Nothing out of the ordinary, it was a Halloween like any other Halloween
with me visiting my son, Joey, to spend some quality time with him, his
wife, Patty, and my grandchildren. Normally, I vacation with them for a
week every summer but, this time, his wife, Patty, asked me to come
again over the Halloween weekend to see the kids in their costumes and
to take them trick or treating. Since Halloween was my son's birthday
anyway, it was a way for me buy him a birthday gift there, instead of
buying it here and shipping it.
"Mom, can you come over Halloween," asked Patty? "I could really use
your help with the kids and they'd be so excited for you to see them in
their Halloween costumes."
"Yeah, sure, I'd love nothing more than to spend the Halloween holiday
with you, the kids, and Joey. It would be fun to pass out candy after
taking the kids trick or treating. I haven't done that in years, since
Joey was a boy. Maybe, the day before, we can go to the haunted fun
house together."
Only, a Halloween birthday surprise for Joey, my son didn't know that I
had arrived to celebrate Halloween and his birthday, and I didn't know
that this holiday would change our lives forever and change our
relationship from mother and son to Elizabeth and Joey, lovers.
It all started early one morning when Joey found his way home drunk. It
had been his birthday. Not only had he missed his kids dressed in
costume and taking them out trick or treat but also he had missed his
own party with cake, candles, and presents. With the kids disappointed
that Daddy wasn't there to celebrate Halloween and his birthday with
them, his wife and kids had already gone to bed, and I was still up
watching television, something I never do so late, but I was worried
about him.
"Where the Hell is he? Why didn't he call? Maybe something happened to
him. I'm going to lay into him when he walks through the door," I said
to myself, while pacing back and forth and peering out the window for
evidence of his truck. Then, I thought, "Stay out of it. He's married
now. This is between him and his wife. He's not your little boy anymore,
but a grown man with a wife and kids. If you must, you can have your
say later after his wife and when you are alone with him," I said to
calm the anger that he'd rather be out drinking than to be home with his
family for Halloween.
It was well after one o'clock in the morning when I heard him out front.
Relieved, I knew it was him, as soon as he pulled up to the house.
Only, when he hit the curb with his front tire, slammed his door twice
to close it, dropped his keys, and swore, I knew he was drunk.
"Fuck! Where's my keys? Where the Hell are they? There they are. Just my
luck, it figures they'd fall in the only freakin' puddle on the
street."
He was lucky he hadn't killed himself and/or someone else. He was lucky
he hadn't been stopped, arrested, and thrown in jail. In this day and
age of public awareness and public outcry, akin to being an outcast from
having leprosy during the Middle Ages or AIDS in the eighties or being a
registered sex offender, driving drunk today was only asking for
trouble. With a drunken driving conviction that follows you around the
rest of your life, no one likes a drunk, especially a drunk driver.
Only, thinking that it was only bizarre bad behavior, I didn't know that
this had recently become his regular routine. Going out to the bar,
hanging out with the guys, and coming home drunk, changed him from a
good boy to a bad man. He didn't know, yet, that his wife, my
daughter-in-law, Patricia, had asked me to stay with them over the
Halloween holiday weekend.
"Surprise! Happy Birthday, Joey," I thought I'd greet him at the door,
but I didn't say a word. Not wanting to awaken Patty and/or the kids, I
was angry with him that he had disappointed his children and upset his
wife. I just let him fumble and stumble himself inside.
Now, I understood what was happening between them and the reason why she
asked me to come so soon for another visit. Maybe the reason she asked
me to stay longer had less to do with helping out with the kids and more
to do with helping her out with Joey. He was a mess. Neglecting his
family obligations and drinking to an excess, he was out of control.
Now, unable to even fend for himself, in the drunken condition and
weakened state he was in, he needed more tender loving care than his
2-year-old daughter and 4-year-old son.
Because he was my son and because I loved him, I still was biased in his
favor, figuring that Patty was the reason why Joey started drinking.
Maybe, after the birth of the children and with her being tired from
caring for them and cooking and cleaning, they weren't intimate anymore.
It still amazed me how someone who was only 25-years-old could have
such a problem with alcohol. When did he suddenly start drinking? Why
did he suddenly start drinking? He didn't drink before he was married. I
don't remember him ever having a drink when he lived with me. After
having lived with and survived his drunken father, I wouldn't even allow
alcohol in the house.
Yet, a telltale sign, even when the economy was good, he couldn't keep a
job. Another telltale sign that he had a serious problem with alcohol,
even when he finally admitted that he was an alcoholic and attended
regular AA meetings, Patty confessed that he still couldn't stop
drinking. A closet drunk, he had somehow hidden his drinking from me.
It's a disease. His father had it and now he has it.
"He'd rather celebrate his birthday with his drunken friends, instead of
with his family. That's where he is, in the bar with his friends
getting drunk again," said Patty. "He'd rather drink and get drunk than
to see his children in costume and take them trick or treating."
I could see in her eyes that she not only had already given up on him
but also, by the late night telephone calls she received, that she had
the interest and the attention of someone else. They lived in a small
house with small rooms and she didn't think that I could hear her behind
her closed bedroom door whispering her secret, sexual desire for
someone else, but I could.
"Do you really like my tits? Tell me, what do you like about my breasts?
Well, I really like your cock and if you were here now, what I'd do
is..."
I figured she was having an affair with a co-worker or a customer. I
didn't blame her. How could I for what she's already been through with
Joey not working, not looking for work, not helping out with the kids,
and getting drunk?
It would serve my son right, if she was having an affair. We all need
the loving support and sexual comfort of someone and if you're not
getting it at home, then it's only a matter of time before you'll get it
from somewhere and someone else. With no one to blame but himself, my
son should have been taking better care of business at home, instead of
giving all his business to the neighborhood bar.
Patty was a pretty girl. She reminded me of myself when I was her age.
She had the same color strawberry blonde hair and the same color hazel
eyes, the same shapely build, the same 120 pound weight, and the same
5'5" height as me. Right down to the same C cup breast size and shape,
she could have been my younger clone.
Looking at her was eerily familiar, as if I was looking in the mirror at
myself fifteen years ago. I felt as though her face was my living
picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde. The physical similarities we had
in common were shocking. Everyone who saw us out together either thought
we were mother and daughter or sisters.
It pains me to admit it but, when I first met her, I couldn't help but
wonder if Joey had harbored incestuous thoughts for me by marrying her.
Patty and I looked too much alike for me or for anyone not to think
that. Only, as soon as I thought the thought, I put it out of my mind as
silly nonsense.
