This is a new genre for me. It may not suit my usual readers, it's a difficult concept for some, but lockdown has made me try new things. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Please comment constructively if you need to.

I've never regarded myself as a hero because of what happened that day. I like to think that most people would have done exactly the same thing. Perhaps being eighteen you have less fear? Who knows.

I'd only passed my test a few weeks before and it was my first experience of driving on icy roads. The late autumn weather had suddenly turned really cold and I was driving home from visiting a friend. When I turned onto the main road the front wheels had spun and the rear of the car snaked a bit as I accelerated.

"Hmmmm," I heard myself say out loud.

I kept to a relatively slow speed, and the road was unusually empty. Turning off again at the next main junction, the minor road was definitely icy. I'd only travelled maybe half a mile when I saw the crashed vehicle. It was on a slight bend and the car was clearly impacted on the trunk of a tree, and from the steam rising from the damaged bonnet, it had only just occurred.

As I slid to a halt I couldn't see anyone else, and realised the driver was still in the car. Unsure of what faced me, I unclipped my seatbelt and watched with horror as a small flame licked up over the damaged front of the car.

In the few seconds it took to run twenty or so metres, the flames had engulfed the whole of one side of the car. I could hear the woman inside screaming and through the flames she was trying desperately to open the door which had been badly damaged in the crash.

I grabbed the door handle and pulled at it, but it didn't budge at all, so using both hands, I desperately tugged, and finally using brute force, with my foot against the body of the car, the door sprang open.

Getting hold of the woman's coat I dragged her clear. She was still screaming and crying as I pulled her over the mud away from the flames. Sinking in a heap, I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, and realised that there were two other cars that had pulled up, that had called the emergency services.

Suddenly with a muffled 'Wumph!' the car exploded in a fireball as the fuel tank ignited. The woman was half sitting and half lying on the ground next to me. She had obviously broken her ankle, and her face was black with smoke.

The ambulance arrived at exactly the same time as the police car, and with everything seemingly happening in just a few seconds, the pain hit me.

I looked at my hands and the skin on my palms was peeling off. It was agony, and although the paramedics were concentrating on the woman at first, it became apparent that my injuries were probably worse.

The rest of the night was a blur, the morphine helped, but I was taken to the local hospital first of all, and then transferred to a burns unit in the next town.

The doctors were brilliant and the prognosis wasn't too bad. It was thought that skin grafting could be avoided, but I needed at least a week in hospital to assess what was necessary.

That week was crazy. Not only were the local papers and tv calling me a hero, the woman's family came to see me, and thank me, and they were even interviewed on national tv to tell how their mother had been 'saved' by me!

Fortunately I was kept from all that fuss by being in hospital, but I knew I would have to endure it when I went home.

Mum, of course, was worried sick. She was on her own, my dad had died several years before, and so I was special to her.

In the time in hospital it quickly became clear I was going to need a lot of help. Both my hands were bandaged halfway up my forearm and I couldn't feed myself, pick anything up, use my phone or tablet, and certainly not wipe my ass!

This was all explained to mum on her visits, but it didn't unduly worry her as she had had to do all that for dad in his last few weeks. All she wanted was to get me home.

The first day home was crazy, the ambulance arrived with me to massive placards and bunting, with neighbours having written all sorts of hero plaudits. Once indoors the phone rang constantly and mum had to deal with all sorts. Family were asking how I was, and I spoke to many of them, and then there were various journalists wanting interviews, which she dealt with. Finally that evening we took the phone off the hook and had some relative calm.

It had been decided that the district nurse would visit everyday to see how I was and attend to any dressings that might eventually need changing. I was to return to the burns unit after ten days if everything went okay. Then the decision would be made about any skin grafts.

With the help of strong painkillers I managed some sleep on the first night. In the morning the 'fussing' began, mum hovering over me, and me feeling completely helpless, occasionally losing my temper.

I wanted to get up and dressed so we decided that we'd tackle the big problems first.

The embarrassing toilet problem was dealt with first. Humiliation is not adequate enough to describe it, but once it was done mum decided I would have to take a bath. I'd not had one in hospital so I was feeling pretty unclean. The hospital had provided plastic 'sleeves' that went over my hands and arms and were secured above my elbows with tight rubber bands. That would keep my bandages completely dry.

