Mama’s Big Boy

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Mama’s boy. That’s what my Dad called me through my childhood. Looking back, I guess he was right. Here I am in my mid forties living with her, secretly maintaining a relationship I think of as our marriage.

My Dad was a Marine Corps drill instructor, and a man’s man through and through. I admired and respected him for his toughness and more than anything wanted to be like him. But it wasn’t in the cards. Where he was tough I was passive. Where he was lean, hard and athletic, I was soft, chubby and prone to asthma attacks. It really didn’t help that I was a nightly bed wetter until long after he died.

His constant teasing stung me, and still echoes in my head to this day. I won’t lie and say there were never times I hated him for it, but for the most part, his disapproval only made me hate myself and wish even harder to be like him. The Marine Corps has no use for asthmatic bed wetters.

Mama mia never held my softness or my bedwetting against me. Dad always said it was her fault, and deep down I think me and Mama both believed him. At times I blamed Mama and her constant babying for the fact I stayed chubby. I know for a fact her loving attention kept me wetting the bed for years after I could have stopped.

Mama never scolded me for wetting. She never uttered one disapproving word and assured me I couldn’t help it. She diapered me every night and saw to all my laundering of diapers and bed linens. She turned what could be a shameful crushing secret into our bedtime and breakfast time opportunity to connect and renew the strong bond we had.

Dad was never home at night. We spent a big chunk of my childhood in South Carolina where he herded new Marines through boot camp. Most nights he slept at the barracks and some other nights he was drinking in the bars. Many times that he was not a drill instructor, he was deployed for training or ship duty. Mostly it was just me and Mama, and I think we both preferred it that way.

Mama thought I could not tell, but I knew she was very quietly involved with other Marines for short little flings. But I never thought of her as a bad person. She married a man who drank and had a bad temper, who preferred to be anywhere but home with her and his mama’s boy son. He made fun of her thick Italian accent and her occasional mangling of the English language. If he had not gotten her pregnant in her home town of Aviano, Italy, both of their lives would have been much different.

At 20 she found herself with a newborn baby boy with breathing problems, living in a country where she barely spoke the language, too far from home and married to a man who was distant and angry. (Today Dad would have been diagnosed with post traumatic stress after Vietnam and had counseling and treatment for his substance abuse.)

When I was 10, Dad was killed in a training accident in California. Mama wanted badly to return to Italy, but knew she had better access to our survivor benefits while living in the US. She also knew my Italian was pretty bad and I’d be way behind in school there. She stayed in America for me.

She worked part time and we lived off dividends of the insurance money she invested. The small pension covered the rest of our needs. We lived well. I won’t pretend we weren’t crushed that Dad was gone for good, but we were already used to it. We survived.

Mama’s babying of me got even worse (or better from my point of view.) Instead of diapering me strictly at bed time she sometimes would bathe me right after dinner and then diaper me right after my bath. I’d romp around in my diapers, and just use the toilet and not my diapers when the need arose. I could sort of get my little cazzone to reach past the diapers and the top of my plastic pants and pee in the toilet while standing. Maybe a few drops wouldn’t make it, but that’s no different than wearing underpants, right?

Some mornings when there was no school mom would say she’d change me after breakfast and I’d eat at the dining room table in my damp diapers. I preferred to be in dry diapers, but wet diapers were pretty good too and I enjoyed showing them off in just my pajama top. Often I’d get a pat on the butt, and nothing feels better than a pat on your diapered bottom, especially from your Mama.

All good things come to an end. One night at age 11 it happened. I’d always, as long as I’d remembered gotten erections when being diapered. I do to this day. But on this night, it wasn’t a simple half-mast situation Mama could get rid of by folding my diapers erenköy escort over. This erection would not do anything but spring back up. I knew better than to laugh as it defied her, and honestly I was deeply shamed.

The next day after school I got a crash course in diapering myself, and Mama never diapered me again for almost 30 years. A few nights in a row my diapers leaked on the mattress cover and soaked my blanket. I wasn’t getting the plastic pants situated properly and causing leaks.

From then on I diapered myself after bath time and went to Mama for her to put my plastic pants on. She knew how to do it properly and no more leaks. But I missed her loving hands taking care of me. Many nights I’d lay in bed and masturbate into my already wet diapers and remember her diapering me. I would imagine her breast feeding me. In some of my fantasies these things happened in public. Sometimes I saw myself as a baby, sometimes as a boy my own age.

This lasted about another year until I was 12, and then things changed again. As Mama became more and more of my ideal woman, and as I became more and more infatuated with her, I became very concerned with looking grown up and manly in front of her. I knew I wanted my diapers (and Mama knew it too) but they had to go. A few days after deciding to be dry at night I was. The diapers and plastic pants got boxed up and tucked into the bottom of the linen closet. Mama knew I needed access to them. And with her working nights, I had it. But the plastic pants got too tight, and the diapers got too small to pin on as I grew up and out.