"We don't chose the one we fall in love with," I told myself, "it's just
a coincidence that he was attracted to someone who looked exactly like
me, exactly like his mother."
Then, I wondered if he purposely set out to find someone who looked
enough like me that, when he was having sex with his wife, he'd pretend
he was having sex with me? It was weirdly disturbing to think that
thought and even though I tried not to think those thoughts, whenever I
was alone and lonely and touching myself, I found myself thinking that
he had married Patty because he couldn't marry me. I imagined him
wanting to have sex with me, his mother.
Maybe, as any overprotective mother tends to do, thinking that no woman
is good enough for her son, I was flattering myself in thinking that
Joey was attracted to me and, further, that only I was good enough for
Joey. Maybe I was just imagining something that wasn't there. It was
obvious that I needed to let him go. He wasn't my little boy anymore. He
was a man now, only, by not working and getting drunk all the time, he
wasn't acting like the man he needed to be for Patty and for his
children.
Yet, as further proof that he had been sexually attracted to me and
purposely chose Patty, people at their wedding, people who I never met
before, approached me to compliment me on how pretty my daughter looked.
"It's amazing. I can't tell mother from daughter. You two could be
sisters, instead of mother and daughter. Your daughter is so pretty. She
makes a beautiful bride. You must be so proud of her."
All the comments were the same tone and gave me the same shocking
suggestion that my son had been lusting over me all these years.
"Thank you, she does make a beautiful bride and I am so very proud of
her, only, she's not my daughter. She's my daughter-in-law."
"Oh, really? You look so much alike," they'd all say looking from me to
her and back to me again, before excusing themselves to whisper their
perverted suspicions to their friends.
Embarrassed by their questioning looks, I knew they were thinking my son
married her because he couldn't have Mommy. Even Patty had that same
wondering look the first day I met her and I knew that she was thinking
the same thing. Her look made me feel dirty and wicked. Her look made me
feel that I had used and abused the sacred trust of mother and son.
Even though I had never done anything inappropriate with my son, not
even so much as having an incestuous thought, she made me feel that I
must have had sex with my son for him to go out and find my carbon copy,
my younger clone.
Nonetheless, I felt guilty that she and they thought that I had. Yet,
for him to find a woman, who looked so much like me, his mother, that
she could have been my twin sister or my daughter, now I was certain
that he had inappropriate thoughts about me, especially when we lived
together, as mother and son. What should have made my skin crawl, what
should have made my stomach turn, made me excited that my son wanted me,
as much as I was beginning to understand and admit that I wanted him.
Not even giving it a second thought then, I can see the voyeuristic
pattern that he masterminded now. Looking back and remembering all that
he did to quench his curiosity about me and to quell his sexual lust for
me, I can finally see all the voyeuristic opportunities and sexual
scenarios that he had obviously devised to successfully see me in all
manners of undress, including being topless and even naked. I shudder to
think that he had used me to get what he sexually wanted and needed at
the time. If I confronted him, embarrassed that he was sexually
attracted to his mother, he'd surely deny it. The trusting and loving
mother that I was, I felt like the fool not to have seen all he had
purposely done in trying to see me naked.
Making it appear accidental, but definitely on purpose, no doubt, when I
was getting undressed for bed or dressed for work, he'd open my bedroom
door with the pretense of having something important to tell me.
"Mom, Mom, I forgot to tell you. Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were changing."
Like a deer caught in headlights, he'd stand there staring at my
nakedness and surprised by his sudden appearance, I was always too slow
to cover up. Trying to be the patient parent and the understanding
mother, I didn't want to discourage his enthusiasm for sharing his
thoughts with me nor did I want to make him feel that sex was dirty or
forbidden by showing the embarrassing shame that I felt in him seeing me
in my underwear, topless or naked. Matter of fact, I encouraged him to
talk to me at any time, only, for his benefit, he used that a bit too
literally, opening my door in a rush without warning and without the
courtesy of a knock. Still, I always reinforced how important it was for
him to knock first, before opening my door, but to no avail.
"You need to knock, Joey, before entering a room that has a closed door.
Give me a minute and I'll be right out to listen to what you have to
tell me."
Probably hoping to see more than he did, he usually caught me in my bra
and panty. Yet, there were a few times he caught me with my nightgown
over my head either taking it off in the morning or putting it on at
night. I remember thinking that it was an accident and that he didn't
see much. Yet, thinking about it now, he must have seen me naked more
than a few times. Then, there were all those times that he barged in the
bathroom and flung open the door on the pretense that he had to pee
really badly. Since we only had the one bathroom, I didn't think
anything of it. Even though I asked him to knock, he said he had.
"You probably didn't hear me knock over the shower, Mom. Sorry," he said
and I naively accepted that as a viable and innocent explanation.
With my radio playing in the background and my head under the water, he
could have been standing there in the bathroom peeping at me through the
shower curtain that never closed all the way for all that I knew. He
was my son, after all, and I trusted him not to purposely violate my
privacy, even though that was exactly what he had done.
Our bathroom door didn't have a lock and he was so quick to open it. I
could have installed a lock, but I didn't want to make him feel
uncomfortable. I was so naïve.
He had a knack of catching me just as I was getting out of the shower,
before I even had a chance to grab a towel. Taken by surprise, showering
before I even had my cup of morning coffee, I was slow to react to
cover my nakedness with a towel. He must have seen plenty, my tits, my
ass, and my pussy. Now that I think about it, he must have listened for
the water being turned off and the shower curtain being pulled open,
before turning the knob and rushing inside. After a while, with him
seeing me naked so many times, I was numb to it. It was no big deal for
me but, in hindsight, it was a big deal to him. I mean, I still covered
myself with a towel, but I didn't make the issue out of it that I should
have.
"Sorry, Mom, but I have to pee," he'd say, even when he was no longer my little boy, but my18-year-old man.
I found it difficult not to look and to watch, when he whipped out his
cock in front of me and started peeing. I pretended not to look, but I
did. I pretended that I wasn't watching but, from out of the corner of
my eye, I was. Only, I'd be mortified if he ever caught me staring at
his cock. Unable to admit it to myself, I'd be embarrassed if he thought
I wanted him, my son, sexually, but in thinking about it now, I did.
A woman without a man, I was horny, too. I had sexual needs, too, that
weren't being met. In hindsight, I realize now that he wanted me to see
his cock, as much as I wanted to see it, and he wanted to see me naked,
as much as I wanted him to see me naked. Genetically similar, as mother
and son, apparently, I was just as perverted and horny as he was, and as
sexually attracted to him as he was to me.