Not since I was nine or ten had mum bathed me. But needs must. She got some jeans, an old cut up sweat shirt, boxers and socks prepared, and ran the bath. Helping me out of bed and taking off my pyjama top, she pulled on the waterproof protectors. I yelped and got grumpy when I thought she was being too rough.

"For god's sake, if this is going to work you'll have to 'man up!" she warned, and then smiled when she realised I was just exaggerating.

Once in the bathroom she told me to turn round and pulled my pyjama bottoms down. Facing away from her she helped me step into the bath, and sit down, trying her best to support me without touching my arms.

"Nice," I exclaimed, "oooh that feels good."

I leaned back against the porcelain, holding my arms above my head.

"Ok, you won't be able to hold those arms up for long, so let's do this quickly."

Mum was kneeling beside the bath as she began to soap my chest and neck and then with a sponge, wiped it round my face.

"Yuk," I shook my head, closing my eyes, fighting against the sponge. It reminded me of how I'd hated mum doing that when I was younger.

"Look, hold still, you don't have a choice, it's better than smelling!"

And then came the awkward bit.

"Now I've got to do your 'bits' and you'll need to stand up slowly."

I sensed mum was slightly embarrassed.

"Let me help you up, but don't slip."

With her supporting me under one armpit I managed to use my legs and push myself to my feet.

"Now just let me do this quickly, imagine you're still six years old!"

Taking a bar of soap she rubbed it over my buttocks to produce the necessary lather.

"Let do between there, now I've seen it all before, and if I didn't wipe your ass properly this morning, this will sort it out."

As she soaped between my buttocks I said, "There's no need to be quite so crude!"

"Hmmmmm," was her response, adding, "now hold still."

Her soapy fingers moved to the front of me and suddenly we both went quiet. Mum was doing her best and soaping my groin, and underneath my balls, until it came to the point of soaping my cock.

As her fingers lightly gripped it and she soaped under it and over it, it began to stiffen.

"Sorry mum, I can't help it."

My apology seemed rather pointless, and my cock must have had its quickest erection in years.

"I'm not saying anything, "mum said, rapidly finishing what she was doing, "I suppose being kept in hospital for a week has to have an effect somehow! Now sit down slowly, you need to rinse off."

Carefully I sat down and once the soap had been washed off, I had to get out.

Embarrassingly as mum helped me out, my cock was still half erect. She ignored it until her drying me off with a towel involved the drying of the misbehaving part.

"Your dad was never like this," she muttered as her fingers rubbed the towel over it.

"I'm sorry mum, it's difficult to control,"

"Hmmmm," her scepticism showed, "pity you don't have a girlfriend, she could sort it out."

"MUM!" I shouted, "stop being so gross."

Completing the drying off I sat on the chair and mum took off the protectors and helped me on with an the old sweatshirt that she'd cut the sleeves away. As she slid my boxers over my ankles and pulled them up my legs, she was once again faced with the errant erection.

"Stand up, and let me pull them up."

Mum had to pull the waist band up and over, and quickly tuck my cock inside. Just her fingers touching it for a split second made me hold my breath.

"Good, now your trousers."

That first day was quite painful. The painkillers only lasted a number of hours and I tried not to show too much to mum. The nurse, who turned out to be a rather attractive woman in her forties, came and said that she probably wouldn't do anything too much to the dressings for a few days. Mum was very sarcastic when she'd left, saying that she'd noticed how I'd looked at her during her visit, and maybe she'd get her to bath me next time.

I ignored the comment, but the subject came up again when I needed help getting ready for bed.

"I'll give you another bath in the morning, let's hope you're used to me a bit more." We both knew what she meant.

Next morning we both knew a little bit more about the best way of getting dressed and undressed, and getting in and out of the bath. I had some breakfast in bed before mum asked me if I was ready. She was in the bathroom running the bath and I managed to get out of bed and make my way there on my own.

Mum took off my top and put the waterproof sleeves on.

"Now hopefully you're behaving yourself today," she said pointedly, as she pulled my pyjama bottoms down.

