Looking After Charlie

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Mar 24, 2021 // By:admin // No Comment

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It was the phone call that every parent dreads, the one from casualty.

“Hello, Ms Williams, this is Nurse Ratched from the Royal Infirmary. We have your son Charles with us at the moment.” At this point I died a little. “It’s not too serious, he’s got a broken arm and some cuts and bruises but he’s basically fine. Would you like to come and collect him?”

“Five minutes, give me five minutes,” I said as my heart pounded.

“As I said, Ms Williams, he’s basically fine. There’s no great rush.”

There’s no great rush? When your only son is in casualty then there’s always a rush. I grabbed my handbag and keys and dashed off to the hospital. Five minutes later I was at his bedside. Poor Charlie, for all his eighteen years, was looking small and fragile, my little boy. As Nurse Ratched had said, he was basically OK but, he’d been in a road accident and put his hands out to protect himself. His right arm was broken and his left wrist and shoulder were badly sprained. This, of course, left him pretty helpless but, apart from a few other nasty bruises he was shaken not stirred and it could have been worse. Once the plastering and bandaging were done the hospital issued him with some high power pain killers and I took him off home to bed.

Charlie was, and is, the centre of my life. Back when I was just a schoolgirl a drunken fumble at a end of term disco had left me a pregnant teenager and, as soon as he found out, Charlie’s dad had run a mile. My school career had ended there and then and I was soon discovering just what being a single mum was all about. Forget what the Daily Mail says, it’s not all dole queue scrounging, far from. Bringing up Charlie on my own had been hard but, in the end, it had all sorted itself out, I got a place on my own and found a decent job that paid the rent and was flexible about school holidays. My main concern was looking after Charlie and, as the years have rolled by, he’d grown up happy and healthy. Now, at eighteen, he is obviously looking to leave the nest but, with housing so expensive, he’s finding it easier to stay at home with me.

When I got him back to the house I took him upstairs to bed and, for the first time, we both began to realise just how helpless he was. With his right hand effectively out of action and his left not much better it looked like, for a while, I was going to have to do quite a bit for him. It wasn’t just the basics like dressing and feeding, he even needed help with things like going to the toilet and wiping his backside. He, of course, was mortified but, if he tried doing things for himself, then he quickly found he couldn’t reach or it was simply too painful. As far as I was concerned this was nothing new; it wasn’t that long ago that I’d been wiping his bottom as a baby in nappies. Eighteen months or eighteen years, he’s still my little boy.

He had been home two days when it all kicked off. Bathing was a nightmare as he wasn’t allowed to get the plaster or any of the bandages wet. On the other hand he’s a teenager with hormones and needs to keep clean so I ran him a bath, undressed him, helped him to get in and then knelt down beside so as to be able to sponge him down. Maybe I was being a little keen to get into all the nooks and crannies when, well, he started to get a stiffy. I thought it was rather cute and I couldn’t reset the temptation to help it on its way by stroking him with the sponge. He’s nicely built, not huge or anything but just right. Some day he’s going to make a girl very happy but, right there, right then, it popped up like a submarine’s periscope. Charlie was blushing beetroot so I thought it best to try and make light of it all.

“Well, part of you is feeling better,” I joked and gave it another little rub with the sponge.

“Mum!” Charlie wailed.

“What? Did you think I don’t know the facts of life? It’s completely normal for a young lad like you to get excited from time to time so there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, whilst I’m down there, I’d best clean under your foreskin.”

I reached down with my soapy fingers and eased back his foreskin. What with one thing and another I hadn’t done much dating; the single mum thing tends to put most men off, so it had been years since I’d held a prick in my hands. I know it was wrong, I know it was wicked but it felt so good I really couldn’t help myself and I let my fingers glide up and down its length.

“Please, mum,” Charlie protested.

“I’ve got to get you clean,” I told him. “After all, it’s going to be quite a while before you’ll be able to wash yourself all over so you had best get used to it.” I eased his foreskin back and dabbed at his glans with the sponge. For all his protests Charlie was, if anything, getting harder so he wasn’t completely hating it. When I had finished sponging I couldn’t resist a few more strokes, feeling his firm flesh glide through my fingers. However, if I were to keep up the pretence that I was merely washing him, I couldn’t take things any further so it was time to go back to a matter cevizli escort of fact attitude. Even so I did notice that it took quite a while for his erection to subside.

