A Family Weekend in the Cabin

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The long summer had finally disappeared, and fall slipped in during the pandemic. The days were getting shorter and the nights a little cooler, and my cooped-up family decided to make a break for it.

We needed to get out.

I’d been home since my classes were canceled at Carolina back in March, and both my mom and dad had worked from home almost as long. Dad is a sports marketing exec who spends most of his time on the phone, and Mom is a teacher who now spends hours and hours online with half-interested students while dealing with upset parents and school administrators.

I hadn’t seen a friend in months, hadn’t been to a party or a social gathering of any kind. My junior football season was over before it even started.

We were all going stir crazy when one day out of the blue, Dad walked into the kitchen and announced we were going to the cabin. Mom and I looked at each other quizzically. We hadn’t been to the old hunting lodge in years. In fact, I was the last one up there having taken a bunch of high school friends for a wild weekend that my parents never knew about.

I’m sure there are still signs of that weekend scattered around the place.

So when Dad said we’re going up, I was a little nervous about it. Mom was never fond of it anyway. It was rustic and dusty and remote and inconvenient even on its best days.

But my father seemed adamant, so we all shrugged. At least it was a road trip. Anything to break up the routine.

Our routines had become a little strange anyway. We all got up at various times in the mornings, all went to sleep at different times at night. And during the day, we just went about our incongruous lives without much regard for what the others were doing.

I hardly ever wore more than basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Dad walked around in his boxers all day, and Mom always wore a pair of yoga pants and a tight-fitting shirt. She’d stopped wearing a bra.

Somehow, that became natural. There were times when I found myself staring at my mom’s nipples, and I know for a fact she’d seen me stealing glances of her bottom, too.

My parents were both 39. I’d just turned 19. We’d always been close. They had me when they were still in college, something that pretty much broke up two families, thrusting the three of us into a tight threesome, two young parents, an only child and no safety net.

We made it by never doubting that we would someday have the life we dreamed of. And we did, until the pandemic hit and trapped us all in a two-story bunker in a nice neighborhood surrounded by creature comforts but with nowhere to go.

So we did what we always did. We became closer.

My bedroom was down the hall from theirs. There was a master bath in the middle of the hallway where we took turns showering in a dance routine that always had us walking in on each other, always apologizing and laughing uncomfortably when one of us saw something we weren’t supposed to.

At least we did that before the pandemic took us deep into summer. At some point, we all just shrugged and did what we had to do. Thus more than once, I’d seen my my mother naked. She’d seen me naked. And shoot, we saw Dad naked all the time.

When I’d gone off to college, I was comfortable around girls and guys. I had a great sex life, open and willing to experiment. College life was easy for me. I studied and walked on to the football team. I was confidently making plans for summer, hoping to get a job in Chapel Hill, take a few summer courses and then enter my junior year as a full-scholarship defensive back.

But in March, the pandemic hit. I went home. Life as I knew it ended. Life as I planned it disappeared. And my sex life?

Going without sex for six months was hard enough. But listening to my parents having each other to play with all hours of the day was hard, literally and figuratively. Dad had no idea what I was going through, at least he didn’t say anything. Mom was a different story.

She was very aware of my situation.

One day, with Dad in the garage working on something, I walked toward the bathroom upstairs when I heard my mom in her room. She was moaning, and the dull sound of an electric vibrator let me know exactly what was going on. And of course, the door was open.

So I crept down the hallway and peered around the corner. My mom was naked. Her legs wide open. She had a vibrator all right. It was in her ass. She was fucking herself wildly with a dildo.

I watched breathlessly as she masturbated, feeling my cock growing hard and watching my mom play with herself, lost to her cravings, a woman without inhibitions fucking herself knowing her 19-year-old son was likely hearing it all.

I watched for several minutes, eventually pulling out my cock and masturbating myself, more listening than watching now. I heard my mom cum for the second or third time when I finally began to erupt. I peered around the corner to see my mom still going at it, her head turned away from the door as my cum began to spurt, white bahis firmaları ropes hitting the hardwood floor, lost in my own depraved release.

