How could he possibly write a poem when all he could think about was his mother's body? The curve of her breasts, with their up-looking nipples, looki...g like tiny ski jumps or something.He stiffened. Wait a minute ... what if...He sat down and picked up his pencil.Thirty minutes later he laid the pencil down, undressed, put on his robe, and went to find his mother. She was in the living room, wearing her robe. This time it didn't bother Robby to see her in it."I'm done." he said. "We can paint. We both knew that is what he wanted. Eventually I came to nod, however. The sweet and innocent girl was nothing, after all, without the willingness to put out. He wasted no more time before he pulled his cock from his pants, so thrilled already it leaked a trail of precum that stuck to his pants in a thick line. He guided my head down into his lap, and between his heavy hand on my neck, his upward thrusts of his hips, and my purposely amateur sucking, his cock began to pulse uncontrollably. More

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