As I towelled him off I ended up knelt as his feet drying his legs and his prick was right in front of me. It still wasn’t completely floppy and it looked so fine I had to fight hard against the temptation to lean forward and give it a little kiss.

The next day I was pottering around the house when I heard little cries of pain coming from his room. Well, when my baby’s in pain I don’t bother knocking and I went straight in to find out what was what. Talk about caught in the act; the poor thing had the covers turned back and one of his mucky mags, one of the ones he hides under his bed, laid out next to him. His prick was, once again, stiff and proud, and, with his left hand, he was trying to have a wank. It was quite clear that it wasn’t working for him; the pain in his shoulder was stopping him from getting going properly not to mention the fact that he’s right handed. I nearly turned round and left him to it but, well, the poor boy was really suffering and, when my boy is in pain, what’s a mum to do?

“Charlie,” I said as I sat on the side of the bed. “You shouldn’t do that, you’ll just make it worse, the doctor said you mustn’t use that shoulder any more than is strictly necessary.”

“Oh, mum,” Charlie said as he blushed and hung his head.

“I’m not saying that having a wank is wrong,” I continued. “From what I know about eighteen year old boys having to go for a couple of days without any relief is hard. Going for several weeks will be torture. I’m saying that with your shoulder and all that you shouldn’t do it. Why don’t you let me sort it out for you?”

“But, mum,” Charlie started.

“But mum nothing,” I said firmly. “Just think of it as another one of those things I have to do for you until you’re properly recovered. Please, I just want to help make it better.”

He didn’t say yes but he didn’t say no either so I reached down and took hold of his prick with my fingertips. With gentle milking motion I moved my hand up and down. The feel of a stiff prick in my hand was glorious and I wanted to make the most of it.

“Why don’t you look at your mag, then you can just relax and forget that it’s me who’s doing this?” I suggested and, with my free hand, I picked up his magazine and offered it to him. He looked dazed but, after a half second pause, he took it from me and lay back so that the magazine was between us.

Now I could really concentrate on what I was doing and I put all a mother’s love into giving my son the best I could. But it wasn’t just Charlie who was all fired up. Just seeing him so hard, so strong, so virile. I wanted… I was scared to admit what I wanted. However that train of thought would have to wait; I could tell that Charlie was getting close, I could sense that any moment now…

He went tense and arched his back as great gobbets of sperm shot from him spraying his chest and the magazine. No wonder he hadn’t objected much; he must have been desperate. I milked him dry until, as the last dribble died away, the whole room seemed to relax. I knew that Charlie wouldn’t be able to cope with me being anything other than being strictly businesslike so I reached for the box of tissues on his bedside table and started to wipe him down. When he was all clean I stood up, bent over to pick up his waste paper bin which was now full up used tissues and headed for the door.

“Mum,” Charlie called out.


“Thanks, mum, that was…” he trailed off. “That was… well, just thanks, OK?”

“My pleasure. Haven’t I always looked after you?” I said. “I’ve done a stew for your tea; I’ll bring it up around six thirty.”

“OK, mum, thanks.”

When I took his tray upstairs later it was as if nothing had happened and, as I spooned the stew into his mouth we chatted about the game show that was showing on his bedroom TV set.

The next day I waited until mid afternoon before going up to his room and sitting on the bed next to him. This time the TV was showing some stupid cooking program so I knew I wasn’t interrupting anything.

“I’ve made a fish pie for tonight,” I said casually. “Would you like your relief before or after?”

“Relief?” Charlie asked.

“Well,” I trailed my hand along the ridge made by his legs under the duvet, “I think we found out yesterday how much this little man,” I gently patted the relevant bulge in the duvet, “needs regular attention and it’s a perfectly natural bodily function so there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, if we don’t do it regularly, you’ll get all frustrated and end up doing yourself a mischief. So, when do you think is best, now or after supper?”

“I… I don’t know.” Charlie answered.

“Why don’t we have a look, see how he’s getting on?” I got off the bed and pulled back the covers. His pyjama bottoms were already tenting.

“Hmm, cihangir escort judging by that bulge in your jim-jams it looks like you need some relief right now.” I bent down and pulled out his magazine stash from under his bed. “How about something to read; which one do you want?” I asked. “What, did you think I didn’t know where you kept your little collection?”

