cock. I lifted my lips from hers and stared into her eyes.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Exercising my kegels," she whispered.

I started going in circles and she writhed under me. But her pussy kept milking me.

"You know what’s going to happen if you keep doing that," I said.

"You talk a lot," she said. "You should kiss more and talk less."

So I kissed her, and she kept milking me, and I’m not stupid, either. I wasn’t going to quiz her on why she changed her mind.

I just let her suck the jizz out of my balls, and into her very fertile pussy.

We never talked about it. Not then, anyway. Instead, we were like honeymooners. I had two days left before I had to go back to work and we spent almost all of it in bed. I came in her half a dozen times.

Then she went home to wait and see if we’d been stupid.

Turns out … we had.

If you’re in a conventional marriage or relationship, and your significant other has announced she is pregnant, you probably had a conventional reaction. That usually goes one of two ways. You’re either happy about it … or you’re not.

Now try to imagine if your mother comes to visit you, and says, "Well, I’m pregnant."

If you’re in a conventional relationship, meaning you’re not fucking your mother, and know you’re not responsible for her being pregnant, then I guess your reaction could also go one of those two ways.

If you’re me, though, you don’t get to be unhappy about it.

It wouldn’t have mattered. I’d lain awake long hours, wondering about it. We texted each other occasionally, but not on a regular basis. We saved it up for when she came to visit. So I didn’t know whether letting our passions get the better of us had created … difficulties … or not. Eventually I decided "difficulties" wasn’t the right word. And finally I decided that, if she wasn’t pregnant, I was going to keep trying. I know that may sound strange to you, but then you’re probably normal, and don’t lust after your mother.

Then she was there one day when I got off shift, and she hugged me, and stepped back, and said, "I’m pregnant, Bobby."

I was effusive in my appreciation and joy.

I took a shower and found her in my bed, naked, when I got out.

"So what now?" I said, lying down beside her.

"I get fat and ugly and have your baby," she said.

"You could never be ugly," I said.

"You haven’t seen me pregnant," she said.

"I saw you from the inside, and loved every second of it," I quipped.

"We need to keep a close eye on this," she said. "I think lots of ultra sounds will be needed."

"Why?"

"We’re rather closely related," she said, her voice dry.

"Do you think there will be problems?"

"It’s been known to happen in the past," she said.

"Are you worried?"

"Worrying won’t help," she said.

"Are you sorry?" I asked.

"That’s complicated," she said.

"So tell me."

"I’ve never been this happy," she said. "At the same time, I know this is foolish in the extreme. I flip-flop constantly, wanting to sing for joy, and kicking myself for being weak."

"Weak?"

"When I was here last time, the thought that you wanted to breed me just made me go crazy."

"Breed you? That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?"

"No, it’s not. That’s what you did, Bobby. You bred me. Like your father bred me. The only difference is that I didn’t want him to … and I did want you to."

"So then you’re okay?"

"Bobby, Baby, this could be the best thing that ever happened to me, or the worst mistake of my life. But it probably won’t be that black and white. It will probably be shades of gray."

"We have to live together," I said. "You can’t raise another child by yourself. I won’t let you."

"That’s one of those shades of gray," she sighed. "I’d love nothing more than to live with you, but just because you knocked me up doesn’t mean we have a future together as a couple."