The first time it happened, the first time he saw something of me that
he shouldn't, uncomfortable at how much I was showing and how much he
saw, I was embarrassed, by the thought that my son had seen me in my bra
and panty, topless and/or naked. Having him see me topless and/or naked
was certainly more embarrassing for me than having him see me in my
panty and bra but, when I realized he was trying to see me in my panty
and bra and/or topless or naked, I felt violated. Yet, enflame by
incestuous thoughts, the embarrassment that I felt then, has developed
and manifested itself into sexual excitement and a sick sort of sexual
attraction to him now. Perhaps, it has something with him being married
and forsaking me for another woman. I don't know.
I remember dismissing those forbidden thoughts with the knowledge that I
was his mother and he was my son and neither of us thought of what had
just happened sexually. Only, years later, judging by how excited I feel
about it now, it was obvious how excited he must have felt about it
then. Living with me until he was nearly 22-years-old and not leaving
home until his girlfriend became pregnant and gave birth to their son,
those same sexual thoughts that excited him several years ago, from the
time he was 18-years-old and possibly before, until when he left home at
nearly 22-years-old, now excite me. Maybe because he is no longer there
as my constant companion, maybe because I'm just lonely and horny and
need a man in my life, but whatever the reason, I feel a twisted sexual
desire and a longing sexual passion for my son.
Had I known then that he was trying to see me naked, I would have been
more than embarrassed. I would have felt uncomfortable. I would have
confronted him, perhaps, and had a talk with him about the birds and the
bees. Maybe I would have even taken him to see a professional, a
psychologist. Only, in the way that I'm sexually feeling and thinking
about my son now, I'm the one who needs the psychiatrist.
Once I started feeling a sexual attraction to my son, once I started
fantasizing about making love to him and giving him regular hand jobs
and blowjobs, I chalked it up to being lonely. I figured I was horny.
Maybe it was a hormonal imbalance or a side effect from some of the
medication my doctor had prescribe that I take. Maybe there was
something in the flavored water I was drinking or the low carb, fat free
food I was eating.
We don't know what chemicals they put in foods today, a byproduct of
what they give to the animals for them to procreate and for the crops to
flourish. They tell us to read the labels, but if the farmers are
injecting their cows, hens, and crops with designer drugs to make for a
better harvest of milk, eggs, and produce, not to mention all the shit
they dump in the ocean that indirectly makes it to our dinner plates
with the fish we eat, who knows what chemicals we're putting in our
bodies and the side effects that they may have. I realize that I'm
searching for justification of why I was suddenly sexually attracted to
my son, but for whatever reason it was, I had suddenly developed a deep
and strong sexual attraction for my son and I couldn't remove him from
my mind.
I knew it was wrong. Ashamed to admit it, when thinking about my son
sexually, I was no longer thinking motherly thoughts. I was imagining
him naked and with an erection. I was imagining him reacting favorably,
an understatement, sexually to seeing me naked. I was imagining touching
him, kissing him, and making love to him, while he touched me, kissed
me, and made love to me.
"God, I'm so fucking horny," I said shocked that I said it out loud,
while hoping Patty was asleep and didn't hear me. "I need to find a man.
Maybe if I had a man in my life, I wouldn't have these incestuous
thoughts about my son."
Just as I knew nothing would ever come of it, I knew those incestuous
thoughts were wrong, but they continued to happen. So long as I didn't
act upon my incestuous feelings, what could possibly happen? With no one
else knowing how I truly felt about my son, not his wife and surely not
Joey, what could possibly go wrong?
"Joey, I want you," I'd suddenly say, when there was no one around to
hear me, while thinking that if I thought it and said it enough times
that he'd want me, too. Only, what would I do if he did want me? It
sounded good at the time, but realistically, it's a sick fantasy for a
mother to want her son sexually. It's not normal.
What did I know? Still a child myself, when I had him as a baby, I was
so young and emotionally troubled. As he matured, not realizing that my
son was a testosterone filled, horny, young man; I didn't realize that
he had been abusing our living arrangements hoping to see whatever he
could see of me, no doubt, to masturbate over later. Now
thirty-nine-years old, only fifteen years older than my son, and now
that I'm finally enlightened with this sudden insight of sexuality, I
wonder, had I known then what I suspect now, if I would have done
anything differently to not only encourage his inappropriate behavior
but also to have some fun with it.
Would I have taken more care in how I presented myself in front of him
or would I have teased him unmercifully and taken less care and dressed
even more provocatively? Would I have worn a bathrobe over my nightgown?
Surely, now that I think about it, inadvertently, I must have been
driving him mad with lustful thoughts and sexual desires.
Only, I wish I had known the effect that I had on him. I could have had
some fun, too. A delayed reaction on my part, embarrassed to think that I
excited him then, it makes me excited now to think that I did. Now that
I recall, he could certainly see the impressions that my nipples made
in the thin fabric of my nightgown, just as he could clearly see my dark
patch of pubic hair beneath the nearly transparent, white cotton
material.
"I'd give anything for him to suck my tits, now," I said touching
myself, while waiting for Joey to finally come home and laying on the
couch with the flickering light from the television reflecting the
desire that I had for my son.
Without realizing it, oblivious to his horny stares, before he was
married and when we were living together, as mother and son, I really
must have given him a show of my nakedness, especially when I opened the
refrigerator door with my head inside pondering what to make for
breakfast. When I stood in front of the windows and opened the curtains
to allow in the bright morning light, he must have seen my naked body
right through my nightgown. Now that I think of it, he was always there
watching me, looking at me, and staring at me. He was ready to use any
and every opportunity to see me naked. He was such a horny young man.
Thinking back, I remember those times when he was going to the gym
regularly and he wanted me to give him a massage. At first I was turnoff
by the idea of rubbing down my son and touching so much of his exposed
body, but it was all so very innocent. Only, touching him in that way
and seeing and feeling so much of his body excited me.
He still wore his briefs, but I remember now, he always had an erection,
an erection that I always wished I could feel and that made me horny to
see. Pretending not to see it, impossible not to stare at it, I
imagined it that night, when alone with my horny and lonely thoughts.
While touching myself and thinking incestuously about my son, I imagined
him making love to me.
Surely, I didn't think it was me, who was arousing him, I just thought
he was a normal, healthy young man. Admittedly, seeing the bulge in his
briefs made me as horny as it did curious, as to what his cock looked
like now. Even though I briefly saw it when he whipped it out in front
of me to pee, I never had a close, hands-on examination of it. Yet, but
for a deep rooted desire to suck him off, I wrestled with my libido to
put those sexual thoughts out of my mind. I was his mother, after all,
and he was my son.