Charlie just looked at me and I knew I’d pushed him a bit hard. I put the magazines down on the bed and sat back down again.

“Look, Charlie, I’d be worried if a young man like you didn’t have a stash of sexy magazines under his bed. In fact I like looking at them as well; they make me quite horny. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I kicked off my shoes, swung my legs up onto the bed and lay back on the pillow next to him. Then I reached for one of the more battered magazines, presumably one of his favourites, and flicked it open.

“She’s nice,” I said, pointing at one of the pictures. “Nice tits. Which one’s your favourite? Which one do you want to look at while I do the business?”

I flicked back and forth looking at the pictures until, with a grunt, Charlie said “that one.”

I looked at the picture which showed a girl lying on a bed sucking on the end of a vibrator as if it were an ice lolly. The symbolism wasn’t very subtle but then, you wouldn’t expect otherwise, would you?

“She’s hot,” I agreed. “I bet you wish that was your prick in her mouth rather than a vibrator.”

“Mum,” Charlie protested.

“But you would, wouldn’t you? Is that what you’d like, a blow job?”

Without waiting for the answer I knew he was too embarrassed to give I slid down the bed until my head was over his groin. I tugged down his pyjama bottoms to reveal his prick standing to attention. Taking it in my hands I put out my tongue and played it around his glans.

“God, mum,” he started.

I lifted my head and smiled at him. “Shh, honey, just lie back and relax. You read your magazine and let me look after you.”

I returned to teasing the top of his prick with my tongue but I could tell he was quickly getting tense so I gripped his prick with one hand, cradled his balls with the other and, taking as much as I could into my mouth, bobbed my head up and down, running my lips along his shaft. I glanced up; the little tart in the mag was now quite forgotten, his entire attention was focussed on me and what I was doing.

“Please, mum, you’ll have to stop, I can’t hold back any longer, I’m going to come,” he groaned. The poor lad was holding himself back rather than allow himself to come in my mouth. I had my mouth full so I couldn’t tell him that that was what I wanted so I just kept going and, by using squeezing movements of my hand around his prick to encourage him, I was rewarded moments later as my mouth filled with his sperm. I didn’t stop for an instance, this was what I wanted, this was what I was after.

When the sperm ceased to flow and his prick started to become floppy I finally lifted my head and looked him in the eye.

“There, that’s better,” I said, “much better.” I even licked my lips.

“Thanks mum.” Charlie didn’t quite know where to look.

“You don’t need to thank me; I’m just looking after my boy. Anyway, what makes you think I didn’t enjoy it too? Now, I’d best be getting on with your tea.”

And, without further ado, I stood up and went to the door.

That set the pattern for the next few days. Mid afternoon I’d go up to his room and give him a blow job. Charlie was losing his shyness and accepting this as ‘normal’. What’s more his left wrist and shoulder were on the mend and, whilst he still was getting twinges he was able to do things for himself more and more. However, although he could wipe his own bottom he couldn’t wash his hands afterwards so he still needed plenty of mothering.

And then, quite early one morning, I was still in my panties and dressing gown when I heard him call out. It turned out he’d tipped over his breakfast tray and his duvet was now soaked in a mixture of milk and cornflakes. I chided him gently, stripped off the duvet, and went for some clean bedding. As I was tucking him back in I had to lean across and, naturally, the front of my dressing gown gaped open. Charlie, being male, couldn’t help but gawp.

“Like what you see?” I asked, still reaching across him.

“I’m sorry, mum, I didn’t mean to look,” Charlie replied.

“The day when a healthy young man doesn’t look at a pair of tits is they day he decides he’s gay,” I joked. “You’re not gay, are you? It’s OK, if you are.”

“No, mum, I’m not gay,” Charlie replied.

“Why don’t you have a better look then?” I stood up and unfastened the belt of my dressing gown letting it hang free. Then I cupped my hands under my tits as if to offer them to him and gave a little wiggle.

“Not bad for an old broad, eh? What do you think? Do you like them?” I still kept it light and easy. If it all erenköy escort went wrong I could just say that I was joking.

“They’re… they’re great, mum.” Charlie said uncertainly.

“As good as the girls in those mags of yours?” I asked.

“Better!” Charlie said before he could stop himself.

“How so?” Now I was intrigued. I put my hands on my hips so as to hold my dressing gown open and looked at him. “In what way are they better?”