I glanced at my mom’s body, her long legs, her shaved pussy, her pert tits still looking like she was in her 20s.

I saw her blonde hair disheveled. She was so beautiful, so sexy. I had just cum watching my mom masturbate. And then I saw her looking in the mirror. She was watching me too!

My eyes widened as I backed into the hall and tip-toed to my room. But then I decided to go downstairs, to get away from the scene, breathing so hard I was dizzy.

I walked out to the back deck and just stood there, my chest heaving, my heart pounding. What had I just done? What had I just seen? I was scared, confused and turned on more than I’d ever been turned on by another woman. And it was my mother!

Just then, I heard a sound behind me. It was Mom in the kitchen. She was taking something out of the cupboard when I looked through the sliding door. I saw her bend over to take something out of the lower cabinet.

She wasn’t wearing panties. Just a t-shirt that barely covered her bottom. She was barefoot, her hair was still a mess. She was gorgeous. My cock immediately hardened again.

When she stood and turned around, I was staring, my mouth slightly open, my eyes wide open in appreciation.

Mom smiled at me and winked. No words were spoken. What would we have said? We just stared at each other, Mom smiling and me with a wry grin and hard cock, which she noticed.

We were frozen in a moment of rapt passion and raging uncertainty over what had just happened upstairs, neither of us wanting to be the first to speak. I just stood and stared. Mom just stood there looking at the bulge in my shorts.

And then the side door to the garage opened, breaking us from our reverie. We both looked at each other as we’d never before, a kind of bonding agreement to say nothing.

That was when Dad walked in and announced we were going to the cabin.


The old place was about an hour outside of town, a little plot of land next to a state park. My dad had bought it from an old hunter he knew, a man who could no longer use the sturdy stone lodge and was willing to let it go cheap.

Dad always said it was a gift, but I’d seen the deed. He got it for basically nothing.

In the early days, when I was barely a teenager, we would go up frequently, mostly just Dad and I, but every now and then we’d convince Mom to come up, promising her we would only stay overnight.

We would hike and build fires in the stone fireplace, fish in the state park lake below the ridge. There was an old generator that gave us some semblance of electricity. No phone and later, no cell service. No television. We had an old long-range tube radio that crackled and popped static while we listened to the Grand Ole Opry out of Nashville or baseball games out of Pittsburgh and St. Louis.

It was like going back in time. There were two beds downstairs and one in the loft up above, a bathroom that was hooked to plumbing that led to God knows where, an old gas stove hooked up to propane tanks that the park service would fill for us and service from time to time.

But the charm of the place was the great room, which ran the length of the house, the stove at one end and the fireplace at the other. A big deer head hung above the mantle.

In one corner was a huge easy chair draped in an Indian blanket. There was a large couch and few old wooden rockers, and in the middle of the floor was a big bear-skin rug, the head of the bear watching you, its mouth wide open.

In another corner was a gun safe where Dad’s shotgun and my rifles were stored. I used to come up every summer and hunt deer with my buddies. The guns hadn’t been touched since.

Fishing rods and old nets, rusty lures and a mounted bass were scattered on the walls along with old photos, hunters in black and white images, sepia tones of animals, some dead, some alive. And on the mantle, a row of picture frames of the old man who originally lived here and three or four of our young family.

When I closed my eyes, I could see it all. But for the first time in my life, with a trip down memory lane only a day away, I could only see one thing when I closed my eyes.

My mother, fucking herself and watching me in the mirror. I pictured what would happen in the cabin, me in the loft looking down on my parents in their big feather bed.

I shivered at the thought. It excited me. It scared me. I was actually trembling with anticipation as Mom pranced around the kitchen in a t-shirt and no panties, Dad in and out of the garage, chattering about blankets and firewood and propane and food.

Mom was in the liquor cabinet, pulling out bottles of vodka, humming quietly as she stretched for plastic cups and bent over for plates and napkins, frozen steaks from the freezer, vegetables from the bin, all the while showing her son her perfect ass, kaçak iddaa her soaked pussy, planning who knows what for the days to come.

I watched her in awe. I was smitten. For the first time in my life, I wanted my mom in ways I had never imagined.

