I was born in 1955 and raised on a croft in the North of Scotland. The nearest neighbours with kids were several miles away, but I never had the chance to mix with them because my parents were old-school and kept to themselves. I was generally well cared for by my parents. Still, following the customs of the time, I was there to be seen, not heard, never talked to other than to be given orders, and certainly not shown open affection. This was not their fault; that was how they were raised as kids.

However, while they had many brothers and sisters to converse and play with while they were growing up, I was an only child. So, for all intents and purposes, I grew up alone. Little wonder then that I was introverted and had few social skills, the perfect target for school bullies, and they took delight in making my life hell. What made life bearable was that I loved reading and could immerse myself in others’ lives and worlds.

I was keen on the sciences and left school at sixteen to work as a laboratory assistant at a research institute in the city. For the following ten years, I stayed in lodgings near my place of work until I had saved enough to mortgage a flat. Although sometimes lonely, my life was generally good; I had a relatively well-paid job that I enjoyed, a rarity in that era, and I had spare time to spend on leisure activities.

My relationship with my parents during this time was complicated. Work was their life, so they could not understand the five-day week and considered leisure a waste of good working/earning time. Although I often spent my free time working at home on the croft, my lifestyle did not match their deeply held expectations. Our relationship did, however, soften a little after my father took ill. They sold the croft and moved to a small house in the village that Janice, my Mum, was from originally. Sadly, despite this thaw, visits to each other were always fraught affairs and never involved an overnight stay.

When my father passed away, I suggested to Mum that she come and live with me. Despite our troubled relationship, she was my Mum, and I wanted the best for her. However, she was of tough country stock and would have none of it. She wanted to keep her independence and decided to remain in her own house. I was apprehensive about her being alone, but in hindsight, it was the best thing for her; her brother, sister, and many childhood friends lived nearby, and she would have been on her own much of the time while living with me.

I stayed with Mum before and after the funeral but then had to return to work. So, for the first time, she came and stayed with me for two weeks until she was ready to be on her own at home. Things in the flat were a bit makeshift: I slept on the couch in the living room while she used my bedroom. But this arrangement awakened a side of Mum I had never seen before. She took charge and set about fully kitting out the spare bedroom for her to use over the rest of her stay. She even found some pictures to give it a homely feel.

Of course, my flat was a no-frills, no-fuss bachelor pad. But Mum soon changed that, reorganising and redecorating it and bringing in many pictures, nicknacks, and ornaments to make it much warmer and inviting. She did not stop there. For once, when she went home, her house also got a feminine makeover; the cold austerity of the past was soon gone.

The most remarkable change was in Mum’s demeanour. Up to then, she was the classic old-school mother, straight-laced, stern-faced, often crabby and unapproachable, and to the very end, totally obedient to my father. Now, a cheerier, more outgoing, and approachable woman was steadily taking her place. I had no doubts that this was my real Mum coming to the surface now that she was free of the traditional restrictions of a male-dominated marriage. I liked this new happier persona but was also a little sad. It was clear that the many difficult times she and I had in the past were not hers by choice. I only hoped that we could make up a little for lost time.

Mum and I established a routine of spending the weekends together, alternating between hers and mine. This arrangement worked well and occasionally spread to an extended weekend or longer when Mum needed work done in her garden or she thought my abode needed redecorating and refurbishment. She began passing on her cooking and housekeeping knowledge to me, which was a no-no in the past as it was seen as a woman’s work. I did not adhere to those prejudices and was delighted to learn these and other life skills from her. Judging by her enthusiasm and great joy while teaching me these supposedly female-only traits, I realised she had missed what she wanted most: a daughter to raise and train in womanhood. Sadly, I could never replace that, but I could do my best to garner as much as I could from Mum’s lifetime of know-how.

While Mum was staying with me, we occasionally went to the cinema, the theatre, and shows and displays in the local park. These busy places were not my scene. However, I quickly twigged that Mum hankered after these simple pleasures that were always denied to her during her upbringing and marriage. So, the least I could do was to take her to things she would enjoy, and she always did. Little did I know that these events were sowing seeds of curiosity and longing in Mum that were about to change our lives forever.    

I had already accepted that I was destined to be a lifelong bachelor. I was too introverted, asexual, and lacking in social skills to be anything else. While I had many female acquaintances and colleagues over the years, it was never personal; it was all about work. I rarely attended social functions; when I did, I was always a wallflower who went home alone. I was not angry about this. It was just how life’s breaks fell for me and my fault. So, I just decided to make the best of things.