Charlie had gone all shy again so, still with my dressing gown open, I sat on the bed next to him.

“It’s OK, Charlie,” I said softly. “I like it that you think my tits are better. That’s a really nice thing to say. I just can’t understand why you’d prefer an old thing like me over the hot chicks in your magazines.”

“Because you’re real,” Charlie muttered.


“Yeah, mum, look, I mean, well, they’re hot and all but they’re just photos. You’re real; you’re right here, I could reach out and touch yours.”

“So why don’t you?”


“It’s OK, Charlie, if you want to have a feel of my tits then that’s fine by me.” I took his left hand and held it against my breast. He looked at me with his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“Go on,” I urged, “have a good feel. I don’t mind.”

Charlie gave me a nervous look but, nervous or not, he started to knead my breast like it was a lump of dough. Then he grabbed my nipple and gave it a twist. His youth and inexperience were only too obvious.

“Careful,” I admonished gently. “You’ll really upset any girlfriend if you go at her like that.”

“Sorry, mum,” Charlie said, removing his hand.

“It’s OK. You just need some practice, that’s all. Look, I’ll demonstrate on you and then you can practice on me. OK?”

“But I haven’t got tits, mum,” Charlie protested.

“No, but you’ve got pecs and they’ll do for the moment. Here, let me show you.” I rolled towards him and cupped my hand over his right pectoral, caressing it, stroking it. “See what I mean,” I continued. “Does that feel nice?”

“Yes, mum, gorgeous,” Charlie replied.

“Now, the nipple,” I stayed firmly in ‘teacher’ mode, “it’s not a radio dial; don’t twist it. At first you should just play with it gently using the tips of your fingers.” My words were echoed by my actions. “But, better than fingers is lips, here, try this.” I leant forward and kissed his nipple gently ignoring the gasp that came from Charlie. Whether it was shock, surprise or pleasure that had made him gasp like that I was having too much fun to stop what I was doing.

“Do you see?” I said as I finally broke away. “I didn’t try to suck too hard and, when I used my teeth I didn’t bite, I nibbled. Nice and gentle, that’s the way to start. Now it’s your turn.”

With a nervous smile Charlie reached out and once again took my breast in his left hand. He was still a little clumsy but it felt fantastic to have a man, albeit my son, playing with my breasts. He gently rubbed my nipple with the tips of his fingers which sent little electric sparks running through me.

“Do you see how my nipple is standing out?” I asked. “That means you’re doing it right, that means it feels good. It’s a bit like when your prick gets hard. Why don’t you try some kissing?”

It was a bit awkward with his broken arm and all but he rolled towards me and I rolled towards him and, one way or another, my nipple ended up in his mouth. Whereas his hand had been clumsy his lips were divine and I couldn’t suppress a little groan of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, like that,” I gasped, “now, use your teeth, not to hard, ooh, yes, oh, Charlie, that’s perfect.”

Charlie broke away and looked at me with a big smile on his face.

“Not so bad, eh, mum.”

“Not bad at all, now, how about the other one?”

This was a bit more awkward but, moments later he had his lips around my other nipple and, once again, that delicious tingle was running to my groin.

“Oh, Charlie,” I moaned softly, “you’re so good at this you really know how to get a girl all hot and bothered. No, no, don’t stop.” With one hand I cradled his head to by breast, the other slipped straight into my panties and started playing with my joy button. For a while I was in heaven until I got a little too worked up and Charlie, thinking something was wrong, broke away.

“What’s up, mum?” he asked and then he looked down and realised where my hand was. “Wow! Mum! What are you doing?”

“What, did you think you’re the only one with needs?” I said calmly as I could. “You’re so damn good at kissing my nipples that I couldn’t help but get all worked up. I’ll go and sort myself out elsewhere if you want.”

“No, don’t go, mum, please stay,” Charlie said contritely.

“OK, but I still need to get myself off.” I said gently. “Look, why don’t you go back to kissing my nipple why I sort myself out and, after that, I’ll sort you out.”

“Can I just watch?” Charlie asked. “I’d… I’d prefer that.”

“Of course.” I just smiled at Charlie but inside I was delighted. Up until then I had initiated every move and I was still a little worried about how comfortable he was with it all. This was the first time he had actively asked for anything, the first time he’d taken any control. What’s more the exhibitionist in me was more than happy to put on a sexy show for my son.

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