"That feels so good, Mommy. You have great hands."
"Relax, Joey. You're so tense," I said while thinking, turn over and I'll give you a happy ending.
I imagined reaching my hand inside and surrounding his cock with my
fingers. I imagined reaching down and cupping his balls, before slowly
and gently stroking my son's cock as only a mother lovingly could. Then,
when he was good and hard, when he was so excited that he was wild with
passion for me, I'd lower my mouth to his stiff prick and take him in
my mouth.
Yet, I was the one who was tense. Suddenly having the overpowering urge
to touch my son, I wanted to feel his cock. Whenever I gave him an
innocent massage, I imagined reaching down his underwear, pulling out
his cock and stroking him, before taking him in my mouth and sucking him
off. What's wrong with me?
I wanted to show him what truly great hands I had by reaching inside his
briefs, wrapping my fingers around his cock, and giving him a hand job.
I wanted to show him how only a mother could pleasure her son by
leaning down and giving him a blowjob. Only, every time I thought those
thoughts, a line that I could never cross, I'd admonish myself.
Just as I was having inappropriate thoughts about him, thoughts that I
dismissed as soon as I had them, I should have known when he wanted to
give me a massage that he was having inappropriate thoughts about me,
too. I should have turned him down, when he wanted to touch my tired
body, but his hands felt so good on my shoulders, back, butt, and legs. I
didn't think anything of it, when he seemingly and accidentally touched
the side of my breast or came a little too close to my pussy, so close
that his hand tickled my pussy hairs, while massaging my thighs. Matter
of fact, more than once, when he started massaging my back and legs, he
aroused me sexually and I was hoping he'd accidentally touch my breast
or brush past my pussy. Always when he left my bedroom, I'd have to
masturbate my desire for him away.
"Oh, Joey, that feels so soothing. You're going to put me to sleep."
I remember that I did fall asleep once and if I was sleeping, at the
very least, he must have lifted my towel to examine my naked body up
close. I imagine he must have touched me, felt my tits, ass, and/or
pussy. I'm a sound sleeper and definitely, he could touched me without
waking me.
Now that I recall, I remember having a dream that I was being examined
by a gynecologist. Now that I think about it, I wonder if that was my
son touching me, fondling me, and probing me with his fingers, cock,
and/or tongue. It wouldn't be the first time that I slept through sex.
Still, the thought that my son may have had his way with me with his
fingers, cock or tongue, while I slept should have made me ill but,
instead, it gave me goose bumps. The thought of him touching me sexually
makes me wish I had been awake to reciprocate what little pleasure he
may have received from my sleeping body.
I was wrong to have allowed him to give me a massage, just as I was
wrong to allow him to see me with just a small towel covering my butt,
while exposing the entire side of my breasts to him. Lying face down on
the bed, I didn't invite him in the bedroom, until I had the towel
positioned across my butt. Truly, I didn't think he could see anything,
but maybe he could and maybe he did. Now that I remember, he was always
positioning and repositioning my legs. Oh, my God, I'm such a fool.
Every time he moved my legs, I must have flashed him and given him a
great view of my pussy. Embarrassed to think of that then, I'm excited
to think of that now.
"Relax Mom. I'm just going to move your legs, so that I can work your hamstrings."
Trying to preserve my modesty, I remember now it was always awkward to
turn over and to reposition the towel that was on my butt to cover my
pussy and to grab a second towel to cover my breasts without having him
see anything. He must have seen more than I thought he did. Although it
did feel deliciously erotic when he massaged the top of my breasts and
the front of my thighs, he must have had a clear view of my pussy
beneath the towel.
After he left the room for me to get dressed, I remember getting up from
my bed aroused, horny, and frustrated. Wishing he had felt my breasts
and fingered my pussy, I always wished his massages were more sexual.
Just as he must have felt guilty about having sexual thoughts for his
mother; I berated myself for having those same sexual thoughts for my
son.
Now that I remember him, he was always walking around with an erection
and adjusting himself. Much like the professional baseball players, I
just thought it was what guys did, always getting erections and always
adjusting themselves. I thought he was always staring at me because
being his only family, I was his world and he just loved me, as a son
would normally love his mother. I didn't know he was lusting over me,
while peeping and trying to see whatever he could see of me, whenever he
could see it.
Certainly, even though I entertained the same forbidden thoughts and
sexual desires, I never figured, as his Mom, that I was arousing my son.
Even though my Mom had three sons, my Mom wasn't around to teach me
much of anything, especially how to keep my legs closed. Kicking me out
of the house, after I became pregnant, my Mom never met my son or even
acknowledged his birth.
Had I known then what I know now, I wonder if I would have played my son
and shown him even more for me to sexually take advantage of the
situation and to masturbate myself later with the thoughts of having
purposely shown him my body? I'm human, too. I had sexual needs, too,
that weren't being met, back then. Being a single mother with no extra
money to afford a babysitter, having to find odd jobs that I could do
from home, I didn't have the time or the inclination to party and few
men want to take on a woman with the baggage of another man's child.
Now that I think of it, while wearing my short nightgown and picking up
clutter before vacuuming the mess, I remember all those times when, as a
teenager, he was lying on the floor playing video games and I was
walking around him and by him, without ever wearing panties and without
even giving it a thought. And all those times, while playing a game of
cards or Scrabble or Monopoly, feeling comfortable in my own apartment,
when sitting across from him in my short skirt and never giving a
thought if my legs were tightly closed or if I was flashing him my
panties, makes me feel uncomfortably excited now. Then, there were all
those hugs when I thought nothing of his stray hand touching the side of
my breast or the top of my ass, while wishing he'd touch more.
He had a habit of always touching more than he should and more than what
was deemed appropriate, whenever hugging me. Only, I never put a sexual
spin on his touching. I chastised myself for having those sexual
thoughts of wanting him to touch even more of me. Now that I think about
it, either he thought I was instigating the sexual attraction or he
thought me an oblivious fool. I wish I had known then what I suspect
now. Only, I chalked it up to him being emotionally needy. I figured it
was my fault that he was like the way he was because he didn't have a
dad. I blamed everything on myself and on the mistakes that I made so
early in life.
All that time, he must have been looking up my nightgown and when I bent
down to pick up his strewn clothes, I must have given him the perfect
down nightgown view of my boobs. It never occurred to me that I was
giving my son a show and giving him fodder to jerk off over later in the
privacy of his bedroom or bathroom. Incest is such a wicked thought
that even thinking about it now, so many years later, should make me
sick, but it doesn't. It makes me excited to think that my son wanted
me, his mother.