I had found a talent that earned me a scholarship to the local four year college, and that and working part time jobs started to give me more confidence as a man. I dated a few girls, and most of them (looking back) were the same “type” as my Mama. Short thick brunettes with round asses and soft titties. No college age girl had Mama’s 44DD’s, but what they lacked in size they made up for in accessibility. Mama’s cioccie might have been perfect but I could not suck on them! The most I ever got to do was lay my head on them sometimes as we watched TV at night.

Occasionally I’d feel her nipple stiffen against my cheek beneath her satin robe, but learned quickly that if I was too obvious about rubbing my cheek on her nipple she’d quickly find a reason to change chairs.

My college girlfriend indulged my need to suckle and I loved her for it. Her name was Melody and sure enough, she was short, thick, Italian, nice ass… big boobs. In a pregnancy scare we were married when she turned 18, but no baby ever came. Looking back I doubt she was ever really pregnant. Sometimes I’m bitter about that, but honestly, I was very happy to be married to her and living with my two most beloved women. I felt like a king married to my principessa and my regina. My every need was doted on by both of them, and as the years went by Melody and I graduated and got good jobs, and were even able to buy a small house across town.

Things changed when we moved. Without Mama to inspire me sexually and with the added demands put on Melody to baby me, we drifted into an uneasy life of resenting each other and sadness that we didn’t meet each other’s needs. We were both good Catholics and held on for almost 20 years before finally throwing in the towel. My diaper fetish was a big factor, and my love of scouring the internet for photos and videos of diapered women creeped Melody out in a big way.

Many times I tried to stop and made promises I could not keep to never look at what she called “porno”, but I always gave in to the urge. I never considered it porn because nobody was having sex in the photos or videos, but Melody’s stance was that if she caught me jerking off to it was still “porno”. I know she had a good point there.

She never threatened to expose my diaper fetish in the divorce but the possibility was there. That fear and the guilt of not living up to her expectations, along with the self loathing of not being able to get her pregnant, made me give in to everything in the divorce. I let her have it all, including the house. Everything I took fit into the compact car I drove away with.

Where does a Mama’s boy go when he’s broke and been rejected by the other woman he loves? At age 41 I moved back in with Mama. I wanted her. I had always dreamed of being her lover, and having her baby me like the old days, and more. I saw this as my chance göztepe escort at true happiness for the first time in over 15 years.

As I unpacked I deliberately let Mama “discover” my diapers. By now I am big enough to wear folded bath towels as my diapers and special adult size plastic pants off eBay. When Mama was amazed at finding such big diapers in my stuff, I simply told her I had reverted to bed wetting and needed diapers at night. Just like I knew she would, she took it with her usual indulgent tone and seemed to have no objection to her 41 year old son sleeping in diapers. I was home.

As the weeks wore on I tested my limits with being touchy feely with Mama, with the ultimate goal of fucking her. She seemed to have no limit. Her 60-something body did nothing to turn me off. In my mind she will always be the sexy lady in her mid thirties that I fell in love with.

I started small. We fell back into our nighttime TV watching habit with me often laying my head in her lap, or once in a while even getting to lay my head on her boobs. Her nipples are just as quick to stiffen as they were thirty years ago. Soon I began to place my hand on her thigh over her silky robe, even going so far as to place my hand on the curve of her hip, feeling the side seam of her panties with my fingers.

Sometimes in the kitchen when we were getting wine I’d let the back of my hand trail across her broad bottom. She usually responded by leaning into me “accidentally” and bumping my erection with her big soft ass. This led to her letting me stand behind her with my underpants covered erection pressing into her nice butt while she poured the wine. If she was tipsy enough she would sometimes wiggle her butt from side to side to cause friction.

Emboldened by her indulgence I would usually feel or pat her ass when we were in proximity to each other. This started as a wine lubricated liberty she granted me only when drinking. I would get a mild scolding if we were sober, but in time she just got used to my touches.

We had started our nightly TV watching in the living room like when I was little, but soon we found out it was much more comfortable to watch on her bed. After a while this progressed to her being under the covers in her tshirt and panties, and me on the top of the bread spread in my boxers. Eventually we’d just go get in the bed together when it was time for TV and wine. I’d be in a tshirt and boxers and her in her tshirt and panties.

Kissing progressed the same way. Mama has always been a very kissy person, being born and raised in Italy. Sometimes in moments of affection as a child she’d lightly kiss my forehead, eyebrows, nose or lips. She’d spend a few minutes just softly planting dozens of kisses all over my face and head. I had missed this after I got “too old”. Once we started our flirting this made a comeback, but now that I was grown, we would take turns with me returning the kiss to whatever part of me she’d kissed.

She’d kiss my lips, I’d kiss her lips. She kissed my forehead, I’d kiss her forehead. On a very drunken night I lightly bit Mama’s bottom lip and was rewarded with a light playful slap on my cheek and her laughter. I knew I’d gone too far, but had not angered her. She briefly placed her hand on my erection over the blanket, which was tenting my boxers. She laughed and said “bambino cattivo” and made a tsk tsk sound in mock disapproval. She had called me a naughty baby, but it was all in good dirty fun.