I had two weeks' leave due, so I agreed with Mum to spend a week with her, and she would come to mine for the second. I was busy working around her house and garden for most of the first week, so spending the final day at a local agricultural show was a treat. Mum and I must have visited every tent and watched every display over a thoroughly enjoyable day. However, we sometimes became melancholy while watching young families have fun together. We realised that could and should have been us twenty years ago if we had not been cowed by the strict social restrictions of the day. Any sadness I felt about this vista quickly passed, but unbeknownst to me, Mum took it to heart and, deep down, decided to try to make up for some of what we had lost.

Mum and I were exhausted when we got home, and despite a night’s sleep, we were still tired the following day when we caught the bus to mine. Soon after we arrived at my flat, I went to the local shop to buy some provisions, leaving Mum to rest.

"Oh, hello, George. We have not seen you for a few days. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am fine. I am on holiday. I have been home with Mum for a week, and she is now staying with me for the second week.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear that. How wonderful. Pass on my good wishes to your Mum. We always have a nice chat when she comes into the shop.”

“I will do that.”

Of course, Mum being Mum, she did not rest while I was out. Instead, she had hoovered the flat and was making us lunch when I returned. After we shared this meal and tidied up the kitchen, she settled into her favourite armchair. At the same time, I sat on the sofa, and we chilled out for a couple of hours watching the television. I did notice that Mum seemed a little distracted, but I put this down to tiredness. So, I was not taken aback when, without a word, she got up and went to her bedroom. However, I was surprised when she returned a few minutes later and sat on the sofa beside me.

This simple act would not be unusual or unexpected for today's generation, but for Mum to do it was completely out of character. Although our relationship had significantly mellowed, she always kept her distance. I understood and reluctantly accepted this because her attitude was not malicious. She was raised in an ultra-strict era when closeness or even open signs of affection were considered a misdeed, even amongst family members. This ethos had such a long-lasting hold over her that she could not break free of it even in adulthood. So, for Mum to sit close to me was a big deal, but this was nothing compared to what was to follow.

Mum looked me in the eyes and said, “Thank you for being so good to me, even though I do not deserve it. I know I have not been anywhere near as kind and supportive of you while growing up as I should have been, and I want to try to make amends.”

Then, she clasped my head in her hands and kissed me on the lips. To say I was stunned by this move is a significant understatement, for until now, she had never shown me any physical affection, not even a peck on the cheeks. However, any doubts I had about Mum’s new intimacy were quickly dispelled as strong male urges took over. I had long wondered what smooching was like, and now I could find out. If Mum wanted to be my teacher, why would I refuse? So, I put my arms around her, and we settled into a long, luscious and intense snog. Although this was my first time, the moment my lip touched lip, I somehow knew exactly what to do and gave it my all, one of many well-hidden sensual talents I was about to uncover.

This snog was so primal and all-consuming that it was apparent, even to the naïve me, that this was no simple maternal kiss. Instead, we were well beyond a mother and son liaison to that of a couple, sharing the joy for all we were worth. I knew our actions were a societal no-no, but my reservations were swiftly swept aside. Mum and I were so in tune with each other that our smooch was breathtaking and felt natural and right. So, we had no reason or desire to stop, only a wish to revel in and savour the shared pleasure.

As Mum and I finally surfaced for air, I could hardly believe my ears when she said, “This has been a long day, and I am very tired. Please put me to bed.”

I gasped when Mum said this, for I had only ever seen her fully clothed, old-maid style, absolute modesty being another relic of her strict upbringing. Now, out of the blue, she was proposing to cast that mystery aside.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I am. I am all in and need your help. I know you regularly mentally undressed me when you were a teenager. So, now is your chance to do it for real.”

I went bright red, for, of course, Mum was correct. While growing up, teenagers regularly fantasise about undressing girls or women, and I was no exception. In the absence of a school crush, a sister, or a friend’s sister, my daydreams involved the only female around me, my mother. There was no actual intent in them, only fantasy and even those erotic imaginings were limited due to my knowledge of females being based only on fanciful erotic tales told by older lads. Nonetheless, these far-fetched mind trips were an essential part of a good wank. Thankfully, Mum will never know just how many, many times I beat the meat to a vague mental image of her crotch.