Certainly, if I knew he had incestuous thoughts about me then, I would
have been upset. Now, it not only makes me dizzy with desire but also
gives me a bellyache with the trepidation of knowing that I'm thinking
about doing something so wickedly wrong with my son now. I'm so horny
that if he was here now, I'd show him how I truly feel about him. I'd
suck his cock.
"Joey? Where are you? Come home to Mommy. Mommy wants to blow you."
The thought of him dying in a car crash without me ever telling him how I
truly felt about him, made me sick. I told myself that if he were to
come home safely, I'd tell him how about the sexual thoughts that I felt
for him with the hope that I could ease his guilt for having those same
sexual thoughts for me. Now, that we're older, maybe he'd want to act
out those sexual thoughts with me, as a way to remove them once and for
all. Who am I kidding? I just want to sexually take advantage of my son
now, in the way that he sexually took advantage of me, back then.
What's wrong with me for having sexual thoughts for my son? We all have
sexual desires. We're all just human. Who else would I want to have sex
with other than my son? Every man I've known has always taken advantage
of me. Every man I've know has fucked me over after fucking me.
Now to realize that even my son was abusing me by using me to see what
he could of my body is as shocking as it is exciting. Every man I ever
dated, after the birth of Joey, just wanted a blowjob. I was always so
horny that I'd accommodate him hoping that he'd date me again, but he
never did. It wasn't that I was ugly or gave bad blowjobs; they just
didn't want to have the responsibility of a woman with a child,
especially a child that wasn't theirs.
After meeting his wife, Patty, and seeing how much she resembled me, it
was more than disconcerting that, while my son was having sexual
relations with his wife, he was possibly thinking of having sexual
relations with me, his mother. How could he not, Patty and I look so
much alike. Living alone and being lonely for so long, now that I had
this suspicion of his secret desire for wanting incestuously forbidden
sex with his mother, it was no stretch for me to imagine my son having
sexual relations with his wife, while imagining that he was having
sexual relations with me.
I couldn't help but wonder what he looked like naked. I couldn't help
but wonder how his cock felt in my hand and what it tasted like in my
mouth. It made me wet to think about his face buried between my thighs
with his tongue flicking out to lick my pussy, while his fingers played
with my clit and finger fucked me to orgasm. I wondered what it felt
like to have his cock buried deep inside my pussy, while he kissed me,
French kissed me, before leaning down to suck my tits.
"That's right, Joey, lick Mommy's pussy. Fuck me, son. Stick your big,
hard cock in my tight, wet pussy and fuck Mommy. And after you make
Mommy cum, Mommy will suck your cock and make you cum in her mouth.
Mommy will swallow all that you have to give her."
He had gone out drinking with the boys again and, as usual, but for me
and the children, Patty was home alone and unable to reach him to tell
him that I had arrived early to celebrate his birthday and was there
taking the kids trick or treating. Out of necessity, she had gotten a
job at the deli slicing cold cuts for people who shouldn't be eating
salty slabs of sliced meat. I was fortunate to have a job that I worked
from home and it didn't matter where I called home. All I needed was a
computer and my cell phone, which is how I was able to pack up and stay
with them over the Halloween weekend.
They were having a difficult time financially and she needed to get a
job, until he was able to find employment. The unemployment checks were
soon to run out and weren't nearly enough to live off of anyway. Like
his father, Joey was too proud to work at anything he felt was beneath
him. Like his father, he had the need to drink and difficulty in knowing
when he had drunk enough. Before finding a job, he needed to stop
drinking.
Somehow making him feel like the man that he wasn't, the husband he
hadn't been, and the father he was never shown how to be, he'd rather
spend his time networking at the local bar with the rest of the loser
barflies, than to spend quality time with his wife and kids or
dedicating his free time to focus on looking for a job that paid enough
to support his family. Only, having known his father, I understood the
fallacies and frailties of my son.
His dad deserted us when Joey was still a baby. He has no memory of ever
having a father. It was just me and Joey. Where I was too young and too
immature to help his Dad, having my baby at barely 15-years-old, I knew
that I was the only one who could help save my son from himself and
from the fate of alcoholism that befell his father.
I was still up watching television, but turned it off, when I heard his
key in the front door lock. I heard him cursing because he probably
couldn't see straight enough to find the hole, something his father had
no trouble finding, before making me pregnant, even when he had too much
to drink. Trying to be quiet, but being the noisy drunk that he
couldn't help but to be, not even turning on a light to see what he was
doing, he thought he was alone.
He didn't know I was laying on the couch in the dark living room. Had he
turned on a light, he would have seen me laying there with my housecoat
raised above my waist, while pretending that I was sleeping. Hoping
he'd turn on the light, I was horny and I wanted to show my body to him,
for old time sake. I wondered what he would have done seeing my pussy
in plain sight. I wondered if seeing his mother's pussy would make him
horny enough to look at me, touch me, lick or fuck me.
Only without turning on a light, he didn't even know I was there. I was
hoping that he'd sit on the couch where I was lying and then realize
that I was there with my housecoat all askew. Maybe he'd think I was
Patty. Maybe he'd know it was me, but pretend it was Patty. Maybe he'd
fondle me, as I pretended to sleep.
Too hot for a blanket and without the aid of even a fan, it had been an
unusual hot October day and it was stuffy in the house. With the weather
more like Indian summer, I was hot not only from the outside
temperature, but for him. Knowing he was standing there in the dark
living room, not more than a few feet from me, I continued pretending to
be asleep on the couch, while watching him.
He and Patty couldn't even afford to buy an air conditioner and that was
what I decided I'd buy Joey for his birthday. With the end of season
sales, it was a good time to buy one. At least they'd have a unit for
the summer next year. Only, I needed his help to carry it from the store
to the car and from the car to the house. I was hoping he'd go with me
yesterday to pick one up, but he never made it home in time for his
birthday to do that.
As I lay there watching my son fumbling around without ever turning on a
light, I pretended, fantasized actually, that I was his wife and he was
my husband. The thought of him coming home to me made me touch myself.
Suddenly, I was horny again. Hidden within the dark, with my housecoat
already askew, hoping he'd turn on the light to watch me masturbate, I
reached down and fingered my pussy. Instantly, I was wet with the
thoughts of him seeing me and touching me. My fingers found my nipples
though the thin cotton material of my housecoat and I was already on my
way to cumming.
Aroused and horny, suddenly, I was hot for him. Desperately, I needed to
get laid. It had been a long while, since I felt the passion of a man.