“Mike,” she finally said, breaking the silence, “would you come help me with this?”

There was a mixing bowl on the top shelf she couldn’t reach.

“Would you be my tall man and get that down for Mommy?”

I almost fainted. I was her man? She was Mommy again? I exhaled and walked toward her, my cock now extended straight out, my mother staring at it with one hand on her hip as I brushed against her and reached for the bowl.

I felt her hand on my ass, as if she were steadying me. But then she rubbed it, slid her hands around to my stomach and held me, her hands sliding up and down my chest.

She kissed me on the neck as one hand slid slowly down my stomach to the head of my cock. Her fingers brushed it softly as she purred in my ear.

“I love you Sweetie,” she whispered. “Mommy loves you so much.”

Dad banged through the door as Mom released me and slipped away on her tip-toes, humming like a little girl as she bounded the stairs, her t-shirt hiding nothing as she bounced toward the hallway and around the corner.

I looked at my Dad, who was staring at my cock, a funny look in his eye but no embarrassment or caution. He was flat out staring at the bulge in my shorts.

“When do we leave?” I asked, breaking him from his trance.

“Um, uh, tomorrow,” he stammered. “Tomorrow morning. You got everything you need?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

That evening was a blur as my parents discussed the trip in the morning, the list of things we would need, the long list of things we wouldn’t need. I packed upstairs, putting an extra pair of jeans in the suitcase, a few pairs of boxers, a sweatshirt and two or three t-shirts.

We were going to go up on a Friday morning and come back on Sunday, maybe Monday, depending on Mom’s patience and Dad’s ability to, you know, get the generator and the propane working.

I also opened my sock drawer, reaching into the back and pulling out a bag of pot. I planned to slip away and get stoned at the first opportunity up there, figuring Mom would want no part of hiking or fishing or swimming in the cold waters of the lake.

I stayed up late that night, thinking about what had happened that afternoon, seeing my mom masturbating, looking at her bare ass as she pranced around the kitchen, tingling with the memory of her kissing me and touching the tip of my raging hard cock, and even my dad, (really Dad?), staring at my erection while we prepared for the trip of our lifetimes.

As it would turn out to be.

My parents closed the door to their room that night. I eventually fell asleep in fitful dreams of my mother, the cabin, my distant friends from college and flashes from my childhood when my parents were young, and we were closer than I could ever imagine.

We were about to get a whole lot closer, and I felt it looming, like a storm brewing, like a flood about to wash over us. We were going back in time that weekend. And were about to embark on a brand-new future.

A slept in a cold sweat, tossing and turning all night until first light when I felt a hand running up and down my back.

“Wake up, Sweety,” my mom whispered.

I rolled over, startled, still dreaming, my sheets damp and tousled, my boxers damp and tented. I had a morning hard-on so strong it felt as if my cock had grown an inch overnight.

Mom smiled as she threw the sheets off and slid her fingers down my stomach and onto my hard cock. She barely touched it, just sort of feeling it from the base to the tip, still inside my boxers but screaming to get out.

Then she walked out of my door, letting her robe fall to the floor. She was completely naked.

“Time to go,” she said. “Our adventure awaits!”

I immediately jacked off, hearing her turn on the shower without closing the bathroom door.


The trip to the cabin seemed an eternity. The SUV was packed in the rear with suitcases beside me in the back seat. My parents chattered the whole way up, the radio playing NPR and images out my window changing from the city to the country and eventually the mountains.

We ended up on the Parkway, which was the long way up but an incredible drive, one that we’d somehow missed all these years. When we finally got to the turnoff, we were in another world. We bounced off the blacktop and onto an old gravel logging road that wound through an old-growth forest, nothing but trees around us as Dad drove slowly over ruts and around holes, Mom holding onto the dashboard with white knuckles and daring not look out her window, which was a couple feet from a sheer cliff into a gorge and certain death.

I just watched them, Dad driving on a road he hadn’t been on in years, Mom praying out loud and me giving kaçak bahis instructions to both of them.

“Slow down before this next turn,” I told my father. “And accelerate coming out of it. The big hill might be wet.”