My cock was relatively in control at first, at least until I was sitting in the bath, but as mum was soaping my shoulders and chest it began to harden under the water. Of course I felt it happening and tried to fight against, but the more I tried the more it betrayed me.

"Stand up now."

Mum knew immediately why I was slow to move.

"C'mon, I know it's happened again, you're just too terrible!"

Supporting me under my armpits, she helped me up.

"Turn and face the other way, I don't want to stare at that while I'm washing your backside."

Obediently, I did as she asked, looking down at my cock and feeling the bar of soap being rubbed over my buttocks. When mum told me to turn round, I heard her groan, I felt I had no control at all over my body.

"Oh good god, you're shameless Ollie, can't you think about something else, put something horrid in your mind?"

"Sorry mum, I can't seem to help it."

Her soapy fingers grasped it quickly, and involuntarily I groaned out loud.

"Hey! It's your mum, stop enjoying it."

"Sorry...sorry...sorry!" My face went hot all over with guilt, "oh god how embarrassing."

"Look Ollie, this can't go on...this might not be right but you need it." Mum's voice was surprisingly calm and reassuring, and for a moment I just stood there puzzled.

And then I realised the soaping was continuing and her fingers were running up and down the whole length of my cock.

"Mum...mum!" I began to panic, "you can' mustn't."

"Be quiet...just stand still."

I looked down at her hand rapidly wanking me, "Oh god mum...oh fuck."

At that point I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, and I heard her softly saying, "C'mon...c'mon...c'mon Ollie."

I hardly had time to groan, and it happened quickly. Mum's rapid movement changed to slowly soaping the head of my cock. I felt myself jerk and mum shrieked, as she carried on massaging me.

I continued pumping out semen over her soapy fingers. Quickly I opened my eyes, and groaning again, I saw a long sliver of my spunk was laced across her face, running from the side of her nose, down across her mouth and hanging off her chin.

"Fuck Ollie, you might have warned me," she used her other hand to wipe her chin, and I saw her tongue flick out to lick the spunk dribbling over her lips.

"My bloody fault, I wasn't ready."

"MUM!...that was so wrong!"

"Yes...but it's relaxed you...that was the intention, now let's get you rinsed off, and out."

I sat back down briefly, and mum rinsed her hands, dried them on the towel, and wiped the rest of my spunk from her face. For a moment she looked at me, kneeling beside me.

"I hope I won't regret that, I just wanted to help you, please don't hate me Ollie."

"Mum, I'll never hate you, I love you, it's's not normal is it?"

Mum leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, "C'mon, let's get you out, don't dwell on it, just let's call it our little secret."

But I did dwell on it, and it set me wondering about mum and her 'desires.' Dad had passed away five years ago and mum was still in her early fifties. Guys would find her attractive, with her blonde hair, ample breasts and small waist. It seemed odd thinking about analysing her as a sexual being, and in bed that night I tried to put thoughts like that out of my mind.

The pain kept reminding me of reality and I was pleased that when I woke up next day I felt much, much better. Nurse Brenda was due mid morning and fortunately when mum got me dressed my cock was behaving itself.

There were still more phone calls from friends and relatives asking how I was, and it seemed that I had no time to myself. Mum realised this and 'edited' the calls.

When bath time came round again I wasn't sure if mum was looking forward to it. Yes, I was hard again, no, there wasn't a repeat. She scolded me sarcastically, and managed to put me to bed with the promise of a cold sponge in the morning if I was 'still in the same state!'

As soon as I woke up, I wanted desperately to go to the loo. I got out of bed and shouting out to mum, she helped me direct my flow in the correct direction. The humiliation continued everyday as far as toilet duties were concerned and although it was accepted by both of us that it was a necessity, it was good to know that in a weeks time the bandages might be off.

I had another hour back in bed and listened to mum getting up and then bringing me a 'cup' of tea which I now drank from a bottle with a straw in it. I'd closed my eyes for just a few minutes and was into some sort of erotic thoughts when mum came back upstairs to get me up and dressed. Pulling back the duvet my pyjama bottoms were tent like and mum just sighed a despairing sigh.

"Not again, your bloody hormones must have been affected by all this. I was right, I need to put a cold sponge on it."

"Sorry mum," I replied in a resigned voice.