My dodgy thoughts about Mum disappeared after I left home to start working because models and film stars took her imaginary place. But now, as I held her in my arms, those long-forgotten dreams flooded back into my brain. I was caught between a rock and a hard place of desire and guilt.

“I am ashamed to admit to having many sexual dreams about you. I know that was wrong, and to pursue them for real would be depraved.”

Mum went bright red. “Oh dear, I should not be confessing to this, but while you were growing up, I caught you staring at me through glazed eyes many times. I knew exactly what was happening because my teenage brothers often looked at me in the same longing way, and schoolgirls’ tales told me why. To my utter shame, there were many occasions when you were obviously captivated by me, and I desperately wanted you to stop dreaming and bring a bit of real hands-on excitement into my dreary life. Sadly, that could never be. I had to remain your strict, straight-laced Mum. However, those restrictions no longer apply. Please, do something your father never did: live out your adolescent dream and undress me. Make both our long-time fantasies come true.”

I could hardly believe what Mum had just admitted, and I found it incomprehensible that she had never been undressed by Dad. But then again, the overbearing ethos of that time was that sex was a messy but necessary animalistic act that must be done only for procreation. The deed was expected to have minimum physical contact and be non-pleasurable; unfortunately, for wives, this meant it was generally nothing more than a soulless marital chore. Indeed, some puritanical groups required the husband and wife to be separated physically by a cloth with only a small hole at the appropriate position to allow the deed. If, by chance, you think this to be pure imagination, be aware that some strict sects still practise this abomination today.

Sadly, Dad must have been an adherent of that dismal approach to sex. While he got some gratification, the deed would have just been an unsatisfying chore Mum was obliged to fulfil by marital contract. Maybe that was why they had only one child.

Even I realised Mum was, without a doubt, sexually frustrated and eager for intimacy and affection. While I wanted to help her, I was naturally hesitant about getting so familiar with her. Thoughts for and against whirled around in my head. Still, in the end, pure lust and the opportunity to satisfy my curiosities about the female form won out.

“Okay, you need your beauty sleep.”

I picked Mum up and carried her through to her bedroom. Straightaway, I realised that her actions were not spur of the moment. Rather, they were according to a well-thought-out plan, for she had set her bed out for double occupancy, with even the duvet folded back in preparation.

Mum quivered as I unbuttoned her jersey, gently removed it, and placed it on the bedside chair. She shivered when I got up close, put my hands around her waist and undid the back fastening of her skirt. She went bright red and gasped as it suddenly slipped to the floor, revealing her tights- and pantie-clad private regions. The intensity of her reactions confirmed to me that this was the first occasion she had been undressed by another.

Snippets from boys’ sex tales and memories from my dreams filled my head and told me what to do next. Straight away, I undid her blouse and removed it and her camisole. Then, I put my arms around her and tried to undo her bra. The stories never mentioned how difficult this would be, so it took a great deal of fumbling before I could unhook the backstrap and pull off her bra. Mum sighed with delight when I followed my instincts, cupped her breasts in my hands and began to gently caress them with my fingers. Bewitched by them, I leaned in, kissed each mammary in turn, latched onto a nipple and began to suck vigorously on it.

Mum was by now purring like a kitten. “Oh my, oh my, this is wonderful. Please keep going.”

She did not need to worry, for I was on cloud nine as I voraciously suckled each breast. As I went back and forth between her now pert nipples, Mum slipped into a sensual daze and moaned with sheer joy at every strong pull of my lips.

Judging by Mum’s ecstatic reactions, she had never experienced this joy before, but how could that be? Even an innocent like me knew that a woman’s breasts were highly receptive and an essential part of foreplay and arousal. But of course, if the sex was only about procreation with no foreplay involved, her boobs would never have been touched by Dad.  

In today’s informed times, you will find Mum’s lack of knowledge about her body to be incredulous, but for girls and women who grew up in the not-too-distant past, it was the reality; they were poorly educated and deliberately kept in the dark about female matters and rights. The Puritans believed that teaching girls anything other than the domestic sciences was a waste of time and even risky. They realised that if girls could think for themselves, they would question and challenge their submissive domestic role, which would threaten the male-dominated status quo. Sadly, although this disservice to girls was enforced by the Patriarchy, it was sustained in significant part by mothers, who might have wanted to encourage change for the better but did not do so. This was not their...