Here, just a few feet from me, was the man who I was attracted to and
the man that I'd do anything for, even have sex with him. It no longer
mattered that I was his mother and he was my son. We were adults now
with free wills.
I needed to feel a cock in my hand. I needed to feel his lips pressed
against mine. I needed to feel his body, while his cock humped my pussy.
I needed to feel the stiff sensation, the fishy smell, and the salty
taste of his cock in my mouth.
"Happy Birthday, Joey," I wanted to yell out my birthday surprise,
before showing him my lust for him, but I stayed quiet while watching
his movements in the dark. I wanted to give myself to him as my birthday
gift to him. Would he reject me or embrace me? Would I totally
embarrass myself? Would I ruin the close knit relationship we had?
It took all the control I had not to jump up, throw my arms around him,
and give him a big, long, wet, Happy Birthday kiss. He was 25-years-old,
as of yesterday, and I'd be turning forty next month. I ought to be
ashamed for what I was thinking, but I wasn't. As his mother, I
shouldn't have these lustful thoughts for my son, but I did. What I did
next even surprised me.
From where he stood in the light and from where I was in the dark, the
moonlight from the big bay window lit him up and I could clearly see
what he was doing. Oblivious to my presence in the room, he was
undressing. I watched him unbutton and take off his shirt. He kicked off
his shoes, unbuckled and unzipped his pants, and nearly fell when he
lifted his leg to pull them off. Then, he pulled off his socks and
pitched them against the wall behind him.
In just briefs and a tee shirt, I suddenly remembered him wearing his
Star Wars underwear and his Spiderman pajamas. I watched him pull his
tee shirt over his head and toss it on the floor, just as he used to do,
as a boy growing up. With evidence of a pot belly just starting to form
from drinking one too many beers, he still had a lean, hard body that
showed he was fit. Lazy and spoiled by me in a feeble attempt to make up
for the father he never had and would never have, he never picked up
after himself. I was always there scolding him, but obviously by this
drunken display of tossing his clothes around, he'd never change.
I held my breath, while watching him remove his underwear. What felt as
if it was a minute was but a brief second. It had been a while since I
had seen his cock and there it was. I remembered that I had made the
decision not to have him circumcised and it was all there in its
natural, uncut, and intended splendor. He had a big, beautiful prick.
Now, that I think about it, now that I have the clarity of this recent
insight, now that his cock is there only a few feet from my hand, my
pussy, and my mouth, he was always flashing me his cock. He must have
gotten off by me seeing his cock and he must have masturbated to the
fantasy of my touching, fucking, and sucking his cock. If he only knew
how much I enjoyed seeing his cock, as much as he was exciting by having
me see it. If only he knew how much I wanted his cock then, as I still
do now.
Just as I am now, I was so horny back then. Had he asked me to give him
some sexual experience, a hand job, a blowjob, or have intercourse with
me, I think I may have. After all these years, now, the light finally
dawns. Now, I finally get it. Always attracted to my son, I've always
wanted my son. Finally, I'm ready to take him up on his offer.
"Fuck me, Joey. Turn on the light and look at me lying here on your
couch with my housecoat raised to my waist and my pussy exposed to
whatever is your delight," I thought, while hoping and wishing he'd
notice me there in the dark. Only, he didn't see me. He didn't know I
was there enjoying his strip tease show.
His cock was beautiful. It had been a while since I've even seen a cock
and I was hungry for one and horny for him. Suddenly, the show was over.
Suddenly, he was leaving the room, going to bed, no doubt. I was
desperate. Never would I feel the confidence to do what I was about to
do, again. It was now or never. Did I dare? Could I do it? I reached out
and grabbed his ankle, as he walked by the couch on his way to bed.
"Oh, sorry, baby, I didn't know you sleeping there on the couch. I
didn't know you were still awake. I didn't realize how late it was.
Because it was my birthday, the guys kept buying me drinks and then
when--"
Without replying, without saying a single solitary word to let him know
that I was his mother and not his wife, I reached up my hand and felt
his cock with my fingertips. I cupped his balls, before gently and
lovingly wrapping my fingers around his cock. He stopped talking when I
did. He had nothing more to say, as soon as I touched him. With just a
few gentle, slow strokes, he came alive in my hand and I came alive with
all the possibilities of being intimate with my son and having my way
with his cock. Instantly, he was so hard, so long, and so thick, just
the way I remember his Dad was.
With one hand stroking his cock, I used my other hand to unbutton my
dressing gown. Without missing a stroke, I splayed open my housecoat in
anticipation of his touch. Hoping he could see my body, I wanted him to
touch me. I needed for him to feel me. I hoped he'd take the hint and
caress my tits and finger my pussy. I so wanted him to kiss me before he
mounted me to make love to me.
I was naked underneath my dressing gown and the cool morning air from
the open window felt good on my nipples. Suddenly, my nipples were erect
and it felt so good to run my palm slowly across them. With my pussy
already wet, I was already way ahead of him.
I was so nervous. I was so excited. Short lived folly, I knew this
moment wouldn't last, but I was determined to take whatever I could from
the experience. It was my turn to use my son in the way he had
obviously used me for so many years, when he secretly and
serendipitously viewed me in all manner of undress and even and
eventually saw me naked so very many times.
I hoped now that maybe he would go to sleep after I had my way with him.
Maybe he would dream about me wondering if he had sex with me or with
his wife. I imagined him sitting at the breakfast table, after
discovering that I had spent the night, wondering if he had sex with
Patty or with me. He was still drunk enough that he may not remember.
Even though I knew this was as much of a mistake, as when I allowed his
father to fuck me in the backseat of his car and get me pregnant, I
couldn't help myself. I was hot. I was horny. I was out of my mind with
lustful desire for him. I wanted my son and I needed his cock.
It was dark where I was lying and obviously his eyes still hadn't
adjusted to the darkness, just yet. He was probably too drunk to see me,
even if they did adjust to the darkness and even if he could see me,
but his cock was still working, so he wasn't that drunk. I continued
stroking his big prick, while watching it grow bigger and feeling it
getting harder in my hand.
So thick, so long, and so hard, it felt so good in my hand. Never having
touched my son's cock, since he was a baby, it had been a long while
since I had even kissed a man, never mind given one a hand job. The
thought that this man was my son, excited me even more. Along with
gifted hands, I've been told that I have a gifted mouth and I couldn't
wait to take his big prick in my mouth and suck it.
Would I take him in my mouth? Did I dare actually do that? Could I blow
my own son? What the Hell? Giving him a hand job, I've already gone this
far. I'm jerking him off, while lying on the couch practically naked,
what's a blowjob between mother and son? Tomorrow, he may never remember
any of this anyway. He may think it was all a drunken dream.