"Only one answer then, lie back...go on!"

I was half expecting her to go to the bathroom for the sponge, but instead she tugged my pyjama bottoms down my thighs revealing my flag pole of an erection.

"Jesus," she exclaimed, "what I do for you!"

Her hand gripped my cock and she began to rub it up and down.

"No...c'mon mum, we said this wasn't a good idea."

"It definitely isn't," she retorted, "but thank goodness you'll have your own hands back next week."

With a tiny groan I surrendered any objection and actually closed my eyes.

Mum set about trying to make it a fast as possible, and I wanted to do the same to avoid prolonging the embarrassment. However, this time there were no soap suds and the sensitivity wasn't really too great.

"Just tell me when you're ready, I'm not having the same problem as last seem to be taking a lot longer."

I muttered, "okay," and tried to think sexy thoughts.

Just as Sally, from college, came into my imagination, I heard mum say, "this is no good ... there's only one way."

As her mouth closed over my cock, my eyes opened wide and I half sat up, and saw her head starting to move up and down.

"Fucking hell mum, you can't do that...fuck!"

Briefly she stopped and raised her head enough to say, "Shut up...just hurry up and cum!" And reaching out with one arm to push me back down, her mouth began sucking me again.

Desperately I was trying not to moan, the feeling was exquisite, and shockingly I thought that mum must be an expert at blow jobs. Indeed it didn't take long after that.

"Mum, I'm going to cum," I said after a couple of minutes, and was holding back expecting her to finish me off with her hand.

When she changed her steady movement up and down to a gentle sucking the head, accompanied by her fingers gripping the shaft, I wasn't able to wait any longer.

"Mum, MUM! I AM going to cum!"

Immediately my cock jerked, pumping one lot of spunk into her mouth after another. I looked down and could see her jaw muscles moving as she swallowed several times. Finally my orgasm ended and she lifted her head and looked at me.

"Ollie, DO NOT say a thing...women do that sometimes, that's all!"

I was thinking to myself... 'yes, but not their own son.'

"Now let's get you dressed."

In moments the blow job was forgotten about and the days routine kicked in. Nurse Brenda was due and the day went on.

The week was interrupted continually by visitors and my only respite were the couple of times mum 'relieved' me at bath time. The soapiness assisted and there was no repeat of oral pleasures.

Eventually Monday's trip to the burns unit arrived. They were very pleased with the healing process, and although my palms looked a mess, they said with the appropriate creams it would improve quickly and, all being well, they'd see me again in three months.

It was absolute bliss to be free of the bandages. I could use a phone, a tablet, open doors, pick up cups, knives and forks, and finally wipe my own ass!

Mum was chuffed too and that Monday evening she cooked a special meal, with which we had several glasses of wine.

When it got quite late, mum's face suddenly took on a serious expression and she sat beside me on the sofa.

"Ollie, I think you know what I'm going to say?"

I nodded and looked downwards.

"This last ten days has brought us closer together, it's been quite tough for you, but we've done stuff that perhaps we shouldn't. I don't think it's done us any harm, but other people wouldn't think like that."

"Yes, I do realise," I muttered quietly.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know. It's not something that will continue."

"No," I said, "but thank you."

"Okay, bedtime! I'm off, you can stay down here as long as you want now, I'm tired and I've had too much to drink."

With that, mum left to go upstairs, and I pondered over my relationship with her.

By midnight I was ready for bed. I went upstairs and enjoyed the whole business of undressing myself. How good it was to feel everything.

Just as I'd flushed the loo I heard mum's voice call out.

"I thought you'd be asleep," I said, poking my head around her bedroom door.

"No, I can't seem to, come here, please, just give me a hug, I think I need it."

Approaching the bed I asked, "What's up? Is it us, and all that stuff? Please don't think about it, it's between us, no one else will ever know."

I sat on the bed and reached over to give her a hug, and as we clung onto each other she burst into tears. Sobbing she managed to say, "Thank you Ollie, thank you, I'm worried it might affect you... you know... and your relationship with girls."

"Stop it mum, don't be silly, you helped me a lot over this past week or so."

The sobbing receded and I continued, "Here, get those tissues, dry your eyes."