He nodded and drove without saying a word. I think he wished I were driving.

We crested the hill and they both exhaled in relief. A wide-open field stretched before us, a bald on the top of the ridge. In the distance, you could just make out the little cabin. Below us, the lake.

My mom leaned over and kissed my dad, looking back at me and winking. It was a tender moment. Mommy and Daddy kissing in the front seat. Mikey in the back, just like old times.

We reached the edge of our property, and I hopped out to unlock the gate, fumbling with it for a while before it grudgingly popped free from rust and neglect. No one had been through that gate in years. I would’ve known. It was the only way in by car. An old logging path stretched from the back of the cabin up and over the ridge and onto the state property. Every year, a ranger would make his way to cabin, look around and make any repairs he thought it needed. He would call every now and then to give Dad a report. We hadn’t heard from him in three years.

I walked from the car to the porch, looking at a few missing slats and noticing plants growing through the cracks. Something scurried away as I unlocked the deadbolt and pushed open the old door. It looked exactly as I’d left it. The blankets scattered around the great room, a few old Budweiser cans on the counter, a few plates stacked in the sink with an intermittent drip from the old spigot.

Mom came in behind me.

“Looks like someone had a party,” she said.

“At least they cleaned up,” I said, feeling her brush past me as she threw open curtains and raised open the windows. “Let’s air this place out.”

The cool air rushed in and dust billowed and blew out the front door. Mom busied herself with cleaning countertops while I took the blankets outside and shook them. Dad was messing with the generator, cussing like a sailor and fidgeting with valves and the old pull-starter.

I walked back in and inspected the place. All the windows were in tact, the floors were sturdy, the stairs to the loft still in good shape and the bed upstairs half-made, exactly as I left it.

There was an ash tray on the nightstand and a roach from a joint smoked three years prior. I lit it up and smoked it, blowing the smoke out the window then walking to the railing overlooking everything below. On one side of the loft, I could look straight down into the great room where so many memories rushed back to me. On the other side of the loft, I could look straight into my parents bedroom, a crude toilet and hand-held shower in the corner, the shower curtain long gone. I’d seen so much from that view, things I didn’t understand at the time.

I felt a wave of emotions run through my body, especially when my mom walked in below me, stripped out of her top and opening her suitcase. She pulled out a sweatshirt as I watched in silence, making sure she didn’t see me. When she opened the suitcase, I almost gasped.

She’d brought what appeared to be lingerie. I could see sheer satin and silk items, what looked to be garters and panties. And on the top of everything, the unmistakable outline of a dildo, attached to a belt.

“My God,” I thought. “She brought a fucking strap-on.”

I watched her move about the room, listening as my dad cursed and tried over and over to get the generator started just outside my window below. And then without warning, my mom looked up at me and smiled.

“Sweetie, I need your help with something,” she said.

Thoughts swept through my head as I bounded down the steps, the image of all that lingerie, the dildo, the (OMG!) strap-on. I crept into their room as she was closing the suitcase.

“Flush that toilet,” she said. “The water is orange. No way in hell you mother’s going to sit on that thing.”

I laughed, reached under the crude plumbing and turned the water valve. The shower head wiggled and dripped as I reached up and flushed the toilet. Then I turned on the shower, spewing orange water down the drain until it turned clear, sort of.

I wiped everything down, opened the little window and turned around to face my mother.

“Voila!” I said. “Just like home.”

She rolled her eyes, took my face in both her hands and kissed me fill on the lips.

“Mommy’s little man,” she said, turning and walking away. “Or rather, Mommy’s very BIG man!”

She laughed her way to the cabinets and started unloading.

“How about a drink?” she asked, leaning over the sink to yell to Dad. “Steven! How’s it going out there. I’m making drinks. Are we staying?”

Just then, the generator came to life, loud and backfiring as it spewed smoke into the air, a little light bulb flickering above us and the radio suddenly lighting up with an old country song playing through the static.

Mom came up behind me, handed me a drink then took my hand, twirling around in a pirouette, wearing faded jeans and an old sweatshirt. She was barefoot and beautiful. I loved her more at that moment than at any time in my life.

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