Immediately, I felt his hand feeling my breast. First he felt my left
tit, squeezing it and caressing it, before reaching across my body to
feel my right tit and duplicating the same movement with his hand on my
right breast that he had just done to my left breast. Then, he started
fingering my nipples, before pinching them between his thumb and index
finger and pulling up on them. I needed for him to suck my tits. I
needed to feel his mouth and tongue on my nipples.
"Suck Mommy's tits, Joey," I wanted to say, but didn't. "Mommy needs to cum."
My daughter-in-law and I have nearly identical bodies and I knew that
even if he was sober, he couldn't tell the difference between us,
especially in the dark. It felt good to feel him finger my nipples
before he reached down and fingered my pussy, and I let out a gasp when
he did. I was so wet. His fingers were big, thick, and long, like his
cock and it felt so good when he started fingering my clit before finger
fucking Mommy's pussy.
"That's a good boy, Joey," I wanted to say, but just thought the words. "Finger fuck Mommy's pussy until she cums."
If only he knew he was finally sexually touching and feeling up his
mother. If only he knew his horny mother was giving her son a slow,
loving hand job, while he caressed my tits, fingered my nipples, and
finger fucked my pussy. If only he knew his mother was about to sit up
and take his big, hard, thick prick in her mouth and suck his cock and
continue sucking his cock, until he shot his warm gooey load of cum in
her willing mouth and she swallowed all that he had to give.
...And then, as soon as I thought it, I did it. I sat up, leaned
forward, took his cock in my mouth and started sucking his big prick. I
was blowing my son. I couldn't believe it. Forget about crossing the
line, I had jumped over the edge. I was still in the dark and I felt his
big hand move to the back of my head. Now, he was fucking my mouth,
really fucking my mouth and ramming his cock in and out, while I applied
the correct amount of pressure to his prick with my lips and while
cupping his balls with my other hand and taking turns to finger his ass
with my finger
"Fuck Mommy's mouth Joey. Ram your cock in my mouth hard. Cum, Joey,
cum. I need to taste you. I need to swallow all that you have to give
me," I thought but dared not verbalize my thoughts. I didn't want him to
stop. I didn't want him to know it was me, his mother, and not Patty,
his wife, blowing him.
I needed him to finish. I really needed him to cum in my mouth. I needed
to taste my son. Looking up at him, with his big, stiff cock impaled in
my mouth, he had his head back with his eyes closed. He was oblivious
to the fact that not only was I enjoying giving him a blowjob, as much
as he was enjoying receiving a blowjob, but also that I was his mother.
I was really sucking him and he was moaning just a little bit too
loudly, when suddenly, he exploded his cum in my mouth and down my
throat and I saw stars. As if it was last call at the bar and the lights
go on to make you realize that the beautiful woman you've been
desperately trying to convince to go home with you, is an old, ugly
broad, there I was with my son's cock still in my mouth. The overhead
light not only lit up the room but also it lit up the perverseness that a
mother had for her son.
I remember wondering who turned on the light? Did Joey do that? Just as
the light went on, just as Joey looked down and realized I was blowing
him, his mother was sucking his dick and not his wife, Patty, when he
pulled his cock from my mouth, he exploded a second load of cum across
my face, in my hair and eyes, and that dripped down from my nose on my
tits. I had cum everywhere, even in my ear. There was so much cum. He
and Patty must not have had sex in months.
In retrospect, I'm sure my daughter-in-law doesn't give her husband, my
son, the blowjob that I, his mother, had just given him. I had sucked a
few more cocks in my day, but the real difference between me and my
daughter-in-law is that I truly enjoy sucking a man's cock, and I loved
sucking my son's cock the best. Then all Hell broke loose.
"Joey! Elizabeth! Jesus Christ! I don't believe this."
Patty looked at us as if we were from another planet. Joey had already
removed his cock from my mouth, just as she turned on the light, but for
that brief second after that light came on, she saw me blowing my son.
She saw me sucking his cock. It didn't matter, the evidence of his lust
for me was already dripping from my face. Joey still stood before me as
naked as the day he was born and his cock was sticking straight out, as
if an index finger pointing the guilty blame to me. I was guilty
alright. I was guilty of being in love with my son and of wanting him.
"Mom! Patty!" Joey looked down at me with a look of shocked disbelief,
but I saw a glimmer of excitement cross his face. "Mom, what are you
doing? How could you not know it was me you were blowing? Who did you
think it was?" He looked up at his wife with an incredulous look on his
face. "I thought it was you. I thought you were blowing me, Patty.
Honest, I did."
"I knew it was you, Joey," I said, suddenly not feeling the shame I should.
"Get out! Get out of my house," screamed Patty. "You two are sick, sick
sick! I want you out of my house now. Get your things and just go."
"Patty, wait, you don't understand," said Joey looking from her to me
and showing me a face full of shocked excitement, while trying not to
reveal how he truly felt about me to his wife, before looking back at
her again.
"I do understand" she said looking at Joey. "Now, I know why you're a
drunk and can't keep a job. You've been pining over leaving your mother.
You love Mommy more than me, your wife. Now, I know why you married me,
a young copy of your sick fuck of a mother. You really wanted her and
not me. Now, that I know, I don't want you anymore. Get out! Get out!
Get out!"
"What about the kids, surely, you can't—"
"The kids? The children aren't even your kids, you moron. You were never
sober enough to fuck me long enough or penetrate me deep enough to
father those kids."
"Not mine? Then, whose kids are they?"
"My old boyfriend from high school fucked me, whenever you were out
drunk. You were always leaving me for your bar friends. I was lonely. I
was horny. I needed a man, a real man and not a drunken pervert who'd
rather have sex with his Mommy than with his wife. Now you two can go
back to living together. I'm replacing you with him, just as you can't
wait to replace me with her," she said spitting at me.
Yet, just as her words fell short of their intended target, even her
spit did. Joey was happy to leave her. Even though he'd miss the kids,
the fact that she admitted they weren't his kids, ended his obligation
to care anymore about them, especially once her old boyfriend moved in
with her.
I got up from the couch and grabbed her by her hair. In one quick pull
of her nightgown, she was naked. Then, I slapped her. I slapped her for
calling me a sick fuck. I slapped her for spitting at me. I slapped her
for disrespecting my son and I slapped her for cheating on Joey with
another man. I did what Joey couldn't do. I slapped his wife silly.