That night (like many for as long as I’d been masturbating) I jerked off furiously with her panties held to my face. I was smelling her sweet pussy and feeling her smooth satin, and shot my load like an 18 year old. I needed to take things further.

I once reminded her of how she’d let me wear diapers right after bath time. She told me she did this so diapering me would not get me fully awake after night time TV got me drowsy. She wanted to be able to put me right to bed while I was sleepy. Smart Mama!

I confessed to her that I’d be much more comfortable sleeping in her bed with her but I was afraid I’d wet her bed. I tested the waters by mentioning that I should be watching TV diapered in case I fell asleep. Mama had no issue with that, and there I was at over 40 years old, lounging around in diapers and a tshirt in front of Mama. On nights I slept in her bed, I’d make sure to pretend to be asleep and wet a little before going to sleep and then finish on waking. I was kadıköy escort worried wet diapers would spill my secret of it being a fetish and not a medical need. I need not have worried.

One night, pretty tipsy and laying next to Mama in my usual night time diapers, I forgot myself and wet my diaper just a little. Just a couple of squirts. I had never wet with Mama awake in the room and it was beyond exciting!

I let more and more dribbles go until I was pretty wet. Over the course of a half hour or so I emptied my bladder into my diapers. As we shifted around Mama was snuggling her panty covered butt into my diaper covered erection, as usual. Mama felt extra warmth coming from my plastic pants. Busted!

I thought Mama would be mad and freak out but she laughed out loud at my situation. As ashamed as I was of wetting in front of her, I was thrilled she was so accepting. Between giggles she said “bring me some dry diapers”. When I returned with the two bath towels I usually pinned on for a diaper she told me, “Go get the baby powder and a warm wash cloth.”

When I returned I handed them to her and she said “lie down”, with a smile on her face. I knew what was coming, but I wondered if she’d be expecting my erection. I soon found out.

“Poor little baby” she said in her most indulgent tone of voice. I lifted my butt off the mattress when it was time, just like she hadn’t taken a thirty year break from diapering me. “Bambino bagnato,” she teased as she slipped my plastic pants down my legs. She unpinned my diaper on one side and my erection sprang out almost into her face. She pretended to be very surprised and asked “what’s this, baby boy?”

As she unpinned the other side she discovered my shaved pubic area and balls but seemed amused more than turned on. She cleaned me with the warm washcloth and got all the pee off my crotch. This attention did nothing to quell my throbbing cock, which by now was leaking pre cum. She slowly stroked my dick with the wet washcloth, alternating between lightly stroking and squeezing gently.

I knew I could not last another minute, and cried out “Mama! Please!”

She leaned down slipped the head of my cock into her mouth just as I started cumming. I pumped squirt after squirt into her little mouth and she just kept her head still, lightly sucking the head of my dick as my cum squirted out through her lips and down my balls. She didn’t (and doesn’t) swallow, and she didn’t exactly spit… she drooled it all out naturally and cleaned it up with the wash cloth.

We sat looking at each other, with me on my back propped up on my elbows and her crouched between my legs. We both were afraid we’d ruined our relationship by crossing the line and neither wanted to be the first to move or speak.

I whispered, “I love you so much, Mama” and that broke the tension. She smiled sweetly and leaned into kiss me. We made out passionately for a few minutes, swirling our tongues around in each other’s mouths. I could taste the coppery taste of my cum in her sweet mouth, with just a hint of dago red on her lips.

I was hard in no time and she slipped her panties off and straddled me. She reached behind herself and guided my cock into her hot pussy and slid down it with ease. The best thing about a 60-somehting woman with a sterile boyfriend is no fear of pregnancy, so it never really crossed our minds.

She slowly rode herself up and down my cock and I reached up and played with her magnificent breasts. She leaned down so they draped across my face and I eagerly sucked them both as we fucked. I cupped her big round ass in both hands and squeezed and fondled her soft flesh. Weird how a woman’s face can be decidedly wrinkled but her bottom still feels as soft as a newborn baby.

After I’d had a good nursing session on each breast as we fucked she sat up and reached a hand down to her clit. She played with herself furiously and got just as wet as a girl one third her age. Soon she was cumming and collapsed on my chest. I grabbed her sexy ass with both hands and bounced her up and down on my dick for less than a minute before cumming a second time. I could not believe it. I’d needed a Viagra to go once with Melody. But then again, she wasn’t my Mama.

People on the outside looking in think I’m a good son for taking care of Mama instead of finding another wife. Screw that! Mama is the perfect wife and mother and I could not ever ask for more.

We’ve been living this way for a few years now, and the sex has tapered off a little, but is still exciting and beautiful. There’s nothing like dreaming of something for thirty years (and then having it exceed your fondest dreams) to keep you from getting bored.

I hope to write more another time about our love affair, Mama babying me, and the adult nursing relationship we’ve committed to.

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