A mother's love and lust for her son
31-07-2014, 04:03 PM
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."
31-07-2014, 04:04 PM
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?
31-07-2014, 04:04 PM
"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.
31-07-2014, 04:04 PM
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?
31-07-2014, 04:04 PM
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.
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