I helped Joey pack his things. He didn't have much. I brought him home
with me, where I could care for him and make him better. Patty wasn't
much of a cook. At least with me, he'd get three square meals a day, and
at least with me, he'd be with someone who loved him and who wouldn't
cheat on him. At least with me, I'd give him sex whenever he wanted it.
It was difficult in the beginning, he insisted on sleeping in his old
room. Gone were all the games he used to play with him trying to see me
naked by opening my bedroom door, as I was putting on or taking off my
nightgown. Every time I took a shower, just as I opened the curtain and
emerged from the tub, I expected, hoped, that he'd burst in bathroom on
the pretense he had to pee. I imagined him whipping out his cock and
allowing me to see the full length of it before turning away to do his
business.
If he wasn't going to accept our living arrangements, then I would
motivate him to embrace them. I started walking around my house in my
bra and panty. The look on his face told me that he still thought of me
and wanted me. Then, in a bold move, whenever I could pull it off
without looking as if I was doing in purposefully, I started walking
around naked, pretending I forgot something in the bathroom or forgot to
close my bedroom door. I was teasing him into feeling that wicked
desire for me again and it was working.
Yet, things didn't get better, easier, until when I convinced him to sleep with me in my bed.
"I promise I won't attack you, Joey. Let me take care of you," I said
while lying in bed wearing my nightgown with my arms open to show him
that he was loved. "We don't even have to do anything. You can just hold
me or I can hold and comfort you and then spoon me later before we fall
asleep."
"Okay, but we sleep with our clothes on and not naked. Right?"
"Of course," I said.
Finally, he agreed and we slept like that holding one another and
spooning without being sexual. I loved feeling the warmth of his body. I
loved feeling his big arm around my waist and his big hand poised on my
hip. It felt good to lean back into him and know that I felt protected
by the love of my son. Then, one night, while he spooned me, I felt his
cock up against my ass.
He was asleep, but his cock was poking me and pulsating against my body.
He was hard. He had an erection. He must have been having a sexy dream.
Without waking him, I gently turned over. As soon as my eyes adjusted
to the dimness of the night light, I looked down and could see his
beautiful bulge tenting his pajama bottoms. I reached my fingers down
and touched him, while watching his face. He was still sleeping.
I took all of him in my hand through his pajamas and he still slept
without stirring. It wasn't until I reached inside his pajamas and
pulled his cock out through his pee hole that he finally stirred.
"Mom," he said in his sleep.
He let out a quiet moan when my fingers engulfed his cock and my hand
gently stroked his magnificent prick. It felt so good to touch him,
again. He was still so very hard. It felt so good to stroke him to an
even harder erection.
Gently without waking him, I sat up in bed and removed my nightgown. If
he awakened, this is the sight that I wanted him to see. I wanted him to
see me, his mother, naked. If he was to awaken, I'd snap on the light
so that he could feast his eyes on my tits, my ass, and my pussy. I knew
he couldn't resist me. I knew he'd fuck and lick me. Slowly, silently,
without shaking the mattress or making my movements known to him, I
eased my body down half the length of the bed, until my mouth was poised
in front of his cock.
I flicked out my tongue and licked it before swirling my entire tongue
around his sweet cock. Then, I took it in my mouth. It felt glorious to
suck my son. It felt comforting for me to know that I still had the same
level of control over him now that I had over him when he was a baby. I
loved the feeling of having his cock in my mouth.
I didn't want to awaken, but I was aroused to finish what I had started.
I decided that this was better, him not knowing that I had been blowing
him, but just as I was about to slide back up to where I was and slip
my nightgown back over my head, he started slowly humping my mouth with
his hips. He was fucking my mouth. My son was fucking my face with his
cock. Then, as soon as the humping grew more forceful, I felt his big
hand to the back of my head. Now, he was humping me as much as I was
sucking him.
Then, it happened, he ejaculated. My son came in my mouth. I felt the
warm slimy feeling of his cum explode in my mouth and coat my tongue,
before sliding down my throat. He gave me a feeling of power that I
could get him aroused enough to cum, and boy did he ever. He gave me
quite the load and I thought I had drained him, but as soon as I allowed
his cock to fall from my mouth, he exploded again with another violent
burst of cum that caught me by surprised. I had his cum everywhere, in
my hair, my eyes, and even up my nose.
I wiped the cum off me with the tissues I had by my bedside. He looked
like he was still sleeping. How could he sleep through that. Maybe, he
was embarrassed that I had blown him and that he had cum in my mouth. He
had to be awake enough to fuck my face and put a hand to the back of my
head. Maybe he was dreaming.
I snuggled in beside him again. His body was so warm and it felt so
good. I took his hand and moved it to the side of my hip before moving
it up to my breast. Still naked and cold, not bothering to put my
nightgown back on, it didn't take him long to start fingering my
nipples. Immediately, I could feel a moist wetness between my thighs and
all that I could think of was his cock deep inside my pussy.
I turned to face him and took his face in my hand in only the way that a
mother can. I gave him a peck on the lips and a second kiss that was
more romantically inspired. He didn't respond until I kissed him for the
third time and then he parted my lips with his tongue. French kissing
and kissing one another like two lovers who have been apart for years,
the excitement that boiled within was like nothing I've ever felt.
I reached my hand down and took his erection in my hand.
"Take off your pajamas," I said.
Now, both naked, he was free to explore as much of my body as I was
exploring his. It was magical when he mounted me. I reached my hand down
and guided his cock inside of me. I was so wet and he was so hard. He
felt so good fucking me that it only took me a few minutes to cum and
then he exploded all that he had left inside of me. Even though I'd be
willing to have another baby, I was glad that I couldn't have any more
kids.
We moved to another city where no one knew us and started a new life,
not as mother and son, but as Joey and Elizabeth, lovers. Now, instead
of visiting him for only one week each summer, we spent of our seasons
together. The summertime is the best fun because now I have someone to
go to the beach with and take vacations with, even if only taking a long
drive to buy an ice cream.
Because of all the drinking he had done over the past few years, even
though he hasn't touched a drop since being with me, instead of his
shrew of an ex-wife, he looks several years older than his years.
Because of the way that I taken care of myself with diet and exercise
and pampered myself with lotions and spa treatments, I look younger by
several years. With both of us looking thirty-something, we meet
somewhere in the middle and no one, not any of our new friends, suspect
that we are mother and son.
Now, every year we celebrate our favorite holiday together, Halloween.
"Trick or treat."
Certainly it was a sad trick that a son would be sexually attracted to
his mother just as much as a mother was sexually attracted to her son.
Yet, it was, indeed, such a treat that we finally came together not as
mother and son but as woman and man.
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